It's become sort of a fad recently for everyone to have #goals of any kind - couple, fitness, squad, etc. You name it - everyone's got an ultimate version of something they're seeking, or maybe they're fortunate enough to already have it. I like to march to the beat of my own drum and the few times I follow the crowd, it's more like lagging way behind. I'm never doing what's in style, cool or hip.
But if I had to pick one #goal I'm proud of, it is my squad. A ton of people are quick to say "I'm here any time," or "you can call me day or night." The number of people who truly mean it though, at least in my life, is a lot less than a ton. Probably so much less that I can count them on one hand.
I have three great women in my life - my sister Debbie, my cousin Becky, my cousin Amanda - who truly are my best friends, and I really can call them any time. Day or night. Crying or laughing. Mourning or celebrating. Offering help or seeking advice. I can guarantee we are not #squadgoals for the rest of the world. I can also guarantee we don't care. We love us and I wouldn't change it a bit.
As kids, I remember us putting on our best dresses with matching hats at Easter and hunting eggs around our Aunt Ellen's yard; playing rock school on the steps in front of our grandparents' house; making music videos in Becky's garage; fighting over who got to butter toast in the morning after a sleepover at our grandparents' house - it's my turn; decorating bikes and strollers for the 4th of July parade; fearing Uncle Bob for no real reason; reserving movies at the video store under the name Billie Jean King and being accused of lying - we weren't; asking Uncle Den to sing "If I Only Had a Brain" one more time; and I could go on and on.
Year after year, we'd gather at our grandparents' house on Christmas Eve. The adults would sit around the living room as we performed the Christmas story. I think Debbie or Amanda always read the book and the rest of us played various roles. After that, we'd put on our Christmas clothes and walk to St. Mary's for midnight mass. My most vivid memory of the church was the huge cross hanging on the wall. I'm not lying. It's enormous! And I think the figure of Jesus might be bigger than he actually was. 😂 Why is it so big? I remember sitting in the pew near the front and just staring at him.
Our times together have transitioned from playing with dolls and tossing rocks in the crick to weddings and having babies. We're all grown up now, according to our birth certificates, and our bond has grown as much as we have. I still get made fun of for not being able to correctly pronounce "meow" when I read the Three Little Kittens aloud. They all still get teased for stuff too, but they don't know I'm writing this so I'll let them share at their discretion!
We have daily text messages full of sarcasm, wit, and F-bombs. We have stories of stupid things we did when we were drunk. We have parenting and relationship questions. We perform Build Me Up Buttercup by the Temptations at karaoke like no one you've ever heard.
I love these women and all the special memories we've made together. I can't wait to see what the next 40 years hold for all of us.
Sunday, December 22, 2019
Saturday, July 20, 2019
Hang on to Your Stupid
I've watched Days of Our Lives for a large portion of my life, probably close to 20 years. Is it stupid? Probably. Could I live without watching it? Of course! But because we all have guilty pleasures, we all know that beyond these superficial, seemingly meaningless things lies something special for us, even if it makes no sense to anyone else.
Because it airs in the middle of the day, it often gets interrupted with breaking news, usually political. When this happens, I wait about five minutes and if it continues, I shut off the TV. Last year, it was interrupted for the sentencing of Larry Nassar and I almost turned it off, but I didn't. If you don't know who he is, Google him. He's not worth my time/blog space.
The reason I didn't turn it off is because of the presiding judge. She had an attitude and a charisma that I immediately envied. I knew at that minute, I wanted her in my life. I wanted to be her friend. She is Judge Rosemarie Aquilina and she is a BAD ASS!!!
I wasn't sure how I'd go about starting what I hoped would turn into a friendship and honestly, I didn't know how to even say her name yet. 😂 But that's the magic of the internet - you can find just about anything you want. So I looked her up and found her on Twitter. I learned that she wrote a book called Triple Cross Killer. I bought it and started reading it immediately. I hadn't read a book in about five years and it only took me a couple of weeks to get through.
During the course of reading it, I exchanged a few messages with her about the plot - I thought she was trying to make Santa bad! But he's not 😉
When I finished reading it, she asked me to write a book review. I had never done this and wasn't sure where to even start. I asked her multiple times if she was serious and she was. So I did it...after I read several websites on what it is, how to do it, what it needs, etc. After I wrapped my head around the fact I was even communicating with her. After I spent way too much time overthinking it. And after I had convinced myself I couldn't do it and she assured me I could do anything.
I sent it to her and she approved and commented I should write more book reviews, maybe even for a living. Since then I've written probably a dozen, and I started down a path I never expected myself to find myself on. Last week, I typed "THE END" on the first draft of my very first novel. I've always enjoyed writing and for a long time, dreamed of writing my own book. Now I've done it. It might be trash. It might not sell. But I did it. And I honestly could not have done it without her.
Her faith in me has never wavered. She's never told me I couldn't do something. She's always encouraged me and has given me advice about writing and about life. From the first message I sent her, she's been kind, funny, honest and humble. She is a true gem and is someone I am more than happy to call a friend and mentor.
About a month ago, I purchased a ticket to a book talk she was doing in Detroit. I reserved my Airbnb in Windsor, Ontario, Canada and that's where I'm sitting now. I chose Windsor because it was cheaper than anything I could find in Detroit and I wasn't going to drive the four hours home at night alone. I've never been to Canada and the house I'm staying in is only 15 mins away (in theory) from where the event took place. Oh and the next time I'm at the customs station, I want to flip the script and ask them the questions.
Anyways - I got to meet her!! I got to hear her talk about her passion for writing. I got to listen as she told about where her inspiration for her stories comes from. I got to learn a little about her writing process. I got to sit in a room with her. I got to ask her a question. I got to hug her. This magnificent bad ass woman who interrupted my soap opera last year. A woman who I quickly admired and who has now become a friend.
Maybe watching soap operas is stupid. Maybe sending a tweet or message to a complete stranger is stupid. Maybe driving four hours to meet someone and have them sign a book that you have three copies of is stupid. Maybe having three copies of the same book is stupid. It's not the only book I have three copies of, by the way. Maybe I'm stupid.
But I'm also happy. So I'm going to hang on to the stupid as long as it makes me happy.
Because it airs in the middle of the day, it often gets interrupted with breaking news, usually political. When this happens, I wait about five minutes and if it continues, I shut off the TV. Last year, it was interrupted for the sentencing of Larry Nassar and I almost turned it off, but I didn't. If you don't know who he is, Google him. He's not worth my time/blog space.
The reason I didn't turn it off is because of the presiding judge. She had an attitude and a charisma that I immediately envied. I knew at that minute, I wanted her in my life. I wanted to be her friend. She is Judge Rosemarie Aquilina and she is a BAD ASS!!!
I wasn't sure how I'd go about starting what I hoped would turn into a friendship and honestly, I didn't know how to even say her name yet. 😂 But that's the magic of the internet - you can find just about anything you want. So I looked her up and found her on Twitter. I learned that she wrote a book called Triple Cross Killer. I bought it and started reading it immediately. I hadn't read a book in about five years and it only took me a couple of weeks to get through.
During the course of reading it, I exchanged a few messages with her about the plot - I thought she was trying to make Santa bad! But he's not 😉
When I finished reading it, she asked me to write a book review. I had never done this and wasn't sure where to even start. I asked her multiple times if she was serious and she was. So I did it...after I read several websites on what it is, how to do it, what it needs, etc. After I wrapped my head around the fact I was even communicating with her. After I spent way too much time overthinking it. And after I had convinced myself I couldn't do it and she assured me I could do anything.
I sent it to her and she approved and commented I should write more book reviews, maybe even for a living. Since then I've written probably a dozen, and I started down a path I never expected myself to find myself on. Last week, I typed "THE END" on the first draft of my very first novel. I've always enjoyed writing and for a long time, dreamed of writing my own book. Now I've done it. It might be trash. It might not sell. But I did it. And I honestly could not have done it without her.
Her faith in me has never wavered. She's never told me I couldn't do something. She's always encouraged me and has given me advice about writing and about life. From the first message I sent her, she's been kind, funny, honest and humble. She is a true gem and is someone I am more than happy to call a friend and mentor.
About a month ago, I purchased a ticket to a book talk she was doing in Detroit. I reserved my Airbnb in Windsor, Ontario, Canada and that's where I'm sitting now. I chose Windsor because it was cheaper than anything I could find in Detroit and I wasn't going to drive the four hours home at night alone. I've never been to Canada and the house I'm staying in is only 15 mins away (in theory) from where the event took place. Oh and the next time I'm at the customs station, I want to flip the script and ask them the questions.
Anyways - I got to meet her!! I got to hear her talk about her passion for writing. I got to listen as she told about where her inspiration for her stories comes from. I got to learn a little about her writing process. I got to sit in a room with her. I got to ask her a question. I got to hug her. This magnificent bad ass woman who interrupted my soap opera last year. A woman who I quickly admired and who has now become a friend.
Maybe watching soap operas is stupid. Maybe sending a tweet or message to a complete stranger is stupid. Maybe driving four hours to meet someone and have them sign a book that you have three copies of is stupid. Maybe having three copies of the same book is stupid. It's not the only book I have three copies of, by the way. Maybe I'm stupid.
But I'm also happy. So I'm going to hang on to the stupid as long as it makes me happy.
Thursday, June 6, 2019
Take the Time. Ask the Questions. Have the discussion.
DISCLAIMER:
This blog contains some sensitive and intimate information. The part about my past reveals a lot. The part of the story about my friend is not detailed and is being written with her permission. If you are in my circle of friends and know her, do not publicly name her. If you don't know who it is, don't ask. I'm not telling.
***
Almost daily, stories are coming out about sexual assault. Assaults on babies, young children, teens, adults and seniors. Some with a single victim, some with hundreds. We can share the horror, the disgust. We can feel frustration, rage and sadness. We can comment with "why didn't s/he tell," "why didn't they report sooner," "how did no one know." We can wonder how a predator can prey on so many before anyone finds out. I say the same things. I ask the same questions. I share the same feelings. It's sick. It's sad. It needs to end.
Pointing a finger at one person and and making them responsible for the act itself is easy to do. In a movie, the main character gets the awards, the spotlight, and the publicity. But there are a lot of people behind the scenes who've contributed to the film's success. And in cases of sexual assault, especially where the number of victims bleeds into the hundreds, the behind the scenes crew holds a small percentage of responsibility.
In the highly-publicized Larry Nassar case, allegations first surfaced in the 1990s. No one investigated. No one believed. No one listened. And by the time someone finally did listen, 20+ years later, the number of victims was well over 100. But even with the publicity, and the documentaries and the countless Google search results about this case, if you are someone who has never been affected, either as a victim or as the friend or family member of a victim, it is easy to dismiss the amount of trauma that can be experienced from an assault. It's difficult to understand how anything at any time, even years later, can be a trigger. There is no way for someone who is not a victim to completely understand but when we take time to listen, we can get a little bit closer.
My knowledge of the amount of damage that can come from a traumatic experience is limited. While I know people who have been sexually assaulted, I never have been. But I have been shoved off of a bed for refusing sex. I have been sexually harassed. And while neither of these experiences caused me any real trauma, they have taught me to be empathetic and have shaped my attitude about sex and relationships. I believed after the first incident if I refused sex, I'd lose a friend. I thought if I refused sex, people would walk away from me. I believed if I refused sex, I would be in danger. And after the harassment, which was not a one time incident, but one that continued for two years, I believed no matter how kind or persistent I was, it didn't matter. I believed I was doing something wrong by telling someone I didn't want to be with them intimately. I believed at some point I would have to submit. No one should feel like this. No one deserves to feel like this.
Up to the point of entering college, almost having sex was as far as I'd gone with anyone. My quest continued to find where I fit in the world and college only made it more complicated. All of those thoughts about sex circulated through my brain day after day. It was then that I decided, at age 20, to have sex for the first time. My partner was gentle, patient and put no pressure on me. But it hurt. Badly. It wasn't what I'd imagined sex to be at all. After the first time, it became less painful and I almost started to enjoy it. I say almost because at the forefront of my mind was the thought that if I stopped having sex with him, the relationship would be over. I believed this was the only reason he cared about me and paid any attention to me. I believed this to be the only reason anyone would pay attention to me, and that was all that I wanted. Attention. Because sex wasn't something I really enjoyed, I'd drink myself into a complete haze beforehand. I started down a lengthy path of drunken one night stands. I am not proud of this. But I am also not ashamed of it. I got lucky that all of my partners were clean. I got lucky that no one ever assaulted me. I got lucky that it taught me something.
But I have a friend who is not as lucky. She was in an abusive marriage once. Physical abuse. Sexual abuse. Emotional abuse. Financial abuse. And while she's able now to tell her story without shame, her pain is not gone and she is not done healing.
We were out with a group of friends last month. After dinner, shooting pool and a few drinks, we all went back to one couple's house to play games. Everyone was up for just about anything and a few of us suggested Poker. My friend halted the idea almost immediately. It wasn't because we weren't playing for real money. It wasn't because she didn't know how. It was because it was a trigger.
She explained that in her previous marriage, her then in-laws played Poker frequently. And while those nights may have been filled with laughter and good times, that game makes her mind travel back to a place in her life when she was taken advantage of. A time when she was hurt intentionally. A time when she was controlled and scared. A time when she was a victim.
A friend of ours responded by saying we could start playing and if she felt triggered, we could just stop. That seems like a reasonable thing to do, and there is nothing wrong with this suggestion. But it's not that simple. She and I tried together to explain that sometimes when someone gets to the point of being triggered, it's already too late. In this situation, a potential trigger was something she could avoid. Admittedly, the conversation was much too short, and while neither of us are sure he still completely understands where she was coming from, the few minutes we spent discussing it opened the door for future dialogue.
Fixing this epidemic is going to take a lot of time, a lot of open and difficult discussion and a lot of listening. Everyone needs to be willing to participate in the conversation. People who don't understand cannot be afraid to ask questions. Those who do understand need to be willing to answer the questions. No one can force anyone to share their story before they're ready. No simple, quick conversation will give anyone a complete picture of what the post-trauma from these experiences looks like. But if all of us can start listening, be patient and be willing, then we're moving in the right direction.
This blog contains some sensitive and intimate information. The part about my past reveals a lot. The part of the story about my friend is not detailed and is being written with her permission. If you are in my circle of friends and know her, do not publicly name her. If you don't know who it is, don't ask. I'm not telling.
***
Almost daily, stories are coming out about sexual assault. Assaults on babies, young children, teens, adults and seniors. Some with a single victim, some with hundreds. We can share the horror, the disgust. We can feel frustration, rage and sadness. We can comment with "why didn't s/he tell," "why didn't they report sooner," "how did no one know." We can wonder how a predator can prey on so many before anyone finds out. I say the same things. I ask the same questions. I share the same feelings. It's sick. It's sad. It needs to end.
Pointing a finger at one person and and making them responsible for the act itself is easy to do. In a movie, the main character gets the awards, the spotlight, and the publicity. But there are a lot of people behind the scenes who've contributed to the film's success. And in cases of sexual assault, especially where the number of victims bleeds into the hundreds, the behind the scenes crew holds a small percentage of responsibility.
In the highly-publicized Larry Nassar case, allegations first surfaced in the 1990s. No one investigated. No one believed. No one listened. And by the time someone finally did listen, 20+ years later, the number of victims was well over 100. But even with the publicity, and the documentaries and the countless Google search results about this case, if you are someone who has never been affected, either as a victim or as the friend or family member of a victim, it is easy to dismiss the amount of trauma that can be experienced from an assault. It's difficult to understand how anything at any time, even years later, can be a trigger. There is no way for someone who is not a victim to completely understand but when we take time to listen, we can get a little bit closer.
My knowledge of the amount of damage that can come from a traumatic experience is limited. While I know people who have been sexually assaulted, I never have been. But I have been shoved off of a bed for refusing sex. I have been sexually harassed. And while neither of these experiences caused me any real trauma, they have taught me to be empathetic and have shaped my attitude about sex and relationships. I believed after the first incident if I refused sex, I'd lose a friend. I thought if I refused sex, people would walk away from me. I believed if I refused sex, I would be in danger. And after the harassment, which was not a one time incident, but one that continued for two years, I believed no matter how kind or persistent I was, it didn't matter. I believed I was doing something wrong by telling someone I didn't want to be with them intimately. I believed at some point I would have to submit. No one should feel like this. No one deserves to feel like this.
Up to the point of entering college, almost having sex was as far as I'd gone with anyone. My quest continued to find where I fit in the world and college only made it more complicated. All of those thoughts about sex circulated through my brain day after day. It was then that I decided, at age 20, to have sex for the first time. My partner was gentle, patient and put no pressure on me. But it hurt. Badly. It wasn't what I'd imagined sex to be at all. After the first time, it became less painful and I almost started to enjoy it. I say almost because at the forefront of my mind was the thought that if I stopped having sex with him, the relationship would be over. I believed this was the only reason he cared about me and paid any attention to me. I believed this to be the only reason anyone would pay attention to me, and that was all that I wanted. Attention. Because sex wasn't something I really enjoyed, I'd drink myself into a complete haze beforehand. I started down a lengthy path of drunken one night stands. I am not proud of this. But I am also not ashamed of it. I got lucky that all of my partners were clean. I got lucky that no one ever assaulted me. I got lucky that it taught me something.
But I have a friend who is not as lucky. She was in an abusive marriage once. Physical abuse. Sexual abuse. Emotional abuse. Financial abuse. And while she's able now to tell her story without shame, her pain is not gone and she is not done healing.
We were out with a group of friends last month. After dinner, shooting pool and a few drinks, we all went back to one couple's house to play games. Everyone was up for just about anything and a few of us suggested Poker. My friend halted the idea almost immediately. It wasn't because we weren't playing for real money. It wasn't because she didn't know how. It was because it was a trigger.
She explained that in her previous marriage, her then in-laws played Poker frequently. And while those nights may have been filled with laughter and good times, that game makes her mind travel back to a place in her life when she was taken advantage of. A time when she was hurt intentionally. A time when she was controlled and scared. A time when she was a victim.
A friend of ours responded by saying we could start playing and if she felt triggered, we could just stop. That seems like a reasonable thing to do, and there is nothing wrong with this suggestion. But it's not that simple. She and I tried together to explain that sometimes when someone gets to the point of being triggered, it's already too late. In this situation, a potential trigger was something she could avoid. Admittedly, the conversation was much too short, and while neither of us are sure he still completely understands where she was coming from, the few minutes we spent discussing it opened the door for future dialogue.
Fixing this epidemic is going to take a lot of time, a lot of open and difficult discussion and a lot of listening. Everyone needs to be willing to participate in the conversation. People who don't understand cannot be afraid to ask questions. Those who do understand need to be willing to answer the questions. No one can force anyone to share their story before they're ready. No simple, quick conversation will give anyone a complete picture of what the post-trauma from these experiences looks like. But if all of us can start listening, be patient and be willing, then we're moving in the right direction.
Saturday, May 4, 2019
I Appreciate You!
Teacher Appreciation Week is almost here, and being the youngest of four kids, I had a hard time getting any teacher who didn't refer to me as "so and so's little sister." Any time I got a teacher who'd had one of my siblings, I felt like they'd already decided what kind of student I was going to be. Sometimes this gave me an advantage and other times, it put me under more scrutiny. Either way, I had some really great teachers who I'll never forget.
Mr. Ferguson - 5th grade social studies.
He was the teacher every girl had a crush on. He was tall, slender, and tan with brown hair He had dark brown eyes. Every girl wanted to be in his class, and I did enjoy social studies a little more that year!
Ms. Dorsett - 6th grade English.
I don't remember the exact assignment but it was to write a paper. Mine detailed a recent visit to a haunted house with my parents and a group of their friends. It was called Necropolis, and at that time, a guide led you through different rooms one by one and various Halloween shenanigans took place in each. The last room had 6 doors. Only one let you out and the others looped back in. Ultimately, you went through the doors until you chose the right one. I DO NOT LIKE HAUNTED HOUSES and having been in there for what seemed like forever, I just needed to get the hell out! With me trembling and in tears, my mom begged an employee to tell us which door would let us out. After giving us a hard time for a few minutes, he finally obliged. We left Necropolis and went to a pizza place to eat. Our party was one person too large for the table. Instead of doing what normal people do and asking for another chair, someone grabbed a high chair and I sat in that. I was 11 years old. In a high chair. It was okay until I tried to get out. This is the only time in my life I remember my legs being too long for anything. I couldn't maneuver myself into the seat in a way where my knees would bend above the lap bar to allow me to get out. Someone in our group had tools in his car and he removed the bar. Why didn't we just ask for a chair?? 🙄 Well, I wrote of this evening and when I got the paper back, there was only one word in red ink across the top - AMATEUR. I still have no idea how to interpret that.
Mrs. Carmichael - middle school gym.
She was all business during class time, but afterwards, she always had carrots. Tiny, ice cold carrots. They were delicious, and I don't know that I've had a carrot since then that was as good as the ones she gave us.
Mr. Schneider - middle school English.
He was old and knew my mother. I remember one day he called on me but said "Mary Ellen." This is not my name. Mary is my mom's first name and Ellen is my middle name. I have no idea why he called me that and I'm even more unsure of why I responded.
These teachers gave me a few fond memories. But there are three teachers who really had an impact on me, and I'm fortunate enough to still be in contact with them today.
Mrs. Mary McCormack - 5th grade.
I remember her being a patient teacher. She didn't put up with poor attitudes and behavior, but she was always fair. She was kind and was the first teacher who really made me feel special. She asked me and another classmate to stay after a few times a week just to help her with the classroom. We weren't being punished for anything and we hadn't done anything to win the privilege. She just chose us. I never asked why. But being given that opportunity gave me a sense of purpose. She was the first person who made me feel like I really mattered. Mary is still a teacher at the same elementary school.
Mr. Paul Mendenhall - high school radio/TV.
He was a phenomenal teacher, and my junior year of high school, I finally found something I was good at. Within the first week of his class, he'd memorized all of our names, faces and voices. He didn't hesitate to tell me that I had a great radio voice and he was kind enough to never tell me I had the perfect face for it too! 😄 He encouraged us on every assignment and always provided constructive criticism. He gave us advice on how to do better and showed us ways to improve. He never told any of us we couldn't do something. I know he rolled his eyes at the stupid show promos we recorded, but he helped us be the best of the stupid. I hosted the Friday morning show for my high school station during my senior year as Jane E. When I got to college, my radio career aspirations halted due to lack of support from professors. I wish I could have taken Mr. Mendenhall with me. Paul no longer teaches at the high school, but you can catch him every weekday morning on 92.3 WTTS in Indianapolis.
Dr. Laura O'Hara - intercultural communications prof at BSU.
I cannot say enough about this lady. The first time I visited Ball State, I sat in an auditorium full of college hopefuls. She introduced herself and told us about the communications department. She was upbeat, funny and engaging. I remember at one point she was walking through the aisles and said "I feel like Jenny Jones." I knew immediately I wanted to take her class. And when I did, I sat in the front - stone faced and quiet. I hardly ever participated and she told me on more than one occasion that she wasn't sure I was even paying attention. I promise I was! Beyond the classroom, she was much more than a teacher. She was a mentor to me in both academics and personal matters. She was never condescending or judgmental but she was always honest. She listened. She advised. She cared. I enjoyed college a lot of the time but the years I was there were the hardest of my life. I suffered from extreme depression and a very VERY low self-esteem. I cannot count how many nights I would call Laura after hours and talk to her on the phone. Some nights I'd end up in her office, spilling emotions and shedding tears. She took me back to my dorm one night and Everybody Hurts by R.E.M. was on the radio. It was probably the most fitting and the most ironic way the evening could have ended. She has seen me at my absolute worst and has never abandoned me. Our professor/student relationship ended, but she's remained a mentor and has become one of my dearest friends. She holds a very special place in my heart. She's still a professor at BSU.
If you are a teacher, a coach, or a mentor, you've got one of the toughest jobs in the world. Please believe me when I say that you are making a difference to someone, even if it goes unsaid forever. THANK YOU!
A recent article by Indianapolis Star Journalist Gregg Doyel inspired me to write this post. His story can be found here:
https://www.indystar.com/story/sports/columnists/gregg-doyel/2019/05/02/doyel-dont-do-what-did-take-time-thank-teacher-week-teacher-appreciation-week/3549380002/
Thursday, April 11, 2019
What's in a Name?
You may or may not know that I'm writing a book. I thought it would be simple and easy because I love to write and I have a million and one ideas. Well, there's nothing easy about it!! And to any published authors, YOU ARE AMAZING!
One problem I didn't anticipate was how difficult it would be to choose a title. I had two working titles but learned this week that there are already nonfiction works with the same titles. My book is fiction and there is no law saying more than one work cannot hold the same name. And let's face it, I need to publish before it's a real issue. But to avoid confusion, it would be nice if my book was the only, or at least the first, with the title that I select.
I am a lover of analogies, symbolism, and representation, and for me, the title is more than just a name. I want it to mean something and to be significant. I want the title to be more than just a way to identify the book.
One of my very favorite books is Break the Line by Allison Mullinax. If you haven't read it, you should! And while you're at it, read ALL of her books ☺
Here is the summary, used with the author's permission:
Not only is this a great story, but the title is so fitting for the book. Of all of her books, this is my favorite title because it carries significance to the story in multiple ways.
If books aren't your thing, try music. I LOVE MUSIC! And most songs are written with a particular story in mind - yes, songs are short stories.
I remember walking into a 9th grade US History class one day and our teacher had a boombox on the desk with a CD inside. Our assignment was to write a one page paper supposing the she in the song he played was the Statue of Liberty. The song was Invisible Touch by Genesis. I'm not a huge fan of Genesis or Phil Collins, and I SUCK AT HISTORY and pretty much any other social studies class. Don't believe me? I repeated US History and the best grade I earned for the course was a C. UNITED STATES HISTORY. I live here!
Anyways, while most of what I learned in there was forgotten, I will always remember this assignment. It's not every day you hear a rock song in a social studies class. I'll also remember because it was the only one of two assignments I ever got an A on in that class.
On the surface the song and the monument don't seem to have any connection and I really doubt Phil Collins wrote it about her. However, if you go back and listen to the lyrics, and think of the Statue of Liberty and what she means to America, it's a beautiful interpretation of the song.
This assignment combined my love of music and writing with symbolism and I'll probably remember it forever. And I still don't have a passion for history or know who she is. But if this paper taught me one thing, it was that sometimes a love for one thing can be enough inspiration to make something else great. I enjoyed US History a little bit more that day, and had the assignment been given any other way, I certainly wouldn't remember it today.
I hope to finish my book. I hope to publish my book. And I hope to someone, somewhere, the title will be enough to make my book unforgettable. So I'm going to use my love of analogies, symbolism, and representation to choose the perfect title for my book.
And while you're waiting to read my book or for me to stop talking about it, find something you love and use it to help you learn something new.
One problem I didn't anticipate was how difficult it would be to choose a title. I had two working titles but learned this week that there are already nonfiction works with the same titles. My book is fiction and there is no law saying more than one work cannot hold the same name. And let's face it, I need to publish before it's a real issue. But to avoid confusion, it would be nice if my book was the only, or at least the first, with the title that I select.
I am a lover of analogies, symbolism, and representation, and for me, the title is more than just a name. I want it to mean something and to be significant. I want the title to be more than just a way to identify the book.
One of my very favorite books is Break the Line by Allison Mullinax. If you haven't read it, you should! And while you're at it, read ALL of her books ☺
Here is the summary, used with the author's permission:
As a pro-fisherman, Benson
Howell's days are spent on murky lake water, reeling in largemouth bass
and winning first place trophies. At twenty-nine, life is easy and
carefree. His only job is to stay in the top rankings during the fishing
circuit, and keep the sponsors happy. That is, until he meets hot
tempered, fiery haired Danni-Rose in small-town Alabama. He has never
backed down from anything too big to reel in.
Danni-Rose has spent the past six years of her life burying her past. When Benson Howell literally plows his boat right into her life, armed with simmering anger, she fights the current pulling her closer to him. With a past she can't let go of, and the sexy fisherman breaking down all her walls, Danni-Rose does everything she can to break the line connecting her to Benson.
Will Danni-Rose be able to let go of the past? Can Benson change her mind about him? Or will they both miss the catch of a lifetime?
Danni-Rose has spent the past six years of her life burying her past. When Benson Howell literally plows his boat right into her life, armed with simmering anger, she fights the current pulling her closer to him. With a past she can't let go of, and the sexy fisherman breaking down all her walls, Danni-Rose does everything she can to break the line connecting her to Benson.
Will Danni-Rose be able to let go of the past? Can Benson change her mind about him? Or will they both miss the catch of a lifetime?
Not only is this a great story, but the title is so fitting for the book. Of all of her books, this is my favorite title because it carries significance to the story in multiple ways.
If books aren't your thing, try music. I LOVE MUSIC! And most songs are written with a particular story in mind - yes, songs are short stories.
I remember walking into a 9th grade US History class one day and our teacher had a boombox on the desk with a CD inside. Our assignment was to write a one page paper supposing the she in the song he played was the Statue of Liberty. The song was Invisible Touch by Genesis. I'm not a huge fan of Genesis or Phil Collins, and I SUCK AT HISTORY and pretty much any other social studies class. Don't believe me? I repeated US History and the best grade I earned for the course was a C. UNITED STATES HISTORY. I live here!
Anyways, while most of what I learned in there was forgotten, I will always remember this assignment. It's not every day you hear a rock song in a social studies class. I'll also remember because it was the only one of two assignments I ever got an A on in that class.
On the surface the song and the monument don't seem to have any connection and I really doubt Phil Collins wrote it about her. However, if you go back and listen to the lyrics, and think of the Statue of Liberty and what she means to America, it's a beautiful interpretation of the song.
This assignment combined my love of music and writing with symbolism and I'll probably remember it forever. And I still don't have a passion for history or know who she is. But if this paper taught me one thing, it was that sometimes a love for one thing can be enough inspiration to make something else great. I enjoyed US History a little bit more that day, and had the assignment been given any other way, I certainly wouldn't remember it today.
I hope to finish my book. I hope to publish my book. And I hope to someone, somewhere, the title will be enough to make my book unforgettable. So I'm going to use my love of analogies, symbolism, and representation to choose the perfect title for my book.
And while you're waiting to read my book or for me to stop talking about it, find something you love and use it to help you learn something new.
Monday, January 7, 2019
Sausage, Butter, Tampons
If you're confused by the title, that's fine. It makes no sense standing alone but it will, I promise!
I receive daily emails about product recalls and this was the title of one a few weeks ago, as it was the items featured in that day's email - sausage, butter, tampons. I jokingly updated my social media status to say that I would title my, hopefully, one day to-be-published book. That isn't true! But it did get me thinking - what are sausage, butter and tampons? Well, for me, they're analogous with parts of life. And if you know me at all, you know I love analogies!
Sausage - big, thick, meaty, of substance; sometimes spicy, other times mild; Can be crumbly or solid (link or patty); And while it has some grease dripping off that we don't need to put into our bodies, the large portion of it satiates us, keeps us full.
Butter - SO GOOD! And yet so bad. Who needs butter? NEEDS! NO ONE! Yes, some recipes call for it and it is delicious, especially when it's melted and drizzled atop a corn cob, mashed potatoes, big fluffy biscuits. But do we need it? NOPE! Does it make us feel good, bring us comfort? Absolutely!
Tampons - we all know what those are! And while they do serve a purpose, and are needed at times, the bottom line is they're a mess. And everyone knows they're there, but no one talks about them.
***
SAUSAGE
The sausages of my life are the big things, the things that matter the most - family, friends, security, faith and worth.
Family is important for obvious reasons. I am not limiting my definition of family to the ones related to you by blood because for me it goes far beyond blood. Family are the ones who are there 100% without a doubt, day or night. I've got a group of people in my life I consider my family because I know I can count on them no matter what. We share love, not blood. And I've got some with whom I share blood and not so much love 😐
And then I've got friends. I've got REAL life friends - the ones I see and talk to frequently. I've got VIRTUAL friends - the ones I've "met" through social media. The ones I can seek advice from because they're close enough to be honest without being complete asses, but are also distant enough to be objective. I really love this group!
The security is about job, or anything of meaning that fills your time; your finances; your education; your knowing you'll be okay. I don't think any aspect of security is possible without friends and family because no matter how tough we are or want to be, we all need help and support.
Faith - I DON'T CARE WHO YOU WORSHIP! I love God. The one in the Bible. If he's not who you choose, it's okay with me. I'm still your friend or your family because I love YOU. But let's face it, no matter who or what you worship, we all know we are not the biggest and the end all. We can believe the stars are directing our course of life - those are bigger than we are. We can believe God put us where we need to be - He's bigger than we are. We can believe it's WHATEVER - and whatever it is, it's bigger than we are. If it wasn't, we wouldn't seek comfort in it when we need a sign that everything is going to be all right.
And worth - this one is tough for me because I often feel worthless. But no matter how I feel, it's a huge part of life. We all want to feel worthy. We all want to matter and be needed. We don't want to simply be an obligation.
These are sausages because most of the time, most of them are great. They give me purpose and hope. But they also come with their own form of grease - families and friends fight, quit talking, disagree. Our security is unsteady sometimes. Our faith wavers, especially when life gets tough. Our worth, or what we feel we're worth, can just bring us down.
***
BUTTER
This is the good stuff that you indulge in that really isn't doing you any good. For me, it's things like playing Candy Crush, watching Days of Our Lives or Friends OVER AND OVER AND OVER, drinking a glass of wine or a beer. Whatever it is that entertains me and makes me feel good. BUT...are they things I need? Absolutely not! Do they make me feel good? Most of the time. They help me escape from reality, give me a break and help me to de-stress. Are they doing anything for me mentally or physically? Nope.
And while these things can just add fat or calories to life, they're all still very important. Candy Crush on the surface does absolutely nothing to improve my life. What it does do is keep my brain busy. It makes me do something difficult until I achieve it.
What does Days of Our Lives do? I know the typical soap opera stereotypes - lying, cheating, betrayal, infidelity, and the list goes on. The last couple of years, the story lines have become very topical both among society as a whole and for me personally. I've watched shows about a cop shooting a young black man; rape and sexual assault; suicide and mental illness. I'm not trying to get you to watch DOOL or any other soap. I don't care if you watch TV at all. You can make fun of me for watching it. I don't care. I'm just saying that while these "butters" of life seem meaningless, they can actually have a meaningful impact. They mean something to us whether they actually matter to anyone else or not. And if they make you happy, embrace your butter!
I really don't need to say anything about watching Friends. I've binged the series multiple times. It makes me laugh every time, and I genuinely love laughter. I love hearing it. I love doing it.
Drinking - no one needs to do this! We know it's toxic. But sometimes I need to relax and it's just a quick fix. A lot of times I'm with friends or family while I'm doing it. We're watching football, playing games or at karaoke. Can we do all of these things without alcohol? YEP! Do I sometimes enjoy those things more with alcohol? YEP!
***
TAMPONS
I'm not going to talk about tampons or periods. We know what those are. But the tampons of life are the messes - and everyone has them! We don't talk about them. We tiptoe around and try to hide them sometimes. It's easy to feel ashamed of the mess but everyone has a messy life in one way or another. We might have a past that we aren't proud of. We might suffer from mental illness. We might closet eat or drink, or have another secret addiction. The point is, it's just part of life.
My mess is my depression and anxiety. I've shared before and have been very open and honest about my multiple suicide attempts. Does anyone want to talk about that? NOPE! Does it need to be discussed? YEP! I've learned from sharing my struggles that I am not alone. Other people can relate to how I feel. And sharing my story might actually help someone else who is dealing with the same thoughts. No one's situation is identical but no one understands depression more than someone who is depressed. I was told once that it's both a blessing and a curse.
Don't be ashamed of your mess. We can't hide them from everyone forever. And we shouldn't have to. Do you need to talk about it to everyone? Certainly not. But know that while messes are a part of life, we were also given friends, family and resources to help clean up our messes. Our messes are a part of us, part of our story.
***
I encourage you to think about what are the sausages, butters, and tampons of your lives. Think about why they fit where they do and embrace them. We all have some of each. We all have our own story. Be proud of yours!
I receive daily emails about product recalls and this was the title of one a few weeks ago, as it was the items featured in that day's email - sausage, butter, tampons. I jokingly updated my social media status to say that I would title my, hopefully, one day to-be-published book. That isn't true! But it did get me thinking - what are sausage, butter and tampons? Well, for me, they're analogous with parts of life. And if you know me at all, you know I love analogies!
Sausage - big, thick, meaty, of substance; sometimes spicy, other times mild; Can be crumbly or solid (link or patty); And while it has some grease dripping off that we don't need to put into our bodies, the large portion of it satiates us, keeps us full.
Butter - SO GOOD! And yet so bad. Who needs butter? NEEDS! NO ONE! Yes, some recipes call for it and it is delicious, especially when it's melted and drizzled atop a corn cob, mashed potatoes, big fluffy biscuits. But do we need it? NOPE! Does it make us feel good, bring us comfort? Absolutely!
Tampons - we all know what those are! And while they do serve a purpose, and are needed at times, the bottom line is they're a mess. And everyone knows they're there, but no one talks about them.
***
SAUSAGE
The sausages of my life are the big things, the things that matter the most - family, friends, security, faith and worth.
Family is important for obvious reasons. I am not limiting my definition of family to the ones related to you by blood because for me it goes far beyond blood. Family are the ones who are there 100% without a doubt, day or night. I've got a group of people in my life I consider my family because I know I can count on them no matter what. We share love, not blood. And I've got some with whom I share blood and not so much love 😐
And then I've got friends. I've got REAL life friends - the ones I see and talk to frequently. I've got VIRTUAL friends - the ones I've "met" through social media. The ones I can seek advice from because they're close enough to be honest without being complete asses, but are also distant enough to be objective. I really love this group!
The security is about job, or anything of meaning that fills your time; your finances; your education; your knowing you'll be okay. I don't think any aspect of security is possible without friends and family because no matter how tough we are or want to be, we all need help and support.
Faith - I DON'T CARE WHO YOU WORSHIP! I love God. The one in the Bible. If he's not who you choose, it's okay with me. I'm still your friend or your family because I love YOU. But let's face it, no matter who or what you worship, we all know we are not the biggest and the end all. We can believe the stars are directing our course of life - those are bigger than we are. We can believe God put us where we need to be - He's bigger than we are. We can believe it's WHATEVER - and whatever it is, it's bigger than we are. If it wasn't, we wouldn't seek comfort in it when we need a sign that everything is going to be all right.
And worth - this one is tough for me because I often feel worthless. But no matter how I feel, it's a huge part of life. We all want to feel worthy. We all want to matter and be needed. We don't want to simply be an obligation.
These are sausages because most of the time, most of them are great. They give me purpose and hope. But they also come with their own form of grease - families and friends fight, quit talking, disagree. Our security is unsteady sometimes. Our faith wavers, especially when life gets tough. Our worth, or what we feel we're worth, can just bring us down.
***
BUTTER
This is the good stuff that you indulge in that really isn't doing you any good. For me, it's things like playing Candy Crush, watching Days of Our Lives or Friends OVER AND OVER AND OVER, drinking a glass of wine or a beer. Whatever it is that entertains me and makes me feel good. BUT...are they things I need? Absolutely not! Do they make me feel good? Most of the time. They help me escape from reality, give me a break and help me to de-stress. Are they doing anything for me mentally or physically? Nope.
And while these things can just add fat or calories to life, they're all still very important. Candy Crush on the surface does absolutely nothing to improve my life. What it does do is keep my brain busy. It makes me do something difficult until I achieve it.
What does Days of Our Lives do? I know the typical soap opera stereotypes - lying, cheating, betrayal, infidelity, and the list goes on. The last couple of years, the story lines have become very topical both among society as a whole and for me personally. I've watched shows about a cop shooting a young black man; rape and sexual assault; suicide and mental illness. I'm not trying to get you to watch DOOL or any other soap. I don't care if you watch TV at all. You can make fun of me for watching it. I don't care. I'm just saying that while these "butters" of life seem meaningless, they can actually have a meaningful impact. They mean something to us whether they actually matter to anyone else or not. And if they make you happy, embrace your butter!
I really don't need to say anything about watching Friends. I've binged the series multiple times. It makes me laugh every time, and I genuinely love laughter. I love hearing it. I love doing it.
Drinking - no one needs to do this! We know it's toxic. But sometimes I need to relax and it's just a quick fix. A lot of times I'm with friends or family while I'm doing it. We're watching football, playing games or at karaoke. Can we do all of these things without alcohol? YEP! Do I sometimes enjoy those things more with alcohol? YEP!
***
TAMPONS
I'm not going to talk about tampons or periods. We know what those are. But the tampons of life are the messes - and everyone has them! We don't talk about them. We tiptoe around and try to hide them sometimes. It's easy to feel ashamed of the mess but everyone has a messy life in one way or another. We might have a past that we aren't proud of. We might suffer from mental illness. We might closet eat or drink, or have another secret addiction. The point is, it's just part of life.
My mess is my depression and anxiety. I've shared before and have been very open and honest about my multiple suicide attempts. Does anyone want to talk about that? NOPE! Does it need to be discussed? YEP! I've learned from sharing my struggles that I am not alone. Other people can relate to how I feel. And sharing my story might actually help someone else who is dealing with the same thoughts. No one's situation is identical but no one understands depression more than someone who is depressed. I was told once that it's both a blessing and a curse.
Don't be ashamed of your mess. We can't hide them from everyone forever. And we shouldn't have to. Do you need to talk about it to everyone? Certainly not. But know that while messes are a part of life, we were also given friends, family and resources to help clean up our messes. Our messes are a part of us, part of our story.
***
I encourage you to think about what are the sausages, butters, and tampons of your lives. Think about why they fit where they do and embrace them. We all have some of each. We all have our own story. Be proud of yours!
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