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Author, Historian, Storyteller

Archives for August 2015

Change, Happiness, LifeLeave a comment

For a long time I believed that happiness was a destination. If I could accomplish X, then I would be happy. If I could get A, B and C, then I would be happy. I was on this road and happiness was always just slightly out of reach. I always had to finish one more thing, climb over one more obstacle, obtain one more prize. In all honesty, it was a bit like playing Super Mario Brothers. I would get through all the levels and battle my way past Bowser only to discover that I’ve simply leveled up and there’s a whole new world of levels to get through. Only this one’s a frickin water world!

Seriously! WTF?

Seriously! WTF?

Happiness was also just out of reach. No matter what I did, I never got there. I saw other people that were happy. I guess I assumed they knew the super-secret-ninja-short-cut to by-pass all of the rigmarole. And they weren’t sharing the secret either! Then I realized that they weren’t sharing the secret, because there was no secret. Happiness is not a destination, just like life isn’t a destination (but that’s a whole other blog post). As it turns out, happiness is a choice. It’s that simple. There’s no secret handshake and no levels to clear. It is a choice. A choice of how we react to our surroundings. A choice of what we say to ourselves in our inner monologues. A choice of how we adapt to set-backs.

I’m trying to remember this right now in order to make the right choices. The choices that leave me happy, instead of the choices that leave me miserable. I’ve been sick, in one way or another, for almost two years now. I’ve seen my regular doctor and I’ve seen specialists, and they’ve all treated the symptoms that were in front of them. Without fail, those symptoms have either come back, or been replaced with new symptoms. I can’t seem to catch a break, or rise above the level of feeling “okay.” For the better part of this year, my weekends have consisted of me sleeping for the majority of at least one of my days off, if not both. It’s put a major damper in my productivity, and thus my mood.

Grumpy kitty

However, I have been choosing to focus on the positive. I’ve been choosing happiness, for no other reason than I can. I have some truly wonderful people in my life, and despite everything else going on, that is reason enough to choose happiness. That being said, I’ve been having a lot of problems making that choice this week. Last week I saw a functional medicine doctor, and she is running more tests then I can count unless I take my shoes off. However, after getting my entire history and looking over my extensive list of foods that I can’t eat, she had an immediate gut reaction of a diagnosis – I’m allergic, or at least highly sensitive, to sulfites.

If she’s correct that sucks BIG TIME! (For the record, I think she is. One of the biggest sulfite culprits is wine, and drinking wine is a habit I took up about two years ago. Coincidence?) If I am allergic to sulfites it will not only take my already extremely limited list of foods I can eat and make it significantly smaller, but it will also take away the one social device I have. When I go out places with friends, I often can’t eat the food, but I CAN share a bottle of wine. Or raise a toast. Now I will be able to eat even less, and I’ll be the one drinking water at happy hour. Not to mention, I’m an introvert with anxiety issues. Sometimes it takes a glass of wine just so I can relax enough to enjoy myself.

Awkward

I haven’t even begun to truly dive into what that will mean to my diet, because quite frankly I started to do the research it made me want to cry. You wanna know what they spray all over bacon to preserve it? You guessed it, sulfites! Needless to say, I’ve been having a hard time this week choosing happy. True, I don’t have the definitive diagnosis back, but from the research I’ve done, a sulfite allergy explains a lot of my issues. So I’m also having trouble choosing hope at this point. However, I am well aware of what life is like when you choose miserable. So no matter how hard it is, I’m going to choose happy. I might need some reminders though.

choose happy

Live and Learn, WritingLeave a comment

I was asked by a fledgling writer if I was willing to share some tips on how to be a good writer. She enjoyed the answers, so I figured I would share them with you too.

  1. Make sure you are clear on what you are trying to say. One of the top reasons that a section or chapter will be confusing is because you, the author, still aren’t sure of the point you’re trying to make. Until you figure that out, no amount of rewriting will make the copy clear.
  1. When someone gives you feedback on a piece, don’t try to defend your words or your intentions. Stay open and ask questions to understand why they feel the way they do. Their interpretation of your work may open your eyes to something that you were unaware of, and in the end make your piece better. However, if you become immediately defensive you won’t be receptive to what they have to say, and chances are they’ll be less willing to read and comment on your pieces in the future.

Feedback

  1. Short of an editor or a publisher saying that you have to make a change before they will publish, remember that making changes based off of feedback is optional. Not everyone is going to like your work. Spend the majority of your time on the consensus feedback, but always look at the lone wolf feedback. Sometimes the lone wolves have the best insight, but not always. Trust your gut.
  1. KISS – Keep it Simple Stupid! Big words are not always better. I am a huge fan of the thesaurus, but if you have never heard of the word it’s giving you, and after reading the definition you can’t use that word in several sentences, YOU HAVE NO BUSINESS USING THAT WORD! The odds of you using it incorrectly are astronomical and then instead of looking clever, you’ll look like an amateur.Thank of a thesaurus as a giver of suggestions, not answers. In the right hands a thesaurus is a powerful tool. In the wrong hands, it is a harbinger of doom. DOOM! Okay, not really, that’s being overly dramatic. Let’s just say that it won’t work out well for you.
  1. If you consider yourself a writer or if you want to be a writer, then learning new words on a regular, if not daily, basis should be at the top of every to-do list you make. Words are the building blocks of your craft. The more you know, and the more intimately you know them, the better off you will be. Are they Latin or Germanic based? Is the archaic meaning different from their modern meaning? How many meanings does it have? With some words the answer may surprise you. It is an odd day for me if I haven’t consulted a dictionary, thesaurus, or both at least once. Do I use all of the oddball words that I know? Nope. Although I have a goal to work ‘defenestrate’ into a piece.
  1. Another item for your to-do list: read! Writer’s read other writer’s work. At the very least you should be reading examples of your genre. Ideally, you should also be reading works that are far away from your genre. How do the different writers approach story telling? What are tenets that span genres, versus genre specific tenets? Which storytelling methods do you like, which do you hate? Why? What tricks can you use in your own writing? What pitfalls do you want to avoid at all costs.

Experience

  1. Pick your battles – If you try to do 7-10 rewrites on everything you put out into this world, you will lose your mind. Or at the very least have low productivity. Know which pieces are your bread and butter and which are your throw-a-ways. Work the hell out of the bread and butter, give the throw-a-ways a once over and move on.
  1. The only way to be a good writer is to write as much as humanly possible. Daily if you can swing it, and some of that writing needs to be put out for public consumption. Listen to your feedback, then write some more. Write. Write. Write.
Life, Live and LearnLeave a comment

In general, I tend to be an articulate person, both while speaking and in writing. The word eloquent will sometimes get bandied about. In times when most people get tongue-tied – pissed off, sad, really any high-emotion situation – I find that my words flow more smoothly. That’s why I never lost a debate in high school, and quite frankly why I don’t normally lose arguments either. If all else fails, I’ll simply out talk the competition. That being said, I find myself at a loss, and have been for the past week and a half.

One of my best friends turned 40 on the 8th, and another friend decided that it would be a great idea to do a surprise time capsule for her. Basically, a present for every year that she’s been alive, provided by a different person that has been a part of her life. Cool idea, not exactly easy to execute. Long story short, I wound up taking over making this happen even though it wasn’t my idea. More emails then I can count and 20+ packages arriving at my door later, it was her birthday and we had every year represented by a different person. Phew!

pile of presents

I expected a “Thank you!” and some variation of, “How cool!” from the birthday girl. That’s what I had been hearing from all of the people that I corresponded with in the weeks leading up to the party, so I honestly wasn’t expecting anything else. Therefore the effusion of gratitude, love and amazement that I received took me completely off guard. I had sent some emails and wrapped some presents. At no point in the process did I feel put-upon or under-appreciated, so I honestly didn’t feel like I deserved the praise that I got . . . which I mentioned to a couple of people who then proceeded to laugh at me and shake their heads. I’m not entirely sure of the meaning of that, but I’m guessing it’s along the lines of, “You poor clueless person.”

Which doesn’t necessarily help, me being clueless and all. At any rate, I have come a long way from the emotionally stunted youth, to the fairly open and emotive person that I am now. However, I clearly have not spent enough time learning how to take praise. So apparently, if you want me to shut-up, all you have to do is tell me that I’m awesome. So to the people that have encountered me over the past week and a half, please excuse the slightly dazed look I’ve had. I’ve been a bit overwhelmed.

Columbo

Live and LearnLeave a comment

Every so often I catch myself being a hypocrite, and I find that I have to step back for a second and reevaluate. For years, in fact for most of my life, if someone asked me to do something, or asked for a favor, the only reason that I would say no was because I either physically could not do what they asked, or I had already promised that time to someone else. This resulted in me doing things quite often that I had no desire to do. Sometimes big things, something small things, but the common denominator was that I did not want to do it, yet out of guilt or obligation there I was. However, quite often, I resented it, the person or both. I didn’t want to be there and sometimes I was unable to hide the fact that I didn’t want to be there. Therefore, I was miserable and if the task lasted more than an hour or two, I’m sure the people around me were miserable as well.

Guilt Trip

Then one day, I learned how to say a magic little word – no. It’s amazing how much power that word carries. At first it was like an experiment. Somebody would ask me something – “I need new shoes, do you want to come with me?” Then in my head the following would occur – “Oh God no! You can’t afford new shoes, so going shoe shopping will be like torture. No, no, no!” Despite this tirade in my head, my knee jerk reaction was to say yes, after all they had asked. But instead I would say – “No thanks.” I wouldn’t lie and say that I had other plans, or go into a long drawn out explanation of why I couldn’t. I would simply say no, and low and behold, the world did not end. The Earth kept spinning, my friend went shoe shopping on her own, and all was well. Amazing!

I started to apply this throughout my life. If an invite or a favor or request came along and I truly did not want to do it, I said no thanks. Obviously my ability to do this at work was highly limited, but in my personal life I had free reign. Pretty soon I was saying no right and left and as a result I had more of my time for me. That’s when I learned to value my time and that only giving it away where I wanted to made me happier. True, I was no longer the go-to person for anything and everything, but when I did show up, I was in a good mood, fully present and ready to go. Which really goes back to the old adage of quality is more important than quantity.

quality-quantity

At this point in my life, I’ve gotten to the point that I can say no and feel no guilt. I don’t volunteer for things out of peer pressure and I don’t agree to do things that don’t sound fun. Which brings me to the hypocritical part. I find that now, when I hear people complaining that they “have” to do something, or that they got “roped in” to something and that it’s been horrible and awful and such a waste of their time, I have no tolerance for their complaining. None! I don’t want to hear it, because all they had to do was say no. They are in the situation because they put themselves in the situation. Therefore, don’t bitch about it!

Then I step back and remember that I was in their shoes, bitching about things that I “had” to do, not so long ago. And I remember that I had to learn to say no, it wasn’t something that came naturally to me. Perhaps this person has not yet learned the magic of the word no. Therefore, I am going to take the recent rant that I heard with a grain of salt . . . and be thankful that I am no longer wearing those shoes!

HumorLeave a comment

I spent this past weekend in Colorado. I was able to visit with some friends, I saw some Shakespeare at the Colorado Shakespeare Festival, and I went to my dad’s house to sort through and decide what should be done with all of my childhood memorabilia. This last bit was the main reason for the trip, and it was one hell of a journey down memory lane. There were things like my baby blanket and my childhood Christmas stocking. There were also things like every greeting card I ever received and the keys to my diary. The diary itself was nowhere to be found, but by gum, I have the keys safe and sound!

I quickly realized that it was going to be easy figuring out what should be kept – baby blanket – given away – collection of trolls, numbering over 200 – and what could be recycled – greeting cards and shoe box full of folded up notes that were passed between my friends and me in school. By the way, Cassie, you and I talked A LOT about RyFi and KiFi, and I can’t decide if it was adorable or kind of stalker-ish. As we had figured out their class schedules, I’m leaning toward the latter.

Greeting Cards

The coolest finds were all of my grade school writing projects and my middle and high school art projects. I’m debating whether or not some of the writing should be shared. The Great Computer Hunt is so ridiculous, my friend Ruth and I were almost crying we were laughing so hard. 2nd grade Kat had quite the vivid imagination. For that matter, high school Kat wasn’t exactly lacking in imagination either. One of my art projects was a ceramic sculpture of a turkey sandwich and French fries on a plate. I’m fairly certain that the genesis behind this project was because I could.

At any rate, this and everything else I decided to keep, got packed up in my suitcases for the trip home to LA. I decided that the sandwich and two other sculptures would go in my carry-on. Clay isn’t exactly the lightest substance in the world, but I didn’t trust baggage handlers to handle my bag carefully enough to protect them. So the sandwich got lovingly wrapped in a huge wad of bubble wrap and placed in my suitcase. What had not occurred to me, is that when sent through a baggage x-ray machine, an oddly shaped ceramic piece that is thoroughly wrapped up, has the same profile as say . . . a bomb. A rather large bomb.

So when my suitcase went through at 5:00 in the morning the TSA agent reading the screen, all of a sudden became very awake. Then everything screeched to a halt, as she called over someone else to look. The two of them conferred, then called over another agent. Between the three of them they called over a supervisor, who then called over another supervisor. No one was saying anything to any of the passengers, but it was more than obvious that there was something going on. At this point, we didn’t even know whose bag was causing the hold-up, and everyone started to get frustrated, as more agents were called over and the conveyor had been parked for over five minutes.

Finally, everyone got quiet and they reversed the conveyor so that they could remove the offending bag. They carefully walked it over to the three of us waiting for our bags to come out and asked whose it was. It was mine, I said so. It was then whisked away by a supervisor and I was curtly told to gather my other belongings and report immediately to the inspection area. It was while I was putting on my shoes, that I remembered the sandwich. And I giggled.

Turkey sandwich

Shoes now back on, I grabbed my purse and walked over to the inspection area where I was curtly asked if there was anything sharp in my bag. I told her that I didn’t think there was, and she started to swab down the outside of my suitcase to test for explosive residue. It was at this point that I informed her that I had a ceramic sculpture in the bag, and I could see the tension release from her body as her shoulders dropped about an inch. Then she opened the bag, and pulled out the wrapped bundle. Everything got wiped and tested for explosive residue, then she meticulously started to unwrap the sculpture. I don’t know if she believed me and was being so gentle to protect my piece, or if there was a part of her that was still expecting to see a bomb, but she was much more careful then I would have been with it! Finally, she got it unwrapped to the last fold, took a breath and flipped it over. The anticipation was delicious as it registered just what she was looking at, and then started laughing.

She stood there and laughed for a few minutes, then folded it back up in its wrappings, handed it to me and said, “I’m going to let you pack it, I don’t want to break one of your fries. Take your time honey.” Then, laughing again, she walked over to the other agents who were looking at us bewildered. Somehow I think that the TSA agents at DIA are going to be talking about the turkey sandwich bomb scare, for quite some time, because I walked away towards my gate to the sounds of quite a few chuckles behind me.