Hi! If you’re looking for new posts, please visit me at the new Write with TLC, and don’t forget to follow me while you’re there. Look forward to seeing you at my new blog home!!
There’s a new post, My Year of Gratitude: The Halfway Mark, live on the new Write with TLC if you’d like to check it out.
The past several months I’ve began to feel my current blog host isn’t providing me with certain capabilities that would make my blog better fit my needs. To that end, I’ve decided to move Write with TLC to a new home. This version of Write with TLC will remain available for anyone who wishes to review the blogs written since its inception. I will also likely link back to particular articles that are relevant to new posts I’m writing, so it’s not actually disappearing. New posts though will be available from this point forward at http://writewithtlc.blogspot.com/.
My plan is to keep my blog focused on musings on writing, publishing, inspiration, life, etc. just as I’ve done here and to use the tools provided by my new blog host to make the posts more enjoyable and beneficial to my readers.
Please come join me there and follow me as well. Part of the reason for this change is to make it easier for me to display my work, include pictures when relevant to a post, and make it easier to follow my blog.
For a short while, I will post a link here when a new post goes live on the new Write with TLC, so you won’t miss anything if you forget!
Thank you for being a loyal reader! I hope to see you in my new home!
Recently while discussing something that happened years ago, I said something that surprised me even though it was true. “…and I viewed relationships as the enemy.” I’d never thought about it in quite that way before, but it was an accurate depiction of my attitude at the time in question. I thought any relationship might tie me to a place I didn’t want to be or hinder me from pursuing what I wanted in life.
I lived my life based on this premise. I would end relationships, especially romantic entanglements but even friendships, if I felt they distracted me from my life goals. By end, I mean close people out, disappear, or kind of go quiet all in the name of being too busy. I never lied, exactly. I was busy. I kept myself busy. Busy was easier than relationships. Busy was neater than relationships. Busy was less work than relationships.
Now, in all fairness, there were always a few friends who didn’t let me get away this nonsense. They would call, show up at my door, or generally come up with ways to let me know they were really my friends and weren’t scared off by my attitude. I have no illusions. I know sometimes I made it difficult to be my friend.
A lot of this bled into the personality of the main character, Victoria, in my first novel, All She Ever Wanted. She has that same kind of drive and that same kind of fear of intimacy. I’m not sure I realized this while writing her, but there is some truth to the adage that every character contains some aspect of the writer.
I never had a fear of commitment. I was very committed to those I cared about, but I also had a tendency to care about people who would keep me at a distance. It made shutting them out easier because they would often shut me out before I could shut them out. I feared that if people really knew me, they’d have ammunition to hurt me.
Entanglements just increasingly became more distracting than they were worth. There were breaks in this attitude where I felt the healing embrace of true connection and the rewards of laughter and friendship. Then I would experience the slightest setback and retreat behind the wall that kept me safe and focused.
What frightens me now is that although I’ve been married for nineteen years and have friendships that have survived for years or at least have been revived in recent years, I think a bit of this attitude hides in the recesses of my mind. Not that it’s a conscious thought, but that it eats away at my efforts. I wonder sometimes if I fall into self-sabotage because somewhere in my subconscious I find the idea of relationships and success incompatible. Now, logically, I know this makes very little, if any, sense.
Still, I have this habit of walking right up to the edge of what I want and feeling like I have to choose between having relationships and reaching my professional goals. I’m not saying anyone is asking me to choose. It’s a feeling that pops up and nags at me. It’s the idea that I have to give my all to one thing or the other. It’s a nagging thought that if I give everything I’ve got to one thing, I’ll lose the other. Or if I try to give equal amounts of time and energy to both, I’ll lose both. So I struggle to remind myself to be rational and to seek balance. I struggle to remind myself that it is possible to have both healthy, happy, fulfilling relationships and a successful career.
And, when the thought that relationships are the enemy pops into my mind, I try to rewrite history in order to banish the thought. But history is already written, so perhaps I need to find a new way to banish that thought. I’m working on it.
And, here I thought I banished that thought long ago…
Several years ago I wrote a poem, Memories of Kentucky Summers, while feeling nostalgic for Kentucky. As I thought about what represents Kentucky to me, these words took form. Enjoy!
Keep the first one
Rick Smith II I agree with John. Once you give your word it should be kept. You can always adjust your own schedule to keep moving toward your own promise to yourself by making necessary adjustment. Your word should be gold on promises made to others.
Your word to yourself should be gold. Whoever doesn’t understand that isn’t.
Rick Smith II Isn’t what Maureen?
T.l. Cooper Rick, the point of this dilemma is that there is no adjustment. The promise is either kept or broken to the person promised whether that person is someone else or you.
T.l. Cooper Oh, to answer for Maureen - gold. :Whoever doesn’t understand that isn’t gold.”
Maureen Clifford Exactly. Gold-plated, maybe; but pure gold? No.
Rick Smith II Thank you Tammi. I wasn’t looking to dispute her claim or debate the issue with her. I just didn’t understand what she meant. My original statement was based on the fact that it’s easier to forgive yourself, then it is for someone else to forgive you, for not keeping your word.
Jay Albert Break the promise to yourself!
T.l. Cooper I know, Rick! I was just clarifying what I understood her to mean. And, my statement was in regards to MY original meaning regarding the dilemma.
Loriann Felmey It’s not so easy to forgive yourself, epecially for those who hold ourselves to a higher standard. And if the person you made the promise to can’t understand and forgive you for the reason why you had to break the promise, doesn’t truly know that breaking that promise is probably one of the hardest things you had to do. If you can’t be true to yourself, you cant be true to anyone else
**
I find this an interesting dilemma, and I have moments when I doubt my decision. I can see why either answer would be right or wrong. No matter which decision I make, a promise is broken. The funny thing is not one person said “It depends on the circumstances.” I expected to get at least person with that kind of attitude perhaps because it would’ve been mine had someone else asked the question…
I’ve always thought I put promises to others above my promises to myself, but being faced with this dilemma in reality instead of theory made me wonder. I hate to disappoint others. I always have. Sometimes circumstances can void a promise or at least alter a promise, and circumstances in this situation did change. But then I ask myself if I’m using that as an excuse to avoid facing something I don’t want to face. Have circumstances voided my first promise? I can convince myself they have if I try really hard. Well, for a minute or two anyway, then I realize I don’t really believe it. I know deep down that I’m about to disappoint someone though I know this person will likely never express it to me. If anything, the person will be ultra understanding and give me excuses I haven’t even though of yet. And, that might bother me as much as knowing I’m breaking a promise…
But maybe I’m wrong. Maybe the person will never even know. Maybe the person won’t care even if the person finds out. Maybe the person would rather I break this promise. Or is that me trying to make excuses again… Damn moral dilemmas anyway.
Or maybe the person will actually get mad as hell and never speak to me again. Who knows?
So tell me when you face a dilemma where you have to either break a promise to someone else or to yourself, which do you break? And how do you decide which to break?
Lawrence Block posts a daily affirmation for writers on his Facebook page. On June 16, 2011, the daily affirmation he posted was “
I don’t want to miss you, but I do. I didn’t think I would, but I do. I don’t want you to know that I miss you, and you probably don’t… Still, I can’t help but wonder if you ever miss me. Yet, I can’t bring myself to ask. We were friends. Then we weren’t. And, as usual, I have my stupid mouth to blame for it. I just can’t play the “yes person” role. I suck at it. I’m going to tell you the truth as I see it, but you should know that. Tact and I are mere acquaintances, but we’re unlikely to ever be good friends. It’s the way I’ve always been.
Who knows? Maybe you haven’t even realized we’re not acting like friends anymore. But to me silence isn’t friendship. And, silence is where we’re at. We didn’t have a big fight. We didn’t scream or yell or insult or criticize. I told you how I saw a few things, and you didn’t like my point of view. You expressed in so many words that my words weren’t the ones you wanted to hear. Then you went silent. Or maybe life just got busy… Either way I miss you. I miss your humor. I miss the way you make me stop taking myself so damned seriously as we both know I’m prone to doing. I miss your insights that make me stop and think - the ones you share privately but never publicly. I suppose they would hurt your image whatever that is, but I find the private, insightful, witty you much more enjoyable than the image you project publicly. And I can’t help but wonder what would’ve happened if I’d told you what I really think about those other things that bother me - the ones that really matter, the ones that really affect the way I see you. The ones I’ve bitten my tongue until it’s bled not to comment on just to keep your friendship and excused my lack of candor away by telling myself I didn’t know the whole story. Expressing those things would’ve probably lead to the screaming, name calling fight that would’ve made our friendship unquestionably over. If you only knew what I held back…
But, this isn’t new for me. Sadly, I’ve been here before. I tend to be honest to a fault and often a little too blunt for most people’s taste. People say they appreciate that about me until the day I point out something they don’t want to see or they ask me that question - the one I just can’t find a way to avoid answering honestly and bluntly no matter how hard I try. Then they do what you did. They thank me for my honesty and bluntness, then go quiet. And, I vow that next time I’ll just keep my stupid mouth shut. I do for a while, but that just isn’t who I am…
Maybe I need to learn to focus my attention on the people who appreciate my blunt honesty and don’t hold it against me even when I point out something they don’t want to admit or face. There are people in my life who know unequivocably that my blunt honesty is always served with love and compassion. Those same people always know I’m rooting for them even if they don’t see what I see or aren’t ready yet to face what I see or just plain disagree with me. Those same people have faith that if they show me I’m wrong, I’ll admit it and maybe even apologize, if warranted. Above all, those same people know deep down that no matter what I always have their best interests at heart and always want the best for them.
I know with my whole heart that the friends who truly love me for who I am including that honesty and bluntness and my inability to play “yes woman” are the friends that deserve me in their lives. I love them dearly and appreciate their presence more than words can express. I can only hope I bring as much to their lives as they bring to mine.
I just can’t help wondering why I then turn around and feel the need to reconnect with those who can’t love me for all the parts of me or who dismiss me when my honesty butts up against what they want to believe. After all, I was only trying to help. And, yes, I remember from my psychology classes and the many years of psychology reading I’ve done that those people’s rejection of me is about them not me, but it still hurts. Facing the truth isn’t always easy, and we must be ready to do it in order for it to mean anything to us. That’s true for all of us.
I suppose I could apologize just to make peace, but I wouldn’t mean it. Honestly, I think you would know I didn’t mean it, and you would always be waiting for me to let the truth slip in to the conversation again because we both know it would. At first, I would carefully examine every word before speaking, and you would avoid sharing anything that might push the conversation in that direction again. Then, the day would come when we’d either find there was nothing left to say except the truth or the truth would pop out in the course of some seemingly benign conversation. Either way it would always be sitting right between us. Eventually, we’d be right back here. Better to have spoken the truth and miss you than to engage in that nonsense, so I stand by what I said. If you find you want to move forward from this place, fine. If not, well, I guess I’ll just miss you. If you ever miss me, I’m not hard to find…
I used to love hiking. I loved being in the woods. I loved the shaded areas giving way to patches of sunlight. I loved the wildflowers holding court in patches. I loved the bark of the trees and the sway of the limbs overhead. I loved stumbling upon a brook clear enough to see every rock lining its bottom. I loved the dirt beneath my feet and the path that seemed hardly travelled. I loved the feeling of being all alone and yet surrounded by nature. I even loved the push against the body as I travelled uphill and the pull on the body as I travelled downhill. Then something changed…
I’ve blamed my change from loving hiking to hating hiking on many things. I’ve blamed it on an 8-mile hike in the mid-1990s that exerbated my bad knee (now fixed after surgery last year) and left me in horrendous pain for weeks afterward. I’ve blamed it on the pain that inevitably accompanied hikes after that one. I’ve blamed it finding myself out of breath or energy or strength. I’ve blamed it on my endurance decreasing as I aged. I’ve blamed it on finding it a struggle to keep up with the person I’m hiking with. I’ve blamed it on my dislike and fear of snakes. I’ve blamed it on becoming bored with the idea of walking in yet another woods. I’ve blamed it on there being nothing new and exciting to find. And, maybe there’s a kernel of truth in all of this.
But today as I was blow drying my hair, I started thinking about hiking. I realized the main reason I hate it is that I’ve forgotten to enjoy the journey. I’ve forgotten to notice the trees, the brooks, the rocks, the flowers, the dirt. Well, I do pay attention to the dirt but my focus is on the work it will be to clean up afterwards. I’ve quit thinking about the moment I’m standing in and just enjoying it. I focus so hard on achieving the destination - making it to the desired point be it the summit, the overhang, the waterfall, etc. - that I forget to see the beauty along the way. I focus on completing the hike, so I can say it’s done. One more thing to check off the day’s task list, so I can move on to the next item. As I hike all I can think about are all the chores I’m neglecting - the dishes that need washed, the floors that need mopped, the words that need written, the collection of works that need compiled into a book, the bills that need paid, the finances that need updated, the emails that need sent, the friend or family member that needs called, etc.
I like to think I enjoy my journey through life and I often claim I do, but my thoughts this morning about hiking are causing me to question that. If I can’t take a few hours to wander through the woods and enjoy nature, am I really enjoying the journey of my life? Or am I just focused on getting this done so I can move on to that? I promised myself a long time ago I wouldn’t live that way. But sometimes I slip back into old habits and my focus becomes mired in “the next” instead of “the present” leaving me feeling scattered and a bit overwhelmed.
So, today, while the items on my task list aren’t my favorite things to do, I’m going to attempt to do them with a smile and not just keep focusing on “the next”. In the end, if it doesn’t get done today, I can do it tomorrow. Or to quote Scarlet O’Hara from Gone with the Wind by Margaret Mitchell “After all, tomorrow is another day.”
Here’s to turning my focus back to enjoying the journey. And, who knows maybe I’ll even fit a short hike in there sometime in the near future. Well, as soon as…
I finally cleaned out my closet a few days ago as I discussed needing to do in Clothes Do Not Make the Woman Except When They Do.
I’m glad it’s over, but I’m also a bit unsettled. There was much more that no longer fit or didn’t look good on me than I expected. I’ve not had a closet this bare since… Well, I don’t think I’ve ever had a closet this bare. Now, I must be careful not to just buy things to fill the voids.
After I finished cleaning out my closet, bagging up the clothes to take the Second Glance, and storing those not appropriate for Second Glance to await a new home, I stood looking at the mostly bare rods and empty hangers for a long time. Tears filled my eyes. Now, getting rid of clothing isn’t usually an emotional thing for me. I clean out unwanted items on a fairly regular basis. I usually keep a bag handy to place items in as I discover they no longer work for me. This was different though. A lot of these clothes I still like. Many of them had only been worn a few times, and by a few times I mean 5 or less. There was even an item or two with the tags still on them. There was something different here though. There was something deeper happening. I felt almost as if I was letting go of something - of what I wasn’t sure but something.
There’s a possibility that in letting go of the “must owns” (confession: I did keep my white ruffled shirt. I’m not sure why, but I did.) that only took up space, I am risking not meeting expectations. Even I know that sounds ridiculous. I mean, seriously, what’s the likelihood that anyone who came up with any of these “must own” rules for clothes will ever be in my closet. Hey, Stacey and Clinton, can I have $5000 to go shopping now? I’m guessing not. Darn! I did my own “trashing” of clothes, so I don’t have anything left for you to throw out. At least I don’t think I do.
Speaking of What Not to Wear, I promise I will never again question or roll my eyes at those women who have the carthatic emotional breakthrough from changing what they wear. Okay, I probably will, but I will think twice next time. Clothes are just clothes after all, right? Except that clothes help us project into the world who we were, who we are, and who we want to be. They must evolve with us as we evolve through life.
Perhaps by letting go of the old clothes, I am opening up my life to new possibilities. Perhaps by letting go of the old clothes, I am finding more of me by not hiding behind clothing. Perhaps by letting go of the old clothes, I’m learning to put less emphasis on expectations and more on embracing my true being. Perhaps by letting go of the old clothes, I am embracing that it’s okay to not lose myself to other people and things like I would get lost in the oversized clothes. Perhaps by letting go of the old clothes, I am finding a way to accept the person I’ve become today instead of clinging to what I saw in the mirror yesterday. At least I hope so.
And, these clothes can go on to help someone else create the life they want.
While I still feel the ache of the voids in my closet, I am determined to only fill those voids with clothes that I genuinely love, with clothes that make me look and feel my best, with clothes that help me project the image of who I truly am. I believe the lesson in this may be that while sadness always comes when we let go of what we thought we needed or wanted, what we are really doing is opening a place for what we really need to enter and take up residence. We are creating an opening in our lives to give more to the people, projects, and things that bring true joy, inspiration, love, beauty, and all things positive to our lives. This doesn’t mean that the person, project or thing we let go is any less. In fact the person, project or thing might be perfect for someone else just not for us.
Maybe I’m just searching for a way to feel less empty with all those voids in my closet. If so, it worked. I will think of those voids as representing the voids in my life that can be filled with incredible people, incredible experiences, and incredible moments just as I slowly fill the voids in my closet with clothes I genuinely love, dare I say incredible clothes - instead of what someone else tells me “should” be there whether or not it’s something I like or will ever wear.
I’m taking a deep breath and inviting the incredible into all areas of my life including the people I spend time with, the projects I decide to work on, the events I decide to attend, the activities I decide to do, the food I decide to eat, and, yes, the clothes I decide to wear.
How about you? Ready to join me in inviting the incredible to take the place of the mundane in all areas of your life? If so, it may be time to do a little baring of your own…
Lately I’ve been thinking about clothing and fashion. I’ve been thinking about looking neat versus looking sloppy. I’ve been thinking about looking professional versus looking casual. I’ve been thinking about looking approachable versus looking intimidating. I’ve been thinking about looking confident versus looking unsure. It’s interesting how clothes can create all these different impressions and can affect our relationships and our success in life.
I have a closet full of clothes, many items I really love, but some that are there just because every woman is expected to have X item in her wardrobe. For example I have a black sweater dress in my closet that is so big it looks sloppy and creates odd shapes on my body yet I keep it because “every girl has to have a little black dress in her closet”. I own two suits that are too big on me, but I keep them because I paid a significant amount of money for them and I can’t bring myself to replace them and every woman should have a suit in her closet. Yet, I’ve not worn a suit in around three years. Haven’t had a reason to… But what if??? I also still own an evening dress that I know I’ll never wear again yet I hesitate to take it to Second Glance, the second hand store where I take my clothes when I’m finished with them. I don’t even know why. It’s too big, the fabric isn’t what I like to wear, and it’s not the best shape for my body type now. Still, it cost a lot of money and I’ve only worn it a few times, so it hangs there accomplishing nothing. I have “basic” shirts that I rarely wear because given the choice I choose the “cuter” shirt over the “basic” yet I cling to those basics “just in case”.
I recently stood in front of the mirror naked and realized that a lot of my clothes weren’t doing anything for me. Now, I see some of you getting confused looks on your faces. Yes, when I go out in public, I tend to dress in clothes that make me feel the most confident. I wear the clothes that fit the best even if a bit baggy. My public clothes are always neat, clean, and well maintained. But, I’m often uncomfortable and working to keep them in place.
I had several items altered last Fall because all of my clothes were too big and many still looked new. Most of those alterations turned out really nice, but a huge lesson I learned was that you can have something altered to fit but if it’s the wrong shape for your body, it still doesn’t work. And, having oddball items in your closet that have no matching counterparts just go unworn no matter how cute. They become a waste of space and a source of tension because you find yourself constantly trying to figure out how to disguise their ill-fittedness or find the right mates for them.
I’ve always had an appreciation for the effect clothes have to some degree. Even in high school, my wardrobe ranged from a little bit punk to sexy secretary to a bit playful to, on occasion, almost costumey, but I had fun mixing and matching clothes and developing a style. Not that I thought of it as developing a style. I just liked to play with clothes and gauge people’s reactions to them. Sometimes those reactions weren’t so nice, but they were reactions nonetheless.
When I was in college, a relatively new friend told me that no matter what I wore I looked “preppy”, so the next time I saw him I wore a white EKU t-shirt with maroon lettering and mid-thigh length shorts that were blocks of maroon and white fabric sown together with “EKU” or maybe it was “Colonels” in the contrasting color on each leg paired with white socks and white tennis shoes in an effort to prove him wrong. He said “See, I told you. Preppy. No matter what you wear.”
Recently, I remembered that comment when I once again pulled up my men’s gray sweat pants barely hanging from my hip bones with the crotch almost reaching my knees, adjusted, for the nth time, my men’s gray sweatshirt hanging limply from my shoulders, and stared at a pair of my husband’s socks flopping on my feet like clown shoes. I sure as hell didn’t look preppy in that outfit. I may have looked shapeless, homeless, ill, or like I’d given up on life, but preppy was no where near that outfit. I’m sure it was depressing just to look at me. I realized I felt like crap. All I wanted to do was curl up in a ball in a dark corner and sleep. I stripped out of those clothes and put on a pair of women’s sweat pants and a sweat shirt that fit. Even that small change made me feel better, so I started gathering together all my oversized sweats, shorts, and t-shirts and bagging them up. I stopped, though, as soon as I got to my nicer clothes and my pajamas. I feared my closet looking too empty. A couple of days ago, I decided it’s time for pajamas that fit, too. I hate giving up my Karen Neuberger pj’s, but frankly they are so oversized I look unhealthy not to mention completely shapeless when I wear them - again the pants hang from my hipbones, the crotch finds my knees and the tops just hang loosely from my shoulders.
My body’s not bad, so I asked myself why the hell I’m hiding in oversized clothes, drab, colorless clothes, stained clothes, and generally ill-fitting clothes. I didn’t have an answer. I started to realize that the way I dress at home is as important as the image I project in public and that changes had to be made. So I started making them. I also realized that many of my “public” clothes are actually ill-fitting, too. I looked at a picture of me from last summer in a pair of shorts that I wore on a short hike and realized how unattractive they actually appeared. As I thought about the hike, the memory that stood out was of pulling up my shorts every few steps. My ill fitting clothes even kept me from making happy memories. I started making some changes.
Now, to be perfectly honest, those clothes are bagged up, but they are still in my closet. I mean what if I need them? What if a reason arises for me to look my absolute worst? Well, I’ve got the clothes to make it happen…
Okay, I said I didn’t know why I allowed my wardrobe to get this way. And, that’s only true to a certain extent. One thing that happened was I lost some weight, not that I was overweight, but a dietary change and better workouts caused me to lose some weight and my body shape to change. I felt better but I had a closet full of relatively new clothes. I just couldn’t justify replacing them at first. I bought a few pieces but was determined to make the most of what I already had work for a while. I had several pieces altered rather than spend money for new stuff. As I said that worked well for several items but doesn’t change shapes when your body has changed shape. It was less expensive than buying all new clothes though if I’d hit some sales just right I probably could’ve replaced some of the pieces for relatively what the alterations cost.
Lately, I’ve been trying to get in the frame of mind to tackle those “must own” pieces in my closet. As I’ve done so, I’ve started questioning some of those “must own” rules. If white isn’t a color I look great in, especially near my face, why must I have a white shirt hanging in my closet. If I never wear jeans, why must I own a pair even though I never wore my last two pair beyond trying them on. I’m just not much of a jeans person. (full disclosure: I recently bought a new pair that I actually like, but they need hemmed before I can wear them.) If I haven’t had a suit on in three years, why must I keep two hanging in my closet. If I’d rather wear a red dress or a patterned dress or a brown dress, why must I also have a little black dress (okay, full disclosure here, I love a little black dress, but I’m making a point here.) If there’s any particular item that I buy because I’m expected to own it but I never wear it, I’m wasting my money and taking up space that could be dedicated to an item I love.
When we fill our closets with clothing that feed our confidence and make us smile, we are much more likely to dress in a way that makes us approachable, looks neat, and is appropriate for the moment whether professional or casual. I believe success follows this formula. I even believe our relationships improve when we dress in a way that makes us feel good about whatever task, event, or moment is in front of us. Don’t let your clothes diminish the memories you could be creating.
Shoes are as important as clothes. They provide the opportunity to change the purpose of an outfit and possibly a person’s mood. Pair a pair of flats with a skirt and it says casual or casual professional. Pair a pair of heels with the same skirt and it transforms into professional or possibly even evening wear. A pair of high heels always lifts my spirits, improves my confidence, and makes me feel like I look good. I can’t help but smile every time I think about my 3-inch patent red leather stilleto pumps!
As I’ve been gearing up to clean out my closet, I started thinking about What Not to Wear, a show I used to watch religiously. I took their “rules” to heart, perhaps too much so… Not that I ever lost touch with my own style, but I began to think of the rules rigidly even though they always tell the participants on the show to interpret the rules in a way that works for them. I kept things in my closet that didn’t make me feel good because they fit the “rules” as discussed on the show. I didn’t even try things on because I thought they wouldn’t fit the rules. I found that using the rules helped me dress more appropriately for most occasions at a time when I floundered a bit with my evolving personal style as I looked for age appropriate clothing that still fit my personal style. A few days ago, I felt I needed a refresher on the rules, so I went in search of the show on the web.
I found a recap of this season’s What Not to Wear on TLC and watched it. It’s called Fast Forwards, and touches briefly on the problems, the rules, the shopping and the outcome - condensing each show into less than five minutes. As I watched, I began to reconnect visually with what I want out of clothing.
Fashion isn’t about following the latest trends. It’s about dressing one’s body as it is now to help one accomplish one’s goals. I’m a person who loves dresses, skirts, and high heels. Where I live that tends to make me stand out, but when I try to mold my style to match where I live, I lose a bit of me and along with it my confidence. That’s unacceptable, so I’ll dress the way I want, the way that makes me feel good about me.
I urge you to think about your closet and clothes in it. Do they make you feel good when you look at your closet? Do you see opportunities for looking your best? Do you see clothes you can have fun with and in? Do you see clothes that fit you well? If not, you may need to clean out your closet just like I do. If you see clothes that leave you scrambling for ways to disguise they are too big, too small, the wrong shape, or otherwise ill-fitting, it’s time to make a change. If you see clothes you haven’t worn in ages because you have nothing to wear with them, it’s time to make a change. If you see clothes that you have just because someone somewhere at some point in time told you they are “must own” pieces that you never wear, it’s time to make a change. If you see clothes that just plain make you cringe because they’re outdated, stained, torn, missing buttons, or whatever, it’s time to make a change. You want your clothes to reflect you, your goals in life, and your lifestyle, don’t you? I know I do.
So what do you say, shall we see if we can create a better life through clothes. After all, to paraphrase Stacy and Clinton from What Not to Wear, it’s important to dress for the life you want. Let’s all dress the part!
Now that I’ve found every excuse I can think of to avoid cleaning out my closet, including writing this blog, I think it’s time to go face the clothes and the mirror… I’m going, really I am, right now… okay, in just a minute… after I do this one last thing… now, I’m really going, I promise….
I’ve uploaded a new poem, Daddy, celebrating dads, or at least what my Daddy taught me about dads. As a Daddy’s girl, I have a tendency to set the bar high for the dads I know. While simple this poem expresses the basics of what dads do in a child’s life - or at least what they should do. Check it out by clicking on the poem title. Enjoy!
Steven Cox, a friend from college - more of an acquaintance really - that I reconnected with through Facebook decided this year to surround himself with incredible people and incredible experiences as a way to be incredible himself. When I say acquaintance, I mean I think we had a class together (English if memory serves), he was friends with one of my closest friends and friends with another of my friends, and I have photographic proof that he went clubbing with a group of my friends at least once even if I don’t really remember that night. Oh, and I had a little crush on him for a split second or two. I don’t think he ever knew about that. It didn’t last long enough for me to bother to find out if he was even available. I don’t remember why it was so short lived. If I had to guess… well, truth be told I had a pretty short attention span and very little patience when it came to guys in those days.
Anyway, back to the present. He owns a business called Take Lessons, and he shares his success on his blog and on Facebook. Also, he seems pretty happy. He has blogged about spending time with incredible people a few times at Build Something You’re Proud Of with some great insights. I keep thinking about his concept of striving to surround himself with incredible people and incredible experiences. We’re going to focus on incredible people in this blog. Incredible experiences may come later. We’ll see.
I tend to just take others as they are. I don’t dismiss someone because he or she tends to be negative or spend more time with someone else because he or she tends to be positive. This has gotten me into some pretty toxic situations… See The Quicksand of Toxic Thinking. Yet, instinctively, I think we all gravitate toward people who make us feel most comfortable in life whether that’s positive energy or negative energy in any given moment. It can simply be because that’s what we recognize and understand. At the moment we realize that something we’re drawn to is actually detrimental it is up to each of us to make a choice to recognize something different and learn how to live in a more satisfying way. No one can do that for us. In essence we have to learn how to be incredible from the inside out.
I’ve written about Creativity Creators and Drains before, but this is deeper than that. This is about seeking out what you want in life and surrounding yourself with people who exemplify that. It’s about developing relationships where the give and take is mutual. At times it may be uneven, but that’s okay as long as later it’s uneven in the other direction. If it’s always uneven in the same direction, someone is going to be drained emotionally, spiritually, mentally, and, yes, even physically. We mustn’t allow others to dampen our own incredibleness.
We have to recognize the “incredible” in others and the “incredible” in us! We then have to accept it and even embrace it. We have to learn from it rather than envy it. We have to give it back instead of holding on to it like it’s our lifeline. Being incredible grows from freedom and nurture. It spreads from person to person because it feels so much better than negativity. When we are our most incredible,we will attract incredible people to us and when we attract incredible people to us, we become even more incredible. It’s an awesome dynamic that makes living more exciting and striving for something better more fulfilling.
I’ve had the good fortune to know a lot of incredible people in my life. Some have been around for years. Others have made short appearances and gone on their way. Still others have come and gone and returned. Sometimes we don’t even know how incredible someone is until we miss them - until we miss whatever it was he or she brought to our lives.
Steven’s blog made me start thinking about how I define an incredible person. I think everyone defines an incredible person differently based on life experience and current needs. By that I mean, the person I see as incredible, you may not and the reason I give for someone being incredible may mean nothing to you. It may also mean that someone I saw as incredible yesterday I may not see as incredible today and that someone I see as incredible today I may not see as incredible tomorrow. And, someone I didn’t see as incredible yesterday may be incredible today just like someone I don’t see as incredible today may be incredible tomorrow. It’s all about where we are on our journey through life. I’m starting to accept that that’s okay.
As we evolve throughout life, the things we value in relationships change to some degree. Some things always stay the same. Those are the givens - honesty, loyalty, compassion, and understanding are the first that come to mind. Some things though change whether we like it or not. We go through tragedies that cause us to see incredible people as anyone who will listen, who will distract us, who will reinforce the story we’re telling ourselves even if that story is detrimental to our wellbeing and possibly not entirely true. When we really start to deal with that tragedy, distraction and reinforcement may not seem so incredible anymore.
Some traits are incredible no matter when, where, or how we encounter them making some people incredible any time we encounter them. People who are honest and loyal tend to be incredible. People who are compassionate and caring tend to be incredible. People who are always striving to learn more about life and living tend to be incredible. People who are present in their own lives tend to be incredible. Most importantly people who have a sense of who they are and remain true to self in any given moment are incredible.
What I’ve realized is that everyone has the potential within to be incredible. It’s what they do with that potential that matters. The more genuine someone is, the more incredible they are, at least in my experience. People who try to hide behind a facade rarely manage to achieve incredibleness. They may appear incredible for a time and some may even find a way to become incredible, but they aren’t incredible if they aren’t honest about who they are with themselves and with others.
Incredible doesn’t mean being perfect. It doesn’t even mean being positive 100% of the time. It doesn’t mean you never have a bad moment or a terrible day. It doesn’t mean you put on a smile when you’re heart is breaking. It doesn’t mean you’ll never suffer disappointment. It doesn’t mean you’ll do everything right every time. It means acknowledging you’re having a bad moment or a terrible day, and figuring out how to make the best of it. It means feeling that heartbreak or disappointment, so you can learn from it and become stronger. I think it means looking at your mistakes and figuring out how to never repeat that particular mistake.
Incredible people don’t hide their bad experiences. They acknowledge them without dwelling on them. They look for the learning moment and the teaching moment in them. They use the bad to create good. They use the disappointment to create success. They use the heartbreak to create better love. They use their weaknesses to find strength and to help others turn their weaknesses into strengths. They strive to find ways to improve not only their own lives but the lives of those around them.
Incredible people also are more likely to recognize and embrace the good in life. They are the people who enjoy the moments life presents. They are the people who embrace the good they see around them. They are the people who exude an energy that invites others to spend more time with them and welcomes those who accept the invitation.
Think about someone in your life you consider incredible. Ask yourself why. Think about it for a minute. See if you don’t feel just a little better about yourself. Perhaps you even feel a smile coming on. Perhaps you feel just a little better about what you’re doing with your life. Perhaps you feel like talking to that person right now. Go ahead. It’s okay. Maybe that person finds you incredible, too!
Steven’s blog encouraged me to want to be just a little more incredible myself, to recognize the incredible people in my life, and to invite more incredible people into my life. How about you? Ready to embrace incredible people, strive to be incredible yourself, and perhaps have some incredible experiences because of this intention toward incredibleness.
Come on, then, embrace the incredible with me! It’ll be fun!
I’ve been working on a novel for quite some time now, and as late I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m a slow writer. I used to think I wrote fast but just didn’t have enough hours in the day. But, I realize now that while there is some truth to my overscheduling issue (it’s no secret), the truth is that I write slow. I don’t know why. I think I used to write fast, but something happened. I used to crank out a 10 or 20+ page short story in a matter of hours. The other day it dawned on me that I’ve been working on one short story for like 2+ years, another for around a year, and a third for several months not to mention the years I’ve been working on the aforementioned novel. I don’t think any of the short stories are going to be particularly long, but it seems like I just can’t quite finish any of them. Okay, I finished the rough draft of the one I’ve been working on for around a year since I started working on this post, but it’s still not completely finished
I’ve started to wonder if I’ve developed some kind of ridiculous fear of completion. If so, someone please come give me a good shake.
But is fear of completion even a real thing? What exactly does that mean? Completing a project brings a sense of accomplishment. It’s something to be proud of. Not completing something is a lingering task, right? Something weighing one down - an incompletion, if you will. Man, how the word incomplete terrorized me in college. I was more scared of getting an incomplete than of failing a class - never did either, but still on the fear level incomplete edged out failing every time.
Completion means a work is ready to share with the world. It means putting myself out there to be judged. It means facing the possibility of failure - or the possibility of success. Both would hold unknowns. There’s something reassuring about the potential of a project when it’s still in the possibility stage.
Is fear of completion just another perfectionist tendency or is the perfectionist tendency driven by a fear of completion? Is fear of completion really just an excuse because there are things I don’t want to think about and thinking about those things is necessary to finish these works? Is fear of completion a fear that I’ll put something out there before it’s really ready? Is fear of completion a fear that I’ll never have another good idea to write about or that I’ll somehow lose my inspiration if faced with starting a whole new project?
Maybe what I’m really suffering from is a fear that I’ll never be good enough, that for all my confidence that writing chose me and I don’t have a choice, maybe I’m not as good at it as I think I am or at least as good as I want to be…
There’s always my old fallback - the fear of vulnerability I’ve fought most of my life. If I never tell you how I really feel, I never risk your rejection. If I never let you read my work, I never risk you hating it. If I never finish the work, I never have to risk the world’s judgment. By the same token, if I never finish my work, I never risk having to accept your praise.
And so perhaps it is a fear of completion stemming from my fear of vulnerability…
I can’t remember a time in my life when I didn’t write! Some people like my work. Others don’t. And that’s okay. I know that when I write the world is a little better place at least for me and hopefully for others. When I write, I feel like I’m fulfilling my purpose on this Earth. When I write, I feel connected to the world in a way I don’t otherwise. So I will continue to write no matter what my fear of completion is all about. Maybe I can even write my way to an answer. It’s worked for other dilemmas I’ve had, so why not for my fear of completion? What it comes down to is I’m a writer. It’s really not just what I do. It is who I am. And, I like it that way.
It’s just that sometimes, I have these moments where doubts take over. How about you? Ever have a moment’s doubt? If so, please no you’re not alone. If not, please tell me your secret.
Fear of completion, you and I are about to have one helluva fight… And when I set my mind to fighting, I win…
One night last week I awoke to the sound of my voice saying “Love is NOT I can’t live without you” in a dream and immediately fell back to sleep. I have no idea where that thought came from or even what I was dreaming, but the thought stuck with me. It’s been in the back of my mind whispering softly ever since. Okay, it’s not much of an epiphany, but I’ve learned these kinds of messages are usually my subconscious trying to get my attention. Yesterday that sentence kept reverberating in my thoughts. Finally, I asked aloud “So what’s your point?”
I got quiet. Suddenly, the thought occurred to me. Love is when you want what’s best for someone else even if that goes against what you want. I’m not necessarily talking about self-sacrifice. I’m talking about acknowledging that sometimes what’s best for someone else isn’t what we want but what they need. But that answer didn’t satisfy me either. There was something more. Something nagged at me.
There are moments in life when we think we can’t live without someone. Usually, life will prove to us that we can. Present life with a challenge, and it’ll strike back every time.
Most of the time we think we’re in love because we think we can’t live without someone. Some people even get married or stay in relationships out of the fear of losing someone. Thinking we can’t live without someone is exactly that. It’s fear. It’s desperation. It’s insecurity. None of those are components of love. I used to think they were. Perhaps I even got married in part because I confused fear and insecurity for love. I know I feared losing my husband for years, and I was so insecure about our relationship I was convinced that if I gave him the opportunity, he would find someone better. So I held on to him so tightly I almost smothered him. Notice that was all past tense. At least I hope it is…
Love isn’t even “I don’t WANT to live without you.”, but again many of us confuse the two. I think I went there during and even after my “I can’t live without you.” phase. Again, “I don’t WANT to live without you.” screams desperation, fear, and insecurity. I think it’s easy to confuse these concepts because it’s natural for those feelings to appear on occasion, especially in the early stages of love or infatuation. You know, the stage where you just can’t get enough of one another and even a minute apart leaves you with longing. The stage where you see the other person’s “faults” as cute, where you think time will change the personality quirks you don’t like, when you think the other person will fix bad habits because now you’re together. But, that’s infatuation.
Novels, poetry, and movies thrive on “I can’t live without you love” because that’s so much more dramatic than genuine, healthy love. So we read about it, we watch it on a screen, and we think that’s what love is. We try to make love fit that and deny any love that doesn’t. When love becomes healthy enough for us to respect one another and grow together without desperation, insecurity, and fear, the drama lessens. This should leave a sense of fulfillment. It’s hard to create drama from fulfillment unless we find a way to threaten that fulfillment - taking us back to insecurity. But, that’s fiction, and we can’t live our lives according to fiction. Living lives filled with the drama we find in fiction leads to discontentment, a feeling that we can never get it right, and expectations that are way too high. There’s a reason the story ends when the main characters confess their love for one another - the conflict is resolved. What comes next will likely disappoint the audience whichever direction it goes, but again that’s fiction not real life and not genuine love.
Feelings of “I can’t live without you” and “I don’t want to live without you.” also appear when we’re faced with life altering illness, the potential of death, and other catastrophes. If they’re momentary, that’s healthy. If we live our entire lives based on them, we can never know or feel genuine love. Love never gets the chance to mature.
My friend, Kelly (yes, I’m talking about her again.) lost her husband when he lost his battle with lupus a few years ago. I couldn’t imagine what she was going through even though I knew it was something I should try to imagine for a multitude of reasons. I told her that I couldn’t imagine how she must be feeling without him, but, if I was really honest, I didn’t even want to try. I wanted to live in my little delusion that I’d never have to face living without my husband. She was more understanding than I deserved. She was even appreciative of my honesty. As I watched her carry on with life, care for her children, and continue to love her husband, I began to realize that love doesn’t die because someone is no longer in our lives whether they’re taken by death or life’s circumstances. Slowly, I began to appreciate being with my husband more than feeling we HAD to be together. It felt odd at first to let go of the feeling that I couldn’t live without him. I was already on my way to being less scared of short abscences, but the idea of living without him terrified me. Watching Kelly, though, along with other life events helped me realize that love isn’t love when we hold on that tight. It’s insecurity and fear.
Love isn’t scary. Love gives us the security to be ourselves and to grow as individuals while in its midst. If it doesn’t, it isn’t love. Sometimes I don’t think I genuinely knew how to love until recently. And, I’m still not sure I really do. I know that love gives us security and confidence and yet love demands both security of self and confidence in one’s self in order to exist. Love isn’t never having doubts. It is knowing the doubts will pass and growth will come from them. Love isn’t never fighting. It’s knowing that a fight is just a fight, and eventually you will forgive. Love isn’t always fun. Sometimes - perhaps more often than we like to admit - love is hard work. Love isn’t grand gestures. It’s the little things one does day in and day out. Love isn’t always exciting. Love is being able to be boring together. Love is being able to just be. Love is giving the other person support even when you don’t understand his/her decisions while being honest about your concerns - a tight rope if one was ever walked. Love is being able to laugh about the bad times and move forward while remembering the good times. Sometimes love does require we apologize. Love grows. Love changes. Love evolves. Love is love at the end of the day.
As Luther Vandross put it “Sometimes love is wonderful, but sometimes it’s only love.”
We must begin with self love before we can love anyone else, which is why I sometimes wonder if I really knew how to love for most of my life. I always thought I did, but as I’ve matured I’ve begun to wonder. The way I define love today isn’t the way I would’ve defined loved 20 years ago, 10 years ago, or even 8 years ago. I look back and see that there were times when I made decisions I thought were selfish but perhaps were more loving than I realized, but I also see actions I took that I thought were based on love and realize they were based on fear or insecurity.
No two people experience love in quite the same way, but healthy love uplifts, grows, evolves, and inspires. Healthy love isn’t perfect but is beautiful in its imperfection.
Many of you know I opted not to have children. The main reason: I was sure I’d make a crappy mother. Maybe I feared it more than anything else given my history. My husband thinks I’m too hard on myself about this, but I can’t help it. Besides I never felt that tug of needing a child to raise, to carry on a name, to create a legacy, or whatever. I just never felt it.
But, that’s not the only reason I didn’t want to have children. I watched how people treated my husband. I saw how people treated me when they heard my last name but didn’t see my face - my marital last name, that is. I don’t use that name for my writing career, but that’s a discussion for another time. I dealt with ridiculous questions about my husband that people had no qualms asking me no matter how insulting they were.
When I read that President Obama requested that Hawaii release the long form of his birth certificate to put an end to the citizenship debate, I had little reaction at first. As I thought about it, I became angry and then angrier. My anger wasn’t about politics. It was about humanity. It was about dignity. It was about respect. It was about being forced to recognize that perhaps the fear I’d always pushed to the side as unfair might have some validity. It was the recognition that my need to believe people just need a chance to treat one another as equals and they will might not be true. It was the recognition that perhaps my efforts to show people and tell people that at the end of the day all people have more in common than not might not matter. It was the recognition that people would rather hold on to their misinformation, deep-seated prejudices, and their politics than to treat one another with dignity or even common courtesy.
I imagined for a moment that my husband and I had a child soon after we married. (We’re going to assume a boy. I don’t know why, but it seems fitting.) He would’ve carried the last name Abu-Husein. His first name would’ve like been Omar or so my husband insists. It has something to do with the tradition of his culture. He would’ve likely had his father’s dark hair and olive skin tone. His eyes would’ve probably been a shade of green as both my husband and I have green eyes but they could’ve just as easily been brown since both sides of our family have brown eyes. Hopefully, he would’ve gotten his father’s long, curled eyelashes and my nose. Perhaps he would’ve had his father’s deep, hearty laugh and my sly smile. Pehaps he would’ve possessed that same serious expression of his father’s that sometimes leads me to wonder if he’s angry when he’s deep in thought or his father’s way of unconsciously raising his voice when he gets excited. Perhaps he would’ve gotten my tendency to go quiet when really mad or to hold things in and then lash out when it gets to be too much. He would’ve been 1/2 American Mutt (my genes) and 1/2 Palestinian (my husband’s genes). Would the people I’ve known all or most of my life have said my child wasn’t American? Would people I’ve long respected treat my child as if he weren’t worthy of whatever his dreams were? Apparently so because right now some of those people are trying to cast doubt on President Obama’s birth certificate even in long form. He’s already gone above and beyond what should’ve been necessary to prove the truth, and now he’s been forced to go a step farther, and it seems it’s simply because his father is of African descent and Muslim. His FATHER. His mother was a Midwestern girl born to two American parents who moved to Hawaii - you can’t get more American than that, people. Oh, and as I recall his mother and maternal grandparents (the people who reared him) were Christian. So, as I see it, those same people who still doubt President Obama’s citizenship would likely be right in league with the pranksters (or should I call them terrorists?) who used to call my house and ask to speak to Saddam or make veiled threats - the reason my phone number became unlisted. Those same people would probably be calling my child a terrorist based on his last name. After all, his father would be a man raised as a Muslim, of Palestinian descent, and not a naturalized citizen at the time of the child’s birth. What would it matter that his mother was born in the United States to two American citizens also both born in the United States, raised as a Christian, and who had never set foot outside the US at the time of his birth? My child would have much in common with our current President, so thank you for making me feel just that much better about my decision to not have children in this great country where we wrap our hatred and ignorance up in fear and never think our words could ever apply to someone close to our own lives.
And, don’t say that it would be different because you know me. If you subscribe to that kind of sterotyping, hatred and bias toward others it doesn’t really matter what our relationship was or is, your hatred might be concealed a little better and you might pause a moment in expressing your suspicions aloud, but in the end you and I both know they would still be there. You might never say it to my face or treat my child differently in front of me, but you would share your “concerns” and “fears” when I’m out of earshot all in the name of concern for me because of our past together. You would question my judgment for daring to take a path you don’t understand and trying to make it sound like you’re concerned for my wellbeing. Perhaps you already do even though I don’t have a child. It would be a bit naive of me to think you don’t, but there are moments when I like to cling to that delusion. It makes being friends with you easier when I see you spewing your hate and ignorance of other people and cultures.
Before you open your mouth the next time, I urge you to think who you might be hurting with your stereotypes, hatred and suspicions. Your words just might reach farther than your intended victim to someone you actually like, love, respect, or whose family you at least know.
Once again, thank you for making me that much happier I didn’t bring a child into a country where this kind of bias would follow him around simply because his mom fell in love someone who didn’t fit your image of the accepted norm.
When are we going to stop stereotyping and accept people as individuals? My heart, my mind, and my soul long for that day. Since it doesn’t seem to be anywhere nearby, I guess I’ll just keep writing a world where it exists… And, I guess that’s why they call it fiction…
This morning a memory woke me. I lay in bed thinking about it. And, I realized it’s one of those memories I’m not sure is real. I have those about my childhood. Sometimes I call someone to attempt to confirm the memory, but sometimes I like the memory just as it is and choose not to confirm. This one is a bit trickier. The only woman who could confirm it died when I was a child, so there is no one to confirm. I’m not sure I would if I could.
Now a bit about the missing memories. In January 1980, when I was nine years old I had Reye’s Syndrome. I awoke with no true memories of events from my childhood. I would look at pictures of family gatherings, birthday parties, etc., and feel as if I was looking at someone else’s life. I didn’t remember anything that happened. I remembered the people. My intelligence was intact. I remembered how I felt about people but not necessarily why I felt that way. My family has tried to alter or deny, some memories that surfaced over the years, and I’m never sure whether or not to trust my memory or their denial. It’s okay because it’s all long past.
I remember telling the groundhog stories on my Grandpa’s knee. My Mom asked me to write these stories down, but I don’t remember them. The memory of sitting on Grandpa’s knee while he asked me questions to flesh out the story feels real to me. No one in my family has corrected this memory, so it must be real.
I remember sitting on my Grandma’s knee while she rocked me and sang verses from Tom T. Hall’s ”I Love”. I’ve never asked for confirmation of this memory because even if it’s not true, I want it to be. It’s symbolic of my relationship with my Grandma.
The memory that awoke me this morning was of a wonderful woman named Dot Bromwell. She used to babysit me on occasion when I was little. I remembered building cities and farms from Legos and Lincoln Logs at her house. I remembered sitting on the couch with this book bigger than my lap spread across my lap with her arm around me as she read to me from the book. I felt like such a big girl because I thought it was a big girl book just because it was so big. It was gold, so I knew it had to be a special book. I remembered she would whisper that the book would be mine someday. Then she would tell me not to tell Mom she let me hold it and turn the pages myself. Her face is blurry, but I know she smiled a lot. In my memory, the home is also blurry, but I see that Lego city and Lincoln Log farm clearly. I see my doll sitting next to me on the couch dressed in the homemade outfit Mrs. Bromwell made special for her. But mostly, I feel the weight of that book across my tiny legs, the pages between my fingers, and I hear the sweet murmur of her voice reading words I don’t really understand. Today, I do own that book, Golden Gleanings of Poetry and Song compiled and edited by Henry Davenport Northop in 1897. How it came to be in my possession I don’t quite remember. It’s fragile. The binding is broken. The writing on the cover is so worn it’s almost indecipherable. My husband has asked me numerous times why I don’t just throw it out. I answer with tears that well up in my eyes because how do you explain to someone that a book - a group of pages between two covers is all you have left of someone you can no longer clearly remember but you feel them each time you touch the book, lay it across legs that are no longer too tiny to hold it, and touch the pages you fear will disintegrate if you’re not careful? And then he reminds you that most of the time it sets on a shelf untouched and perhaps often unnoticed. But, that’s not the point. And, you realize the value is in your heart and the memory of feeling you have each time you touch the book, each time you see the book, just from knowing the book is in the house with you. And, yet putting that into words never seems quite enough to convey the message.
Is my memory this morning of Mrs. Bromwell a true memory? I think so. It felt real. I had an emotional reaction to it. And, it explained why this book has always made me smile, made me feel loved, inspired me even. And, I’m even happier now that I’ve never let anyone convince me that it’s just a book.
Yesterday I read an article about Oprah Winfrey’s book collection and home library. The article closed with a statement Oprah made “Throwing a book in the trash is like throwing away a person.” Oprah was referring to the hard work authors put into writing their books, but I think the statement also describes how I feel about Mrs. Bromwell’s book.
And, I’m reminded again of the power of books…
I wrote The End around 19-20 years ago. I was in the process of making decisions about my future and for some reason I started thinking about what my future self would think if I picked one choice or the other. This poem was the result of that… Enjoy!
It’s no secret that I love words. I mean I really love words. I’ve shared this before, and anyone who has ever had a conversation with me is now nodding with a knowing smile. Words hold power both in their use and in the restraint of their use.
Sometimes I’m surprised by my reaction to songs such as Extreme’s More Than Words and Madonna’s Words. Extreme asks “What would you do if I took those words away?/Then you couldn’t make things new/Just by saying I love you” and tears well up in the corners of my eyes. Madonna sings “I’m in love with your words” and “But your actions speak louder than words/And, they’re only words unless they’re true/Your actions speak louder than promises, promises/You’re inclined to make and inclined to break” and for some reason I feel slightly rebellious.
How many times in life do we hurt someone, intentionally or more likely unintentionally, and think that saying I love you will make it all better? How many times do we preface a hurtful statement with I love you, but…? How many times do we mumble I love you just because there doesn’t seem to be anything else to say? How many times do we say I love you as an afterthought? How many times do we say I love you because we’re too lazy, preoccupied, busy, or whatever to perform the action that would express that love so much better?
How often do we say I love you and really mean it?
How many times do we listen to someone say beautiful things and fall for them because the words are seductive and, dare I say it, intoxicating? How often do we ignore the fact that someone’s actions don’t match the love expressed in words? How often do allow someone to break promise after promise after promise simply because they say those the most intoxicating words - the ones we love to hear? How often do we forgive one more hurt because someone’s words seduce us? How often do we excuse away someone’s behavior because we want to believe the words they say?
Again, how often do we say I love you and really mean it?
I think about Extreme’s song, and I have to wonder. What would I do if someone took those words away ? What would I do if I couldn’t express my love with words. I have to admit, there are moments when just the idea terrifies me. Not because I think I’m less than loving in my actions - well, at least for the most part - but because I fear losing that safety net. I love you becomes a safety net for those moments when we mess up and want to fix it. It’s a starting point to fix the relationship. Note I said starting point not cure-all.
And then there’s the odd occurence when someone’s words are mean, but their actions are loving. I never know how to take this perhaps because I put so much emphasis on words. If your actions are loving, but you say mean things I will get confused. If you act in a loving manner, but say things that don’t support those actions I won’t know how to react. Is this any better? I don’t think so.
Let there be no mistake, I still love words. The problem comes in when the words mean more than anything else. The problem occurs when words are all we have left to hold on to. The problem is when there is no action to back up the pretty words we hear. And, it’s easy to be taken in by someone’s words when he/she knows exactly what we want to hear and he/she says it every single time we doubt him/her or call him/her on his/her behavior. It’s easy to accept the apology or the I love you because no one wants to turn away love or friendship. But I love you as manipulation has no place in any relationship.
In all honesty, the best thing is when words and actions are in harmony.
Writers, think about this as you write. Do you have a character who is prone to pretty words but never follows through? How can you use that in your storyline? Do you have a character who melts every time a character speaks? Does this get him/her in trouble? Do your characters show their feelings or just say them? Do you use conflict between words and actions to rachet up the tension in your writing?
As my friend, Kelly Deaton, says, ”Love is not a passive verb…” Remember that as you write. Your characters - and your readers - will thank you for it.
The nice thing about writing and life is that so often the lessons we need for life also apply to our writing. So ask yourself what role words play in your life and in your writing. See if you can make both a little more active. I know I plan to.
Christina Katz examines the art of flexibility in the latest issue of The Prosperous Writer.
A little while ago, Meme, one of my three cats, got stuck under my printer cart. It’s not the first time she climbed under it, but it is the first time she got stuck. How did she get stuck? Well, I’m not sure, but when I looked under the shelf above her I could see her back was rigid and sticking up. When I tried to shift her, she cried. She was obviously in pain, but she couldn’t relax. The more rigid she was, the less I could help her. I tried to manuever her again and she cried again. I tried to lift the corner of the stand to release her but quickly realized that was only happening if I took everything off the stand. With two printers, stacks of papers and three ring binders and other odds and ends, that was going to take awhile and she was starting to panic. I decided I needed to calm her down before I continued looking for a physical solution to the problem. I started talking to her in a soothing tone and petting her paw. In seconds, yes, seconds, she relaxed. The rigidity left her back and she slid out on her own. I picked her up, cuddled her a minute, and checked for injuries. All was well. She jumped down and resumed playing.
I think we do this same manuever too often ourselves. We get stuck because we panic and become rigid. We can’t see any option other because we’re too rigid to see anything other than our current course of action. If we just relax a moment, flexibility will take over and solve our problem for us. Okay, that might be a bit of an exaggeration, but flexibility will allow us to see options other than the one we’re already trying.
But, for Meme to relax, I also had to relax - to let go of my panic that she might be or get hurt from her trapped position. The tenser I was the tenser she became. We can only help others when we lose our rigidity because it’s the only way we can be open to their circumstances. If we can’t be flexible as we listen to others, we can’t understand their situation nor can we offer truly helpful advice. And, they stay trapped under their own version of a printer stand.
As for Meme, she couldn’t let me help her because she panicked every time I tried to reposition her so she could wiggle out. She had to relax as well. For us to accept the help that allows us to help ourselves, we have to relax and be flexible enough to hear what others say to us. We have to open our hearts and our minds to the idea that someone may have something to offer us that we haven’t anticipated. If we go into every conversation, negotiation, situation, armed with “yeah, buts”, we aren’t flexible to other people’s input. And, if we demonstrate this lack of flexibility too often, people will stop trying to help us. They will come to the conclusion we either can’t be or don’t want to be helped.
In the midst of this situation, Todd, one of my other cats heard Meme’s cries and came running over. He assessed the situation and immediately started giving her “nosies” while she looked up at me crying. At first I tried to shoo him away thinking he was just getting in the way, but when I looked I saw Meme stop struggling if only for half a second. He acted on his instinct to comfort her while I struggled to free her. He moved out of my way but stayed close enough she could see him. At the time I didn’t realize it, but I think his instinct to comfort her influenced my decision to calm her down before looking for a new solution to free her. I think the lesson in that for me is that it’s okay to look for help from others when you need to regain your flexibility. I’m not particularly good at that. I tend to think I can do it myself, or at least that I should be able to do it myself. Now, that’s a bit of inflexible thinking, isn’t it?
Who would’ve thought a small event lasting less than five minutes could be such a lesson in flexibility. And, here I’d planned to write a post using yoga as an analogy to demonstrate how flexibility grows over time… Oh, well, maybe another time.
Back in the 1980s, Sheena Easton sang a song called “The Lover in Me”. I listened to this song on You Tube the other day. Why? I don’t know. It started with one song and led to another which led to another and so on. It’s not my favorite Sheena Easton song, but that’s a different topic. We may get there soon in another post. We’ll see. However, the title inspired the title of this blog. Why? Because it seems like lately I’m spending a lot of time talking about the workalcoholic in me.
It all started with a need to feel more accountable for my writing. In early January, actually late last year, I decided that I would start posting my writing progress every night as my Facebook status. Some of my other writer friends do this, so it’s not a new idea. They post it as word counts. I’ve never measured my progress by word count, so I came up with another strategy. I had to post if I wrote and on what. I knew posting that I didn’t write would drive me nuts, so I decided I had to post that as well.
Since I decided to do this, I began to recognize certain patterns. I’ve realized I must do something to change some of them. Patterns are hard to break. They become ingrained and take over. I know there are certain things I prioritize over others. Those “lesser” priorities often don’t get done until they’re backed up and demand my attention. Not because I’m procrastinating but because my days are generally booked solid. Now, I’ve talked about this habit many times in my blog, so you may be wondering if I realize this is a pattern of its own. The answer is yes I do.
This pattern of overbooking myself dates back to my college days. Perhaps even before that, but I remember my current pattern gelling while I was in college. I generally took the maximum level of classes my advisor would approve - usually 21 hours per sememster. I generally worked at something or the other as well. I was an RA (Resident Assistant) for a while. I liked that job. I also served as a front desk receptionist at various times. I worked for a brief time in a fast food restaurant while working as a front desk receptionist. I also worked in a foster treatment home with children from severely abusive homes. I liked that job a lot, too. I volunteered for the suicide hotline for a while. And, somehow I managed to have a fairly active social life. Granted most nights I only slept 3-4 hours, but life was full. I didn’t complain - well, not much anyway.
Why did I do that to myself? Well, the short answer is that I like to keep busy. A more honest answer is that keeping that busy and tired meant I rarely had time to think about the problems in my life and even less time to feel anything about them - well, to feel period. I equated emotional attachments with anchors, and I didn’t want to be anchored. Don’t get me wrong. I had friends, good friends. Some of whom I’m still friends with today, but I kept a certain detachment. Just ask most of them. They’ll tell you. As for romantic involvements… Well, those were generally shortlived. As soon as I started to feel anything that even slightly distracted me from my goals, I figured out a way to get out - well, to be honest, usually to get him to end it. I didn’t really end things. As I’ve said before, I’m not particularly fond of goodbyes. Victoria, the main character in my novel, All She Ever Wanted
But, back to the workaholic in me… I grew up always believing I could do better no matter how well I was doing, do more no matter how much I was doing, and be all to everyone. Wait, let me rephrase that, I grew up believing it was my responsibility to do better no matter well I was doing, to do more than anyone else, and to be all to everyone. I grew up thinking that I needed to be perfect to be loved, and if someone loved me when I was less than perfect than there must be something wrong with them. I readily recognize how warped that thinking is.
So, now, I fight that urge. I still tend to think it’s my responsibility to take care of everything, to do everything, to be whatever anyone else needs, and to put my needs last. I’m learning to deal with this. I’m learning that there’s no way I can do all that. Yet, the workaholic in me throws a temper tantrum every time I tell someone no or that I don’t have the time or that I am putting my own work first or that I’m, heaven forbid, taking a day off and doing nothing… I fuss at my husband for working too much and tell him in no uncertain terms that he needs to do things he enjoys and not focus so much on his work. Yet while he’s watching television at night, I’m writing, doing laundry, cleaning house, reading someone’s book to review, and so on and so on… Of course this is after I spent the day writing, publicizing my writing, cleaning, writing reviews, doing the household and my writing finances, and so on and so on.
Now, mind you, I’m not complaining. I’m accepting who I am. I’m making a conscious effort to shush ”the workaholic in me” when she rears her ugly head and tells me to work harder, more, etc. I have a tendency to do this all the time, but it’s worse when I’m trying to avoid dealing with certain things in life. I’m learning that accomplishing small steps takes me down the path toward success without overwhelming me. I do enjoy the writing process, so I don’t have a problem with enjoying the journey as much as the destination; however, I tend to want to take too many journeys at one time so that I only get to enjoy a moment on each path before I must detour down another path to work on a different destination.
Do I expect the workaholic in me to quiet any time soon? Not really. I’m learning to get along with her and to teach her that playing and relaxing can be as productive as working. She just rolled her eyes at me, but the truth is she knows I’m right even if she doesn’t like it.
The thing about the workaholic in me is that she’s loyal. She promises to give me everything and that she’ll never leave me. She’s there when I need distraction or when I can’t sleep. She’s there when I want to shut out the world. She’s never deserts me. She’s never too busy for me. She has gotten me through many heartaches. Turning my back on her now seems unfair. So I’m trying to make friends with her. Give her a healthy workload that still allows time for rejuvenation, relaxation, and recreation.
And so, here’s to the workaholic in me! I’ve decided I rather like her. Maybe if I treat her well, she’ll reward me just as well!
What about you? Do you have a bit of a workaholic in you? And, do you like her/him or loathe her/him?
Sometimes we invite toxicity into our lives. We don’t mean to. It usually creeps in while we’re not paying particularly close attention. We make a new friend who has issues. Or reconnect with an old friend who is struggling. We want to help, so we begin to listen and to advise. We share the little things that have made us who we are. The next thing we know, the negativity becomes downright draining. We try to approach the relationship from a different angle, but it seems to just go to that spot over and over. We look in the mirror and see our demeanor changing even when we’re not around the toxicity. We feel our positive thoughts being overrun by toxic thoughts perhaps one’s that have absolutely nothing to do with the person bringing the negativity to our lives. It hurts and it’s dangerous.
Sometimes, the toxicity doesn’t even come from the conversations with the person but with associations the mind makes to the person. This toxicity again spreads to other parts of one’s life, and the poison’s effects are devastating. Finding the antidote proves difficult. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say accepting the antidone proves difficult. As the poison spreads, the antidote seems farther and farther from reach.
Sometimes this toxicity even tricks us. We see something sweet in the relationship, something kind, understanding, giving, or something that fills a void in our lives. We readily invite this kind of toxicity into our lives. We greedily drink in this sweet poison. We get intoxicated on it. We search more out willing to give up anything for more. We grow addicted to the toxicity. We see it destroying our self esteem, our relationships with other people, our relationships with ourselves, our careers, our dreams, and yet we drink in the toxicity like it’s our lifeblood. We begin to plan how to bring the toxicity closer, how to spend more time with it, how to avoid anything that will expose it for what it is. We honestly begin to believe we’ll die if the toxicity is taken away from us.
As we sink deeper into the toxic quicksand, we appreciate how it snuggles against us, how it cuddles our insecurities, how it proves our deepest fears correct. We begin to strangle as it crowds out anything good from our thoughts. We lash out to preserve our lives, or so we think. What we’re really preserving is the toxicity in our minds. We begin to need it to survive.
We reach the point where we hold on to the toxicity as our muse, our drive, our ambition, our determination, our will for living. We fear if we let it go, we’ll no longer strive for our goals. We cling to it as if it is our only lifeline. We tighten our grip on the toxicity and find new sources as the old ones dry up, move on, or just are no longer strong enough to feed the hunger. We lap the poison up like we’ve been walking across a desert for days without a drop of water. We reach a point where we mainline it directly into our dreams from our subconscious.
Then one night we awake at 2:30 in the morning in a sweat, anger steaming from our pores, hatred emanating from our hearts, and viciousness radiating from our souls. Every thought, good or bad, has become tainted from the toxicity we allowed in our lives. That toxicity that we recognized at the beginning but invited in because we just wanted to make a new friend or help a fellow human being or to resolve something within our own selves. We lay staring into the darkness feeling that toxicity overtake our bodies. The blanket of toxicity warming us turns into a straightjacket. The toxicity has taken its physical toll in exhaustion, weight gain or excessive loss, pimples on our skin, rashes that appear suddenly, loss of strength, or illness. We feel the mental toll in our self esteem, in depression, in heartache, in our tempers. We feel the spiritual toll in that we no longer recognize ourselves or the being within, feel connected to anything good or uplifting but do feel as if evil is winning all around us.
We wait for something to change as we stare into the darkness. Maybe a tear slips down our cheeks. Maybe it doesn’t. Maybe we just want to feel something different. We reach out for the toxic lifeline to feed us again, but it doesn’t. Even our imaginations have grown too tired and confused to feed our toxicity. Our body has had enough. Our hearts cry for a change. Our spirits demand we find answers. Our minds attempt to turn rationality against the toxicity.
Eventually, if we’re lucky, we realize the only option is to drop the lifeline of toxicity. We grope around for another lifeline. For me that lifeline has always been love. When I turn my attention back to love, my thoughts turn to goodness and eventually to acceptance of self and others. I’m talking about love of self and humankind as a whole not romantic love though in some instances romantic love can also play a role in diminishing toxicity from our lives.
When we live our lives from a place of love, toxicity weakens its hold on us. It has no choice. Love comes from a place of positivity. The negativity that has become so toxic can’t survive in the wake of love. Love leads to hope and hope takes us to new heights in our lives.
Yesterday I was inspired to post “
“I sense that you’re trying to slow walk me to an epiphany. Would you mind very much jumping to it?” Sheldon Cooper in The Big Bang Theory.
I love this line! I’ve been in this predicament many times - on both sides of it.
We often want people to reach a conclusion on their own because we as the “outsider” can see the picture more clearly than the person sitting in the middle of it. We can see the blinders that are causing someone to make mistakes yet we know if we point them out, we’re going to be the proverbial bad guy. We can hear the words that are going to come back to haunt someone in later days. We want to share our experience with a situation to help someone avoid the pain we felt. We want to warn someone that they made the same mistake the last time they were in a similar situation. Yet, we know that unless the person reaches the conclusion on his/her own, they won’t be able to accept it. So we try to slow walk them to an epiphany.
To be perfectly honest, slow walking someone to an epiphany takes a tremendous amount of self control for me. I tend to much too blunt for a slow walk. I have the patience for it just not the tact to lead them there even when I know it’s in their best interests. I have bitten my lip so hard it’s bled in an attempt to slow walk someone to an epiphany. I have edited an email or Facebook comment repeatedly to attempt to slow walk someone to an epiphany. Sometimes, I give in and am just blunt…
There are times when a slow walk is absolutely necessary. There are other times when jumping to the epiphany is necessary. The key is determining which situation you’re in every single time. This means assessing the situation, knowing the person you are dealing with, and determining how much of a risk you are willing to take in the relationship. It’s rarely easy…
Sometimes one must even choose to keep silent. That’s right to say absolutely nothing. Silently watching someone make a mistake can be the hardest thing in the world, but the truth is there are some lessons we must all learn on our own. All too often one must quietly watch someone they care about become immersed in a situation that can only lead to pain. There are things we can ‘t tell one another. There are lessons we can’t express with simple words. There are points of life that just must be lived. And, that can be as hard or harder than trying to slow walk someone to an epiphany.
Slow walking someone to an epiphany is a little like learning to “show not tell” when writing a book. There’s an urge to dump the story onto the page just tell it all as fast as possible. Then the brain slows down to remind the writer that the reader wants to uncover the plot and get to know the characters while being taken on a journey. The writer finds a rhythm that reveals enough to give the reader the occasional “ah-ha” moment while manuevering him or her toward the climax just like we give a friend an example similar to his or her situation hoping he or she will reach the epiphany without us drumming it into his or her head. As a writer shows the story instead of telling it, the reader is drawn in with a sense of full satisfaction. Both instances create a lesson, sense of resolution or climax that is likely to stick with the person reaching it more so than if we just dumped the whole thing with undue bluntness on the unsuspecting person - at least usually.
If bluntness is required, make your case strong and airtight. Otherwise, you’ll risk losing your audience in one case or your friendship in the other, even if you’re right. This is a risk even if your case is strong and airtight.
Whenever possible, whether you’re trying to help a friend out of a dilemma or write a compelling scene, apply a bit of a slow walk. Your friend or your reader will appreciate discovering the epiphany all the more and, perhaps, even appreciate your role as friend or writer just a tiny bit more than before.
It feels odd to me as someone who appreciates bluntness to advocate the slow walk approach. When I see how it works for compelling writing, it encourages me to apply it to my life just a bit more. Well, when circumstances call for it. I’m not sure how well my bluntness and the slow walk will get along, but I’m going to give it a try. I like to think I already handle my bluntness with a touch of a slow walk, but I’m not so sure my friends would agree with that…
How about you? Would you rather your friends slow walk you to the epiphany or just jump to it?
The Democrat Herald has an article about my scheduled talk about self-publishing at Writers on the River in Corvallis Oregon tonight. Check it Out!
Confession time: I hate Valentine’s Day. I have for… well, as long as I can remember. Oh, yeah, when I was younger I played along, but I never really liked it. Okay, hate might be too strong a word, but it’s the word that came to mind…
If you love me on February 13 and you’ll still love me on February 15, why do I need you to make a bigger deal out of it on Valentine’s Day? Sorry, but the whole thing just plain escapes me. Some might say that I feel this way because I’ve been married for nineteen years, but that’s not it. As I said before, I’ve never really understood it. I tried to. I really did. After all, I’m a woman, these kind of days are supposed to be important to me. Maybe it’s maturity, but I can finally admit that I really just don’t care about Valentine’s Day without caring if people judge me.
Maybe I’m just not the “romantic” type.
I don’t get all excited by receiving flowers. The truth is while flowers are beautiful, they just die. They begin dying the minute they’re cut. Actually, they begin dying the minute they bloom… Not that I would turn them away or not appreciate the sentiment behind them…
I don’t get all mushy over candlelit dinners. I prefer to see what I’m eating. Thank you very much.
Okay, I do like love songs, love poems, romantic movies sometimes - well, I’m actually pretty picky about those, chocolates, and sparkling wine, but I don’t have to have any of those just because it’s Valentine’s Day. And, it doesn’t have to be Valentine’s Day for me to enjoy any of the above.
Give me any of these things in the middle of September or July and it’ll mean as much, probably more, than if you give it to me on Valentine’s Day. Seriously. I’m not kidding. Give it to me on Valentine’s Day, and I’m likely to accuse you of giving in to social convention - of it not really being from the heart. Okay, maybe not out loud, but the thought will cross my mind. I was raised with manners, so I would likely just thank you and smile.
Before someone feels compelled to point it out, yes, I got married on Valentine’s Day. When people hear this, they always say “how romantic” with such sweetness in their voices I feel compelled to point out that it had nothing to do with the fact that it was Valentine’s Day while struggling not to roll my eyes. Honestly, I would probably purposely pick a different day if I had it to do over, but that’s life. We live with the decisions we make. It was simply the first day Loay and I could both get off work (Technically, I worked until eight o’clock that morning (night shift), then went to get married.) and have a few days following it to spend together. Now, how romantic is that?
My wedding took place in a lawyer’s office. He happened to be a justice of the peace. There were five people present: Loay, my now husband of nineteen years, Todd, his best friend, Lori, my best friend, me, the bride, and the lawyer who married us. We were required to have two witnesses hence the inclusion of Todd and Lori. I wasn’t interested in all the pomp generally associated with weddings. I wanted the wedding over with, so I could get on with life. Again, how romantic is that?
The idea of romance is sweet, but I think it creates way too many expectations and tends to let people down more often than not. People get so caught up in the idea of what romance is they lose sight of what love is. They’re not the same thing. Really, truly they’re not.
Romance is when you you’re blinded by hearts and flowers. Romance is when you overlook those things you don’t like because you’ve convinced yourself the person will change because now you’re in his/her life. Romance is when you show your best self always. Romance is when you work to make someone like you. Romance is doing things you don’t like to do to make the other person happy and pretending like you enjoy it. Romance is looking for that special someone who will save you from. whatever it is you feel you need to be saved from. Romance is reciting vows at your wedding you don’t believe because it’s expected and it sounds good. Romance is tearing up as you make promises without any idea what they really mean. Romance, in many ways, is akin to manipulation - sweet manipulation but manipulation nonetheless. Romance starts to feel false, contrived, and like a chore as time goes on. Then it either gives way to genuine love or it dissipates. Romance is at best a stepping stone to something better.
Love is when you see reality - the hard work that is a relationship - and you don’t run away. Love is when you accept the things you don’t like. Love is when you support someone as they grow but you don’t try to force your expectations on them. Love is when you relax enough to truly be yourself and neither person runs away. Love is when two people see each other’s imperfections and alternately laugh and fight about them. Love is when you can fight vehemently but know with confidence you won’t lose the other person over an argument. I’m not talking about violence. Violence is NEVER love. Love is when you stay when the fun, newness and excitement of beginnings gives way to the mundaneness of every day life. Love is knowing that no matter whether times are good or bad, happy or sad, exciting or boring, you will be there for one another. Love is that moment when you really see one another for all you are worth - the good and the bad - and you still decide staying together is worth the work it will take. Sometimes love is walking away when you know that’s what’s best for the other party involved. That’s the hardest kind of love, but it can often be the most real.
Romance is always temporary, but love is enduring and everchanging. Romance loses its strength in the face of adversity, but love grows stronger when it survives adversity. Romance can be shaken right off its foundation with the slightest quake, but love grabs hold and shores up its foundation when troubles appear. Romance is easy to recognize, but love is often disguised to the outsider and sometimes even to those involved.
As we grow throughout life, we come to recognize that our very definition of love changes - sometimes almost on a daily basis. We come to accept that that’s okay, sometimes even desirable.
I’m not saying all romance needs to be discarded because romance plays its role in bringing people together and helping people get to know one another. Give me a choice though and I’ll choose real love over romance any time, any place.
Perhaps that’s why the romance of Valentine’s Day just doesn’t hold any allure for me.
Perhaps it’s also why I don’t write romances…
A few nights ago I asked my husband if he remembered what day he proposed to me nineteen years ago. He looked sheepish for a minute then looked away. I realized he thought it was a “trap” question, so I quickly reassured him it wasn’t. I don’t remember either. I then asked him if he remembered what day we met. Again, that sheepish look. Again I admitted I didn’t either. I asked him if he thought that was bad. He shrugged. After a few mintues, we decided it wasn’t. We’ve never been overly sentimental about those kind of things.
We know we met in January of 1991 and he proposed in January 1992. Good enough. We remember our anniversary and both our birthdays. We know we broke up in July 1991 and that we got back together in November 1991. We broke up again in December 1991 according to me. According to him we had a really bad fight and didn’t speak for a couple of weeks. Well, I moved during that time and didn’t leave a forwarding address, so I say we were broken up. But, why quibble over it now? We’ll just agree to disagree.
My Mom remembers the what day she met my Dad. I don’t know if she remembers what day he proposed. Many people not only remember but celebrate these moments. Last year my cousin and his wife (now divorced) celebrated the day they met prompting me to spend close to twenty minutes trying and failing to remember what day I met my husband.
There are dates I remember clearly.
I remember the date I graduated from college but probably only because it fell on my parents’ anniversary: December 14, 2001. I don’t remember the date I graduated from high school. It was May 1988, and I’m sure if I really wanted to know I could look it up.
I remember the date my first book, All She Ever Wanted, was published: March 15, 2002.
In my defense, or possibly just a lousy excuse, when I met my husband, I honestly doubted it would last. I’d given up on having a real relationship, and I had definitely given up on having a lasting one. My few failed attempts at relationships - to use the word loosely - had convinced me I wasn’t the relationship type. Why bother committing to memory a date that I’d just have to forget? I’d already forced myself to forget at least one that I’d thought was going to be important.
There’s one date I seriously wish I could forget. Yet, no matter, how hard I try, that never happens. See Vow Toward Rewriting My Annual Bad Day.
If I stop to think about it, there are other dates I remember as well like the date my grandparents died and their birthdays. And, of course, I remember the birthdays of parents, sister, my nieces and nephews, etc., but these aren’t the kind of dates I’m talking about here. I’m simply talking about the dates we GIVE importance - the dates when so-called life-changing moments happen to us.
I remember the story of how my husband and I met. I even wrote a poem, Two Simple Words, about it, but the date seems unimportant. I remember how he proposed to me and my reaction, but again does the actual date matter?
Now, if things like that are important to you, I have no quibble with that. I think that’s great. It’s just that… well, to be honest, speaking strictly for myself, I find moments, memories, the hows and whys, the events, the emotions behind the moment, and the people involved so much more important than the particular date.
This isn’t an excuse for anyone to forget an anniversary or a birthday or any day you and your partner have deemed important. It’s simply my acknowledgement that it’s not important enough to ruin the present over. Enjoy the memories you’ve created together and worry less about exact dates. Take the pressure off each other and enjoy every minute you have together. That’s my advice.
Yesterday I wrote about being enterprising in response to Christina Katz’s The Prosperous Writer writing prompt this week. I explored how I became enterprising but not really what being enterprising meant to me. I just couldn’t connect to the topic for some reason. Last night I went to the Willamatte Writers Salem Chapter meeting where Scott William Carter gave a presentation titled 10 Reasons There’s Never Been a Better Tiem to Be a Fiction Writer. As he spoke, I began to rethink my take on being enterprising.
One of the reasons I decided to publish my novel, All She Ever Wanted
The more I explored my options, the more I realized I didn’t want to wait for the publishing gods to anoint my work with their blessings. I wanted to strike out on my own and let my work speak for itself. The control freak in me began to scream, and I finally paid attention. I researched my options, calculated the potential bottomline, and decided to take control. I edited All She Ever Wanted, filled out the paperwork, and set things in motion. I’ve already described what came next to some degree in the first post on Enterprising, so I won’t repeat that.
In the past few years, much of the stigma attached to alternative forms of publishing has begun to dissipate. More authors, some very successful ones, are taking their careers into their own hands and touting the benefits of epublishing and POD.
To be an enterprising author, one must consider all of one’s options. Look at the benefits of traditional publishing and weigh those benefits against the downfalls. Look at the benefits of epublishing and POD and weigh those against the downfalls. Then make the decision that makes the most business sense. That will differ for each author depending on one’s goals.
Sometimes business sense and creative sense seem to be at odds. When one starts to think about the business of publishing something one has written, there’s often a fear that it will take time away from writing. Lose the fear. It will. Accept it and incorporate it into your schedule. But being published by a traditional publisher will, too. More and more authors are being left to do their own publicity and marketing, so the question becomes what is the publisher doing to earn the money for the book you’ve written and are publicizing? If it’s enough to satisfy you, then by all means go that route. If not, explore your options. Either way be careful to keep writing on your schedule as you promote the work that’s out there. Your best publicity is more product - in this case more books you’ve written. Spoken by someone who learned that lesson the hard way.
Don’t be afraid to look up the numbers and do the math. When you see the figures in black and white and possibly red, you may feel like someone threw ice water on your face. Dry it off. Then take control of your career and run with it. Be enterprising by constantly seeking out new ways to accomplish your goals!
In the past few months, I’ve been re-evaluating my procedures, processes, and routine. I’ve been eliminating things that are unproductive. I’ve been rearranging my schedule to put my priorities back in order. I’ve been looking at habits that simply drain my time and energy, so I can replace them with things that work. Enterprising authors seek out opportunities to further their careers and eliminate things that aren’t working. Sometimes it can be hard to let go of the process we’ve been told to follow because it follows the rules. If it’s not working though, it’s time to find a new path. It may not be the path everyone else is on, but, hey, who wants to follow the crowd anyway? Cutting your own path is being enterprising.
Thanks, Scott, for reminding me that every day when I decide what to do with my writing career, I am being enterprising! I know that wasn’t exactly the topic of your presentation, but apparently it’s the message I needed to receive.
Christina, sorry I didn’t get it the first time through. I’ve been going through the motions of being enterprising for quite a while, but I hadn’t truly embraced being enterprising for all its worth. I’d considered being enterprising an evil necessity and had treated it as such. Last night as I listened to Scott speak, I started to feel excited again about being enterprising. I started thinking being enterprising can be creative and it doesn’t have to impede my writing just because it’s the business side of things.
So, how about it? Are you ready to accept being enterprising as part of your creative journey? Come on, if we do it together it’ll be easier.
I have a confession. When I first read that this week’s Properous Writer quality was Enterprising, I stuck my tongue out at the screen. Sorry, Christina! See, I thought I had nothing to say on the topic because I’ve long considered writing a business… Haven’t I?
Then I decided maybe the thing to do was share my experience accepting writing as a business.
In my naivete, I thought the whole reason one looked for a publisher was the publisher had the contacts, the money, and the workforce to let readers know about the book. Then I picked up a book on the publishing industry and learned the industry didn’t work that way for beginning authors. So, I started considering my options.
I created a website to attract attention to my writing. I updated it regularly and waited for it to work its magic. In the meantime, I kept writing and submitting my work. I turned my attention to the various options available to writers.
I admit when I first published All She Ever Wanted, my novel, I didn’t really understand what it meant to be in the business of being a writer. I like the artistic part. I enjoyed writing. Creating worlds populated with characters I controlled was fun. Oh, have I mentioned I tend to be a tiny bit of a control freak? Describing those worlds and playing with lives brought me immense pleasure. I had some ideas about what it took to find readers for my book, but those ideas turned out to be a tad bit naive.
My book became available. I contacted all my friends and family. I sent out press releases. I contacted book stores to set up signings. I was doing everything I’d read I should do. I bought and read books on book publicity and marketing. Then I realized I should’ve done that BEFORE I published my book. I found myself playing catch up, but my drive was strong. Publicity should’ve started months before my book’s release date, but I didn’t learn that until the book was released. Besides I felt weird about publicizing a book people couldn’t buy yet.
I researched all kinds of opportunities including book festivals, other festivals, conferences, book stores for signings, online reviewers, etc. I made lists of all that were even remotely related to my book. I contacted the appropriate people. I sent out books for review. I visited local bookstores to show them my book. I donated books to local libraries as well as libraries near my hometown and the library at my alma mater, Eastern Kentucky University.
I worked on publicity and marketing pretty much every waking hour from my book’s release in March 2002 until September 2002 when I became so physically exhausted I didn’t think I could go another day. An opportunity to spend a few weeks in Spain presented itself when my husband had to spend a month or so there for work. I took it, but I was so in marketing and publicity mode that I couldn’t stop. I passed out bookmarks to people I ran into including on the plane, in the airport, and in bookstores in Spain. No, there wasn’t a Spansih translation of my book, but I didn’t care.
Yes, I sold copies of the book and I received an excellent review from Midwest Book Reviews. I had a book signing and participated in a book festival.
I started reviewing books I read as well as places I visited.
And, this I did all the while telling myself I was an artist first and a business person second. It wasn’t that I didn’t understand the importance of selling books. I simply saw the need to sell books as a by-product to be being a writer - an evil necessity.
I became involved with Partners in Crime eventually becoming President. I joined PFAI where I chaired the Murder in the Grove planning committee. Both of these provided me the opportunity to promote my work and make contacts in the writing world.
As I learned of other opportunities to promote my work I jumped on them. I created a My Space page and then did nothing with it for a very long time. I created a LinkedIn page. Again, I did very little with it. I joined online writers listservs to chat with other writers, find new opportunities to publicize my work, and learn more. Eventually, I also joined Facebook. On Facebook, I discovered that publicizing my writing was easier than on the other social media networks.
I also started two blogs; this one and one where I do reviews of books, travel, etc.
My efforts have lead to radio and television appearances, reviews of my work, a growing network of writers and readers, opportunities for my work to appear in other places, and book sales.
What I’ve learned in the process is that I must be enterprising. When an opportunity presents itself, I must grab hold and make it work for me. When opportunities aren’t presenting themselves, I must seek them out or make them for myself. And, I treat every thing I do to promote my work as a learning experience. The more I learn, the better I’ll do next time.
Seeing, my poem inspired by but not about the movie, Powder, is now available if you’d like to read it. Note I wrote this poem after I first watched the movie in the mid 1990s.
For those interested in the movie:
A good writer often finds the need to dredge up bad memories to write realistic material. I’ve been finding ways to avoid this for over 100 pages of the manuscript I’m currently writing. I know I have to go there, and, frankly, I’m concerned about the effect it will have on my relationships. I have a small fear that if I allow myself to go into those memories and the emotional damage they created, I’ll lose myself - again. Rationally, I know that’s unlikely to happen, but the irrational voice that remains quiet much of the time seems to be screaming at me on this one. I have to latch onto these memories and stay for a prolonged visit instead of indulging them for a minute or two. I write that as if I’ve forgotten these memories, but that’s not possible. I just don’t dwell on them anymore. Even yesterday as I sat down to write about this, I couldn’t. I wrote several sentences and ended up deleting the blog. I walked away.
Now, I’m back here facing my fear and realizing this hearkens back to my fear of being vulnerable. If I open myself to vulnerability, I open myself to the consequences. As I face that, I have to ask myself if I’ve overloaded my schedule as a way to procrastinate working on this book because I don’t want to open that door again. I worked hard to move past those circumstances and create a life far away from them. Yet, if you look at my work closely, you will find a thread related to the event in question or its aftermath in almost everything I’ve written. Still, I’ve never gone into a book-length work making it one of the central themes of the work before. It’s always been a sideline, a contributing factor, a moment in time - never even a subplot in a book-length work before. And, subconsciously I think I started trying to force it into one of those roles in this book as well. That way I didn’t have to face it head on. That way I could write around it and about it without the requirement to delve into the whole ordeal.
And, yet, this issue often appears in my work without me even thinking about it. So I come back to the question on my mind. Why am I having so much trouble getting there this time? And, I wonder if perhaps my brain is slowing me down not to protect me but to force me to bring the reader there more slowly, to create suspense, to give the reader the foundation needed for the revelation to make sense.
Some may be tempted to ask me why go there at all. They may want to suggest I just write about something else and forget about this book. That is tempting, but it’s not who I am. My inner voice is telling me I need to go there, so I will. Also, the experiences life brings are the tools a writer uses. They are what bring depth to character, color to setting, and realism to fiction. They are what create the moments that immerse the reader in the story and create the connection to character and circumstances. Those moments are what make fiction important to the human experience, so I must face what I know about humanity and human reaction from my own experience and use it to tell the story that needs to be told. It is my responsibility as a writer. It is also what helps me to find my own path and make sense of the experiences in my life. If my experience can help someone else in a similar situation who reads my words, then I have achieved my goal as a writer and a human being.
And, on top of that, I’m suffering a bit from self-doubt about the book as a whole. That is rather common for me at this stage in a book. I’m nearing a transition point that will determine the direction of the book, and that always makes me doubt my writing skill, my talent for storytelling, and my theme. The only way to push through that doubt is to write, so I’m going to write my way through it. There’s always the rewrite to fix any mistakes…
So, next time you must delve into the recesses of your bad memories to write a scene, a poem, an article, a book, or whatever, take a deep breath, know you’re not the only one who dreads going there, admit your fear even if only to yourself, and then move forward at the speed you need. Just remember growth comes from experience, a memory holds only the power we give it, and art often comes from pain…
And, if that doesn’t work, contact me and find out if I managed to pull it off. Because if I can do it, you most certainly can!