Brilliant Response.

My blogs of late have managed to provoke quite a but of discussion. I am sure my dear friend and critique partner Christine London will not mind if I post her enlightening response....take it away , Chris

I hope we never figure it out because it is as personal as the individual. Some of us require absolute attention from our beloved. Others find seperate holidays and weeks apart the glue of relational longevity. Some define monogamy in purely physical terms and are not bothered by their partner spending time with members of the opposite sex. Others are more jealous by the shared laughs and smiles than walking in on a tumble in the sheets.

In general our society traditionally defines infidelity by the sex act, but why should society have a say in the our individual hearts and minds? If nothing else good comes from our over exposure to the exponentially growing amount of information produced by mankind, perhaps the fact that we all have our own individual needs and feeling should be central. Freedom should no longer be limited to democractic politics or choice of job/place of residence and religion. Freedom, should be choice of the way we live in our relationships as well. Societal boundries are being pushied and challenged daily as we grow into the future.

Change is always messy, so to, meaningful relationships. It is through the give and take of relationship that each of us must decide with what we are comfortable. Whether it be open marriage or tradtional coupling where no appreciable contact is desirable with members of the opposite sex that are not the spouse--it should be the sum of the hearts and minds of the individuals involved. Messy? Sure. But anything worth negotiating is.

Now all we have to do is be ever vigilant to protect each person's right to make those choices and get our corporate noses out of other people's decisions. Love is good. Love is never wasted. It should always be respected in any healthy form which it manifests.

Thanks.

Viviane
* ·

14 hours ago

INFIDELITY - PART TWO

“The way I see it, marriage is a contract; a contract with which two people promise to love, honour and at least try to remain faithful. Pavlos broke the contract which means…” She spat out a shell. “In my humble opinion, it’s now null and void.” Fragile Dreams

Lepon – as we say in Greece, let’s get down to the nitty-gritty. What is cheating exactly? Ok – someone sleeps with someone else. By today’s moral criteria, that is considered betrayal but what about mind cheating? Hands up out there who have ever cheated on their partner mentally? Is harboring lustful designs on someone other than your spouse/partner just as wrong as going through with the physical act? I hasten to add, I am not talking about drooling over Brad/Gerry/Enrique but, rather, somebody one could have access to if they put their mind to it. Ask yourself the question – do you feel guilty about these thoughts? If yes then, no, it’s not so innocent.
Why is the emphasis always on sex – or full-on sex? A simple kiss, a hug, a stroking of the hand, anything vaguely intimate – is that not cheating? Sharing a clandestine glass of wine – is that not betrayal? Do we convince ourselves because full consummation does not take place we are not hurting anyone? What constitutes a relationship? I do find it rather ironic that in modern day thinking, you are not in a relationship unless you are sleeping together. So even if you spent time together, laugh, kiss, hug, joke, generally enjoy the company of someone, you do not have a ‘real’ relationship because you are not doing the deed. It does make me titter when I hear people gloss over their actions with…oh, but we haven’t gone the whole way. Hey, dear, you have committed more sexual acts than found in the Karma Sutra so, in my book, that is cheating. Do not try and justify you actions.
It would seem this topic of infidelity which I opened up last week has invited vigorous discussion. My dear friend and critique partner asks the question – is man really meant to be monogamous. She asks...…What precludes loving more than one man (or woman) not only in a lifetime, but concurrently? What indeed? Who decided the rules? Dare I suggest man-made religion? We often hear…he /she is the love of my life…my soulmate. Granted, we may believe this at the time. We see our present partner through those too-oft deceptive rose-coloured specs but how can we be sure? It’s a vast world out there, filled with, perhaps, a barrel full of potential soul mates. I believe the problem we face is no two people view this matter in the same light and I think it all comes back to the green-eyed monster, jealousy. No one wants to share a loved-one, no matter how much the “errant” partner will tell you it can be done. Which brings us back to physical v emotional infidelity. Will we ever figure out this game of love? Thoughts please…..

Viviane

FALSE WORDS

Good afternoon from - yes- sunny Corfu. Once again, mother nature has had the last laugh. Winter clohes are packed away, quilts laid out on beds and oil in tanks ready to turn on that cental heating. Suckers! Summer is back! 28 degrees , today, and perfect skies.If it remains so, I am off to the beach tomorrow. So - on to todays little word/phrase......


IT DIDN'T MEAN ANYTHING.

It didn’t mean anything, honey. It’s you I love.

Before you all scoff, let’s consider this more carefully. Can it be possibly true? When men stray, does it necessarily mean they no longer love their partner and if, indeed, they claim to love them, how can they stray in the first place? Are men really so different than women? Is it possible for them to detach the emotional from the physical?
Before I continue with today’s discussion, let me say for the record, I am in no way defending the cheat. I, as those who know me will testify, would be the first to be devastated if a man I loved cheated on me. I am an extremely jealous person. I see betrayal every way I turn but….. and now you can throw stones…. For me, the ultimate betrayal would be if my partner/ loved one turned to another for companionship. It would be the thought of them sitting, laughing, talking – sharing together that I would find intolerable. Let’s face it; sex is sex. Anyone can do it – and men usually can with brain and heart detached but the emotional bond that lies between a couple, if that is broken, for me, that is where the biggest hurt lies.
So why have I chosen this topic for today? Let’s say it ties in well with my soon-to-be released contemporary romance, Fragile Dreams. Ellie Rouva is married to a serial cheat. After ten years, she no longer cares. When my dear friend and critique partner read through my first draft, she commented that I had made Ellie’s husband too much of a cliqued bad guy. I needed to somehow humanize him. In a conversation Ellie shares with a young confidante, he asks her the million-dollar question “why did you marry him?”
Basically, Ellie says she saw what see wanted to see. She allowed herself to be seduced by the glamour of his position and the pull of the island. She conjured up a false image of the man. He did not change but Ellie did. In another scene, Ellie confronts her husband, accusing him of never loving her. His answer?
“The other women meant nothing. Everything I did…It was to provoke a reaction from you. You were always so controlled; so cold. You never showed me affection. Every time I tried to touch you, you pushed me away.”

My mother once told me…there are worse things men can do to you than sleep with someone else. Believe me, she has a point: emotional torture, mental bullying, or a man who drinks, gambles, who refuses to work and support his family. Worse – an unsupportive father. But it does seem to be the sexual infidelity that evokes strong reaction in most. Before I go on, I would like to say I am not talking about a man who goes off and embarks on a full-blown affair. At the end of the day, we cannot control with whom and when we will fall in or out of love. Most men, I am sure, genuinely do not want to hurt anyone but what if they simply married the wrong person? What if they have connected with someone much more suited to their emotional needs? Perhaps the women they married and fell in love with has changed and, again, before I have the women’s lib breathing down my neck, I think we need to face a hard truth, here. More times than not, it is the woman who has changed – or rather our tolerance of the man we married has lessened. We notice faults that have always been there but in the throes of the fairy tale romance after which we hunger, we conveniently ignore them. We become caught up in our role of housewife, perfect mother. Often, our children become the centre of our universe and, as bizarre as it may seem to we women, men can become jealous. They feel left out from that special mother/child relationship. Men can be like petulant children. Does this give them right to seek solace elsewhere? After all, many, many husbands do not go out and sleep with the nearest bimbo because their wife is too tired or too involved with day to day running of the home to understand them. No – it does not. I am not condoning such behavior, merely trying to understand.
Now, this is where old school got it right, I believe. The professional mistress – nothing to do with a man’s love for his wife or family. But in today’s modern society, we want retribution. Ultimatums are issued. Decisions made without careful consideration. “Pack your bags and leave. Go to her…your cheap little whore.” Ladies – most times your man had no intention of leaving you for her. You forced his hand. Let’s face it, guys. You love your comfort zone. Ok – if you are a young couple, no kids involved, do as you please. Rush off to the divorce courts but, if children are involved, you owe it to them to try and work out your differences. It may sound, here, as if I am placing the entire onus on the woman. Maybe I am. Let’s face it, girls. We are the superior gender. We think with our brains, not our wil…. If you get my meaning.
My uncle once told me, men are weak; women are by far the much stronger sex. We are mothers and, as such, should be put on a pedestal. I am not sure if I agree entirely but I think I understand what he was trying to say. Men follow their baser instincts. Love, for them, can be separated from sex. For most women, this is not the case. Probably why, when the shoe is on the other foot, a man will be destroyed. He understands, for a woman to cheat {again, I generalize} there has to be emotional involvement. In time, I believe, a woman can forgive and move on, forgive the infidelity. A man – he may say he does but he never recovers nor does he forget. Food for thought? I would love to hear you opinions.

Next week…. It was only a joke…..

Viviane

Yet Another Word: GRIEF

Good morning happy readers.

Yes, another week has passed on this glorious island and – yes, once again – it rained for most of it.
So what have I achieved this week? Mmm – well {fanfare trumpets} I managed to complete a couple of chapters on w.i.p. No mean feat given my present state of mind. Taking the plunge, I sat down one afternoon and, allowing for breaks for the Young and the Restless, I read through all that I had written this summer. I decided I wasn’t such a bad writer after all and my tale was worth saving.
I also achieved another different but equally daunting task this week. Since the death of Michael Jackson, I have not been able to watch this great performer, although a kind friend of mine presented me with ‘This is It’ for my birthday. In a way, it was in remembrance of another tragedy that spurred me on to taking the plunge.
28th October, 2010. Oxi Day - the National Greek holiday, celebrating the day when the Greek Prime Minister Ioannis Metaxas quite vehemently said ‘oxi’ {no} to the axis forces of WW2. Cheeky buggers that Hitler and his fat buddy Mussolini - wanting to march into Greece and set up ‘strategic’ bases. On the morning of October 28, the Greek population took to the streets, irrespective of political affiliation, shouting 'oxi'. From 1942, this day has been celebrated.
But…this day, for myself and many friends here in Corfu, has come to be remembered for a tragedy much closer to home. On this day, 2009, we lost a dear friend; a woman in her prime who, for reasons known only to the powers above, died of an aneurysm. I suppose numb is the only term that springs to mine. Our little community was in shock. We still are. It’s so hard to believe this vibrant mother of two has left us. It makes no sense. But back to Michael….
Perhaps many of you are thinking… how can she compare the death of a close friend to that of a man she did not know? This question leads me nicely into today’s word : Grief.
What is grief, exactly? I am not sure I have the answer – except to say, there is no wrong or right way to grieve nor should there be a scale of grieving.
In the case of MJ, I believe the world saw grieving on a mass scale for several reasons. Personally, I not only mourned the passing of an amazing talent; a man who had been poised to, once more, take the world by storm, by also, but, simmering inside of me was a deep anger. I feel very strongly that this was a man very wronged by the world. He was publically hung, drawn and quartered in the press and ridiculed for, yes, I admit, his oft-strange behaviour. As for his innocence or guilt, I am not getting caught up in that argument. Suffice to say, I have my views and no one will change them. My point is, he was tried and found guilty by an a scavenger press, a press aided and abetted by a salivating public, hungry for scandal with no thought as to how their actions were affecting this man. So what – he’s rich, famous, he deserves it. Who deserves that? Does his wealth make him any less of a human being? Did he not deserve the respect of privacy and compassion we all take for granted? In my mind, what happened to MJ was akin to a public flaying. The humiliation and strain, I believe, caused him to step over that fine line between sanity and total despair. And this is why, I believe, the world-wide grief that manifested after, was a reaction to collective guilt. Somehow – somewhere, the world knew it had contributed to this man’s downfall; a man who only wanted to share his amazing gifts with the world.
Grief – guilt; how they are so often bound together. How many times have we lost a loved one, only to ask ourselves, shoulda, coulda? This year, I have watched many of my friends try to cope with the loss of a parent. I see the same pain every time. Why didn’t I do more? I couldn’t be with them at the end. Unfortunately, this is another down side to living far across the waters from or family. It isn’t always possible for us to be there for them. Work, kids, family responsibilities get in the way. Of course, people understand but it doesn’t erase the guilt. I know this. I lost my sister in 1987. I never made it home in time to say goodbye. Did I feel guilt? You bet I did. Did I grieve? I did – I still do but quietly. I do not openly sob as I did for MJ of Freddy Mercury. Not because, I feel in any way that their death is more important to me. I believe, in fact, it to be the contrary. Sometimes a death so close to home leaves us feeling so bereft we bury our grief. It is too painful to grieve. Perhaps this is why we need the public show of emotion we give to MJ, Diane, Freddy, the Pope – Mufasa even. It is a safety valve that allows all the suppressed emotions we bury to come to the surface; emotions, otherwise, too painful to conjure up. Is this making sense to you all? I hope so.
So, where am I going with this? I think the point I am trying to make is, please do not judge anyone. We all grieve in different ways and for different reasons. Many people need the ritual of funerals and grave visiting. It helps them in the healing process. Personally, I don’t feel the need for this but I understand others that do. Others may refuse to attend and not shed a tear. We cannot possibly know what is going on in their hearts.
Don’t be so quick to scoff at those that do weep for celebrities or for the death of a much-loved pet. This could be their way of dealing with personal grief.
Next week – I will try to find a happier word to dissect. Until then, may the force be with you and live long and prosper.

Viv

PS: I didn't cry, watching Michael. I was too fascinated. To what him at work was amazing. Such a perfectionist.

MORE WORDS......

Welcome, happy campers.

And, yes, another week has passed me by and still my muse eludes me. On a positive note, I have completed another round of edits on Written in Stone and managed to get a week’s worth of washing finally dry. Oh, I can just see the bored eye-rolling going on and the internal ‘whatevers’. Hey – this was no mean feat. Have you ever tried drying a week’s supply of heavy/thrash/death metal t-shirts? {My son’s - not mine and you can imagine the faces of the passer bye. I swear they make the sign of the cross as they gaze up in stupefaction at my washing line}.
Back to the rain. This beautiful island of mine was under siege to a series of tempestuous storms, worthy of a Cecil B De Mille movie: forked lightening, streets awash with monsoon rains, 2-inch hailstones rain all washed down with a 4, 5-magnitude earthquake. Kinda hard to type when your pc screen is waving from side to side {and, no, it wasn’t the gin – must get more of that in, actually}.

So time to get down to business. Continuing last week’s theme of misused words in relation to that great human burden called love, I thought, today, I would focus on the term, heart-broken.
Someone once told me they find me remarkable. They cannot understand how I have faced such difficult times in my life, dealing with them in a stoic way, and yet, I go to pieces over a trifling, relatively unimportant matter – such as….well, you can guess the rest. For those who do not know me, my friend was referring to my two-times battle with a potentially life-threatening disease and the discomfort and humiliation the subsequent treatment entailed. While I am not saying it was easy, I find the physical pain in no way can compare to damaging of one’s heart. Our body, at the end of the day, is God’s protective shell for our soul; the essence that makes us who we are. When this is damaged, the pain can be far greater than any physical trauma. So – my well-meaning friend – unimportant? I think not.

HEARTBROKEN:
From thesaurus: inconsolable, grief-stricken, lovesick, crushed, wretched
My heart is breaking; he /she broke my heart blah blah.

I don’t know about you lot out there but, really, what an ineffectual term. To me, a break defines something quick – intensely painful, yes but does it really describe the angst?
I doubt there is anyone who has not experienced the incredible pain that accompanies the end of a relationship. And if you deny it – you are either lying or are a robot. Again, I am not just talking about love between lovers. {As a good friend of mine once said, sex is ok but – hey – what do you do for the next 22 hours?}. The loss of a dear friend can be just as painful.
Ever cut your figure on a serrated knife? The tiniest of cuts. In the beginning, it bleeds a little but the bleeding soon stops. You think it’s ok, not too deep but it throbs for hours. For me, the pain of losing someone pretty much follows this pattern. In the beginning, there is an ouch. I’ll be ok, you tell yourself but as the hours drag by {and boy, don’t they drag} you realize there is this rather painful hole somewhere in the middle of your chest. The tiny cut becomes a full-blown gash as that serrated knife of rejection is twisted and turned, slowly but surely gouging out another part of you. Your heart is being torn and shredding into a thousand little festering pieces. You wonder - will it ever heal? The damage is too great, the pain too much to bear. The tears you cried in the beginning dry up, leaving in their wake, a burning rawness at the back of your throat. Your head swims with unanswered questions; why, when, because of? Drowning in a sea of misery and masochism, you relive the good times which only serves to increase the incredible sense of loss. It’s like scratching and picking at a scab trying to form over the wound. A temporary release from the itch but, nevertheless, futile. You cannot let it go.

GUT WRENCHING.

I feel as if I have been kicked in the stomach,
Oh God, yes – now here is one term that is spot on. Rejection, break-up. It’s like someone stuck in their hand and twisted your insides until you real sick and I mean actually nauseous. Your body grows cold, head pounds and you shiver. The thought of food makes you want to vomit. There is pain, there. Real, physical pain.
Of course, time can be a great healer and, the human spirit is resilient. Gradually the pain will fade. Not gone – never gone but buried deep, to be resurrected by a memory, a song, a moment. Some folk never truly get over a loss. People can and often do die of a broken heart. Don’t dismiss it and whatever you do, do not make light of someone else’s suffering. It may seem trivial to you but – hey – wait til it hits you. Then you will know. You will realize….
I wonder if this is why so many of us write romance. In our imaginary worlds can we vent the emotions we are too wary of sharing with friends and family? And, of course, in our worlds, we do get to control the outcome.
Until next week, folks, I leave you with a little ditty. Not my words, I hasten to add.

Enjoy your weekend.

Viv



Days have come and gone
Since you were here
Nights are twice as long
Without you near
Pictures on my mind
Stand out so clear
No matter where I am
Or what I do
My dear friend,
All I see is you
Everyday I find
You're on my mind
I close my eyes
But I'm not blind
I see you still.

Three Little Words

– summer is over. My work as receptionist extraordinaire is done. How do I feel? Pretty much out of sorts. It’s a strange thing, this season business. For all of you who live on an island, you will understand where I am coming from. For those who live relatively ‘normal’ lives, let me explain.
Our year is divided into two; winter: endless days of damp and torrential rain, log fires and cozy night in with dull TV. Summer – a time of sweltering days, balmy nights and cold beers with friends. Did I mention the grueling months of working within the tourist industry? Most of my friends do, in some capacity or other: repping, hotel work, airport work, car hire. It can be fun and certainly never dull. What it is is stressful. We work long hours with a hundred and one problems to deal with.
I used to be a holiday representative but, now, I am employed as a hotel reception in a small, family run business. I call it repping in one place. Our guests are mainly Greeks from the mainland and a few Serbs.
For the most part I enjoy it but after a few days, I find myself becoming institutionalized. Four months with no day off tends to have this effect. I find all the promises I made at the beginning of the season go out the window. I won’t neglect my writing, I will write a blog on a regular basis, I will cook great meals and stay on top of things. Sadly, it never works out. My mind is consumed with hotel problems. My literary brain cells go into hibernation. I promise myself…tomorrow, tomorrow. Tomorrow never seems to come.
This summer, I started off well, brimming with enthusiasm for a new story line I had. In the quiet hours of the afternoon shift, I managed to get down more than half of the tale. And then…brain shut down. Real life kicked in and then some. Suffice to say, I became distracted. Reality was suddenly more interesting than my imaginary romance but that is another tale. As the weeks turned into months, writer Viv was a faint memory.
And now? Summer is gone and where do I find myself? As I said at the beginning of this post, out of sorts, a little like an inmate released from a prison sentence. I am trying to find my muse; it’s around somewhere. The fact that I am attempting to write this blog is progress but, of course, I am rambling, as usual. The blog is supposed to be about those famous {or infamous} three little words.

I love you. I love you. My question is…but do you? Do you really?
In these times of new age, touchy feely claptrap, the words, I love you, are used too often, so indiscriminately and with little thought behind their meaning. When someone tells you he/she loves you – be it as a lover or a friend – they ought to realize this declaration carries a lot of responsibility. At least it should – especially if they know the recipient of their supposed affection really cares for them. As I said, it is an expression bantered around too lightly. What does it mean – I love you? I know what it should mean. It means you will never willingly hurt the person you love. You will never lie to them, deceive them or lead them on to expect more than you are capable of giving. It means wanting to be with them as much as your time allows. It doesn’t mean playing games or trying or be cool to play hard to get. Above all, it should stand for honesty and loyalty. I reiterate, I am not only discussing romantic love, here. I believe the same rules apply in friendship – another much- misappropriated term. My best friend. We are friends. Are we? Are we really – or are we acquaintances that get together once in a while. Can I depend on you in times of personal crisis? Will you always be there for me and be sensitive to my feelings as I am to yours?
I am fortunate to have what I consider one true best friend who meets all of the above and the funny thing is, I have not known this person as long as those who I used to consider my ‘best’ friends but , from day one, there was an inexplicable connection. This friend taught me the meaning of real friendship. That’s not to say all is always roses between us. We argue and bicker like an old married couple but I know said friend is always there for me. This friend truly does love me and I return the compliment. It’s a wonderful feeling.
So, that’s it for this Saturday. I am quite proud of myself for getting this blog out. Next week, I will be discussing what it truly means to be broken hearted. Thanks for listening.

Anyone for Tennis and I need inspiration.

So I await , with bated breath, the rematch between Rafa and Soderling. May the best man win...and long as it is Nadal.
So what's been happening this week?
Took second swim of the season, only to nearly die of heart attack when I thought I was being pursued by a shark. I never hit shore so fast. [da du...da du...dadadadadadad}.Turns out it was only a dolphin and now I am regretting my hasty flight. 25 years on Corfu and it's the first time I have seen one so close, although I know they are always out there. Poor thing. I think my friends and I scared him off.
This week saw the start of yet another diet. I have come to realise food is what makes one put on weight so best not eat any. Gin, on the other hand, served with slim-line tonic, is ok.It sort of takes the edge off starvation. I am not a drinker, I hasten to add. In fact my capacity for alcohol is so low I have become somewhat of a joke amongst my wine-swilling friends.
Went to see Sex and the City. Sorry, but I wouldn't stay in that hotel if you paid me. And is it me or did anyone else want to seriously slap Carrie Bradshaw? Bring on Robin Hood and Mr. Crow.
Oh - and wasn't the Eurovision Song Contest fun? it's worth it for the outfits. Greece did ok but poor old UK. Here's an idea, you Brit organisers. Next year, send George Michael or Robbie Williams.
In my parallel author world,I am suffering a huge dilemna. My hands and brain matter is itching to get to work on a new wip but I have about five projects spinning around in my head and don't know which one to go for. I really envy authors that just go for it. I need inspiration. A lot of times, a song will inspire me, plant the seed, so to speak. It may be one simple lyric, the depth of emotion behind the singer's delivery. My first pubbed novel, Letting Go, was inspired by such a song, 'Mine' a song from the first Savage Garden album. Even now I cry when I listen to Darren Hayes emotional lyrics. The sentiment behind the song helped me shape the character of Daniel.
Sometimes inspiration comes to me in a dream but all I seem to dream about these days are planes taking off between high rise buildings and crashing back down? Any dream intepreters out there?
Lying on a beach. listening to the gentle rolling of surf works. I am lulled into a dream-state, where I can imagine all sorts of.... ok, best not go there. Signing out. Think I'll go to the beach.

Viviane