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Author, Historian, Storyteller

Happiness, Life, Live and LearnView all 2 comments

While walking into the grocery store the other night, there was a rather straggly looking homeless guy by the door begging for spare change.  I mumbled that I didn’t have any and avoided looking at him while I quickly ducked into the store.  This is what I generally do when I encounter people begging for money, I avoid looking at them.  Not because I’m disgusted or offended by them or anything like that; it’s because I know that I’m not going to give them any money and that makes me feel guilty.  So I don’t look.

I went into the store, leaving him by the door and started my grocery shopping.  But my mind lingered with him.  I wasn’t going to give him money, but I was in a grocery store.  I could get him some food.  Then, as is my natural propensity, I began to over think things.  What if I got something that he didn’t like?  What if I got something that he was allergic to? Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera, until I happened upon a display of items that were all 50% off and I got engrossed in that.  Poof!  The homeless guy vanished from my thoughts, and I was absorbed by all of the things that I could get that I didn’t really need, but were 50% off, so it would be silly for me not to get them.  You can laugh, but you’ve done it too!  The next thing I know my basket, which was missing the four things that I had actually walked in to get, was over-brimming with my on-sale prizes.  So I got the four things on my list and staggered up to the check-out lane and gratefully dropped my basket onto the conveyor.

When I got to the checker, and he emptied out my basket I looked with pleasure at all of my great finds.  I was quite pleased with myself.  Until I looked over and saw at the end of the conveyor belt, the homeless guy clutching two dollars in his hand with a cup of coffee in front of him.  All of a sudden my “great finds” felt frivolous and ridiculous.  Did I really need a new water bottle?  I felt guilty.  All of those voices in my head that always said, “Don’t give money to homeless people, they’re just going to use it for alcohol and drugs” was quieted.  Someone had given this man money, and he had chosen to spend it on a warm cup of coffee – my particular drug of choice.

To make matters worse, the man in line between the two of us, was clearly offended by the fact that there was a homeless man in line.  He didn’t do anything to hide his disgust, and in fact wound up raising such a fuss and being such an ass that he started a fist fight with another customer (but that’s a completely different story).  Everybody present knew that this asinine display was caused because of the very presence of the homeless man.  He knew it too and I could see the hurt and confusion etched on his face.  I personally wanted to punch the asshole in the face for making someone else feel like that.  I don’t care if he’s homeless, he didn’t deserve to be treated like that. He deserved just as much respect as anybody else present.

So I did something that I’ve never done before.  I leaned in, and quietly told the cashier to charge me for the coffee.  To his credit the cashier did so discreetly, without saying a word.  However, his demeanor toward me changed immediately.  He had been providing me with good customer service, but all of a sudden he was treating me like I was a VIP – was there anything I couldn’t find that I needed help finding?  Would I like help out to my car?  Would I like a cart to help get my groceries to my car?  He was at my service for whatever I needed.  I thanked him, told him that I was perfectly content, grabbed my groceries and left.  As I was leaving, I heard him tell the homeless man that his coffee had been paid for.  He had to repeat this and finally said that I had paid for it, and that the store wasn’t giving it to him for free.

By this time I was out of the store and feeling pretty good about myself.  Kind of a warm glow, that in some small way I had been able to tell this man that not everyone was offended by his presence.  That some people do care.  As I was loading my groceries into my car he came out and looked around the parking lot.  When he saw me, he made no move to come toward me, but nodded his head at me. I nodded my acknowledgement and got in my car as he went back to his perch by the door, cup of coffee in hand.

Driving home I felt good about myself.  I still feel good about it, which doesn’t really seem fair.  It kind of feels like cheating, that doing something nice for someone else (expecting nothing in return), should make me feel so good.  That two dollar cup of coffee turns out to have been worth a lot more than that stupid water bottle that hasn’t moved from its spot on my kitchen counter since that night.

I learned something from that night.  If you buy a homeless guy a cup of coffee, you’ll want to do it again.

Love Coffee by Ahmed Rabea

Love Coffee by Ahmed Rabea

 

Life, Live and LearnView all 2 comments

I have often heard it said that procrastination is the lazy man’s disease.  Which to some extent, I whole heartedly agree with.  There are dishes in my sink right now, because quite frankly I was too lazy do them.  Or just didn’t want to, which is really about the same thing.  But there is a whole other brand of procrastination that I don’t think has anything to do with laziness.  I think it has more to do with a lack of confidence.  You are faced with a task – it doesn’t necessarily have to be a hard task or even a new task, it could be something that you do every week – and for whatever reason there is that kernel of doubt somewhere deep down that you can’t do it.  Or that when you do it, it won’t be any good.  So you put it off, you procrastinate. Every time you look at it, or think about it your blood pressure rises imperceptibly, and that crawling sense of dread creeps its way up your slowly restricting throat.  So you put it off another day, another hour, another five minutes, until at the very last moment you complete the task with each step more pain staking than the last.

Of course, since you waited so long, and had to rush through to the completion with no time for revisions or fixes, it’s not going to be your best work.  But it’s passable, or at least you hope so, and you breathe a sigh of relief that it’s over.  Until you have to do it again, and the whole process starts over.  By procrastinating, you are creating a self-fulfilling prophecy.  A vicious cycle that will repeat itself until the end of time.  You don’t believe that you will do a good job, so you put it off.  By putting it off, you don’t do a good job.  By doing a mediocre job you a reaffirm to yourself that you aren’t good at the task.  This serves to dent your already delicate confidence, making it all the harder the next time around.

Until finally one day, you blow it off completely.  You don’t fulfill your commitment, and maybe you get away with it this once.  And this once you feel relief.  You feel like you’ve slipped by this one time, so you’ll be able to do it next time.  But then you shirk your responsibility a second and a third time, and all of sudden you’re not the one that does a mediocre job, you’ve become the person that lets everybody down.  Those dents to your confidence have now become holes, rusting away and threatening the integrity of the entire structure.  So you attack the task with a new vigor.  You’re going to prove that you can be relied upon, but instead of the high praise needed to start repairing your damaged self, you get the cold reception of someone who finally did what they had promised all along.  Thus the cycle starts all over again.  A battle of confidence.

So how does one win this battle?  How do you go about breaking the cycle and repairing the damage?  Because you can’t rely on anyone else to do this for you, it’s not in their power.  You alone can fix the problem, despite the fact that you feel as if you are the least capable person for the job.  Little do you know, you are perfectly capable for whatever task lies in front of you, you have exactly the skills needed to succeed.  It all starts with forgiveness.

 

This article is late . . . but it is done.  I forgive myself.

This work is mediocre . . . but it is on time.  I forgive myself.

This didn’t turn out like I wanted it to . . . but it is still works.  I forgive myself.

I haven’t blogged in almost a month . . . but I’m working on one right now.  I forgive myself.

 

And I will do better next time.

Forgiveness Quote

Life, Live and LearnLeave a comment

Sometimes I forget how truly lucky I am, and it’s days like today that remind me of just that.  When I reached 100 likes on my Facebook page I was sent a congratulatory email from Facebook with a coupon so that I could try out Facebook ads.  So I waited to use it until my latest Heroines of History article came out.  Which if you haven’t seen that, you should check it out.  Mother Jones is pretty awesome!  So, for the past two days I’ve been playing around on Facebook ads.

Apparently, the way that it works, is that Facebook sends an ad out, but you don’t pay until someone clicks on the link, likes it, comments or shares it.  So basically you only have to pay for the results, which in my opinion is pretty awesome – this is of course assuming that I correctly understand how it works.  At any rate, I put out an ad for my page along with sending out “sponsored posts” of my Heroines of History article along with a couple of my older blog posts.  So out they went into the internet ether and I waited to see what would come of them.

What came of them, was that my friends kept liking and commenting on my sponsored posts . . . and I got to pay for each and every one of those.  At one point this afternoon, I actually found myself thinking, “STOP LIKING MY POSTS!”  Then I stopped for a minute to appreciate how truly ridiculous that comment was.  I have people in my life that support me to the point, that even though they have already read something that I wrote, they will read it again, and like the post or comment on the post all over again.  They weren’t doing it to boost my analytics numbers, or encourage others to start a dialogue.  They were doing it because they care about me and appreciate my work.  In my book, that makes me pretty damn lucky.  That’s worth a couple of bucks of ad money . . . or how ever much it actually cost.  Did I mention, I don’t completely understand how it works?

I-Appreciate-You

LifeLeave a comment

At some point in everyone’s lives someone will do something to betray your trust or your confidence.  It could be a coworker, a friend, a loved one.  Whoever it is, it stings. But at least there is an external source.  Something outside of ourselves that we can be frustrated with, and sometimes if we’re really lucky receive an apology from.  What happens when that betrayal comes from ourselves?  What happens when it’s our own bodies that are betraying us?

Sometimes it’s something momentary like a pulled hamstring so you can’t finish your race or complications during labor so you have to have a C-Section instead of natural birth.  Sometimes it’s smaller, but long lasting.  For me it’s my wrist.  I prefer to write by hand.  I love the feel of a pen in my hand, the sound of it scratching across a journal page.  The messiness of scribbling over what doesn’t work, drawing arrows to rearrange what’s down, or the satisfaction of ripping out a page and crushing it into a ball when you’ve produced nothing but banal drivel.  I don’t get to do this anymore.  Because of damaged cartilage, I can’t write for more than fifteen minutes before the fatigue, cramping and pain set in.  It frustrates me to no end.  I’ve had to relearn how to write.  I’m lucky though.  For whatever reason, typing doesn’t hurt.  So I’ve learned to compose on a computer.  It’s not my preference, but it works.  So I’ve adapted.  It’s my new reality.

Then there are the big things.  The thing that gnaws at the back of your mind and you’re always on the lookout for.  What if I get (insert major disease or medical affliction) like (insert name of loved one) who died? You watched as someone’s body betrayed them in a big bad way. You watched the day to day struggles, victories, coping and eventually letting go. It teaches you that life is short.  It teaches you that quality of life is far more important than quantity of life.  It teaches you that you never want to go through THAT yourself.  Anything but THAT.

So what happens when THAT becomes a reality?  Not for you, but another loved one.  Are you allowed to scream to the heavens that this isn’t fair?  Are you allowed to be pissed off that you’ve already paid your dues, your loved ones have already paid their dues?  Are you allowed to be afraid for yourself because you don’t know if you have the strength to watch that again?  Are you allowed to worry that lighting might strike a third time, now that it has already struck twice? After all, you aren’t the one that’s sick.  You aren’t the one undergoing treatments.  You have not been betrayed by your body.

It feels selfish to freak out.  Like you don’t have the right, because it isn’t you.  I feel like social norms dictate that as the non-patient you’re supposed to be strong and positive.  Which, yeah, I can play that role, but I also want to throw things against the wall and watch as they explode into a million tiny pieces.  Then keep throwing until I no longer have the strength to lift my arms, to remain standing.  Keep throwing until I crumple to the ground in a heap, betrayed by my own body, because it just doesn’t feel fair any other way.

Ingo Maurer - Porca Miseria

Ingo Maurer – Porca Miseria

PoetryLeave a comment

There is a certain rhythm to life

A way things work

I have ten minutes till class

And a long distance to go

But I’m not worried

The rest of the world matches my pace

They too are in a hurry

Before my eyes people cross and wind around each other

Never bumping, never disturbing

It’s like a beautiful dance played before me everyday

Now it’s my turn to dance

I turn right just one step before that energetic blond girl continues straight behind me

She’d be quite beautiful, striking really, except for her habit of chewing her face while walking

I think it’s a nervous habit

She must be very nervous

I continue on in my new direction

A step faster, but so is everyone else

I’m almost there

I see the steps ahead of me

For every step up hunchback boy takes one down

It’s like the changing of the guards

Me for him

I often wonder how he knows where he’s going

He never looks up and his shoulders are so slumped to the sidewalk that his book bag very much resembles a hump

I wonder what pain and suffering he has endured

The thought passes and into class I go

I sit as the lecture begins

Everything in order

Everything right

 

Today my rhythm is off

Everyone’s rhythm is off

I have eight minutes instead of ten

I quicken my pace

But everyone else is a step behind

I try to weave in and out

But that slows me further

I discover that the beautiful dance I enjoy so much is actually a living, breathing being that traps all in its expanding and contracting

I bump shoulders and trip

Wildly I break right, eager for the quickened pace, running right into chewing face girl

Picking myself up, I apologize continuing on

Although, now in my daze, I’m a step behind

I struggle to keep up

Finally I see my steps and break free

Although my hunchback has long since gone

How did the guards change without me?

Did someone take my place,

Or did he just abandon his post with no sign of relief?

Shaken I enter the lecture hall

The lesson has begun

My seat is taken

I spot one

In the middle

I hate making a scene, but I must

Or go home

Scuse me, scuse me, pardon me

I sit

All eyes on me

The world is out of

Its rhythm

PoetryLeave a comment

It was a recognition born of a realization.

A realization that she possessed, had always possessed, everything that she needed to survive.

She had spent her life relying on the kindness and charity of others, and while she was grateful, she was also resentful.

Resentful that they didn’t believe her capable of taking care of herself.

Resentful that she didn’t believe herself capable of standing on her own.

On her own two feet, strong, shoulders back, face full into the sun, the wind, the rain, anything that should come her way.

Strong.

On her own as a woman.

She would earn her way through blood, sweat and tears and she would be thankful for the outcome.

Cherish the outcome, because it was born of her and nobody else.

And in that moment, that day, she would feel blessed.

Not for the handouts and the pity, but for those who pushed her forward.

Pushed her to work harder, work longer, work smarter and earn every ounce of her accomplishments.

It was a realization born of a recognition.

A recognition that someone believed.

Believe quote

Characters, Inspiration, WritingLeave a comment

Years ago, when I first started to have the beginning glimmers of what is now my novel; I knew that I wanted to have a bad guy like Col. Tavington from “The Patriot.”  You know, he’s the one that orders that the church be burned with all of the inhabitants of the town inside.  He is nasty, ruthless and shows no remorse.  He’s a bad guy that you love to hate.  In fact when he dies at the end, you can’t help but cheer on Mel Gibson for exacting his revenge against this loathsome man.

Fast forward to present day, and I have just recently re-watched “The Patriot.”  Only this time, I wasn’t nearly as impressed by Col. Tavington.  Yes, I found him just as nasty. Yes I still think that he is well deserving of “bad guy” status. But I didn’t find him nearly as interesting as I had years ago, because he is very one-sided.  He does these horrible things out of ambition.  The only remorse or regret we see is when Cornwallis tells him that he probably won’t get rewarded because he methods are so inhumane.  As an audience we never get to see any other side of him.  Which means that after subsequent viewings the intrigue of this character wears off.  He is a quintessential bad guy who does bad things and we accept that he does them because he is obviously evil through and through.

Boo! Hiss!

Boo! Hiss!

Yawn!  Now I realize that this is a movie, so they don’t have time to delve into the complexities of his character.  However, I have come to expect more from my bad guys.  My character Captain Henry was originally based off of Tavington, but I am happy to say that even I have trouble seeing the resemblance now.  Captain Henry does some horrible things, but we get to see other facets of his character as well.  He shows remorse for some of the things that he does, and he shows absolutely no remorse for some of the other things that he does.  He’s complicated, and I love that about his character.

When I first started writing, if anybody had asked me to name the protagonist and antagonist I would have very easily said Kady and Captain Henry.  Now I’m not so sure.  Kady is definitely my protagonist, that one is easy.  But I don’t know about Captain Henry any more.  He does bad things, but does that make him a bad guy?  Does that make him the antagonist of the story when there are other characters vying for the position? I don’t know.  I feel like as the author I should know, but then part of me thinks that it doesn’t really matter.  It’s my job to tell the story.  Let someone else figure out the labels.

I do know one thing though.  Captain Henry is not black and white.  Hopefully none of my characters are, but him in particular – lots of grey!

Happiness, Live and Learn, PermissionLeave a comment

Someone once said that, “Saying no to one thing, is like saying yes to everything else.”  I remember hearing this when I was in college, but for the life of me I can’t remember where or from whom, but it stuck with me.  Mostly because it was catchy and I had no idea what it meant.  This was a time in my life that I said yes to everything.  I was fresh out of high school, could function on caffeine and four hours of sleep a night, and was terrified that if I turned down even one opportunity I would ruin my chances of being successful.  Because of this belief, I found myself over committed to multiple projects at all times – most of which I didn’t really care that much about, but gave 110% anyway.  An average day would start at 7 or 8 in the morning and wouldn’t end until 2 or 3 the next morning.  I honestly have no idea how I did it, and would sign away the rights to my first-born child to have that kind of energy and stamina again.

However, when I look back at that time, I realize that I was never truly happy.  I was busy, but not necessarily happy.  My inability to say no meant that I wound up committed to a lot of things that I didn’t necessarily want to be doing.  Which caused a lot of frustration because it meant that I didn’t have free time to commit to doing those things that I wanted to do.  Mostly because I had no free time: every hour of every day had already been sold at auction to the lowest bidder.

While I would like to say, that I have figured this out and no longer have this problem at all, I would be lying through my teeth.  I still tend to over commit myself.  However, I have gotten much better at choosing my projects, and learning when to say no and where to set my boundaries.

Say No!

I have one project, that I commit a certain amount of time to every week.  However, for months now, the person in charge has been trying to get more time out of me.  One night I relented and stayed late, and found that my time was completely wasted, with absolutely no acknowledgement that it had been a complete waste of my time.  It was at that point that I decided that that was not going to happen again.  Unless there was an emergency, I wasn’t going to stay late.  The next time I was asked, I said no.  I said no the next time, and the time after that. I let it be known what my boundary is, regardless of the expectations of others.

I have gotten a lot of resistance because of this.  At first from everyone, but slowly someone came over to my side, my way of thinking.  He encouraged me to stick to my guns and lamented that he never had.  He now feels like his time is taken for granted and often wasted, but he’s been letting it go on for so many years that there’s nothing he can do about it now.  So he cheers me on when I stand my ground and refuse to stay late.  It makes dealing with the bristling and the guilt trips easier.

Then last week a funny thing happened.  I was supposed to leave in an hour, when the guy in charge showed up and wanted to get a bunch of things done.  I immediately braced myself for the fight that was surely going to come about me wanting to leave on time.  Especially since that night it wasn’t just about principals, I actually had dinner plans with friends that I didn’t want to be late to.  But the fight never came.  He asked me to do on last thing before I left, and then wished me a good night.  I didn’t even have to bring up the fact that I had plans.  He knew what time I was going to be leaving, and he respected that.

The giddy happiness that bubbled up inside of me as I made my way to my car plastered itself all over my face in a huge smile.  For the first time, that quote made sense.  “Saying no to one thing, is like saying yes to everything else.”  Because I had stood my ground, and said no to something that made me feel used, I had gained the freedom and the confidence to say yes to whatever I wanted.  There was no bitterness, no animosity, just the euphoria that comes from knowing you made the right choice.

Decide what is best for you, set your boundaries, and then say no when someone tries to move your line.  It’s truly liberating.

Life, WritingLeave a comment

I recently rewrote the bio and artist statement for a friend’s website.  She had all of the info there, but she knew that the delivery could be better.  That’s when I entered the picture.  I rearranged, simplified and solidified her statement and message.  I had fun with it and she LOVED the final product.  This was easy for me.  It was easy and it was fun.  So why can’t I do the same for my own bio?

I’ve been meaning to rewrite my bio for, oh, four months now.  Pretty much ever since my website went live.  I wrote something quick, dirty and to the point fully intending to re-do it ASAP.  That definitely hasn’t happened.  Since then I have written thousands of words, yet I can’t quite bring myself to re-do my bio.  In fact, I am choosing to write a blog post about rewriting my bio right now, instead of just rewriting the damn thing.  If that isn’t some stellar procrastination in action, I don’t know what is!

Truth be told, I would rather write anything else.  I would choose to rewrite the menu of a dollar-a-scoop Chinese restaurant over rewriting my bio.  I hate writing about myself – I don’t mean about my thoughts or feelings.  I think you have all figured out that I have no issues with that whatsoever!  What I hate is summing up who I am in a couple of paragraphs and, in some regards, selling myself to the reader.

What do I include, what do I leave out?  Do I make it fun and witty, or “Just the facts ma’am?”  Since I’m a writer, there’s that added pressure that it has to be really good, to drive home the fact that I’m a writer.  Now mind you, I can look at someone else and tell you what is relevant and apropos for the given situation.  I have a monthly article where I do just that, and I love that project.  But I can’t do it for myself, and I don’t think I’m alone in this.  I feel that as a culture we don’t like talking about ourselves.  If you tout all of your skills and strengths, you’re a braggart.  If you downplay those things, you’re self-effacing.  In reality, you might be a totally kick-ass person, but it’s awkward to say that about yourself.

This is why I think that all bios should be written by someone else.  After all, they are called bios, not autobios.  In all seriousness though, I don’t think you should write your own bio.  You’re too close to the matter at hand to be objective.  You will get a much truer representation, if the description is coming from someone else.  Or this whole random blog post has been a stream-of-consciousness bit of sophistry so that I can justify not rewriting my bio for another couple of months . . .

AutoB

Change, LifeLeave a comment

I feel as if I’m standing on a precipice.  The great precipice of a deep canyon that falls precariously for miles and there are craggy rocks, and thorny brambles.  Stray branches to catch and tear at your clothes litter the way down.  Down.  Down through the mist and fog to the unnatural silence permeating the canyon floor where no living soul has survived to take a second breath.

At least that’s what I imagine it to be.  I wouldn’t know for sure, because I haven’t looked.  I haven’t looked because I have no fear that I will meet whatever lies below.  My focus is on the horizon.  The other side of the canyon.  The other side of the abyss.  I can’t see it, but I have no doubt that it is there.  I have faith.  Not faith in a higher power or a helping hand, but in myself.

Faith that no distance is too great if it is the path and direction that I have chosen for myself.  Today I stand upon a precipice at the end of the road that I have forged for myself.  I stand and I prepare to leap.  Not jump, leap.  Leap head first, arms wide and heart open to whatever may come, fully aware that my destination is unknown.  Inevitably it will be exactly where I am supposed to be.  Today I leap.

leap