Using Viva for My Magazine Ideas

"What it means to be a woman. Viva explores the lives of women, from the workplace to home, family, adventure, ambition, and more." That is the description provided by Vocal for the "Viva" community. I haven't submitted much (if any) to this community although I am a woman who does much "work" at home often thinking about family, adventure, ambitions, and other things. I noticed that in numbers (statistical reports of members and articles) this community is on the low side. So I've decided to FOCUS on this community and narrow my subject matter in my articles to fit this community. I was ambitious enough to want to start an online magazine and call it "Over the Hill" or "Poor People" or "Lonely Old Ladies" but I think this community is sufficient for my writing desires on these subjects.

I wrote an article about aging that somehow impressed the judges here and it was a Top Story. I guess I should have taken that elevation to mean that the subject of agism was a good subject and much more could be said about it. I had no idea that I could be the voice of the elderly. I thought I got Top Story because I was an ambitious contributor and paying member. Both were probably true, but the topic is still relevant and does need a voice. I'm stepping up and into Viva to be the Voice of Agism, Poverty, and Hope for elderly people who have survived all the chaos and changes of the new millenium.

Are you like me? Over 50? Poor? Lonely? Not sure what to do with yourself from one day to the next? Scared? Wondering why everything and everyone seems so different than how you remember it years ago? Yeah. Even though you feel alone, we're not exactly alone. I'm here, you're there, and we are feeling the same way. We feel like the unheard minority. We feel like the minority that is only one bad conversation from becoming roadkill. We try not to think about our "worth" or "worthlessness" or our true desires or our failures or our weaknesses. We know how human we are. We've lived over half a century to come to terms with our human pieces. But we don't know if we can trust or depend on.... the children? Are they mine? Are they yours? Are they aliens? Who are they? They don't seem to remember us or love us or care at all, do they? None of us want to go to the Nursing Homes because they run them and what the heck are they going to do to us there? Scary, isn't it? We'd rather sleep on a sidewalk, or in an old used car, or in a tent in the woods, then trust those..... children? I don't think they understand why we don't trust them. I don't think they can understand. We were them. That's why we don't trust them. We already made all the mistakes they are trying to fix with new mistakes. All they want to do is blame us while they are doing exactly what we did. It's terrifying, isn't it?

Do you tremble in the middle of the night fearing a gang of young hoodlems beating you up in some alley just because you walked your half-crippled old body to the nearby store for a bottle of milk? Well, you saved $20 on delivery charges or grumbling about some item that was missing in the bag... but you had to be very very brave to walk out there all alone. Old, weak, unloved, with a few dollars in your wallet. We know they don't care about us. It's terrifying just to go to the store now. Remember when we were fearless like them? Remember when life didn't matter?