Caturday Story Corner

Caturday Story Corner: The True Story of Oreo

Remy Cuadra George

Once upon a time, there was a little girl named Becky Cuadra who lived with her parents and brother in Miami. She loved cats dearly, but her allergies prevented her from having any. Because she couldn’t have one, she learned everything she could about them instead. She studied a giant book of cat breeds, wrote stories about cats, and dreamed of having her own feline one day, against all odds.

And to everyone’s surprise, that day came. One fine summer afternoon, a black and white kitten showed up on her doorstep with its paw stuck in a bright red collar. Soft kitten mews called the family to the door. Becky’s father helped the kitten get unstuck. The grateful feline played with them right there on the doorstep.

After no one claimed the lost kitten, Becky begged her parents to keep her furry friend. They said they couldn’t bring her inside because of Becky’s allergies, so they set bowls for the kitten outside, took her to the vet, and did their best to give the kitten a loving home. Becky named her Oreo. Her best friend, Jenny, also had a cat named Oreo–yet another thing they had in common.

Oreo brought Becky joy every day they spent together. Becky would rush outside after school to cuddle and play with her kitten, who soon grew into a cat. Oreo brought the rest of the Cuadra family joy as well. Every time Becky’s mom washed dishes, Oreo would jump up on the windowsill. While Becky’s mom would coo, “Oreo, kitty,” Oreo would rub her head against the glass.

One night, a fox came for a visit and ate some kibble from Oreo’s bowl. The whole Cuadra family watched from the sliding glass patio door. Should they shoo the fox away? Make a loud noise? Call for help?

But no help was needed. Oreo booped the fox on the head with her paw, and it ran back into the trees across the street. The Cuadra family laughed and cheered and retold the story of brave little Oreo to anyone who would listen.

Oreo brought Becky laughter and joy, but also comfort in her greatest sorrow. One day after school, Becky ran out to the patio in tears and cradled Oreo in her lap. Oreo purred and stayed longer than usual, because Becky needed her. That was the day Becky learned her great grandmother had passed away.

Becky and Oreo bonded over several years as they grew together. At one point, Oreo had a little cat boyfriend that would sit in the patio chairs with her. Becky was glad to see her cat fall in love, hoping one day she would, too.

For the rest of the days they had together, Becky would run outside after school to hug her cat–the highlight of her day. Her mom would coo to Oreo through the window while washing dishes. Her brother and father would play with Oreo outside and share a laugh. Oreo was a Cuadra, through and through.

As Becky continued her Saturday morning short story tradition, more and more special felines became characters in her repertoire. Today, Becky brings the Saturday morning tradition back to life.

Next time…we’ll journey through the true story of Fraidy the siamese cat.

=^..^=

Life Reflections

Does your writing spark joy?

Remy Cuadra George

Hello, dear readers!

Please grab a cup of tea, coffee, or cocoa and join me for a chat. It’s been a while since we’ve last met, so I’d like to give you an update. Please let me know how you’re doing in the comments as well.

This past New Year’s Eve, my favorite holiday of the year, I finished the rewrite of my contemporary women’s fiction manuscript. Afterward, I shared an unforgettable meal with my soulmate, then rang in the New Year in the kitchen amongst the cheers of other guests, the restaurant staff, and the chef and owner himself. It was my happiest New Year’s Eve as an adult. The happiest New Year’s Eve of my youth was 17 years ago, when I finished my YA novella at 17 years old, then danced salsa and merengue with my Cuban family members and best friend in the living room until it was time for our midnight twelve grapes and sidra.

Two manuscripts, two New Year’s Eve completions. As you may have guessed, I’m fond of patterns, whether intentional or serendipitous. One pattern that fell by the wayside, however, was writing a short story every Saturday morning.

This pattern began at eight years old, and it’s how I fell in love with writing. Somewhere along the writing journey in adulthood, the pure joy of childhood writing got overshadowed by the fear of criticism and rejection, not to mention the unrealistic goal of perfection.

I recently listened to the audiobook Stop Worrying, Stop Writing by Sarah Painter, which I highly recommend. My biggest takeaway from that book was that the joy is in the actual writing, not the destination.

Considering Sarah Painter’s wise words and Marie Kondo’s philosophy of only keeping items that spark joy, I ask myself…does my writing spark joy?

My answer is…it depends.

Now, before we all thank our laptops, notebooks, and pens for their service and hurl them out the window, let’s take a closer look. When does writing spark joy? When does it spark tears and frustration? When does it spark turning to TV or chocolate or hiding under the covers?

For me, the answer lies in the object of my focus. Is it on the actual joy of writing, as Sarah Painter so wisely recommends? Or is it on the destination? On publication, or the need to feel good enough for my parents or husband or friends or peers. Where does the drive to succeed come from? The drive to write?

As a child, I wrote for the joy of it. Every single time I sat down to write, it sparked nothing but the utmost joy. Everything else faded to the background. I didn’t write to prove myself or to get good reviews or to find an agent or publisher to validate my worth. I didn’t even write to get my parents’ approval. I wrote because it was fun.

So why do I write now? Is it still fun? Again, it depends. When I’m not worried what people will think, it’s fun. When I’m anticipating critique, judgment, or review, it’s stressful. As you may already know, I suffer with anxiety and depression. I have low self-esteem, as well as rejection-sensitive dysphoria (look it up–it’s a thing, and I even run a Facebook support group for it if you’re interested). Basically, I am my own worst critic. I can’t say when exactly I picked up this baggage…only that I miss the weightlessness of writing without it.

Sometimes writing is painful. It doesn’t always flow, and it isn’t always fun. When I worry what people will think, how I’ll be perceived, whether I’m good enough, whether I’m making amateur mistakes or letting somebody somewhere down, then it’s not so fun. More like…agonizing. I persist, because I want my voice to be heard, I want to share what I’ve gleaned from life, and I hope readers will love my characters as much as I do. I want the pain I turn into art to mean something. To help someone.

So how do I keep that spark of joy from burning out in the darkness of negativity?

In one EMDR session with my therapist, I traced my writer’s block to the shame of not feeling good enough. To my struggle with attention and reading comprehension all through school, caused by undiagnosed ADHD. To the business college professor who told me to find someone who “knew how to write,” because I had accidentally written “threw” when I meant “through” while struggling with untreated depression and ADHD. To the desire to please my parents by excelling like my brother, when I didn’t have his knack for mathematics. To the need for validation. To the fear of failure. To the fear of success. It became so intense that sometimes I would self-sabotage, procrastinate, and numb my mind with TV and social media instead. The buried shame and feelings of inadequacy were too intense to face every time I opened Scrivener to write. I tearfully recounted to my therapist that maybe it would be easier to give up the dream, because it hurt too much to pursue it.

In the second half of that EMDR session, after processing the roots of my shame and fear, I reframed my writing practice as a serene day at the beach, making sandcastles. Playing with words. Letting go of them as the water comes to wash them away. Writing the way I did as a child. Ebbing and flowing like waves on the sand.

That EMDR session broke down the stubborn foundation of my writer’s block. Though I am not fully cured, I have a newfound awareness. And I’ve changed my writing practice to rekindle the joy.

Instead of writing in a serious serif font, I now write in the font I used as a child…Century Gothic. It’s playful, it’s simple, and it reminds me of those childhood Saturday mornings. In Scrivener, the backdrop to my writing is now a sandy beach. My desktop wallpaper is a dreamy sandcastle. This small brain trick has worked wonders.

And now, I plan to implement another change, here on my blog. In honor of my childhood Saturday mornings, as well as my lifelong love of cats, I declare that Saturdays will now be Caturday Story Corner days on Shelter for Sensitive Souls.

My cat, Charlotte the Literary Cat, now has her own WordPress account, so she will make the occasional appearance as a guest blogger. I will start this Saturday with a story of the cats God has placed in my life along the journey when I’ve needed them the most.

I hope this post has blessed you in some way. I am so grateful to you for reading, and I hope you will stop by again soon.

So I will end with this question…does your writing spark joy? Why or why not?

Please share your thoughts in the comments. Thank you, and best wishes for your 2019.

Life Reflections

Dreams Do Come True

Remy Cuadra George

When I turned 30, I got my beloved Siberian cat, Charlotte, for my birthday. She fit perfectly into the cat-sized hole I’d carried in my heart since childhood.

When I turned 31, I got my dream harp, a Thormahlen Serenade named Rhoswen. Another dream I nearly gave up on just before it came true.

The following year was difficult, as I watched my Abuela’s health decline. It broke my heart to see her so changed. So ill and frail. But in the midst of brokenness, God painted a silver lining. Just before I turned 32, I flew to Florida with my smaller harp, Nightingale, and played at my grandmother’s bedside. She passed the following February. I saw her only once more, on the day she passed. That April trip was the last time I got to play for her on this side of Heaven.

A few months after Abuela passed, I turned 33. On that birthday, I privately self-published my first book, a children’s fairy tale I wrote for my niece. I imagined Abuela smiling from Heaven. After all, I owe my writing gene to her.

This Friday, I turn 34. I know Abuela is smiling again, because I got a literary agent for my birthday. Yesterday I signed with the Books & Such Literary Management agency. My literary agent is Cynthia Ruchti, and I am deeply honored to be represented by such a kind, skilled, precious soul.

Now I wonder…what will the future hold for me? What will it hold for you? I hope you will walk with me through life’s journey so we can find out together.

Remember…if my impossible dreams can come true, so can yours. ❤

Life Reflections

My First ACFW Conference: A Writer’s Journey Through Fear

Remy Cuadra George

On September 20, I arrived at my first American Christian Fiction Writers (ACFW) Conference in Grapevine, TX, and it was everything I hoped for and more. I learned so much from my sessions, reunited with old friends, made new friends I’ll treasure for a lifetime, and even got to meet my mentor of 18 years in person for the first time. The whole experience was life changing and euphoric.

Leading up to the conference, my anxiety had kicked into overdrive over the looming pitch sessions. The idea of discussing my book for 15 minutes straight with literary agents and acquisitions editors I’ve followed and admired for months was daunting, to say the least. Usually, though not always, writers write because written expression comes more naturally than verbal expression. I…er…um…yeah. That’s me. Again and again, I heard the advice, “Don’t be nervous.” I know, I know. The pitch sessions aren’t life or death, and we shouldn’t put so much stock in them. Excellent, truthful advice. Still not sure how to train my brain to follow it, though. Alas, I’m a work in progress, much like my manuscript.

Thinking back to the actual appointments…they’re a bit hazy, but the happy, dreamy kind of hazy. I can’t exactly remember what I said, how much I stuck to my memorized pitch, how much I came up with on the fly, or how much I messed up. I’m just resting in the knowledge that I did my best, and that the wonderful professionals I met with accepted me, smiled at me, and didn’t melt into puddles of sad disappointment because of my imperfections. By the grace of God, all four of my appointments were positive experiences, despite my low self-esteem and negative self-talk.

Speaking of God’s grace, the conference opened my eyes to it all over again. I was blessed to have a prayer appointment with the amazing Brandilyn Collins. As we prayed, I cried, wanting so much to let go of everything I gripped so tightly in my life and give it to God. I realized God wants me to release all the fear, pain, and negativity trapped not just in my mind but in my body, and I believe He’s working to heal me, evidenced by Brandilyn’s guided touch to exact places I’ve had chronic pain. I also believe He wants the smile I wear on the outside to shine on the inside as well, as He led Brandilyn to say. As you read this blog, whatever your beliefs are, please know that I absolutely love, respect, and accept you, exactly as you are, and I hope you’ll do the same for me, but it’s okay if you don’t. I just want to express that for me, in that hushed, dimly lit prayer room, I experienced a moment of childlike faith, free of the doubt that so often plagues me. I believe with all my heart that God was with me in that moment, letting me know I’m His work in progress. I felt heard, validated, and loved, and that’s the biggest gift of my whole conference experience.

Letting go and letting God isn’t easy, and I have yet to master that skill. I have a recurring nightmare where I’m driving along a treacherous road and unable to control the wheel. The road itself varies. Sometimes it’s surreal with bright red dirt and purple trees, and sometimes it’s a regular highway. Either way, the danger is the same. The road curves, without guardrails, and it’s miles high. I see it now as a representation of my anxiety taking the wheel when I feel overwhelmingly unsafe. In some versions of the nightmare, I swerve off the road precisely because I’m trying not to. In others, it is a careless act, or even a daring one. In all, I’m not putting my trust where it belongs–in God.

The writing journey is a difficult one, fraught with waiting, unknowns, judgment, rejection, and growing pains. I’ve learned from writers ahead of me on the journey that all these hardships are ongoing. Writers at all stages deal with imposter syndrome, fear, and doubt. But I’m not alone on this journey, and neither are you, even if your journey looks a bit different.

While I was on vacation with my husband in Charleston last August, there was a day on the beach I’ll never forget. I stood waist deep in the ocean with my arms stretched in front of me as I braved each crashing wave, imagining it was something in life I struggled with and wanted to conquer. Self-doubt. Self-hate. Anxiety. Depression. Codependency. ADHD. Fibromyalgia. Fear of failure. Fear of worthlessness. Fear of loneliness. Sometimes the wave was too great, and I had to dive under it. Sometimes it was smaller than I expected. Sometimes it knocked me down. But I fought to stay upright, got back up every time I fell backward, and felt…strong. Brave.

Yes, life is hard. Writing is hard. In fact, it’s terrifying. But I’m on this path for a reason. God put this passion in my heart for a reason. I’m not a perfect Christian or human being, and I don’t pretend to be. I don’t even know what that means anymore, because I’ve changed and progressed over the years. I don’t fit into a box or stereotype, and I don’t want to. I’m just…me. And you’re you. And that’s okay. I’m loved, and you’re loved, and we all have a purpose. So whatever it is you’re called but scared to do, just do it scared. Lean into the discomfort and trust that God will catch you when you fall. Because you will fall. We all do. Just get back up. Maybe have some chocolate or take a nap first. The important thing is to keep working on your dreams. Nurture the friendships you make along the way. Do whatever feeds your soul. Help someone who’s behind you on the journey. Learn from someone who’s ahead of you. Do whatever you need to do, as long as you stay in it. Stay on that curvy, frightening road. Let God take the wheel instead of fear. Fear will throw you off the cliff every time. Prayer will keep you on the road and block out the fear of falling.

At my first ACFW Conference, I learned that God is bigger than fear. I can, and will, brave the journey. I believe you will, too.

 

Writing Prompts

Writing Prompt: Someone Else’s Shoes

Remy Cuadra George

Think of a loved one in your life who is going through a difficult time. Now close your eyes, and imagine that person’s favorite shoes. What do they look like? Feel like?

You put the shoes on, and as soon as you do, you transform into that person. You are now in their life, facing their struggles. You look in the mirror and see their face, not yours. You feel their aches and pains, think their thoughts, see the world through their lens. In what ways did your identity change? Your beliefs? Your passions? Your needs? Your past?

Now remove the shoes and write about your experience. What was it like? What did you learn about yourself and your loved one? How can you better empathize and support your loved one in their time of need?

Meditations

Meditation: Generations

Remy Cuadra George

Today I invite you to meditate on the past…not just your past, but that of previous generations. Are there any patterns you’ve noticed through the generations? Are they healthy, unhealthy, or a mixture of both? Are there any negative cycles you can break? Are there any positive patterns you would like to see continue in future generations? Now meditate on your own life journey. Spend a moment in gratitude for the positive behaviors you’ve learned from loved ones in your past, and reflect on any generational patterns you want to discontinue.

Life Reflections

Organizing my Life

Remy Cuadra George

Hi, friends. I’ve had some challenging but rewarding months since the last time I posted. I started life coaching in March, and it’s been truly enlightening. I realized that some of the challenges I was facing with life overall were due to not being fulfilled in my current role at work. I’ve since started on a track to become an official instructional designer (even though I have many years of experience in that role without the official label), and I am loving it. I realized I couldn’t be happy with myself and my life if my days were spent just proofreading technical materials without having a greater purpose or applying my creativity to what I was doing. I am much happier now after taking the courage to speak up and make a change, and it’s making my organization and efficiency better as a result. I’m also taking the same approach for my personal life, specifically my novel writing and the overwhelm and insecurity that hinder me from moving forward.

My life coach and I discovered, first and foremost, what doesn’t work for me. With my novel, I kept coming up with impossible timelines because I was overly ambitious and anxious about getting it done, but with my already busy life, it just wasn’t realistic. I would fall short, hate myself, and stop writing altogether. Then rehash my schedule and repeat the same pattern. Obviously, this is the opposite of what I set out to achieve.

But then my life coach and I realized what does work for my highly sensitive mind and heart. Positivity. Reflection on what I’ve already accomplished. Thinking about starting where I am, not how far I am from the finish line. We came to the conclusion that a comfortable setting is very important to me (such as a cozy coffee house), as is going back to the pure judgment-free creativity I had as a child (mostly by sitting on the floor and playing music while I work). So I’m scheduling coffee house writing sessions (with the companionship of a fellow writer and great friend), and making my office floor a comfortable workspace at home. I also created a spreadsheet where I log my daily accomplishments–in all important parts of life, not just writing–so that I can look at it before I try to write and see everything I’ve already done to reach my ultimate life goal–making the world a more compassionate place.

The icing on the cake is that my two life-long best friends have also joined me in using the goal spreadsheets, and now I feel closer to them than ever in adulthood. We encourage each other, see each other’s goals and accomplishments, and that makes the tasks at hand no longer look like mountains. It’s hard to see a mountain when you focus on the small rocks in front of you, and when you look back to see how far you’ve climbed.

So let’s keep climbing, one step at a time, until we reach the top. We’ll get there. Just believe. 🙂

Life Reflections

Don’t Give Up

Remy Cuadra George

I’m writing this post as much for myself as for you. Lately, I’ve felt as though I’d rather just give up. Even the best intentions can lead to failure. Sometimes a day starts off stormy, and then a heavy storm cloud hangs over my head for the rest of the day. Sometimes a day starts off sunny and bright, and then a storm cloud builds over me slowly…maybe I put it there myself, or maybe there’s an external cause beyond my control.

Whether the day starts off right or wrong, once the storm hits, how do you push through it instead of giving up and letting it defeat you? In a torrential downpour, I know all I want to do is find shelter and curl up with a blanket. Hide. Wait it out. But what if the storm won’t go away unless you stay in it? What if the answer is to let it rain on you, soaking you to the bone, making you cold and uncomfortable, until you’re numb to its effects? What if staying in it will make the sun come out again to dry your sorrow and shame and to recharge you with energy?

I’m not sure I’m making sense. Perhaps this extended metaphor got away from me. It happens. All I know is that hiding when it storms does not make me any better, and it does not make the storm pass any faster. So today I’m going to make an attempt to be brave, and I challenge you to do the same. Stay in the storm. Let it rain on your face. Embrace it. Persevere, even while you’re afraid, cold, shaking, ashamed, and soaking wet. The sun will come out in God’s perfect time. It always does. And until it does, empower yourself to push through the storm. Don’t let the storm defeat you. Be your own umbrella.

Meditations

Meditation: What is Holding You Back?

Remy Cuadra George

Find a quiet, peaceful place, and spend a few moments reflecting on your life. Where are you now in relation to where you’d like to be? What’s holding you back from reaching your goals or finding true happiness? Can you identify any specific fears, worries, or negative self-talk?

Picture this negativity taking form as a burning flame in a forest, building in intensity with all the negativity you absorb in your life each day. The more negativity you identify, the higher the flame grows. This fire is uncomfortable and unwelcome. It must be extinguished.

Now identify positive sources in your life…God’s love, peaceful moments with your family and friends, encouraging words, joyful memories, and hope. Picture this positivity taking form as a sweet, gentle rain. Let this healing rain fall on the fire, slowly quenching the flames that used to burn you. Imagine this rain falling on your face, shoulders, and back, cooling and soothing the burn of negativity throughout your entire body. Feel it cleanse you and make you new. Notice the forest around you healing and springing back to life.

It is a new beginning. Let positivity guide your thoughts this week. If you feel negative thoughts coming back, close your eyes, and imagine the rain washing them away.

Life Reflections

Reflection on 2014

Remy Cuadra George

This past year has been one of the best of my life, and I consider it the year of self-discovery. On January 1st, I learned I was a Myers-Briggs INFP (the idealist/dreamer/healer) and not an INFJ, as I had thought for over a decade. This revelation allowed me to give myself grace on my difficulty with focus. It also helped me embrace my spontaneity and flexibility as positive qualities rather than negative ones. Around that time, my therapist also helped me discover that I am an Enneagram 4 (the individualist), just like her, which explains why she’s such an amazing match for me.

Moving from the abstract to the concrete, I recently refreshed my wardrobe to reflect the way I feel on the inside, and I’ve found some peace in that congruence. I feel like a stranger who passes me in the street now would get a better sense of what I’m about. Perhaps I’m being silly or too analytical, but there’s something comforting in the thought of people getting a glimpse of your soul when they see you.

After what I learned in January and along the rest of 2014’s journey, it seems so fitting that the year should end with a life-changing diagnosis that echoes my January revelation. I have ADD. I’ve suspected as much for years, and the frustration with my inability to focus peaked when I realized I couldn’t make myself sit and rewrite my 11-year-old-and-counting novel, despite an editor-approved outline and the possibility of publication with a small press I adore. My frustration has built for years as I struggled with a dysfunctional schedule and equally dysfunctional mindset, all wrapped in chronic fatigue. Again and again, as I searched for an answer, all my troubles were blamed on anxiety. But then one day it clicked. My GAD was treated. So was the depression that lingered in the background for years. The remaining anxiety came from untreated ADD interfering with my life.

I’ve only been on treatment for ADD for a few weeks so far, but I instantly noticed a difference. It’s like I could finally navigate through a mind that once felt like mud. As I reflect now, I suspect there is some link between INFPs and individuals with ADD. Mostly, I just see ADD as a blessing of creativity at the cost of a scattered brain.

In the midst of reflection on these deep realizations I’ve come to about myself and my life in 2014, I cannot leave out the most significant part of the year. After waiting multiple years for the day to come, on April 7, 2014, I brought home a missing puzzle piece in my life…Charlotte the Therapy Cat. It’s amazing how much more joy and laughter she brings to our home, and I’m so glad to share her with others through Furry Friends Pet-Assisted Therapy. I had years to anticipate what it would be like to finally bring her home, and it’s been every bit as wonderful as I had hoped, while also being full of surprises and lessons…as life always is.

So now we wait for 2015. I feel like the theme of this coming year will be change. Positive change. I pray that I’ll have a clear mind to help me reach my goals, awareness of God’s guidance for my life, and the opportunity to put all I have learned in 2014 to good use for the greater good of others in 2015.

What do you hope for in 2015?

Happy New Year to you and yours. May it be your best year yet. ❤