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Author, Historian, Storyteller

Archives for June 2013

Happiness, Love, WritingLeave a comment

Last year I got to watch my best friend get married to a truly great guy, and because she loves me and wants me to be happy she didn’t make me buy a hideous bridesmaid dress.  So thank you for that!  She did, however, ask me to do a reading for the ceremony.  I immediately said of course and when I asked her what she wanted me to read – I was expecting a psalm or a poem, etc – she instead asked me to write something . . . and she didn’t want to read it or hear it until her wedding day . . . no pressure or anything!  Ack!  At any rate, I came up with this and wanted to post it today to say happy one-year anniversary to Jolene and Tim.  All my love to you both and I still think you made a beautiful choice!

 

Love Is

There are many occasions in life to symbolize when a girl becomes a woman, and a boy becomes a man.  Some are manufactured, some earned and some merely attained through the passing of the years.  I think it is best to leave symbols to literature and find our definitions through the living of life.  Therefore I believe that a woman and a man are truly born of a realization.  A realization and acceptance that love is not the thing of fairy tales.  There are no knights in shining armor, problems aren’t solved in the span of a catchy song, and while you may get to ride off into the sunset, the story continues the next day.

No, love is not the thing of fairytales.  It is much more powerful than that.  It is more akin to the love that the poets speak of: a fire that can warm and enthrall the senses, or rage and burn through the night as a torrent of emotions engulfing all within its wake. It can be a fiend that slowly, imperceptibly fades away, leaving naught but its smoky ashes.  These fires can be left to rage and fade, skip and jump where they will, or they can be harnessed and used to sustain you through to the end of your days.

Love is hard, because it is work.  It is work that has to be done each day, because love is not unconditional. Love is a choice.  A choice to recognize that even if your fire is raging, your partner’s may be flagging and need encouragement and a gentle stirring of their faltering embers so that they may burn brightly by your side instead of being snuffed out and engulfed by your heat. A choice to carry someone else’s voice in the back of your mind; to not always pick the option that is best for you and you alone. It is a choice to always say you’re sorry, because over time the little things can hurt just as much as the big.  It is a choice to open oneself up, bare one’s soul and risk the whips and scorns of judgment from another human being; to make mistakes and risk carrying the scars of those mistakes with you for the rest of your days.

But it is also a choice to be seen and accepted for who you truly are.  To know someone so well that when they look into your eyes they see to the very depth of your soul.  It is a choice to share the good times, weather the bad, and when there are no words left to hold each other tight.  It is the burning cinders that keep you warm at the end of a long, cold night.

Love is compromise.  It is sacrifice, acceptance, forgiveness and joy.  But above all, it is a choice, a beautiful choice. So may you stand together as Woman and Man and choose love, everyday, for the rest of your lives.

Theater, WritingLeave a comment

I’ve been a theater critic in Los Angeles on and off for about three years now, and in that time I’ve been given quite a bit of advice – some solicited, some un-solicited – about what a critic is and how to be a good critic.  For the most part it seems like there are three camps.

 

Camp 1 – synopsis of the play followed by “Yay, everybody was so good!”

Camp 2 – synopsis of the play followed by a history lesson about the play, the playwright, the time period that the play takes place in, the theatrical convention used, etc, followed by critical remarks about the production

Camp 3 – synopsis of the play followed by scathing remarks tearing apart anything and everything that was even remotely sub-par with the intent of culling the weak theater out to make way for the good.

 

Honestly, I don’t know that I fall into any of those camps.  I’m a critic, not your mother.  So if you want/need to hear, “Yay, everybody was so good!” then you better put on one hell of a good production.  And while a little background about the play, time period or theatrical convention used is warranted if it helps to illuminate the critique; I don’t feel that a full-on history lesson is needed.  In this day and age if people are really that interested they can Google the particulars.

Lastly, I definitely don’t believe that it is my JOB to weed out the bad from the good.  I am one person and what I have to say is one person’s opinion.  There will be productions that the majority of people will love, that simply aren’t my cup of tea.  I commonly have this conversation with my sister:

 

Sister:  How was the movie/play?

Me:  Ugh, it was horrible.  The acting was mediocre, the plot predictable and the story contrived.

Sister:  But would I like it?

Me:  Oh, yeah, you’d love it.  Go see it!

 

This is not a commentary on my sister.  It’s a commentary on me.  I am hypercritical of everything I watch.  I always have been, and it’s a rare circumstance that I can turn that part of me off.  Yes, I’m the same with my own work, so at least I’m an equal opportunity critic.  That being said critiques come down to one thing – they are the opinion of one person, and this person loves live theater.

I root for the theater companies.  I want them to do amazing work and try new things and experiment and create art that can move their audience.  Some of the most amazing experiences in my life have taken place in theaters either in the audience, onstage or backstage.  However, as in any art form, when you put yourself out there and take a risk, sometimes you miss the mark and as a critic I do have an obligation to my readers.  If they only have enough money to go see one show, then I need to steer them to the show that will help build their love of theater so that they’ll keep coming back.

So I tell it how I see it and I try valiantly to walk that fine line between being honest and being mean, because there is a difference.  A HUGE difference.  And if I can’t come up with anything positive to say about a production, I prefer to say nothing at all.  That’s the kind of critic that I want to be.

Characters, WritingLeave a comment

So I realized that my original intention for this blog was so that I could chronicle the creative process of writing my novel.  Of which I have not been doing at all.  Instead, for the most part, I’ve been writing about anything and everything except about my novel.  But then it occurred to me, that I actually am chronicling my creative process, because this is pretty much how my creative process goes.

I’ll glance at my computer, and then go make some coffee.  Then do the dishes, or go walk the dogs.  Then I’ll turn on the computer, and start thinking about something else entirely.  Maybe write about that, or whatever it is I’m thinking about will lead me to start pondering life in general.  Then I’ll take a shower, play with the dogs.  Go do some grocery shopping.  And as I’m choosing produce it will occur to me:

 

Yes!  Because of what Henry does to Emma, she’s driven to the edge, which leads her to meet the guy in that place where she does the thing.

 

Then I finish my grocery shopping, go home.  Make some food, do some dishes, watch some Criminal Minds.  Go to bed.  Wake up.  Go to work.  Then I’ll be doing some filing in the file room and:

 

Oh!  Because of the thing that Emma does in the place with that guy, she winds up invited to the party where she meets Kady.  And because she meets Kady, she figures out her revenge.

 

Which gets me to thinking about something else, so I write about it, and go about my business, all the while these little epiphanies that I have kick around in my head building off of each other, growing and connecting to form one cohesive storyline.  I get the structure and it’s pieced together slowly in my head.  You see, I don’t write in chronological order.  I tried, I tried really hard.  My type A personality really loathed the idea of writing any other way, but I couldn’t do it.  I have to write whatever is at the forefront of my brain.  I have to write whatever is in the queue first; so that it isn’t lost as I work on whatever is second and third in line.  So I surrendered to doing it out of order and it seems to be working for me.  I wrote my last chapter long before I’d ever written my first.  I know where my characters are going. I know what happens to them.  It’s their journey that is being revealed to me piece by piece and like the movie “Memento” it all fits together . . . eventually.

But sometimes I have to write the other things first, because those are important too.  So I guess that’s what this blog has become.  A place for the immediate thoughts crowding my headspace that so desperately need an outlet so that everything else can move up in the queue.  My repository for everything that cut in line and wound up in front of my characters.

Oh, and my epiphanies are much more detailed than that, but the thing that Emma does to the guy in the place is pretty good, and I don’t want to ruin the surprise.

Dating, Life, Live and LearnLeave a comment

I had an epiphany today.  I’m a member on an online dating site.  Yes, I’m a single woman in the . . . the . . . this day and age – seriously what is this day and age called, does anybody know? – so of course I’m on a dating website.  No, I have not found Mr. Right, truth be told I haven’t even found Mr. Good Enough For Right Now.  For the most part I’ve found invites for Internet sex or sexting and requests that I send pictures of myself in a bathing suit.  Which officially begs the question, do women actually send pictures of themselves in a bathing suit to men that they’ve never met? Crrrreeeeeeepy!  At any rate, I’ve tried out a couple of these sites and they all have these questions that you answer so that they can match you with guys.  Without fail, there is always a question similar to this:

So far has your life been motivated by?

  1. Love
  2. Money
  3. Commitment
  4. Dedication

Honestly, I think they’re missing the real answer for a lot of people: fear.

I know that for me it is true. I think for me it was something that was learned very early on.  My childhood was spent in a state of anticipation, a state of fear waiting for the other shoe to drop. I have no studies or testimonials to back this up, but I’m going to guess that this is probably a pretty universal experience for kids that grew up with a sick parent.  There was always a fear of what was to come next.  Was she going to be okay, was it going to be a good day or a bad day?  Would she suddenly take a turn for the worse?  My mind was filled with fear.  No matter how much reassurance I was given, the fear remained.  When she died, mixed in with all of the other sundry emotions was a palpable relief; relief that I no longer needed to wait for the other shoe to drop, because it just had.  It was as if I was Atlas and the world had been lifted from my shoulders.  Shortly thereafter a heavy helping of guilt replaced it, but that’s another topic all together.  The fear was gone, but only fleetingly.  Like all old habits, it came back and I found other things to fear.

I was afraid that if I was my own person no one would like me.  I was afraid that I wouldn’t be good enough . . . at anything.  Even in jobs that I knew I was doing good work and that I was a valued employee there was still this underlying fear that one day I would do something that would upset the applecart so egregiously that they would fire me on the spot.  I thought that I had tackled these fears years ago and moved on, but traces remain and pop up in the weirdest of places.

I’m afraid that I’m not taking care of my dogs properly.  I’m still afraid that I will get fired from my job suddenly.  I’m afraid that somebody will find out that I like Taylor Swift’s music more than Beyonce’s.  Whoops, let that cat out of the bag!  I can’t help it Swift’s music is catchy and quite frankly, “Cause I’m not your princess, this ain’t a fairytale, I’m gonna find someone someday who might actually treat me well“ is a much more interesting lyric than, “If you like it then you should have put a ring on it” repeated ad nauseum – no offense intended to the Beyonce groupies out there, I just don’t get the hype.  With how much money she has, she couldn’t afford to buy another lyric?  C’mon!

My point is, why live in fear?  How is that profitable?  Which brings me to my Shakabuku – for those who are saying “What is the world is that?” see here or here.  You can’t live in the moment if you are perpetually afraid of what might happen in the next moment.  It’s impossible.  Go ahead and try it, you can’t do it, and the key word in that sentence is MIGHT – it’s not even a fear of a definite.  So this living in fear has got to stop.  Right. Now.  I believe that everything happens for a reason, the good, the bad and the really shitty.  I don’t regret anything in my past, because it has made me who I am today, and I am strong.  I can take anything that life throws at me, because quite frankly I’ve probably already been through worse.  So bring it.  After all, if everything happens for a reason, what is there to fear?  How’s that for a swift kick to the head?

LifeLeave a comment

Weekend To-Do List

–       Dishes . . . check

–       Make food for the Puggles . . . check

–       Make snacks for the Puggles  . . . check

–       More dishes  . . . check

–       Give puggles a bath  . . . check

–       Laugh at the discovery that puggle butts are buoyant, so they can’t sit down  . . . check

–       Re-pot orchid  . . . check

–       Watch an embarrassingly large amount of “Smallville”  . . . check

–       Buy groceries at Costco  . . . check

–       Escape Costco before throttling one of the mindless lemmings with their carts  . . . check

–       Realize that you just admitted to watching a large amount of “Smallville”  . . . check

–       Job hunt  . . . check

–       Make breakfasts-to-go for the week  . . . check

–       Make lunches for the week  . . . check

–       Make dinners for the week  . . . check

–       Even more dishes . . . I hate dishes  . . . check

–       Make some jewelry  . . . check

–       Take out the trash  . . . check

–       Take out the recycling  . . . check

–       Actually put the recycling in the recycling and the trash in the trash . . . check

–       Work on Novel  . . . check

–       Shave legs  . . . check

–       Bandage cut on leg from shaving  . . . check

–       Clean bedroom  . . . check

–       Write theatre review  . . . check

–       Laundry . . .

 

Monday’s To-Do List

–       Go to work in pajamas because you forgot to do laundry over the weekend  . . . check

Fathers, WritingLeave a comment

It is a very recent development that I claim the title of writer.  Despite the fact that it has always been something that I did, I never really identified with it as part of who I was.  However, when I stumble upon things like the one I am about to share, it makes me shake my head that I didn’t figure out that writing really is a deeply ingrained part of who I am.  So for your father’s day enjoyment I present an oldie – judging from the handwriting I’m going to guess that this was presented to my father when I was about ten.  I do hope you will forgive the liberties that ten-year-old me took with the rhyming scheme, 31-year-old me resisted the urge to edit.

 

Twas the Night Before Father’s Day

 

Twas the night before father’s day and all through the world

The mothers were stirring cause the baby just hurled.

The children weren’t nestled all snug in their beds

Cause my sister just kicked me square in the head

Mom was in her curlers and pop in his cap

Finally settled us down before I kicked her right back

Revenge isn’t sweet said pop with a sigh

That wasn’t very nice to kick her in the eye

When out in the den there arose such a clatter

Pop sprang from the room to see what was the matter.

When what with his wondering eyes did he see?

But a miniature pond cause I broke the window accidentally.

The rain was pouring in so lively and free

Dad knew in a moment new carpeting it would be.

He was fuming and red from his head to his toe

But calmed down again cause he knew I felt low.

And then in the attic we heard with a beat

The prancing and pawing of little bird’s feet

Faster than bullets towards us they came

Their leader whistled and shouted and called them by name

Come on Ollie, now Stanley, now Larry and Moe,

On Wally, on Beaver, on Shemp and Groucho.

They shouted as they fled off into the night

Happy father’s day to all, and the kids won’t even fight!

Inspiration, Live and LearnOne comment so far

I was supposed to meet my cousins at Disneyland last night.  I haven’t seen them in a really long time, they’re in town, so I braved the traffic and after work drove down to Disneyland.  Where I discovered that I couldn’t actually get into the park itself because it happened to be a black-out day on my pass.  It hadn’t even occurred to me that I needed to check blackout days – it was a Thursday night after all – but there you have it.  So I drove for three hours round trip to give them a hug outside of the main gate and chat for half an hour.  Not exactly the evening that I had imagined, but it turns out, that it was exactly what I had needed – perspective.

This could have easily ruined my night, and after the rough week that I’ve had at work I’m honestly kind of proud of myself that it didn’t.  Let’s face it, it was an EPIC Disneyland fail and there was no one to blame but myself.  But you know what, it gave me time to decompress.  For two hours driving through rush hour traffic I was present, I was in the moment.  I wasn’t worrying about my to-do list at home, I wasn’t worrying about work or all of things that I need to cram into my weekend and accomplish.  I drove.  I changed lanes, I accelerated, I applied the brakes and I listened to music.  I was blissfully disconnected from everything except for the immediate presence of the traffic around me.  Yes, I did just use the word blissful in a sentence describing LA traffic and yes I am probably crazy, but the jury’s still out on that one!  Then I got to catch up, commiserate with family that I wouldn’t have had a chance to see otherwise.  It was short and not at all as planned, but it was novel and novelty has a charm unto itself.

One of my favorite movies is “Grosse Pointe Blank” and one of the characters talks about Shakabuku.  “It’s a swift, spiritual kick to the head that alters your reality forever.”  Now I’m not saying that my reality has been altered forever, but I feel like last night was my Shakabuku – kick to the head/LA traffic, yep that’s a much more accurate description.  I spend way too much time planning and working through all of the possible outcomes of a given scenario instead of simply living.  Taking the world on as it comes, making the best of what I am given and accepting the outcome.  I don’t need to think out ten different scenarios of how a situation may turn out because that’s nine scenarios that will never exist outside of my own head – assuming of course that one of those ten is what actually happens.  What a huge waste of time!

So new goal: embrace my Shakabuku.  Let go of the incessant planning and worrying and live right here, right now.  After all, the best laid plans generally go awry anyway.  Oh, and go to the library and get an audiobook.  A good audiobook would have totally rocked last night!

LifeLeave a comment

So I’m wearing panty hose again, I hate panty hose.  I think you all know that.  But I’m wearing them, because if there’s something that I hate more than panty hose it’s doing laundry.  Therefore I have no clean dress pants and since I’ve been freezing in my office all week it’s a skirt and panty hose for me.  Seriously though, laundry, is there anyone out there that actually likes doing laundry?  Or dishes, I hate doing dishes more than I hate doing laundry and the reason is really simple.  They are tasks that no matter what, you are never done!  You can devote your entire Saturday morning to washing all of your clothes, linens, etc and scrubbing every dish in the house.  Ta-da!  You’re done and for thirty glorious seconds it’s beautiful.  But then you realize that you’re a little parched from all of that hard work, so you get a glass of water.  That’s when the spiral of despair begins.  You realize that not all of the dishes are clean anymore, because the very act of congratulating yourself on a job well done with a refreshing glass of water has dirtied a dish.  Then you realize that while you spent hours washing, drying, folding, ironing (okay scratch ironing, who actually irons anymore?), and putting away the clothes, you are in fact wearing clothes . . . which are now dirty . . . which means that even as you have finished the job, it has started all over again.

 

AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!

 

This is why I hate laundry and dishes.  You’re never done and the satisfaction of doing the work is short-lived at best.  This is also why I own over a month’s supply of underwear.  You can get by with the smell test on a pair of pants for one more wear, but on a pair of underwear that’s just nasty!  So as I am at the end of that supply I will once more begrudgingly be doing laundry this weekend . . . naked . . . and drinking straight from the faucet, because damnit I want my victory of everything clean all at once!

Live and LearnLeave a comment

I made the decision that I wanted to start incorporating more exercise into my weekly routine. After all I sit at a desk for 40 hours a week at work and I would prefer if my ass didn’t start to resemble the chair that it sits in! I already walk my dogs on a daily basis and truth be told keeping those little monsters at bay is an arm workout combined with a walk, but I felt the need for more. So I sat down and came up with a workout routine that would slowly ramp myself up into strenuous, healthful workouts several times a week …

 

Wait a minute, that doesn’t sound like me AT ALL! Which would explain why I instead dove in head first and did a P90X workout followed up by an intermediate pilates class. Yeah, that definitely sounds more like me, because I am smart!  S-M-R-T smart!  Which means that I now have been introduced to a whole new level of pain.  Forget saying that it hurts to move, at this point it hurts to exist!  The very act of breathing is painful.  Apparently out of shape at 31 is significantly different than out of shape at 26.  And I only did half of the P90X workout, I’m fairly certain that I wouldn’t be able to walk if I had done the whole thing!  Good grief!

I believe that it is time to regroup, maybe do some yoga, or a hot bath with a glass of wine and handful of ibuprofen.  Maybe approach this whole exercise thing a bit more gingerly, a bit slower.  A beginning pilates class.  Because while I was an instructor, that was 8 years ago and just because I know the exercises does not mean that I can still do them.  Lesson learned!  However, thank you to the puggles, my arms are perfectly fine.  The little monsters!

Depression, Happiness, Live and LearnLeave a comment

I am currently in a funk, have been for a couple of weeks now.  This is nothing new to me.  I have been clinically depressed since I was eleven-years-old.  I know that this is not PC, not “appropriate for polite conversation,” but I don’t believe that people should be ashamed of mental illness.  It doesn’t make me any less of a person, it doesn’t change the way that people look at me after they find out.  The people that matter at any rate.  In fact, I’ve found that talking about it helps.  When the people around me know, I don’t feel the need to put on the act that I do around others.  You see I am a very high functioning depressive.  A common reaction that I get from people when I tell them, is that they had no idea I suffered from depression.

Actually, I don’t like to say that I suffer from depression, because suffer has always implied to me that I am a victim, that I have no control.  I decided long ago that I’m not a victim.  I battle depression. It is a war and one that I will likely fight for the rest of my life.  I take it head on and I take no prisoners . . . most days.  However, like any war I lose battles, and then I’m in a funk.  Sometimes I can identify what caused it, sometimes I can’t.  Some days are simply funkier than others.

And no, that week or two that you felt really low does not give you an adequate frame of reference for what the past 20 years of my life have been like. So please don’t tell me that you know how it feels. You don’t. That would be like me telling a marathoner I know all about it because I ran track in high school.  To a certain extent, it’s insulting.  It belittles my reality.

I know that you want to help, I know that you want to fix the problem and I appreciate that this desire comes out of concern and from a place of love.  But please understand, that this is not your problem to fix.  Suggesting that I get more exercise, or eat healthier, or get daylight lamps, or investigate the different meds on the market is the opposite of help.  I’m doing the best that I know how to do and you giving me all of these suggestions tells me that my best isn’t good enough. It layers funk on top of the funk.  Not to mention, I doubt very seriously that you have come across a study, approach or new theory out there that I haven’t already read about and very probably tried.  I have worked my way through the advice, strategies and gamut of meds available. I know what’s out there.  If there was a med that offered a benefit that was greater than the side-effects, you can bet your sweet ass that I would already be on that sucker!

This does not mean that you can’t help, you can definitely help.  Here’s how.

  1. If we live in the same city, get me out of my house.  Let’s go for a hike, or a movie, or lunch.  Get me out of the house and don’t take no for an answer.  I will have a billion reasons why I can’t; I have to clean the kitchen first, I have no money, I have a bunch of emails I’m behind on, I have to blah, blah, blah, etc.  Come over and keep me company while I clean the kitchen, then suggest we go for a walk because that’s free! Get me out of the house; even if it’s only for 30 minutes.
  2. If we don’t live in the same city, call to say hi, to check in, but don’t make it all about me.  If the entire conversation is fixated on how I’m doing, how I’m feeling, what I’m doing to feel better, I’m going to start to feel like a monkey in a cage.  Ask how I’m doing and if I want to talk about it I will, if I don’t let’s move on with the conversation as normal.  Please don’t tip toe around like you’re walking on egg shells, because then I feel the need to put on an act that all is well and good to make you feel better and to put you at ease.  That is EXHAUSTING, and depression is exhausting enough all by itself.
  3. This one’s counterintuitive, I know, but tell me about an issue you’re having and ask for my advice. It reminds me that there are issues in the world other than my own. The German’s call it schadenfruede, it works. But a word of warning, make it a lighter issue that you don’t need critical advice on, because depending on the level of funk you might get some really crappy advice!
  4. If you do come across an article or study that is interesting and that you think would be of benefit to me, email me the link. That way I can read it when I am in a head space to receive the information and benefit from it. Telling me about it will more than likely feel like you’re forcing the information down my throat.
  5. Understand that sometimes I have to embrace the funk, the silence, wrap myself in the dark clouds and get drenched by the rain before the sun can shine through again. So if I don’t answer your call, please don’t take it personally. I still love and care for you, the clouds have just filled my head so thoroughly that there isn’t room for anything else. Try again tomorrow.  Send me a picture of a monkey hugging a puppy or a sarcastic meme.  All good things that show you care, but give me some space.
  6. Accept, like I have, that this is a part of my reality and I’m going to have down days and down weeks. Don’t be alarmed. However, if I’ve ignored 4+ calls in a row or spent 4+ calls in a row crying and I am cancelling all of my plans except the bare minimum to survive, then some alarm is warranted. I have crossed the threshold into the benefits of the meds now outweigh the side-effects.  Feel free to remind me of this. But if not, if I’m functioning and working through it, let me function.  Support me at my current best so that I can get back to my normal best.