A new year's present for you.

You know, that day? When I wanted a shot of bourbon, more than anything in the world, ... well, did I go out and buy a bottle of bourbon.

No.

Did I have a drink from my secret space?

No.

Why?

'Cause I'm strong, and powerful, and a girl of her word?

No.

No. Not that. Do you know the only reason why I didn't have that shot of bourbon, or a drink of any kind?

It was because of you.

Because I just know, when I write, 'Oh, I'm a shit,' you are so gonna write back, 'oh, you poor baby, and you're so not!' (because you are so you, and you are so sweet that way, that way you just don't listen to me!)

AND you're going to demand I step up, like, 'where's that next chapter you promised yourself you'd write?' or 'where's that next chapter you promised me you'd beta?' [ed: okay, okay, okay! Can I please deliver ch 3 tomorrow, huh?] or 'luv ur story, update soon!'

And I was like ... well, I was like this:

Leave. Me. The FUCK. ALONE!

But, no. PM after PM came: 'RU ok, `phfina?' and 'You hurt yourself, you hurt your family and you hurt me, bitch! Think about that!' and 'Well, you know the gun is messier and more permanent that the bourbon, but it's your choice, smart girl, and I love you.' and on and on and on.

And, you know what I realize?

I'm not me, without you. I don't see who I am at all. Not at all. I only see me, who I am, and who I can be, through your eyes.

And, well, you know, I really hate that. I mean, like, look, FINE! FINE! OKAY! So I AM smart and I AM beautiful and I AM loved and I AM lovable!

FINE!

But can't you just give me some room here? It's New Year's, for God's sake! Can't you just leave me alone?

And you're like, no. And, anyway, leave me alone to what? to wallow? That's nice.

So today I went to the mall. Yeah, on a Sunday after the holidays (so, really, still during the holidays), and I got to really be with TONS of people being with people, families, young (cute) girlfriendies, tough guys pushing baby strollers, mommies with daughters, zillions of people in line at sbux (that I don't work at ... HA!)

Just, you know, hang, and be with everybody being with everybody, with the parking garage so full, they needed police to direct traffic.

And so here's my present to you.

No, it's not me (although I am a HOT little thing!) and no, it's not my next chappy (yet).

No, my present to you is you.

Now, I am talking particularly to you who've read my stuff and never PMed me or reviewed me.

I know you are there. I so know it. I see the stats on page views by locations. I know you're reading me and I know where you live, sweetheart, ... and bf, too, for that matter. (Hi, guys reading ffn! You rock!)

And you know what? Me, knowing that? Do you think you're getting away with anything? No. Do you know what you're doing?

You're giving me hope.

Did you know that?

You, silently, being there, for me. Month after month, in productive months and in ... these last few months. You're giving me hope and a reason to go on.

Do you know what a contribution to my life that you are?

Do you know I didn't drink on New Year's because of you? Yes: you. I couldn't stand the thought of saying — again! — 'yup, I screwed up again.' And you can be a drinker or not a drinker or not care either way, but you are reading me, and somehow, I know that you care about me, you care about me enough to read my words, and to come back here, time and again, and check up on me, to see if I'm still alive, and still fighting, and still hoping.

You, thousands of you, all around the world, looking at me, looking for me.

Thank you.

And you think to yourself: 'oh, I have nothing to offer, and look at her other reviewers, so smart and witty and brave, and some have even done this and that for her, or have done that for their own lives, reading her stuff, and I could never do that. What could I have to give `phfina?'

And, well, okay.

Really: it's okay.

You, simply by being there, not even aware what you are doing for me, have helped me go on, month after month.

You are perfect, as you are, even if you are hiding from me, even if you're 'too busy' to leave a review or a comment of a chapter, even if you don't know what to say or how to say it, even if that comment is simply, 'wow!' or 'I really liked this chapter,' or 'Bella is so stupid; I hate her,' or 'I so love your Bella; I just wanna hug you ... HER I MEANT HER! *EEK!*' ... whatever's on your heart, whatever touched you when you read what I wrote ... for you.

You are perfect.

And.

Well, okay, you asked (by reading this).

Just imagine what would happen if you did leave me a comment.

Just imagine.

You don't have to. I have a list of what's happened, with people who've talked with me. And that list is NOWHERE as all-inclusive as I'd like it to be. It should also include the girl who was never, ever going to review my work, screwing up her courage to do so, and what happened?

Well, that applies to several girls, but uniformly, they found their voices, they found themselves, by daring to do the undareable: talk to the `phferocious `phfina, and what did it get for them?

They got their lives.

You have your life already. Imagine what daring to do, or MAKING the time, or finding the words or whatever will do for you, when you know what you've done, and that you've done it.

Like I said, you are already my gift to me. You. You are my gift to me.

And this New Year, my wish is that you see what a gift you are to me, and in so seeing, see what a gift you are to people in your life.

And when you see that, then you will see what a gift you are to you.

You are so, so precious, in somebody's eyes. Know that. You are so, so precious in my eyes, and I love you.

Happy New Year!

A Rose by any other name ...

What's in a name? Why is Rosalie Lillian Hale so exacting, so precise, so demanding — yes: so b!tchy! — about her name?

I think I know why a little bit.  At least for myself, I know, because ... well, read on.

You see, I have three names.  Most of you know me by 'phfina ... which is a nickname of a joke of a joke.  I don't even know the original joke, but it involved my two brothers, both twice as old as me, and an XBox and Halo.  Me, it sounded Greek enough, so I bore it, and then really took it on, especially as I've been told its meaning in other languages.  And so now that name has a new joke, a new life.  I like it.  I call myself "'phfina" all the time in my self-talk.

My 'public' name is Violet.  I wear that name at work.  I wear that name to group.  I like that name, too. It matches my eyes.  It matches my disposition.  Yes, I'm blue, but blue can also be electric, ... feisty, even. And my death glare? You do not want to be on the receiving end.

I also wear that name to protect myself, because ... well, because I have been stalked ... well, not really stalked stalked but I get a little nervous when an old flame sends me a note where I work. I'm not all that sure B-... is aware she's an old flame — I mean, she's sweet, and all, but it was a little weird, her being older than my mom and her son older than me and her wanting the 'two of us kids to ... play'? and then the mothering? ... well, I'm not sure she got the hint with me up and leaving the State leaving no forwarding address — and a visit to the sbux where I'm working where none of my coworkers/partners know of my ... preference ... No, I'm not 'out' at work, and if she were to make a scene?

Shudder! Big time.

I also wear that name to hide from ... well, nearly everybody, except family. And lovers. And dear friends.  These know me by my name-name. If you've read Rosalie and Me, you may not know it, but I really, really did expose myself there.  I even gave my name.  Do you know how sick I got writing and then publishing that story?

I was actually afraid I'd end up back in the hospital ... again ... publishing that story.

But that name is actually my second first name.  I don't think about my first first name.  I haven't since I've been ... well, fifteen, 'cause, you see, at thirteen, something happened, then at fourteen I was in the hospital for a ... while, ... 'a while' meaning like for six months ... and then when I got out and got back to school, I didn't use my first first name anymore. 'Speak of the devil and she doth appear.' Well, one visit was more than too much for this little girl.

Yes, I'll tell that story ... that's coming up in Sirens and I am afraid chapter 2 will be where my first first name comes up.  And maybe I can put that to bed, and maybe I can't.  Maybe it's not for me to bed it.  I don't know.

"Love until it hurts"

But that does bring up something: "dear friends." I mean, obviously you know what a dear friend is.  Some of you have dear friends. Some of you are my dear friends. So you know what that means, right? Of course you do. Do you know that sometimes I've saved a friend's life? Do you know that sometimes — more times than you will ever know — they've saved mine? That's a dear friend to me, but, of course, it goes much deeper than that, even.  A complete stranger can pull me out of the way of a truck as I'm thoughtlessly crossing the street (yes, that happened), which shows me, as I'm writing this that, sometimes, people fundamentally do care and are caring.

'phfina, lesson for you there, and for your charity and patience with other people ... and yourself.

A dear friend will do that, like I'd gladly take a bullet for one, but a dear friend also listens to me, puts up with me sometimes, and other times, either patiently, kindly, or angrily points out how full of sh!t I am.  I think my dearest friends are the one who are the ones who get angriest with me when I'm hard on myself; I think they are the ones who test me the hardest.

"Love until it hurts" I heard at Mass one day, and it's not the Samantha-loving-Chris-hurt the priest was talking about. I'm pretty confident about that one.  No, it means that, God! Ouch! This just hurts! you are scared out of your mind for yourself because the other person is looking right into your heart, and the blunt honesty is a cudgel. It really hurts what they are saying.

But after the hurt, do I come out a better person? No, I come out a new person, and the neat thing? The person delivering the hurt? She's still there, loving me, gently, patiently, unforgivingly, demandingly, but still there, propping me up, but then pushing me forward to walk where she knows that I can. And she sees the good in me, too.

Yes, she'd save me from a truck that would have flattened me whilst crossing the street, but more importantly, she saves me from me and my self-wounding self-talk, so I can be me, so I can take off the mask of suffering, shrug off the Atlas weight and now be me, unencumbered with the worry of being me.

That's circumlocutory; so it's a round-about way of saying with my dear friends, I can be more like me, and when I'm not, they pound away at me until I am.

That's what 'love until it hurts' means to me, I think. 

[Edit: "'she,' 'phfina?" Yeah, there's my prejudice raising its head. Some of my friends are 'he's and would probably appreciate more inclusive language, right? Like I appreciate being included in a conversation? *sigh* I just have so far to go, ... all the time!]

Bon Voyage, Jocelyn Torrent!

Well.

Jocelyn Torrent just published her final chapter of Rose Read, and with that is leaving fan-fiction. She's moved on with her life from fan-fiction.

God, I'm going to miss her and her writing.

Can't say I didn't see it coming, however. There were signs along the way, with long periods of silence here and loads of activity elsewhere. She's gone off to college, she's, well, she's put together differently than me: she has her friends and her self-reliance. Who needs little old fan-fiction when there's so much life to live? She didn't say this at all, of course, and she left very high recommendations to me.

Thank you, Jocelyn Torrent, for that long and beautiful run. I'm sure I hear the cries of despair echo across the fan-fiction community. Mine, too.

And in all that, I wish her well. And happiness. And I'm grateful for the tremendous amount of time she invested into her every story, every chapter, and every single review she received ... she responded to every one of them. There is an example of a writer on fan-fiction to follow.

It makes me wonder a little bit for myself. Do I tire of writing? ... Well, yes. At every chapter. Do I see myself calling it quits? No. Did JT ever see that? I don't know, perhaps in her second year (as I am now in mine), she just saw all this stuff to write about and not enough days in her life to write it.

Am I losing a friend? Yes, I think so. That's what happens in life, doesn't it? You get close to somebody, as a friend, and then she moves or gets an entirely new set of interests, and you try to stay connected, but that communication goes from daily, to ... never. Or a few years later, 'hey, how's it going?' and then nothing again.

So I'm grieving my loss. My loss, for JT is going out into that big, huge world of endless possibilities were she's probably learning and discovering and just filled to the brim and then overflowing with friends, happiness and joy. And for that my joy for her is great.

And for me, too. Is there joy and friends and endless possibilities to be found here on the little e-world of ffn? Oh, yes, indeed: there is. It's here for me, it's here for you, and it's here for JT if/when she comes back. Or if this indeed her final hurrah, it's still here for her and for anybody, just as the world outside of ffn has that for her, and for anybody, too.

JT is gone into that great big wild world, she says a sweet goodbye. I'm still here, sweeties. I'm still here, waving to JT's ship pulling out with my (well-used) hanky, and then, turning away from that ocean of the world, having taken it all in with my salty eyes and the smell of salt from the ocean filling my nose, and I walk back to my home, open up my laptop, reflect for a moment at the bittersweetness of goodbyes ... and now work on that next chapter, which is today: chapter 9 of "Our First Time."

kisses, 'phfina

You

I just wanted to say ...

Well, sometimes you can't write ... no, wait, let me put it another way. Sometimes I feel I need to write, and I don't. Like, for a month or more, and that really sucks. Big time. And, big surprise, it's, like, during a rather unfun time in my life, usually.

But, like now, I've been writing, and when I'm writing, the exact same 'stuff' can be going on in my life, but it's like magic how my life is just better.

And it's because I'm creating something ... I hope something beautiful ... and I'm doing something. And also, and very importantly, it's because of all you readers and reviewers and all the people sending me PMs and ...

Wow. That's what I wanted to say: wow. The things you write to me about my writing or things about your life or a pick-me-up or a hey-there or whatever. You all have been so wonderful and sweet and bossy and ... everything.

Wow. Thank you.

And, oh, do you know how special you are, my dear readers? I don't know most of you, and that's okay if that's okay for you, but I do know about the ones that I've read from and written to, so may I extrapolate a bit. I may not know you or what you are going through, if anything, but I have been amazed in what I've read from you. Amazed.

So here's what I wanted to say about you, that I hope you take to heart and believe, you are awesome. You are awesome.

A Gift

Do you know what I have? A gift.

ffn has given me a gift: for now I have more friends than I've ever had in my life. And real friends, too, not just 'cyber' friends. Friends with whom I laugh, cry (a lot), sigh, and giggle, and who make me feel all warm and fuzzy.

Now all I have to do is to realize that and appreciate that .. and thank my friends: my readers.

Thank you, my friends.

I enjoy writing stories. I hope you enjoy reading them.

kisses, 'phfina