writer – INGRID E FABER

Living Life, Random Thoughts, Uncategorized

Why, hello there.

Posted on August 21, 2023 by iefaber

It has been a MINUTE! Actually, almost a full year.
I went from an elderly sick dog to grieving the loss of my dog, returning from grief, raising an 8-week-old puppy to now owning my 7-month-old new puppy.
Also, my previous writing group dissolved, I found a new one, and still getting into that new schedule this year.
I’ve read great books, written new stories, and revised old ones in ways I never thought possible. I have a lot more ideas on the way. Ideas for picture books, of course, but also middle grade and more.
I’ve been slowly picking up my journal again, and yesterday I remembered something I seemingly had forgotten: that writing helps me.
There’s talk therapy, art therapy, writing therapy, and much more. My previous dog Scarlett Grey was my unofficial therapist. I didn’t realize how much until she was gone. I still feel her loss. The new puppy isn’t quite at that level, but she’s swell. Check out my IG account if you’re into loads of puppy pictures. Dogs consume my life, as is apparent on that account. But I am, as I sometimes have to remind myself, more than the dogs in my life. Writing just isn’t photogenic.
That’s the end of my update. There’s no point in saying more in the world of TicTok and Reels and short attention spans. Just a hello and a way for me to reconnect to this page.
Hope all the writers out there are doing better than me right now! Cheers!

Living Life, Random Thoughts

to-do vs done

Posted on May 2, 2022August 29, 2022 by iefaber

My recent return from vacation had me wondering why I ever go on away. I came back to tons of laundry, an avalanche of emails, work hours my now relaxed body was unprepared for, and dirty city air. Not to mention the stress of unnecessary drama I was able to put on hold while away. Worst of all, the dreaded “To-Do” list had morphed into a diabolical monster I could no longer slay.

I became overwhelmed with all the things I had to do. This caused me to get sick. I had nausea and a fever every night for a week. I’m the type of person who can’t seem to find a middle ground. Once things get out of order even a tiny bit, I let them slide into chaos. I either have a place for everything and everything in its place, or I’m shuffling through piles of clutter I can’t seem to tackle. So I used to have a process to help me deal with my task list.

I was once told to write out my to-do list and address one thing at a time. The idea was that I could cross out each item once completed, and that action would cause me great satisfaction. This satisfaction would inspire me to do more and stave off chaos. This worked for a while. The problem was that my to-do list was never empty. While crossing things out was satisfactory, adding on new items or items that repeat (laundry, dishes) became tedious and draining. Depressing.

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On Writing

Where have you been?

Posted on April 11, 2022May 9, 2022 by iefaber

I have enjoyed so many books, but some stick with me longer than others. And more often than not, it’s because of where they took me. Not just on good adventures to a fun place, not just the great people you miss when you close the book, but somewhere that returns to you long after you’ve finished reading. What stories have left you with false memories? Places that have been so well written, you almost feel them as your own memory? Not just what happened there but how they felt and how they smelled.

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On Writing

Acceptance vs Expectance

Posted on April 4, 2022May 9, 2022 by iefaber

Last month I wanted a change, so I chopped off my hair. I had hair down my entire back, and now it barely covers my ears. It’s certainly changed, but it’s not cute. In fact, it’s an absolutely terrible home haircut. I should be more upset. Or, ideally, I should love the “new me .” Instead I simply have something new to dislike when I look in the mirror.

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My Work, Poems and Prose

RELINQUISH

Posted on January 31, 2022May 9, 2022 by iefaber

It’s only when I break, that my insides spill out and I see what I’m made of.
It’s only when I stop holding my breath, that I exhale the poison within.
It’s only when I fall that I find cracks in my foundation,
And only when I weep do I hear my true voice.

Our metaphoric armor protects but equally destroys all that we know and all that we are.
It weighs heavy on our souls and injures and crushes, rots and corrupts. Armor was not made to be worn at length, but when the battle evolves into a war, we feel we have no choice.

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