Writing has played an enormous part of my life. Ever since I was in the 5th grade in Oslo, Norway and Mrs. Brown would put a picture, pasted on a piece of construction paper, on the black board every day. Every single day of the week and it was our task to write about it. Not a whole lot. I can't even remember how long we took to do it. But, it was the first thing we did every day. We came to expect it. I believe it was the single most important thing in my development as a writer.
Reading goes hand in hand with the writing. I've been an avid reader since I was in the 3rd grade. I am currently interested in fiction. Over the years I've shifted back and forth from one favorite author to another. But, as time goes by I don't suppose that it matters that they can all be my favorites.
I wrote a book once. It was the book I wanted to read at that time and couldn't find anywhere. It turned out to be an historical romance - fantasy - murder - mystery - mayhem sort of book. It took me 3 years to write and is currently under the bed. I'd attempted many stories prior to this one, "The Secret of the Stones", but none of those attempts had ever gotten off the ground. With the book that was finally written I tried a different technique. I just started writing. I wrote my whole story in the space of one paragraph. That's all. Just 2 inches of space was all it took. I looked at it. I took each sentence in that paragraph and broke them up into a couple of more sentences. I kept doing that until I had about 10 sentences in the paragraph. Those became my chapters. I took each one of those 10 sentences and set them off by themselves to become paragraphs on their own and I had a very brief synopsis of my book. And, from that point I was off and running.
Actually, now I'm almost embarrassed by the book. It's sort of like a photograph you have of yourself when you were in high school with old fashioned glasses and zits. I've changed since then. Though my husband, Dennis, has always said he liked the book and insists it is still publishable. He said it reminds him of "Star Wars". When it was finished I asked him to read it for me. He was the first person I asked and I was really nervous about it. He majored in German in college and in learning a second language fluently he needed to have a very good knowledge of his own language. And, over the years I'd seen some of his work. He is, bar none, one of the best writers I've ever read. Period. At present he works as a Real Estate Editor with a local newspaper and writes history articles and is interested in a gazillion things all at once. He's got a book in him too. It's an historical novel set in medieval times with a bunch of monks. Fantastic stuff that I'm constantly nagging at him to work on. Ahem...and, that's another story.
Right now, he and his friend Eric Kos have written a book, a coffee table picture book titled, "East Bay - Then and Now". It's available on-line through Barnes and Noble and Amazon.
Anyway, Dennis critiqued an essay I'd written many years ago in college and found it wanting. So, I was nervous about this. He showed me the schedule he'd devised for reading my book. It was to take several weeks. I was so nervous I couldn't be in the house when he first started reading and I left for about 3 hours. The plan was that he would spend an hour at a time reading. When I returned home that night he was still reading. He said he just couldn't put it down. I don't think as a writer I could hear higher praise than that. I think he finished up a couple of days later. I was really surprised and I was very, very pleased. However, after spending over a year trying to get it published I decided to retire it to be with the dust bunnies under the bed and whichever of the cats would perch on the box.
But, I do not consider the experience of having written that book to be a waste. I learned a lot. Boy, did I learn a lot. I learned what kind of single-mindedness it takes to write a book. I learned how you have to forgo all kinds of entertainments -- like reading. I didn't allow myself to read at all during those 3 years for fear I would influence what I was writing. I'll never do that again, but I did do it once. I learned how a writer can so easily deviate from their plan. I learned about, "writer's high". Almost like a runner's high or the peace you find during a meditation. I learned how you can sit there for 4 hours pounding away at your keyboard and rise thinking it's only been half an hour. I learned, best of all, how my characters can come alive and how they can take the story in directions I had not even considered. It ranks up there with some of the most amazing experiences of my life. And, I believe was the beginning of what might now be called obvious psychic experiences.
At the time, I felt being a writer was going to be my life's work. But, I see now, that it was another step I needed to take to get to where I am now. I needed that training to be a channel. The guides needed somebody psychic who could write. I guess. Somebody who could dance without having to watch their feet constantly. (I just got a psychic nod on that one, so I think I'm on the right track.) In any case, once I'd finished writing the book I declared myself to be a writer and quit the job I had as a clerk/secretary. My husband was earning enough at that time that our bills would be taken care of and I felt the need to devote myself full-time to a new project. Ahem. Instant Writer's Block. Instant.
I just couldn't write. I did manage to get sick, though. So, I sort of had an excuse not to write. This turned out to be the mother of all summer colds. I was sick for a month and a half. I was coughing and sneezing and feverish. It was just a horrible cold. Thinking back I wonder if I finally gave myself permission to be sick since I didn't have the obligation of a job to go to. In any case, my sleep patterns were really disrupted. I ended up sleeping a lot during the day and not sleeping at night. I watched all the television I'd missed during all the years that I worked. When I got tired of that I thought I'd like to read.
About 6 months prior to quitting my job I'd checked out, "The Stand" by Stephen King from the library. At the time the requirement was a fat book for the weekend. That's all. I went in on Friday, checked it out and was finished on Sunday. Now, this book took him 12 years to write. I read it during the course of 3 days. Talk about book gluttony. I'm easily frightened. There are times when my husband would say to me, "You can't watch this. You'll have nightmares." I trust him on this. I had always shied away from anything that was associated with Stephen King. I had never seen any of his movies and I'd never read any of his books. But, I was so taken with, "The Stand" that from that moment forward I was a fan. This is a guy who can write. This is a guy who can find a story, who can let that story take him, whose good guys are ordinary people and whose bad guys are just as ordinary sometimes.
So, here I was with this cold. I'd watched all the television I could stand and now, I was ready for something else. It occurred to me that I'd like to read something else by Stephen King. The only thing I'd read by him so far was, "The Stand" and being as how this is one of our more prolific writers there was lots more for me to read. In those days we didn't have a car and my husband took the bus to work. There is a grocery store across the street from where we live, so shopping would never be a problem. But, getting to the library was. Shielding my face from the other bus passengers so I wouldn't give my cold to anyone, I rode the bus to the library and checked out 35 pounds of books by Stephen King. A week later I did it again because I'd finished the first batch. That was when I over dosed on Stephen King books.
The first thing, I think that happened, was I started seeing the number 222 everywhere. I mean everywhere. Anytime I looked at the microwave while it was on I would happen to glance at it when it had gotten to 222. Same thing with the clocks. It was so disturbing to me that I called and told my sister about it. She called me back a day later to say that she'd been in her bank parking lot after we talked, looked up and saw the time and temperature display was at 2:22 PM. Not only was it disturbing, it was contagious.
Then, I had a really vivid dream. Only, it wasn't a dream because I wasn't asleep. I was lying on our couch in the living room and I "saw" a woman who looked sort of like me coming up the steps to our porch. I can remember that she had to use both hands on the railing and did a hand over hand motion to make her way up the stairs. I was so surprised I startled myself awake. I looked out the front window, but there wasn't anybody outside.
Then, I started knowing that the phone was going to ring. I remember shorting out two computers in one day. I shorted out the VCR from across the room. It was just a whole lot of disturbing, psychic events going on. Enough to really rattle me.
All the kids in my family had been interested in ESP through the years. But, nothing to say that we ever really thought we had it. Just that it was interesting. I'd actually had one first hand psychic experience as a teenager when I thought I'd seen my grandmother who'd been dead for 10 years in my bedroom. It was at night and it was during that time when you've almost gone to sleep…not quite, but you're just ready to drop off. I had opened my eyes to see a woman standing in my bedroom across the way looking at the calendar I'd had tacked to the wall. She didn't look like my grandmother, but somehow I just knew that she was. Talk about startling. I squeezed my eyes shut as tight as I could and then, I opened them again. She was still there. Yikes. I squeezed my eyes shut again and then, when I re-opened them, she was gone. The next morning I told my mother about it. I expected her to say what she always said when I would report a bad dream; that it must have been something I'd eaten. But, she looked at me and said, "It probably was your grandmother." Excuse me? That's when she told me the stories of how my grandmother was psychic. She told the story of how my grandmother psychically knew my grandfather had been involved in a plane crash before the people at the airfield was aware of it. I'd always admired my grandmother, but this was a whole new angle I'd never heard of.
When I was 9 years old my mother would make us all lay down in the afternoon to take naps. This was probably during the summer because I don't remember having to do it on a school day. My remembering this might also have something to do with the fact that I was getting too old to take naps, but in order to have it be quiet for all 5 of us…well, everybody has to have a nap. Now? Sheeesh, I'd love to take a nap in the afternoon, but there you go. The differences and similarities between the young and old. Anyway, because I wasn't really sleepy I used to amuse myself watching the "faces". I never told anybody about it. It was just something to do until I went to sleep. I'd just see psychic faces when I closed my eyes. Nothing scary. Just faces and no one I ever knew personally. Nobody ever tried to talk to me or anything. I only ever remember it happening during the time we lived in South Carolina which would have been my third and fourth grades in school. (We moved around a whole lot as I grew up…12 different schools in 12 years…Army Brat.) And, it never occurred to me that it was anything psychic until I began to meditate in earnest in 1993 and had the same thing start to happen again! Interestingly enough, the "psychic faces" I saw as I first began to meditate as an adult were very, very scary. Distorted faces that would turn with huge maws and dripping teeth. Yikes. At the time, the guides just told me to keep on with the meditating. After awhile I heard from other sources that this happens a lot to folks who are first learning to meditate. You're moving from a reality where you are comfortable, where you know everything that is going on, where you do not meditate to a reality that is huge, where you do meditate. It can be scary. But, as you continue to meditate you become accustomed to the new reality (which, by the way spills over into the rest of your life...not just that time that you are meditating) and then the magic of meditating becomes a new reality for you. So, scary stuff with meditating does stop, but only if you keep on meditating.
Anyway, time passed….years passed and I moved from being a teenager, to a young adult, to marrying Dennis and finally, at the age of 35 or so, to a writer who was beginning to experience a rash of psychic stuff I sure couldn't understand. That's when, on my next trip to the library I checked out Colin Wilson's book about ESP. I didn't read all of it…it's a big book. But, I read enough to learn that ESP is something everybody has and what I was experiencing wasn't really a big deal. I calmed down about it.
But, one thing led to another, and I began to read more about ESP. It seemed I was being drawn inexorably toward a place where I could develop as a psychic and where I would also begin to heal psychologically.
During the year and a half that I was not working I may not have been writing on a book, but I wrote in a journal. I remember reading something Ray Bradbury wrote in, "Zen In the Art of Writing". Something about how he considered himself to be a writer after he'd written a million words. Somehow that clicked with me and I began to keep track of how much I was writing every day. By the way, you can sort of estimate 600 words to a page. You can use your word count feature to get an accurate count, or, if after awhile it seems to get sort of obsessive you can estimate. Anyway, during that time I wrote a million and a half words. The learning to be a writer continued even though it wasn't publishable work. It was healing work, is what it was.
I began frequenting metaphysical sections of bookstores. I read some of the Seth books, turned to, "Messages from Michael" and chanced upon "Creating Money" by Sanaya Roman and Duane Packer in the bookcase beside my bed. My husband had bought that one three years before, but hadn't read much of it. He thought it was too weird. So, as I read "Creating Money" I discovered that we had guides and there was something called a higher self and all of that. I also read that they'd written another book called "Opening To Channel". And I bought it. And couldn't do a blamed thing with it. I tried. And tried. And tried. It was horrible. I couldn't do anything right. I couldn't meditate (though I'd done it once in high school and had an immediate out of body experience that had frightened me so much I'd never done it again), couldn't concentrate, couldn't visualize. I couldn't do the exercises in the Opening to Channel book, and I didn't have anybody to work a Ouija board with me. (My husband had suggested we get one. You could have knocked me over with a feather!) It wasn't until I remembered that the Messages from Michael people worked a Ouija board by themselves and didn't have a partner. I'd just need to have one hand free to write down what was being said, that's all. So, as unorthodox as it seemed to me I figured I'd try it. Nothing happened. I tried for months. Zippo. Nothing.
It was in November, 1992, I got a telephone call from the people I used to work for a year and a half earlier. The lady they'd hired to take my place had just given two week's notice and they wanted me to come in for a month to train somebody new. (At the time of this writing, it's been twelve years since I went back with the intention of staying just one month!) It was in January, two months later, that my husband had a seizure and broke his back. I was so frightened, afraid he was going to die, worried about finances and I felt just so incredibly alone. It was a good thing that I had a job again. I remember pounding on our piano and crying out in prayer thinking nobody could hear me, wanting so badly to talk to my guide about all of this to make some sense out of it. Oh, I wanted to make contact with my guide real bad.
Finally, Dennis came home from the hospital. It was the middle of February, 1993, and he'd been home a couple of weeks and I was still trying to make contact with my guide on the Ouija Board. Finally, I just gave up. I said I had to get back to writing and was wasting too much time with the board. But, just in case and just to make sure, I decided to leave my left hand on the planchette and type with my right. Slow typing, but it worked ok. Then, somehow the thought came to me that I needed to be as innocent as when I was a child. As carefree and as innocent. That's all it took. My left hand zoomed across the board. I was shocked. I asked, "Is this my guide?". The planchette spelled out my guide's name, "Seth". And that was that. No more messages for that day's work on the board. It took me three days of speeding home from work to see what would happen next before the communication got better, but each day and each time I worked the board I could see improvement. Within a week and a half I was anticipating what my guide would be saying. That's when I said to myself, "Pauline, you've gone crazy. You've dropped off the deep end." And, for the first time I heard my guide in my ears say, "Go outside I want to talk to you." He said to me outside on our patio where it was quiet, that I could hear him now. Well, for a few months after that it was very much like you're sticking your fingers in and out of your ears as you talk to somebody. It was like I heard every third word he said. I used the Ouija Board and the new way of talking together until it got better.
It wasn't until years later that I realized something. I'd begun channeling on February 12, 1993. It was a week and a half later, 10 days, on 2/22 that I began hearing my guide's voice. 222 will always remain a special number for me. I learned later on that 222 is a symbol of spiritual quest. You can find more information at www.angelscribe.com.