I see it time and time again, but it’s with my peers too. And some, especially lately on social media, seem to expend an awful lot of energy on comparing themselves to others, and then acting atrociously as a result. But I don’t think they realize that it stems from comparison, because it takes form in reverse. It’s a passive aggressive sort of thing. I see it in some poetry. I see it in some commenting. What exactly am I talking about? I’m talking about people who don’t even realize they are comparing themselves to others, because they mask it as a sort of diatribe of superiority against contemporary writers and poets. They “bash” others in their quest to feel better about themselves, which begs the question: Why? Why expend so much energy on creating a negative environment that says: I’m better than you. I’m a better wordsmith. You don’t do this like I do therefore, you’re mediocre, and so on. Isn’t that a form of comparison? I don’t think it has a damn thing to do with them truly thinking they are superior. No. I think it’s actually the opposite. It’s a comparison, maybe even subconscious, that is actually making them feel inadequate, it’s their only refuge. Whether it be to ask: Why is THAT book or THAT poetry doing better than mine? Why is that post or that poem getting so many likes? It is a COMPARISON. It is a comparison of what YOU are doing against what OTHERS are doing or what is happening for them and not you. And bashing others or their work is really just a loud coping mechanism. Guess what? I’m on to you. Maybe you disagree with me, and I’d love to hear it! But my motto in my life right now is: DO YOU. I’ll do me. And if we meet in the middle to shake hands, wonderful. If we don’t? Go pound sand and keep digging your own grave. Working WITH people not AGAINST people is the only way to grow. Lifting people while staying grounded is what a community of writers or learners is. Without roots, nothing lasts. Without roots, everything gets easily plucked away in the wind and dies.  So I say: Stop insulting other people. because you aren’t where you think you should be. Compare yourself to where you were yesterday and drink in the sun and water to grow. And if there isn’t any sun or water where you are, find another place. Then water those around you too. And watch just what happens to a rose and the whole rose bush when you do. Look back, yes, but only to compare yourself to the you YOU were before it bloomed and now. And smile with joy.
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 Where do you meet authors? Where do you hear about their books? How do you discover your next read? And what actually makes you BUY a book versus just waiting around for that freebie? What is too high a cost for you? Do you even need to buy books anymore? You’re reading this, because, somehow, we’ve connected. What drew you to me? And how did you find me? Was it my erotic romances? My new adult fiction? Or my poetry? Or did you find me some other way and still not yet bought or read a book of mine? In a world that seems to create more and more technology that is supposed to make our lives easier, it becomes more and more difficult for an indie author to decide where to spend their time. Building a following is work. It’s another full-time job to not only our full-time day jobs but also our full-time writing jobs!  When I first started, I was only on Twitter. I liked the quick banter. The immediate following. The ease with which to discover people with similar interests. And the people I met on Twitter are now some of my oldest friends in the Indie community to this date. And by oldest, I mean longest. 😊 Facebook had turned me off long before, when students of mine started to “friend request” me, and I didn’t have the heart to not accept. I saw my family in disputes over this cousin not liking this cousin’s post, and I just decided: This is a silly hassle. I don’t need social media to see my friends and family. Instagram was a novelty to me. And well, TikTok wasn’t even a thing! But as time went on, I joined Facebook as RB, and well, I found myself really enjoying the medium of it. I liked that I could write as much as I wanted and wasn’t restricted to “character” constraints. I liked the groups. I liked the layout and the format. But Facebook has changed A LOT in just the few years I’ve been on it. It’s over saturated. They want you to pay for your posts or they don’t pop them into feeds. And groups seem to be a lot of the same. Silly memes. Mindless games. And places for people to be, well, social and flirty, often in the most inane and mundane ways. But is Facebook a place where people talk about books anymore? Or share their love of an author’s work? I find, more and more, people are looking to be entertained in ways that really have nothing to do with reading. And TikTok? Well, the jury is out on even how long it will last, given all the implications of privacy and the ownership in China. It’s also the biggest rabbit hole of dumb I’ve seen in a very long time. The more outrageous, the more it’s watched. It’s a strange thing, this societal shift of entertainment over truth or quality or depth. TikTok mentality is basically humankind mentality these days. But is an author making silly faces and putting on silly costumes really what it takes to sell books these days? Or does even that just lead to a laugh and an empty promise? And now Facebook is scrambling to keep up, begging people to post more reels, to compete with what exactly? More silly entertainment? Have I used the word silly yet? 😉 I don’t know these answers. I just know who I am and what I stand for. I know that I want to share my work with people, but I also don’t want to just give it all away to everyone for free, all the time. Actually publishing a book takes such work and energy, and every time I offer something FREE, I become a “best seller” (note the irony of the word seller there). I have often made it as an Amazon Best Seller with paid books too (who hasn’t really), but it’s usually only in the first month or two of a release or if I run a paid ad that even being an Amazon Best Seller doesn’t do more than help me break a little more than even. I guess the answer, if I were to offer one, is to simply do what brings us joy, share to social media places we enjoy being on. But then again, do we ever grow if we only stay in our comfort zones? If we don’t learn new things? Is selling books really just learning new tricks? If so, this young dog may already be too old for a new bag! 😊   As a writer, I’m not perfect, of course, when it comes to grammar, but I certainly do try to put my best foot forward in anything I share with the public. Whether it’s a simple post on Facebook or a short comment to a friend on social media, nothing is too small to care about for me. Does that mean I don’t have typos I’ve missed? Or that my phone doesn’t like to go rogue on me and change words or make up words with my intended words? (The cheeky thing!). I think you know the answer to that!
No one is perfect, and I certainly don’t expect people to be, but (yup I just negated everything that came before this, which I’ve written about before) I think some people don’t know basic grammar rules. And this worries me. Why? Because these are writers. When a writer asks me to share their books in my newsletter or a post on social media for them, and it’s riddled with typos, I find myself questioning what is going on with expectations of writing today. (My goodness, I just sounded like an old lady! Ha!) As a teacher by day, I expect these problems. It’s partially my job to help rectify those things. But when writers are putting out typo-infested work, in their blurbs for instance, does it make me question what I might find inside their books? Hell, yes it does! Should it? Am I being too picky? Ridiculously pompous even? I don’t know. But I don’t think so. Like any “job,” and make no mistake, when you share your writing with the public, it is, indeed, that, I think it’s our obligation to do it well. No one gets accolades for doing a shitty job. My concern is not for the esoteric rules or rules that are archaic and no longer make sense (we don’t read or write or speak in Latin, folks!), but things just seem to have been forgotten or are being ignored completely. Are these things important? Is grammar just in a state of flux and ever-changing? Are some things just silly rules that should be ignored? Is grammar becoming a thing of elitism? Take a very simple rule about titles. What is capitalized? And what isn’t? In the Heat of the Night. Notice what is capitalized and what is not. Why is this rule important? So what if I capitalized everything in that title? In The Heat Of The Night, for instance. But it’s WRONG, I scream inside my head! Fix that! How can a writer putting out work not KNOW that? And then I give pause. Who really cares about such minutia? Who even came up with these rules?? Will the story be any less enticing if a word is or isn’t capitalized? Are grammar rules simply becoming a thing of the past? Or are these basic rules being tossed aside a reflection of bigger problems in society? Is grammar simply a microcosm of what is happening in the world? In the United States more specifically? And what is that? A loss of manners? A loss of attention to detail? A sense of entitlement or laziness? A society that doesn’t want to work at things but wants to cheat and cut corners? A society that encourages mediocrity? A society too concerned about appeasing people rather than being honest? Or is grammar simply snobbery, a measuring stick that tries to say: I’m better than you, because I understand when to use whom and when to use who? I’m not sure the answers as I write this. I always try to remember what my 5th grade teacher once said: Grammar is important, because the intended message will be lost. If the grammar is good enough as to not "ineffectuate" the meaning, you’re good. So then, if I capitalize an article or a conjunction in a title that shouldn’t be, does it at all hurt the meaning? Maybe my concern about such a thing says more about me than anything else. Chill out, Rose. And live and let live. You know, there was once a time that starting a sentence with a conjunction was frowned upon. Pfttt. We all know that is rubbish now! So who gets elected to be the grammar police? And, further, shouldn’t I have just capitalized that? 😊  October has arrived with insistence, and yet summer fights to hang on. Sound familiar? Letting go? Or trying to? Relationships, friendships, like nature itself—the trees, the flowers, the plants-- all have their seasons. Some come back. Others fall away into something else. And some become memories.
When traveling recently, I looked down from the plane onto cities and vast expanses of land, and I wondered just what makes us think so much. What makes us worry so much. Are we really anything more than anything else? Do we have a soul? Are we mere energy? You know, the standard crap that makes us human and keeps us up at night, thinking and worrying and contemplating. Sometimes, I wonder why we can’t just live, instead of hurting each other, insulting each other. Our insecurities are larger than anything below the sky, and we’re so infinitesimally small, aren’t we? I also realized that some people are small in other ways too. Their insecurity is so high, they must belittle others who are just trying to live their best life. If this is all we have, this one life, wouldn’t it behoove us to treat each other better? But it’s hard if we feel poorly about ourselves. When I see someone trying to stomp on others—their creativity, their voice—I realize: They are projecting. They are projecting their self-worth onto others. So when someone tries to trample your spirit, it’s because they haven’t found their own. They are the leaf that falls before it had time to discover the meaning of their own lives. They wrinkle too soon…for “whenever men are right they are not young.” Let me be young and wrong, then, and give me a world of Octobers of letting go of all that weighs me down to an early death. It’s not that we won’t die. It’s that we have to decide to live first. And blossom. Our own way. In bright, beautiful colors. Step outside of the square. Do your own dance. Twirl like a leaf in October wind. And smile, knowing, you’ve discovered, you can leave the trees that try to fixate you to a spot you don’t want to be. Be red. Or orange. Or yellow. But never be what someone else has said you must be when a world of Octobers exist.  It’s the biggest question readers are asked: Ebooks or print? Which do you prefer? I'm a writer, yes, but I'm also a reader. And my answer to this question may surprise you.
You often get those traditionalists who talk about the smell of books, the tactile experience, the bindings and spine, the art, and sometimes the leather. We even romanticize the dust, those particles that look like glitter floating in one ray of sunlight, instead of the sneezes, a lazy day in bed, with a book in one hand, and a cup of tea in the other. If not tea, maybe a pen to mark up the margins with hearts and annotations, smiley faces and exclamation points. That one passage we underline several times and earmark, so we can come back to it like that kiss we’ll never forget. But I’m here to confess. I recently cleaned out all my bookshelves and gave them away to libraries, schools, and the swap shack in town. Oh! What a Philistine! I mustn’t be a “real” reader. I kept my favorites. All my Shakespeare. Fahrenheit 451 and 1984 and Brave New World. The Catcher in the Rye and To Kill A Mockingbird. All the poetry books I have from Dickinson to Cummings to Plath to Poe (and yes Ted too—sorry) and so many more. I even kept the 50 Shades trilogy and Twilight. Stephen King classics. Lolita. Hemingway. But it’s one bookcase now, vs six. I love going to bookstores and libraries, leafing through bookshelves and sale racks, remembering where I was when I read, Are You There, God, It’s Me, Margaret and Anais Nin and The Story of O, a cappuccino in one hand, a book in the other. But when I want to read—on a beach, by my pool, in the quiet moments at night when I’m alone with only the moon and stars as my witness--my kindle is my companion, and I’m not ashamed to say it. I love late-night reads, with the font as big as I want it and the lights off. I love marking up the pages with my fingers and having a record of where I finished. I love bouncing from thrillers to romances to poetry to classics to smut, all at the swipe of my finger, depending on my mood. And I love that I can rest it on my lap and not lose my page. For me, ebooks let me read more. I don’t have to remember to carry eight books or worry if, while poolside, I’ll ruin the pages. Put simply, I love to read. And ebooks give me words. What else do I need? I want to taste and smell the words. Not the book. I want to transport myself to places in my mind. Meet new people without having to go anywhere. And I want to do them often and at the same time sometimes. I’ve kept the paper books that mattered to me, that show me where I was or what I was thinking when I lived with them. I like to reread them and see where I was then and where I’ve come now. Virginia Woolf when I was 16 is not the same as she is in my thirties. Kate Chopin makes sense to me now. I will never stop collecting books, I just do so differently. But I still collect them. I collect moments that are my moments, housed in a mind that will forever love to read.  We all have flaws, perceived or otherwise, that have plagued us since youth. Or at least we just simply always remember worrying about them. I’m not smart enough. Or my legs aren’t long enough or I’m too introverted. Whatever it may be, it is something that probably weighs us down. Where did it come from? Did you wake up one morning and simply think it or feel it? Or most likely, did it stem from something someone said once. Maybe we remember EXACTLY when it started, the exact moment someone said something that stuck with us. Or maybe we’ve blocked it out, and just somehow think it’s some universal, unconnected truth that just is, as if it’s a fact. I’ve written about my legs before. I can remember an exact moment in a car when I was about 13. I was squished in with a few friends coming back from the movies, my brother driving us. It was summer and hot and we all had shorts on and windows down. I looked to the left to one of my best friends, her leg pressed against mine, and I had two thoughts, thoughts that always seem to pop into my mind, like it was yesterday. One was that her leg was so much skinnier than mine. I couldn’t stop looking at it. The second was how tan hers was next to mine. I felt pasty and unattractive and what probably really makes this memory stick is that my brother commented on it. That my legs were too big for us to pile in the back and all fit. He never said fat. They weren’t. They were just—bigger. Muscular. And too short. Always too short.
And it makes me wonder: Does everyone feel that? Do even the most happy, the one most smiling, the one who seems to have it all, feel those things too? I never thought about it much until I was older, until I actually spoke to my brother about such things, him aghast that such a small comment that, to him, meant nothing but a silly joke, could leave such a lasting impression on my psyche. Because to him, it was such a non-issue; to him, in some strange way, he was complimenting me on my hard work.
I think the things that stick with us the longest or the most come from people we love or trust who let us down. I often wonder, had a stranger said that if I would have given it two thoughts. Maybe. Maybe not. But it’s the people closest to us that can hurt us the most. In love. In friendship. Anyone we let in. And maybe that’s why it’s easier to keep people at a distance. The rocks of words can’t hit as hard far away. But up close, they can leave scars.  Are you a believer in the reading of tarot cards? The power of mediums? What has led you to believe or not believe?
In truth, I find it fun, though I’ve never visited a medium, nor do I have the desire. But the couple times I did visit a tarot card reader, it was freakishly dead on. I know. I know. And I say it too. Of course we are going to make sense of what the reader says, as it’s so general, we can find ourselves in it. Who doesn’t have some problems they want to fix? Or goals they wish they had reached? Or dreams? Or love lost and lost won? But this weekend, when, on a whim, I decided to play along again, I found her words hauntingly true. So many before me had talked about her readings and how she didn’t hold back, that what she said was too specific not to be real…so I went in with an open mind, while others were too fearful. Why the heck not? I don’t fear these things. Maybe I should. I guess, deep down, I don’t believe it for a second…and yet, maybe that’s just it. I WANT to believe. I want to believe that there is a way to see things that my limited mind won’t allow me to see. Maybe that’s all it is…that we desire to believe in things we really don’t. Or maybe, it’s that we DO believe and pretend we don’t, too scared to admit there are just so many things in life that have no explanations, that we can never fully grasp. I’m certain there are a whole host of parts of the brain we don’t use. In fact, we know this to be true. Science has told us this. So, as she was about to pack up, she allowed for a one-card reading and when she flipped it, she said (and I paraphrase), only knowing my first name and nothing more, “Wow. You work tirelessly, don’t you? Every day. You work and work toward your goals. And you wonder why some days, you want to give up. Don’t give up on your dreams. Keep doing what you’re doing. It will pay off. It doesn't seem so right now, but it will.” And I jokingly said: “Is it the bags under my eyes that have given it away?” And then she flipped another card. “I see people in your life that don’t support you in these dreams. This is a patience card. You need to have it. And so do these other people in your life who demand too much of your attention.” Of course I related to this. Like 100%. But who reading that doesn’t it? I think it’s true for me; and yet, I can see how it could apply to anyone. She left me with her card and a stone. And I look at it now, pondering her words. And somehow, regardless of its truth or not, it is a little voice telling me that I need to stay the course regarding certain dreams and goals, even if there are days I am certain the course is too difficult. So thank you, tarot card reader. Whether you know it or not, you’ve given me the courage to believe, not so much in the power of the cards, but in myself.  LAST NIGHT...was the first time in months I didn’t sleep with the AC on. The rain was performing in the night air and demanded to be noticed. With the overhead fan on and the sound of the rain and wind, I opened my window and fell into a deep sleep. When I awoke, the rain had stopped its show, and I lay there, very early—another thing I hadn’t done in months—and just reflected. Reflected on the day ahead. The week ahead. The semester ahead. My plans of travel and the long weekend. And a certain breeze not only passed through my window but through my body. It felt like breath.
I’m not a morning person. I like the nights. I like staying up late when the cars stop roaring and the stars come out. I like to sit with a good TV series and then climb up to bed to meet my latest book characters and forget who I am for a little while, let the responsibilities of life fade into the background of “that can wait,” before I take my ride with Morpheus, where dreams are unencumbered by expectation, and where I have no control of what happens there. It feels like freedom, even if only for that one second before I slip and enter the world I won’t likely remember but know anything is possible. I’d forgotten how wonderful the morning is. How quiet it is then too, before the bustle starts and the stress kicks in and the noise takes over. It’s a perfect time to write. To meditate. And spend time in the moment. And in this moment, I saw the trees, still wet from the night’s spectacle, but the leaves blowing gently against each other in harmony, a couple of big oaks seemingly in love. Within the leaves I stared, and like that old Magic Eye book or when I stare for long periods of time at the clouds, I saw a kiss in those leaves, a face I wanted to capture—a side profile of eyes, a nose, hair blowing back, and lips, lips kissing the leaves next to it. I thought to myself, I’m just seeing things, and yet, still, I wanted to get my phone and snap a picture to prove it to you, to see if you saw it too, to show you how real it was, the trees in an embrace, kissing one another. But I stopped myself. This was my moment, what I felt and saw and knew was real. And I realized, it didn’t matter who believed me or who might have seen it too or who thought I was foolish. It was my waking dream, whether fabricated or not: Those leaves loved each other. And I realized: Isn’t that all any of us want? To be kissed? In the morning when no one else knows, when the only thing that matters is that we know we were kissed, that we know: We are loved. And that’s what being alive feels like, the gift of morning. And I'm happy for it. "Death lies on her, like an untimely frost Upon the sweetest flower of all the field." ~Shakespeare  In case you don't follow me on social media and missed my Facebook post, I'm sharing it here as well... Out of the blue, I lost my best friend and PA. I'm not sure where I'll go from here... It’s taken me a day to get over the shock of my beautiful friend and PA’s death and write something myself. I’m still in shock. Words just can’t express the overwhelming sadness I feel. Mandi Calder was not only my PA, she was my sister by choice. There wasn’t a day we didn’t speak, except for rare vacations or days where we’d shut down to recharge. She did so much for me as a PA—just because she wanted to, not because she had to. She shared my work daily into groups before I’d even be out of bed, she ran the NuR Twitter feed, and she found the most beautiful ballet images for me. She had my back. She was my springboard for ideas. She kept me organized. She let me vent. She made me laugh. She made me feel special. But mostly, she kept me from not giving up. Her motto was always: “Positive thinking, hunni,” especially when I needed to hear it most. That was her. Without thought or obligation. She was just…kind. And giving…and smart! God. She was so smart. And I can say that we told each other we loved each other often. For that, I have no regrets. She knew. And I knew. I hear her now. As I write this. “Positive thinking…” And I’m really trying to listen. It’s just almost impossible to wrap my mind around the idea that she’s gone. That she was taken from us so young. And I don’t think I can make sense of it. Not now. Maybe not ever. So if I’m quiet for a while, it’s because I don’t know of any other way to be. Even my tears are quiet. I keep wondering if they’ll stop. And I’m not sure, exactly, how I see my future here or in the writing or publishing community without her. She’s been with me from the start. I've never known a writing life without her. She was and IS a beautiful soul. So I’ll remember that. I’ll feel that. I’ll feel her soul. And let it guide me, bit by bit. Day by day. Because a soul like hers, doesn’t die.
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But it's true. Sometimes, our passions can compromise our principles. They can make us blind. Inconsiderate. Selfish. Self-absorbed. Narcissistic. And perhaps, like anything, drinking, for instance, or even loving someone or caring about a cause, we might get carried away, lose sight of truth, get lost. And with being lost, we might lose our principles. I'm sad to say, I see it in the writing community. Cheating the system. Paying for reviews. Paying readers. Some get caught, and for a second, we think the world is righting itself. But they only reinvent themselves and go at it again...But there are far bigger problems than that nonsense.
What happens when it seems principles are forgotten at large? Who decides on what principles matter and which do not? I care deeply about certain things that others do not. Does that mean my principles are correct and theirs aren't? It's murky, isn't it? And, I'm afraid, America's principles seem to revolve so heavily around money, that the ol' mighty dollar now seems to be synonymous with the word passion at the expense of principles. The environment. Human kindness. Treatment of people and animals. Hey, if we're making a buck, who gives a fuck, right? -- WRONG!
While watching a new series featuring Zac Effron, Down to Earth (I know. I want to start singing HIgh School Musical songs too), it becomes all too clear. The first two episodes, the first Iceland; the second France, shows me that America has gotten so far off track, environmentally, healthily, humanitarily, (word or not, I don't care), equally...it truly begins to frighten me sick.
If other countries can provide and live off 100% renewable energy, like Iceland (and I don't want to toot my own horn, but for my Edge of Torment series, I did quite a bit of research on Iceland for my protagonist, Michael, who studied there, and whose life mission focuses on green and renewable energy--if you'd only read it--:) ); and France--Paris giving water (good, clean nutrient water) to ALL, free and easily accessible in public places like parks, etc.--why aren't we doing better? Why are we going backwards? Why are we pulling back from all these things we've learned and know, KNOW, we should be doing? We can do our part. And I've blogged about that here, but the government should be doing its part, should be doing more, not going back in time!
What happens when it seems principles are forgotten at large? Who decides on what principles matter and which do not? I care deeply about certain things that others do not. Does that mean my principles are correct and theirs aren't? It's murky, isn't it? And, I'm afraid, America's principles seem to revolve so heavily around money, that the ol' mighty dollar now seems to be synonymous with the word passion at the expense of principles. The environment. Human kindness. Treatment of people and animals. Hey, if we're making a buck, who gives a fuck, right? -- WRONG!
While watching a new series featuring Zac Effron, Down to Earth (I know. I want to start singing HIgh School Musical songs too), it becomes all too clear. The first two episodes, the first Iceland; the second France, shows me that America has gotten so far off track, environmentally, healthily, humanitarily, (word or not, I don't care), equally...it truly begins to frighten me sick.
If other countries can provide and live off 100% renewable energy, like Iceland (and I don't want to toot my own horn, but for my Edge of Torment series, I did quite a bit of research on Iceland for my protagonist, Michael, who studied there, and whose life mission focuses on green and renewable energy--if you'd only read it--:) ); and France--Paris giving water (good, clean nutrient water) to ALL, free and easily accessible in public places like parks, etc.--why aren't we doing better? Why are we going backwards? Why are we pulling back from all these things we've learned and know, KNOW, we should be doing? We can do our part. And I've blogged about that here, but the government should be doing its part, should be doing more, not going back in time!
But we don't care about what other countries are doing. We're the most powerful country on Earth. We're rich. Fuck the past. Fuck the future. I want to make money! My passion is excess at the expense of everything and everyone.
When money is the only passion we make decisions from, we're in trouble. And, folks, we're in trouble. Where's Mr. Miyagi when you need him? I'm afraid, he's nowhere to be found. And soon, neither will we.
When money is the only passion we make decisions from, we're in trouble. And, folks, we're in trouble. Where's Mr. Miyagi when you need him? I'm afraid, he's nowhere to be found. And soon, neither will we.
So many people are talking about the indie community of writers being volatile and destructive to one another right now. But it’s really not about writing or books or publishing. At all. It’s about politics and the state of the world, and the divide is large and strong and angry. My question to you is this: Should writers in the indie community be putting forth their political views? Does doing so incite angry responses, drama, and controversy? Of course it does. Does it mean they shouldn’t be able to voice their opinions freely and openly? After all, they are writers, aren’t they? They should be able to communicate their views with ease and grace and coherence, right?
I’m an Indie author. And trust me when I say that I have strong beliefs and opinions about the state of the world and politics. I happen to live a life deeply close and embedded in politics. But I am also fortunate (or not) that I don’t use my real name in my indie world. In my indie world, yes, I have views and thoughts and ideas related to all sorts of things other than poetry and romance and erotica, but I save much of it for me. Me in the flesh and blood world. Me the teacher. Me the activist. Me. Not R.B. O’Brien.
That is my own personal choice to split things that way. When it comes to politics, I care. I care a helluva lot. I care about all the issues I see people fighting and tearing each other apart over. I'm not saying people should remain silent about things that matter or things they care about. But I don’t bring it to my timeline or my author pages very often or at all. Why? Because I, personally, have other places to do so, where I’m not R.B., the romance writer, a place that makes more sense for it, a place, where, I know, for the most part, I can have healthy debate when necessary.
I’m not opposed to saying something when it’s necessary (like right now). But many people post things full-well knowing it will cause a ruckus, full of charged language. And then, they complain that people are getting angry and commenting on their posts with passion and fervor and volatility. It’s not that the indie community has gotten nasty or no longer support one another. I find so much strength in people here. It’s that the world is divided in a way that is almost impossible to bridge, and the indie writing community is just a microcosm of that. Morals. Treatment of others. Protests. Calls for peace. Calls for violence. It’s a mess. And no one seems to want to listen.
If you want to focus on the publication of your indie books and find support for it, perhaps remember what you’re here trying to promote and do. Just as I don’t want religious propaganda taking up my timeline or my inbox, so too do I not want political rhetoric that is infused with hidden agendas and veiled in hate or intolerance and far too often, ignorance. Maybe we need to start listening to people who live things we never will live ourselves, and therefore, can never fully understand. Maybe we need to stop defending our mistakes and admitting our wrongs. Maybe, we need to start reading history more, rather than writing our opinions about it as if history doesn’t exist. And maybe it’s time to become just a little more educated and empathetic, rather than being right.
Put down the pen for a bit, and instead, entertain the idea of opening up your mind. People need to listen more. And start talking less.
I’m an Indie author. And trust me when I say that I have strong beliefs and opinions about the state of the world and politics. I happen to live a life deeply close and embedded in politics. But I am also fortunate (or not) that I don’t use my real name in my indie world. In my indie world, yes, I have views and thoughts and ideas related to all sorts of things other than poetry and romance and erotica, but I save much of it for me. Me in the flesh and blood world. Me the teacher. Me the activist. Me. Not R.B. O’Brien.
That is my own personal choice to split things that way. When it comes to politics, I care. I care a helluva lot. I care about all the issues I see people fighting and tearing each other apart over. I'm not saying people should remain silent about things that matter or things they care about. But I don’t bring it to my timeline or my author pages very often or at all. Why? Because I, personally, have other places to do so, where I’m not R.B., the romance writer, a place that makes more sense for it, a place, where, I know, for the most part, I can have healthy debate when necessary.
I’m not opposed to saying something when it’s necessary (like right now). But many people post things full-well knowing it will cause a ruckus, full of charged language. And then, they complain that people are getting angry and commenting on their posts with passion and fervor and volatility. It’s not that the indie community has gotten nasty or no longer support one another. I find so much strength in people here. It’s that the world is divided in a way that is almost impossible to bridge, and the indie writing community is just a microcosm of that. Morals. Treatment of others. Protests. Calls for peace. Calls for violence. It’s a mess. And no one seems to want to listen.
If you want to focus on the publication of your indie books and find support for it, perhaps remember what you’re here trying to promote and do. Just as I don’t want religious propaganda taking up my timeline or my inbox, so too do I not want political rhetoric that is infused with hidden agendas and veiled in hate or intolerance and far too often, ignorance. Maybe we need to start listening to people who live things we never will live ourselves, and therefore, can never fully understand. Maybe we need to stop defending our mistakes and admitting our wrongs. Maybe, we need to start reading history more, rather than writing our opinions about it as if history doesn’t exist. And maybe it’s time to become just a little more educated and empathetic, rather than being right.
Put down the pen for a bit, and instead, entertain the idea of opening up your mind. People need to listen more. And start talking less.
Saying goodbye to someone or something you love is never easy. But it happens all the time in life. It doesn’t mean the love is gone. It just means it has changed or morphed or outgrown a heart’s size for myriad reasons. And for now, I am saying goodbye to something I love.
It is with a heavy heart that I am closing The Nu Romantics’ Facebook group. It doesn’t mean The Nu Romantics are completely disappearing. Not now. Maybe not ever. But there are reasons why I no longer could put all my time into supporting a group at the expense of myself. It sounds selfish saying that out loud, but if there’s one thing I’ve been taught from writing—writing of ANY kind-- is that when we stop being honest, we have nothing to say that’s meaningful.
I put my heart and soul into creating a group for writers and readers to come to explore and grow in a safe place. It was a place I got to fulfill so many of my creative urges. For anyone who knows me, they’ll tell you, my mind rarely shuts down. There is a creative side to me that’s almost a monster, gnawing at me, sometimes so voraciously, I completely lose myself. I’m constantly stopping to takes notes of ideas, writing, creating…and sadly, second guessing. I think a lot of us are like that. I’m not the exception.
Without getting into too many details, I don’t think people realize the extent of work that goes into making a really successful group, and I’m not a half-assed person, about anything, a curse and a blessing. Some do realize it. Some joined us on the administration staff, only to realize how much work and dedication was required. At the expense of my own work and projects, I continuously put NuR first. Trying new things. Inventing new posts to engage people in an almost 1000-person group by its end.
But I found when it came time for reciprocation, it just wasn’t there in the way I always dreamed. We, and our incredibly industrious PAs, were sharing and making graphics for people across all social platforms and commenting and encouraging people’s writing daily. We published two anthologies with no monetary compensation up front—collecting, editing, creating covers, editing, making graphics, editing (have I said editing?), and promoting and promoting and promoting. But The NuR family often remained silent during these times and the support only seemed to consist of a handful of people who really seemed to care or support those endeavors or understand the time and effort that goes into such things. To those people who were always there supporting the people in the group, and there are many, you are always a part of me and my growth and everyone else. And I thank you. You have marked me in the best possible way for life.
It is with a heavy heart that I am closing The Nu Romantics’ Facebook group. It doesn’t mean The Nu Romantics are completely disappearing. Not now. Maybe not ever. But there are reasons why I no longer could put all my time into supporting a group at the expense of myself. It sounds selfish saying that out loud, but if there’s one thing I’ve been taught from writing—writing of ANY kind-- is that when we stop being honest, we have nothing to say that’s meaningful.
I put my heart and soul into creating a group for writers and readers to come to explore and grow in a safe place. It was a place I got to fulfill so many of my creative urges. For anyone who knows me, they’ll tell you, my mind rarely shuts down. There is a creative side to me that’s almost a monster, gnawing at me, sometimes so voraciously, I completely lose myself. I’m constantly stopping to takes notes of ideas, writing, creating…and sadly, second guessing. I think a lot of us are like that. I’m not the exception.
Without getting into too many details, I don’t think people realize the extent of work that goes into making a really successful group, and I’m not a half-assed person, about anything, a curse and a blessing. Some do realize it. Some joined us on the administration staff, only to realize how much work and dedication was required. At the expense of my own work and projects, I continuously put NuR first. Trying new things. Inventing new posts to engage people in an almost 1000-person group by its end.
But I found when it came time for reciprocation, it just wasn’t there in the way I always dreamed. We, and our incredibly industrious PAs, were sharing and making graphics for people across all social platforms and commenting and encouraging people’s writing daily. We published two anthologies with no monetary compensation up front—collecting, editing, creating covers, editing, making graphics, editing (have I said editing?), and promoting and promoting and promoting. But The NuR family often remained silent during these times and the support only seemed to consist of a handful of people who really seemed to care or support those endeavors or understand the time and effort that goes into such things. To those people who were always there supporting the people in the group, and there are many, you are always a part of me and my growth and everyone else. And I thank you. You have marked me in the best possible way for life.
That may sound bitter. It’s not. Please don’t take it that way. It’s a reality. NO ONE HAS MORE THAN 24 hours a day, that includes me and other admins. It’s not that people didn’t want to support (at least I hope so), it’s that none of us has that kind of time. We have lives. We have friends. We have families. We have lovers. We have full-time jobs. We write full-time too. A third full-time job? How? And yet, we admins were often expected to find time to support everyone all the time and when we didn’t, our inboxes would sometimes let us know.
So after months of debating and fighting with myself, it was time to take a break. I want to be creative. I want time to write. I want to support others. I, too, want support. And so starts a new chapter of how to balance the idea of success with that of support, especially when I have new releases or takeovers, how to balance creativity and time, and how to balance expectations with reality. The state of affairs in the world right now, especially in the US, won’t allow me to live on some cloud in the sky anymore. There is shit to be done. Work to do. And until someone devises a way to make more than 24-hours in a day, the reallocation of priorities is mandatory. Goodbye isn’t a word. It’s a feeling. And sometimes, goodbye feels right, but it’s never without sadness.
So after months of debating and fighting with myself, it was time to take a break. I want to be creative. I want time to write. I want to support others. I, too, want support. And so starts a new chapter of how to balance the idea of success with that of support, especially when I have new releases or takeovers, how to balance creativity and time, and how to balance expectations with reality. The state of affairs in the world right now, especially in the US, won’t allow me to live on some cloud in the sky anymore. There is shit to be done. Work to do. And until someone devises a way to make more than 24-hours in a day, the reallocation of priorities is mandatory. Goodbye isn’t a word. It’s a feeling. And sometimes, goodbye feels right, but it’s never without sadness.
I haven’t written a blog post in a long time! Writing a novel, editing the crap out of it, and publishing it is exhausting. And truth be told? I don’t know when/if I’ll be doing it again.
I decided this summer I’m going to do what I love for the sheer joy of it, not to try to sell things. I’m going to write and read…and yes, even PAINT. And I’m not an artist that way, not at all. The few classes I’ve taken at the MFA have gone virtual for now, and I’m not doing that. But I discovered someone old to many but very new to me. Mr. Bob Ross.
Now I know. I KNOW, “real” artists say he’s no good. No depth in his paintings. No real meaning or artistic value, except maybe in his sky or clouds. But you know what? I’m throwing my middle finger up at those people. The same things are often said about certain styles of poetry or erotic writing. There are all levels of all things, and Bob Ross did something magical.
He painted for the sheer joy of it. He shared simple techniques and color combinations and brush strokes for the everyday man who never in his wildest dreams thought of painting. Just watching and listening to him is a meditation. I can feel my heartbeat slow, my breathing deepen, and watch the world disappear into this 30-minute blissful surrender. Writing these blogs make me feel the same way. It’s a mental therapy of sorts. Whether anyone reads them or not makes little difference to me.
His style, though poo-poo’d generally speaking, puts one right into the landscape, takes the watcher along his journey into the mountains or oceans or trails or high into the sky or trees or deep into the brooks. And it’s no wonder his voice has become synonymous with the phenomenon known as ASMR (autonomous sensory meridian response).( You can learn more ASMR by clicking this link if you’re unfamiliar.) I find myself lost in his voice as he makes “happy” trees and tells us it’s our paintings and to do whatever we want with them…
I decided this summer I’m going to do what I love for the sheer joy of it, not to try to sell things. I’m going to write and read…and yes, even PAINT. And I’m not an artist that way, not at all. The few classes I’ve taken at the MFA have gone virtual for now, and I’m not doing that. But I discovered someone old to many but very new to me. Mr. Bob Ross.
Now I know. I KNOW, “real” artists say he’s no good. No depth in his paintings. No real meaning or artistic value, except maybe in his sky or clouds. But you know what? I’m throwing my middle finger up at those people. The same things are often said about certain styles of poetry or erotic writing. There are all levels of all things, and Bob Ross did something magical.
He painted for the sheer joy of it. He shared simple techniques and color combinations and brush strokes for the everyday man who never in his wildest dreams thought of painting. Just watching and listening to him is a meditation. I can feel my heartbeat slow, my breathing deepen, and watch the world disappear into this 30-minute blissful surrender. Writing these blogs make me feel the same way. It’s a mental therapy of sorts. Whether anyone reads them or not makes little difference to me.
His style, though poo-poo’d generally speaking, puts one right into the landscape, takes the watcher along his journey into the mountains or oceans or trails or high into the sky or trees or deep into the brooks. And it’s no wonder his voice has become synonymous with the phenomenon known as ASMR (autonomous sensory meridian response).( You can learn more ASMR by clicking this link if you’re unfamiliar.) I find myself lost in his voice as he makes “happy” trees and tells us it’s our paintings and to do whatever we want with them…
The saddest part, for me was learning how young Bob Ross died, and further, that he didn’t make one damn dime off his paintings. Now? They go for 8,000 to 10,000 US dollars at auction houses. Not too bad for such a shitty painter, huh? Of course the art elite will say it’s because of his celebrity not his talent. I say? Thank you, Bob Ross. You’ve inspired me to try your technique. You’ve inspired me to buy some supplies, sit out in the sun this summer, and just…paint. Not for accolades. Not for money. Not to impress people with statements. But for pure joy.
When I write—my poetry in particular—if I inspire one person to try free-verse poetry, which I’ve been told I have successfully done--then that is enough for me. I don’t need to sell it. There is something to be said for doing the things we love just because…they bring us some semblance of joy, or release, or surrender in the magic of the imagination. Do what makes your soul buoyant. Whether pen or paintbrush, tune out the static chatter of naysayers, and remember: “We don’t make mistakes, just happy little accidents.” ~Bob Ross
When I write—my poetry in particular—if I inspire one person to try free-verse poetry, which I’ve been told I have successfully done--then that is enough for me. I don’t need to sell it. There is something to be said for doing the things we love just because…they bring us some semblance of joy, or release, or surrender in the magic of the imagination. Do what makes your soul buoyant. Whether pen or paintbrush, tune out the static chatter of naysayers, and remember: “We don’t make mistakes, just happy little accidents.” ~Bob Ross
We all have guilty pleasures. What is yours? Mine, of course, is reading...but why have I latched on to the New Adult genre? What has grabbed me about it, and why would I write such a tale now that I'm far removed from being a college-aged student myself?
It was a summer morning, and I had been binge reading on the After series (Are you familiar with it?) --you know that summer reading that you don't want to take too much time on or take too seriously?
I was at my family camp (which I'm sad to say I no longer have), sitting on the dock, remembering young love and all the angst that comes with it, from years right there on the dock to that present moment, right there reading.
And when I went back to the cabin, it just poured out, and I became a college freshman all over again, a young, shy woman trying to find her way, discovering who she was, deciding who she wanted to be, a girl who had been involved with dance and theatre and music her whole life, like the characters who appear in the story and not, and the story just appeared in my mind.
I found myself going back there --to first loves and first times and self-discovery and heartbreak--and then the characters began to talk my ear off. Though fictional, the emotions were anything but. At its core, it's just a simple love story. But for anyone who has experienced the highs and lows of young love, you know: Love is never simple.
There is something moving about New Adult literature, and there is something especially moving about romance. It's the time in our lives we are realizing ourselves with the freedom that allows it. We have rights and privileges we dreamed of having, without the heavy weight of responsibility, especially if you are fortunate to go to college without having to work full-time. Your mind is open, your eyes are wide, and you feel that inexplicable optimism and hope that anything is possible. You believe in change. You believe in fighting the cause. And you believe in love. Education does that to a person; you're closer to reaching your dreams, even as you embrace your dreams shifting.
And love--love seems to happen most when your heart is vulnerable and available to it. We've not, probably, loved so fully before or been able to understand ourselves enough to know love. It's a time in our lives where it's easier to give ourselves, because we're finally starting to know ourselves...
And so, Play Only For Me is a bit of that journey, two opposites, one a singer, one a guitarist, who try to find not only each other, but themselves.
Thanks for being patient as I continue to write it.
It was a summer morning, and I had been binge reading on the After series (Are you familiar with it?) --you know that summer reading that you don't want to take too much time on or take too seriously?
I was at my family camp (which I'm sad to say I no longer have), sitting on the dock, remembering young love and all the angst that comes with it, from years right there on the dock to that present moment, right there reading.
And when I went back to the cabin, it just poured out, and I became a college freshman all over again, a young, shy woman trying to find her way, discovering who she was, deciding who she wanted to be, a girl who had been involved with dance and theatre and music her whole life, like the characters who appear in the story and not, and the story just appeared in my mind.
I found myself going back there --to first loves and first times and self-discovery and heartbreak--and then the characters began to talk my ear off. Though fictional, the emotions were anything but. At its core, it's just a simple love story. But for anyone who has experienced the highs and lows of young love, you know: Love is never simple.
There is something moving about New Adult literature, and there is something especially moving about romance. It's the time in our lives we are realizing ourselves with the freedom that allows it. We have rights and privileges we dreamed of having, without the heavy weight of responsibility, especially if you are fortunate to go to college without having to work full-time. Your mind is open, your eyes are wide, and you feel that inexplicable optimism and hope that anything is possible. You believe in change. You believe in fighting the cause. And you believe in love. Education does that to a person; you're closer to reaching your dreams, even as you embrace your dreams shifting.
And love--love seems to happen most when your heart is vulnerable and available to it. We've not, probably, loved so fully before or been able to understand ourselves enough to know love. It's a time in our lives where it's easier to give ourselves, because we're finally starting to know ourselves...
And so, Play Only For Me is a bit of that journey, two opposites, one a singer, one a guitarist, who try to find not only each other, but themselves.
Thanks for being patient as I continue to write it.
There is a trend and debate right now about paying college athletes. The arguments are long and make sense—these college athletes are raking in the dough for their universities, and not seeing a dime they, and others, think they are “earning.” Many of the colleges have caved and decided it’s a good idea. After all, these players are working so hard around the clock to practice and play their games, they don’t have time to hold jobs. Without them, many argue, the institutions wouldn’t be making the money they are, so shouldn’t the players see some of it? Some colleges are saying yes. What say you?
The real issue lies in how much emphasis we put on sports in my opinion. And money. If that is what we, as a society, value, sports and money, it seems we’re lost. These athletes get free rides to education, including housing and food. Is that not enough? They say no, because they don’t have time to work, and their “fame” and popularity is what is driving the revenue.
But what about everyone else? What about the music or art or writing or dance student with no financial aid, who works minimum wage, and leaves in debt, because sports isn’t their thing? Many of the "arts" programs have very little in the way of scholarships. You don’t think their auditions and practices and performances are grueling outside of the classroom too? Okay. Maybe they’re not gonna literally “break a leg” like an "athlete" might, but—yeah—sports isn’t so great on the body--or the head--for that matter. And if it's about the injury or the grueling hours that allow for no job outside that, then there are a helluva lot more students that should be getting paid. Dancers or actors or performers who get accepted into these BFA programs work their asses off too. And a dancer just might, indeed, break a leg. Not a sport, you say? Then you're clearly not a dancer.
The real issue lies in how much emphasis we put on sports in my opinion. And money. If that is what we, as a society, value, sports and money, it seems we’re lost. These athletes get free rides to education, including housing and food. Is that not enough? They say no, because they don’t have time to work, and their “fame” and popularity is what is driving the revenue.
But what about everyone else? What about the music or art or writing or dance student with no financial aid, who works minimum wage, and leaves in debt, because sports isn’t their thing? Many of the "arts" programs have very little in the way of scholarships. You don’t think their auditions and practices and performances are grueling outside of the classroom too? Okay. Maybe they’re not gonna literally “break a leg” like an "athlete" might, but—yeah—sports isn’t so great on the body--or the head--for that matter. And if it's about the injury or the grueling hours that allow for no job outside that, then there are a helluva lot more students that should be getting paid. Dancers or actors or performers who get accepted into these BFA programs work their asses off too. And a dancer just might, indeed, break a leg. Not a sport, you say? Then you're clearly not a dancer.
Yes. There are merit scholarships and need-based loans for others, but the real issue for me is how much people spend on sporting events and paraphernalia. How much sports, above other forms of entertainment, are valued. People won’t even go to college art show unless it’s free, and college drama or performances? Ticket sales are hardly expensive in the grand scheme. What people value. What they’re willing to spend their money on. That is what has me head scratching. We are a society that puts a game above everything else it seems, and certainly education. After all, if you're making money, you're a success.
Many argue that sports is a team-building endeavor. It builds camaraderie and loyalty to teammates. But a group of theatre students isn't? How is it any different? If money is the only driving force behind any passion, at what point does passion stop and greed reign?
How about, instead, we value all kinds of student passion, level some of the playing fields, and put college education first, where it should be? Never gonna happen you say? You’re absolutely right, because money and success are the new passion. Or perhaps, it's never been anything more...and I’m just late…to the game.
Many argue that sports is a team-building endeavor. It builds camaraderie and loyalty to teammates. But a group of theatre students isn't? How is it any different? If money is the only driving force behind any passion, at what point does passion stop and greed reign?
How about, instead, we value all kinds of student passion, level some of the playing fields, and put college education first, where it should be? Never gonna happen you say? You’re absolutely right, because money and success are the new passion. Or perhaps, it's never been anything more...and I’m just late…to the game.
How many of you masturbate? Look at all those hands! LOL! Duh. We all do, don’t we? Seriously, is there anyone who doesn’t? Do you ever wonder why some things have become completely taboo to talk about or to admit? Can you think of other things we don’t admit or lie about? Where has all this denial come from? Religion, I think, would be the quick and fast (no not masturbation—you, dirty minds, you!! 😉) answer to this question. But what of other things we hide, especially in public, silly things?
For instance, don’t pick your nose in public. My mother always said NEVER to do this. Get yourself a tissue and do it discreetly. Okay. But why can’t I pick it, put it in the tissue, and throw it in the trash and then wash my hands? Seriously. Another—don’t pick your wedgie. Heaven forbid someone should see you sticking your finger in your ass. Heavens no! Get yo’ butt to the bathroom and deal with that shit privately. Or better yet, suffer with it and pretend it’s not there! (For you masochists—you don’t count!) 😉
Okay. Okay. I’m sure some of you are cringing and pursing your lips and saying, “Ewwww…” We can understand these things. These things are just…GROSS… and you can probably think of a few, even “grosser,” examples. I’ll concede!
But what about other things? Things that aren’t GROSS? Kissing, for instance. We’re told not to do this in public. Remember those no PDA days? My goodness. You might make someone feel uncomfortable, and we can’t have that! And what about crying? How many times have you bit your lip, hard, trying not to allow tears to flow down your face, and even in situations where you damn well SHOULD be crying, forcing yourself to think of rainbows and butterflies, anything but the feeling that is rising up into to throat, about to overflow at any moment. A funeral perhaps. Or at a movie theatre, where you must continually apologize for being…human!
Why must we hide what fundamentally makes us human? Things we ALL DO! Dogs? They’ll eat their own crap for goodness sake and make no bones about it! Cats? My god! They bath their whole bodies and lick themselves clean! (Bet some of you wish your tongues were that long and your bodies that flexible!). And then there’s the gender norms (and strictly speaking American norms here). Girls shouldn’t sweat or burp or laugh loudly; but boys—no problem! Have at it! It’s encouraged even!
Hiding human frailties, as trivial and cheeky as this post seems, is asinine. There is no one among us who doesn’t do these things. It’s as natural as breathing, and yet, we’re made to feel inferior or lesser than or guilty if we indulge in these things and by whose standards? Who came up with this? Today, I decree kissing as inappropriate frivolity that cannot be done in public. Stamp.
I wonder—would people have less mental health issues—depression, anxiety, etc.—if we started small? We want to blame big things—TV, video games, the internet, high-stakes testing—but it may be as small as realizing, a teardrop is beautiful. And being uniquely human is a gift not a curse. Aaah…and there’s another. Cursing! Well, fuck this! I, Rosemary O’Brien, admit to all those things above and more. Don’t like me now? Oh well…in this case, it’s not worth crying about. But if I feel like it, I will. And I won’t apologize for it. In fact, this post has got me thinking a good round of masturbation might relax me, I’ve gotten so riled up writing this. But don’t worry. 😊 I’ll do it behind closed doors.
Hiding human frailties, as trivial and cheeky as this post seems, is asinine. There is no one among us who doesn’t do these things. It’s as natural as breathing, and yet, we’re made to feel inferior or lesser than or guilty if we indulge in these things and by whose standards? Who came up with this? Today, I decree kissing as inappropriate frivolity that cannot be done in public. Stamp.
I wonder—would people have less mental health issues—depression, anxiety, etc.—if we started small? We want to blame big things—TV, video games, the internet, high-stakes testing—but it may be as small as realizing, a teardrop is beautiful. And being uniquely human is a gift not a curse. Aaah…and there’s another. Cursing! Well, fuck this! I, Rosemary O’Brien, admit to all those things above and more. Don’t like me now? Oh well…in this case, it’s not worth crying about. But if I feel like it, I will. And I won’t apologize for it. In fact, this post has got me thinking a good round of masturbation might relax me, I’ve gotten so riled up writing this. But don’t worry. 😊 I’ll do it behind closed doors.
Today I ponder gender identity. And what it means for the future. If you haven’t noticed, the world is changing, and hopefully, becoming more aware and accepting and tolerant. I work in a liberal environment, and in an establishment that recognizes this. It’s as natural as breathing where I live and function. But I realize it’s not so in other parts of our beloved country. And to me, that is tragic.
But I’m not asking about whether you believe in the changes. What I wonder is how the changing world is going to handle this in writing and in speaking. Having taught now for 7 years, I see the trends from when I first started teaching to now. As English teachers around the country used to cringe when pronouns didn’t match in number (one is he or she not they), in writing or public speaking, we’ve started to loosen our grip on those “rules.” While we’ve certainly learned a long time ago that “man” and “he” no longer apply to men AND women, it started to become cumbersome to ALWAYS have to write “he” or “she” or say “he” or “she.” We finally agreed—Okay. Okay. Use “they” if you must but change it to people or persons to match! And that can work…but it’s not. Trust me.
But I’m not asking about whether you believe in the changes. What I wonder is how the changing world is going to handle this in writing and in speaking. Having taught now for 7 years, I see the trends from when I first started teaching to now. As English teachers around the country used to cringe when pronouns didn’t match in number (one is he or she not they), in writing or public speaking, we’ve started to loosen our grip on those “rules.” While we’ve certainly learned a long time ago that “man” and “he” no longer apply to men AND women, it started to become cumbersome to ALWAYS have to write “he” or “she” or say “he” or “she.” We finally agreed—Okay. Okay. Use “they” if you must but change it to people or persons to match! And that can work…but it’s not. Trust me.
As colleges around the country (including mine) change with the times, now we allow students to tell us what pronouns they use. In fact, it’s the first thing we do at orientation days—hand out name tags and ask students to write their pronouns. And further, our class rosters, now allow students to have the names they’d like used, rather than the name they were given at birth (Records holds the “real” names for tax purposes, financial aid, and the like.) In addition, many emails from professors are also signed with the pronouns they’d like to go by or be addressed with. All fine. Great. Inclusive acceptance. But let’s face it. This is getting too wordy and a little ridiculous. Not because I don’t believe in the idea of it, the idea that people should be who they ARE, but that perhaps we need one pronoun. Period. Language morphs with civilizations. Surely, we could pick one pronoun for singular and one pronoun for plural? Couldn’t we?
When I first started watching Billions, and Taylor used “they” and all forms of it to identify “their” non-binary gender (and none of the other actors/characters blinked when using it themselves)—I thought—yes! Brilliant. So why can’t we all? What difference does it make? It would take time. It might take work. But give it a few years…and—guess what? Just like words like tweets or selfie or binge-watching or photo bombing or a million others didn’t exist before, so, too, could this change. Rosemary O’Brien for president you say? LOL. Nah. Warren is on “their” way. 😉
When I first started watching Billions, and Taylor used “they” and all forms of it to identify “their” non-binary gender (and none of the other actors/characters blinked when using it themselves)—I thought—yes! Brilliant. So why can’t we all? What difference does it make? It would take time. It might take work. But give it a few years…and—guess what? Just like words like tweets or selfie or binge-watching or photo bombing or a million others didn’t exist before, so, too, could this change. Rosemary O’Brien for president you say? LOL. Nah. Warren is on “their” way. 😉
“He who is not contented with what he has, would not be contented with what he would like to have.” ~ Socrates
Do you agree with this quote? Is this true for everyone? Is it human nature to never truly be satisfied? I wonder…are we always looking for…more?
In one of my classes the other day, a student bragged that she can get all her music at such and such a place for $5, that she needn’t buy the music, that the entire album could be gotten for this cost. She bragged of the money she was saving, and I asked her: “But what of the artist who created it? Shouldn’t they be compensated for the amount of work they put into it? For their art?” And she looked at me like I was crazy. “Who cares,” she said with a roll of her eyes.
Ironically, in another conversation I overheard, a physics teacher discussed jobs vs. careers with one of his students, saying that many of the “great” scientists had “jobs” to pay the bills but did things in the arts, the things they loved, on the side to be fulfilled and happy.
Are, then, the arts and so forth, something that should be given away for free? Would we all be better off with “jobs,” contributing to society in a well-oiled kinda of way, the arts and music and writing be left to everyone to share with one another more freely? Would we all be happier this way?
Do you agree with this quote? Is this true for everyone? Is it human nature to never truly be satisfied? I wonder…are we always looking for…more?
In one of my classes the other day, a student bragged that she can get all her music at such and such a place for $5, that she needn’t buy the music, that the entire album could be gotten for this cost. She bragged of the money she was saving, and I asked her: “But what of the artist who created it? Shouldn’t they be compensated for the amount of work they put into it? For their art?” And she looked at me like I was crazy. “Who cares,” she said with a roll of her eyes.
Ironically, in another conversation I overheard, a physics teacher discussed jobs vs. careers with one of his students, saying that many of the “great” scientists had “jobs” to pay the bills but did things in the arts, the things they loved, on the side to be fulfilled and happy.
Are, then, the arts and so forth, something that should be given away for free? Would we all be better off with “jobs,” contributing to society in a well-oiled kinda of way, the arts and music and writing be left to everyone to share with one another more freely? Would we all be happier this way?
Of course, this is a more socialist way of thinking, but is money the only validation in life to success or happiness? Or is that only a capitalist's way of thinking?
And it got me thinking too, about selling books, the amount of time and effort that goes into it. Would I, personally, be happier taking all my books off the market, and simply sharing it freely, without the strain or stress of sales? Certainly, there are many writers who make a living off their writing, but the vast majority of us do not. I make, in a year, about what I can make teaching a couple courses. Should, then, the arts be something that is just freely given for the pure beauty of it?
I’ve been at this racket for five years now, and some days, I really don’t know if it’s worth it. I’m fortunate that my “job” and my “career” of teaching lend itself to my creative side daily. But I’ve finally accepted that I’m a writer, that I am a poet. It’s a part of me, for better or worse. I do write for the pure joy…so why sell it then?
And so, I look inward and ask myself what I asked you all above. With each small step to success, does it only make me want more? Does money, as a motivator, only lead to dissatisfaction? I suppose I’ll have to let you know when I’m famous beyond Papua New Guinea (inside joke—but those of you who have been following me for a while, may understand). For now, I try to find contentment with what I have.
And it got me thinking too, about selling books, the amount of time and effort that goes into it. Would I, personally, be happier taking all my books off the market, and simply sharing it freely, without the strain or stress of sales? Certainly, there are many writers who make a living off their writing, but the vast majority of us do not. I make, in a year, about what I can make teaching a couple courses. Should, then, the arts be something that is just freely given for the pure beauty of it?
I’ve been at this racket for five years now, and some days, I really don’t know if it’s worth it. I’m fortunate that my “job” and my “career” of teaching lend itself to my creative side daily. But I’ve finally accepted that I’m a writer, that I am a poet. It’s a part of me, for better or worse. I do write for the pure joy…so why sell it then?
And so, I look inward and ask myself what I asked you all above. With each small step to success, does it only make me want more? Does money, as a motivator, only lead to dissatisfaction? I suppose I’ll have to let you know when I’m famous beyond Papua New Guinea (inside joke—but those of you who have been following me for a while, may understand). For now, I try to find contentment with what I have.
There’s been a bit of…hmmmm…I’m not really sure what to call it. Nastiness? Drama? Controversy? Whatever you call it, I’m not being a part of it. Perhaps you’re wondering what I’m talking about? And I took a long time today deciding whether or not I should write about it. Am I just adding fire to the flames by writing my whole response this way? I don’t think so. I have every right to voice my opinion. And I believe there needs to be more support in the indie community rather than in-fighting. I'm tired of it.
Let me say this: If you’re an author/writer/poet, and you think putting down other authors publicly is fun, or you think you’re one hundred times better than other writers, or you can’t have a conversation or healthy debate about writing but turn to name-calling or worse, have others do it for you, I’m out. I’m not here to do that. I’m here to raise and lift others, write, share my work, and celebrate the written word with readers and fellow authors. If I don’t like another author’s writing, that’s that. I don’t read it. Or support it much or at all. (If it is abuse or something nefarious, that is different. I’m not talking about that.)
And if you enjoy being involved with authors who do that as a reader or as their fan club, and if I see you being a part of that or a leader of it, jumping on a bandwagon to verbally assault other authors, I’m out of there too.
Let me say this: If you’re an author/writer/poet, and you think putting down other authors publicly is fun, or you think you’re one hundred times better than other writers, or you can’t have a conversation or healthy debate about writing but turn to name-calling or worse, have others do it for you, I’m out. I’m not here to do that. I’m here to raise and lift others, write, share my work, and celebrate the written word with readers and fellow authors. If I don’t like another author’s writing, that’s that. I don’t read it. Or support it much or at all. (If it is abuse or something nefarious, that is different. I’m not talking about that.)
And if you enjoy being involved with authors who do that as a reader or as their fan club, and if I see you being a part of that or a leader of it, jumping on a bandwagon to verbally assault other authors, I’m out of there too.
With that said, I believe authors should try to be as honest as they can, that if they say something is autobiographical it should be, and that they shouldn’t be passing things off as the gospel truth. Remember that book there that Oprah recommended? A Million Little Pieces by James Frey, the guy who said it was autobiographical when it wasn’t? Not cool. I agree. Go, Oprah. Glad he got his rear-end handed to him. But see how it came to the surface because of astute readers? Not some other author leading some kind of witch hunt?
No one likes dishonesty or being fed a crockpot of lies. No one. But in this indie community, if readers can’t figure that out for themselves, it’s not my job to take care of it. That shit takes care of itself. Watching authors act like petulant and jealous competitors is not my jam. I like to stick with those who support others vying for a chance. I like the underdogs. I love the indie community and the authors I’ve met along the way with the same mentality. I have too much going on in my flesh and blood life to worry about people typing anonymously behind a screen, suddenly so brave, who believe it’s okay to attack and ridicule others. If we can’t have a conversation like adults, if you’re here to make waves to sell books, good luck drowning. I won’t be there to lend a preserver. I’ll be long gone by then.
Peace.
Peace.
I saw a mood ring at Urban Outfitters the other day, and it reminded me of growing up and loving to wear those. I loved watching the colors change on my finger. I laughed at the outcome, and even as it wasn’t accurate, I still wanted to believe. What about the moon affecting your mood? Do you believe the moon has an effect on your behavior? We hear people say a lot—“Must be a full moon or something.” But is there truth in it?
In an article in BBC online this July by Linda Geddes, there seems to be a shift in people’s minds: “The idea that the lunar cycle can influence people’s behaviour dates back thousands of years, but has been largely dismissed by modern medicine…new research suggests there may be some truth to these ancient theories.”
In a study by psychologist, Thomas Wehr, studying bipolor patients, he was convinced there was something to it and even scientists couldn’t dispute the findings—that the mood swings of the bipolar patients corelated “with certain gravitation cycles of the Moon.” However, most attribute it to sleep, or lack thereof, which disrupts mood not the Moon itself or any mystical correlation. We need sleep. Without it, so much happens. Irritability. Weight gain. Health issues. Anxiety. Brain function. Concentration. And on and on and on. The science is firm there.
But the scientific naysayers still can’t deny that if sleep is interrupted by the moon, there is a connection. Is it a simple solution to get a thicker shade the night the moon may be strong? More curtains? Or is there something intrinsic really going on. Wehr thinks so. He states:
“ ‘In the modern world, there’s so much light pollution and we spend so much time indoors exposed to artificial light, that the signal of the changing levels of moonlight has been obscured,’ he explains. Rather, he suspects that some other aspect of lunar influence is perturbing his patients’ sleep, with knock-on consequences for their mood – with the most likely candidate being the Moon’s gravitational pull.”
In an article in BBC online this July by Linda Geddes, there seems to be a shift in people’s minds: “The idea that the lunar cycle can influence people’s behaviour dates back thousands of years, but has been largely dismissed by modern medicine…new research suggests there may be some truth to these ancient theories.”
In a study by psychologist, Thomas Wehr, studying bipolor patients, he was convinced there was something to it and even scientists couldn’t dispute the findings—that the mood swings of the bipolar patients corelated “with certain gravitation cycles of the Moon.” However, most attribute it to sleep, or lack thereof, which disrupts mood not the Moon itself or any mystical correlation. We need sleep. Without it, so much happens. Irritability. Weight gain. Health issues. Anxiety. Brain function. Concentration. And on and on and on. The science is firm there.
But the scientific naysayers still can’t deny that if sleep is interrupted by the moon, there is a connection. Is it a simple solution to get a thicker shade the night the moon may be strong? More curtains? Or is there something intrinsic really going on. Wehr thinks so. He states:
“ ‘In the modern world, there’s so much light pollution and we spend so much time indoors exposed to artificial light, that the signal of the changing levels of moonlight has been obscured,’ he explains. Rather, he suspects that some other aspect of lunar influence is perturbing his patients’ sleep, with knock-on consequences for their mood – with the most likely candidate being the Moon’s gravitational pull.”
So much cannot be understood and so many people want answers. The studies, the science, the psychology can’t seem to agree definitively. Are there really any answers to be had at all? What about those of us who aren’t bipolar? Why can no conclusive evidence be found for us?
I’m curious. And so, this month, I’ve tasked myself with keeping a journal, starting on the Full Moon phase of Friday, the 13th. Each day, I want to see if I notice anything. If I’m affected. If my mood swings or not. If I’m more sensitive or in tune or emotional…
Though it won’t be anything but anecdotal evidence, at least I know, I can write about it at night by the light of the moon.
I’m curious. And so, this month, I’ve tasked myself with keeping a journal, starting on the Full Moon phase of Friday, the 13th. Each day, I want to see if I notice anything. If I’m affected. If my mood swings or not. If I’m more sensitive or in tune or emotional…
Though it won’t be anything but anecdotal evidence, at least I know, I can write about it at night by the light of the moon.
Do you remember when you were little, and you’d look up at the clouds and wonder how they were moving? Or thought they were fluffy places to go sleep like pillows of cotton? Or even looked up and saw something in them, an animal or a face? The white against the blue sky so beautiful, you knew it, even really young, that there was something inexplicable about the way it looked. You knew beauty. It awed you. It felt a lot like the ocean flipped upside down, instead, above you, like a mirror image, and you felt those feelings of peace and tranquility in just the colors.
Now, it seems, we’re more interested in our laptops or phones or taking the next best picture of the clouds to share with our social media friends instead of just looking up at them and marveling or stopping to breath them in, to place a blanket down on the ground and stay still on our backs, eyes gazing into the nothingness or perhaps some great somethingness, taking comfort in knowing that while we DO know why those clouds are moving now, there’s still something magical about it.
Today was one such day. Those clouds against a picture-perfect blue sky where the clouds were effortlessly rolling by without a care. And so, I took a bit of time to enjoy them. Driving, I pulled over into a park, and just sat. Phone off. No laptop. No taking a pic to post to show everyone, and I felt like a kid without a care in the world for a few moments. No worries but the moment in front of me, like those clouds themselves.
Fall does that anyway. That crisp air, not too cold, not too hot, but just right, the smell of youth and new beginnings. And I could feel the tears before they came, the bottled-up emotions of stress and lack of time and the constant: I must. I must. I must do. But I don’t. I don’t HAVE to do. And lately, I’ve been realizing just that. We have a whole world going on with or without us. The clouds are still going to move whether I make a post on Facebook or send out a tweet or sell books or worry about people doing what they say they will do. The clouds, however, will be constant. And the sky. And the sun setting and rising. And the musts. So I decided, I’m going to embrace the mustn’ts for a change, even if for one series of short moments strung together.
And I swear, I saw a rocking horse in one of the clouds as I was packing up to leave. It's what inspired this blog. But you’ll get no proof from me. Nope. I’m afraid you’re just going to have to believe me…that magical moments can still happen – if we take the time to make them.
Now, it seems, we’re more interested in our laptops or phones or taking the next best picture of the clouds to share with our social media friends instead of just looking up at them and marveling or stopping to breath them in, to place a blanket down on the ground and stay still on our backs, eyes gazing into the nothingness or perhaps some great somethingness, taking comfort in knowing that while we DO know why those clouds are moving now, there’s still something magical about it.
Today was one such day. Those clouds against a picture-perfect blue sky where the clouds were effortlessly rolling by without a care. And so, I took a bit of time to enjoy them. Driving, I pulled over into a park, and just sat. Phone off. No laptop. No taking a pic to post to show everyone, and I felt like a kid without a care in the world for a few moments. No worries but the moment in front of me, like those clouds themselves.
Fall does that anyway. That crisp air, not too cold, not too hot, but just right, the smell of youth and new beginnings. And I could feel the tears before they came, the bottled-up emotions of stress and lack of time and the constant: I must. I must. I must do. But I don’t. I don’t HAVE to do. And lately, I’ve been realizing just that. We have a whole world going on with or without us. The clouds are still going to move whether I make a post on Facebook or send out a tweet or sell books or worry about people doing what they say they will do. The clouds, however, will be constant. And the sky. And the sun setting and rising. And the musts. So I decided, I’m going to embrace the mustn’ts for a change, even if for one series of short moments strung together.
And I swear, I saw a rocking horse in one of the clouds as I was packing up to leave. It's what inspired this blog. But you’ll get no proof from me. Nope. I’m afraid you’re just going to have to believe me…that magical moments can still happen – if we take the time to make them.
Are you a pack-rat? Do you save everything and then some? Today I ponder the fact that I move on quite easily when it comes to “things.” Course I have some regrets about that, but I’m a minimalist when it comes to organization, especially in my house or office.
The problem is—I don’t CLEAN enough and that’s the issue. When it comes time to go through things, I’m so overwhelmed, I simply throw everything out, but a few things that I know I MUST keep. I even find myself throwing pennies in the trash! Worthless, heavy coin! Why we still have it, I’ll never know! But that is another topic for another day. I also clear things out of my electronics as well. Emails. Messages. Pics. But same. I end up getting so overwhelmed when I read that my email box is full, I end up losing valuable things. I’m working towards balance when it comes to this.
This probably surprises you, for those who know me well and how emotional I am. But I’ve realized, I don’t get all that attached to “things.”
When I moved at 13, I cried, thinking I was giving up my childhood memories. I didn’t care after a day. When I got rid of my first car, my beloved first car that saw things it shouldn’t have, I was so emotionally distraught, until I got a much better car. It wasn’t about the car. It was about the freedom. And when I got a kindle and donated many of my books, so many books because I moved and the packing was insurmountable, I heard a voice inside my head whispering: “You will regret this. Yes you will.” But…yup. I didn’t. I read more now, and well, you’ve read my environmental posts. It’s not to say I don’t keep some things. I do! I have essays and plays and poems I STILL have from former students. And letters. Some cards. My dad's eulogy. I even saved some old Avon perfume pins handed down to me from my great aunt. Those are a hoot! A few American girl dolls. Duh. Of course. Who hasn't? I did throw out my Barbies though. Do I regret that? Maybe a little. :) But you see, I didn’t give up ALL of it, just the “stuff” I no longer felt I needed. I really wasn't that attached.
The problem is—I don’t CLEAN enough and that’s the issue. When it comes time to go through things, I’m so overwhelmed, I simply throw everything out, but a few things that I know I MUST keep. I even find myself throwing pennies in the trash! Worthless, heavy coin! Why we still have it, I’ll never know! But that is another topic for another day. I also clear things out of my electronics as well. Emails. Messages. Pics. But same. I end up getting so overwhelmed when I read that my email box is full, I end up losing valuable things. I’m working towards balance when it comes to this.
This probably surprises you, for those who know me well and how emotional I am. But I’ve realized, I don’t get all that attached to “things.”
When I moved at 13, I cried, thinking I was giving up my childhood memories. I didn’t care after a day. When I got rid of my first car, my beloved first car that saw things it shouldn’t have, I was so emotionally distraught, until I got a much better car. It wasn’t about the car. It was about the freedom. And when I got a kindle and donated many of my books, so many books because I moved and the packing was insurmountable, I heard a voice inside my head whispering: “You will regret this. Yes you will.” But…yup. I didn’t. I read more now, and well, you’ve read my environmental posts. It’s not to say I don’t keep some things. I do! I have essays and plays and poems I STILL have from former students. And letters. Some cards. My dad's eulogy. I even saved some old Avon perfume pins handed down to me from my great aunt. Those are a hoot! A few American girl dolls. Duh. Of course. Who hasn't? I did throw out my Barbies though. Do I regret that? Maybe a little. :) But you see, I didn’t give up ALL of it, just the “stuff” I no longer felt I needed. I really wasn't that attached.
But most recently, when I gave up my summer family cabin, I didn’t think I’d be able to survive a summer without the lake and the dock and campfires and everything else I lived with since I can remember, the peace and serenity I often found there. But alas, it was sort of nice not to worry about driving there, about who might be there, about maintenance, about the loud fireworks. I simply moved on. Replaced it with other things that brought me equal parts peace and emotion. And that realization is bittersweet. Things weigh us down, tie us to the past too much like a chain, and we're not living in the moment. We can’t grow if we hold on too tight and become so attached to things that we become immobile.
I suppose that is life. A constant moving on. It’s not the things. It’s the emotions. It’s the feelings. There is beauty in so much right in front of us every day, if we just notice. And I’ll have those things with me always in the now and as memories. For really, everything takes place in our mind anyway.
My deduction is simple: If I don’t remember it, it wasn’t important. And IF I can’t remember it someday, so be that too. I won’t know!
But people? People I love…now that. That is another story. Maybe someday I’ll learn how to become less attached.
My deduction is simple: If I don’t remember it, it wasn’t important. And IF I can’t remember it someday, so be that too. I won’t know!
But people? People I love…now that. That is another story. Maybe someday I’ll learn how to become less attached.
I have written ad nauseam about intuition and my love/hate relationship with it. I like to think it’s not my intuition that rules my actions or thoughts but my background in research. If I follow the crumbs, they lead to the bread from whence it came. But what is it that started you on the trail in the first place? What makes the crumbs so readily available to me or you or anyone else? Why are we looking for them? For more times than not, they’re not there without our pursuit.
Sometimes we call it a hunch. But again, those “hunches” come from previous experiences we’ve had, right? And oftentimes, it’s the people who burn us or betray us or let us down that stick. For all the love we may have or had, all the loyal friendships, all the good reaped upon us always seems to be overshadowed by the bad. That one experience of broken trust, for instance, is the one experience that makes us cautious, tip-toe into another relationship, slow down our chance at trust. And if it happens more than once? Well, it’s easier to think anything good will soon turn sour. Given the right amount of time, most people disappoint us.
I don’t like thinking this way. But call it what you will—a hunch, past experiences, intuition, common sense—if we ignore the crumbs, we’ll fooling ourselves. How many times have all the signs added up and we’ve tried to explain them away, not daring or wanting to believe them? Going to that extreme isn’t good. That is a live-with-your-head-in-the-sand kind of existence. No one wants to live the buffoon. But what if you’re the opposite? What if your lack of trust is so strong, you often go searching for the crumbs, crumbs that may not even be there? A sort of paranoia? Again, an extreme. Both lead to a sense of out-of-control mania, even obsession. Blind trust vs. no trust? Both, in my opinion, are bad. And many of us fall into one camp or the other.
Sometimes we call it a hunch. But again, those “hunches” come from previous experiences we’ve had, right? And oftentimes, it’s the people who burn us or betray us or let us down that stick. For all the love we may have or had, all the loyal friendships, all the good reaped upon us always seems to be overshadowed by the bad. That one experience of broken trust, for instance, is the one experience that makes us cautious, tip-toe into another relationship, slow down our chance at trust. And if it happens more than once? Well, it’s easier to think anything good will soon turn sour. Given the right amount of time, most people disappoint us.
I don’t like thinking this way. But call it what you will—a hunch, past experiences, intuition, common sense—if we ignore the crumbs, we’ll fooling ourselves. How many times have all the signs added up and we’ve tried to explain them away, not daring or wanting to believe them? Going to that extreme isn’t good. That is a live-with-your-head-in-the-sand kind of existence. No one wants to live the buffoon. But what if you’re the opposite? What if your lack of trust is so strong, you often go searching for the crumbs, crumbs that may not even be there? A sort of paranoia? Again, an extreme. Both lead to a sense of out-of-control mania, even obsession. Blind trust vs. no trust? Both, in my opinion, are bad. And many of us fall into one camp or the other.
The thing is, when you don’t trust, and you start looking, and you start to see something, then what? What if a friend sees it for you? Or vice versa, you see it for a friend? What then? Communicate? Go straight to the person? Ask them? Well, sure, you could…except if you’re this kind of person, you won’t trust their answer anyway, and search will continue, the pursuit ever stronger. And sometimes (okay, who am I kidding—OFTENTIMES), I’ve found myself to be this kind of person. I follow. I research. And when and if I find the conclusive evidence, then I communicate. Or perhaps you may call it confront. I wait. Then watch them lie. Then I’m done. Because I know.
I’m not happy that life has been a series of events or people or experiences that have molded me to be this way. I’m working on it. Being in healthy relationships helps. But I’ll be damned if I’m the last one to know that I’m being fooled.
And even writing this, it feels like a pride thing, maybe even that paranoia. “No one is going to pull the wool over my eyes. No sir-ee!” Or--"Ha! I knew it! Caught you, ya bastard!"
Perhaps the real answer is to get to a place where you love yourself enough to love others fully and with trust. Because really, it says more about you than it does about them when you’re always looking for disaster or dishonesty. Life will be a series of disappointments. People lie. And it won’t be the last time they lie to you.
The question is: Do you think that is reason enough to never open yourself up to another human being? Maybe. Maybe not. So that is why loving yourself makes it all worthwhile, doesn’t it? For if you must say goodbye to someone you love, you’re never alone.
And even writing this, it feels like a pride thing, maybe even that paranoia. “No one is going to pull the wool over my eyes. No sir-ee!” Or--"Ha! I knew it! Caught you, ya bastard!"
Perhaps the real answer is to get to a place where you love yourself enough to love others fully and with trust. Because really, it says more about you than it does about them when you’re always looking for disaster or dishonesty. Life will be a series of disappointments. People lie. And it won’t be the last time they lie to you.
The question is: Do you think that is reason enough to never open yourself up to another human being? Maybe. Maybe not. So that is why loving yourself makes it all worthwhile, doesn’t it? For if you must say goodbye to someone you love, you’re never alone.
I have a friend who tells me I'm being silly, neurotic, over-the-top when it comes to "saving" the environment, that we are too far gone, that it's hopeless. I don't necessarily disagree with him. Things are pretty dire. Pretty bleak. But to simply NOT do anything is crazy to me. Is it to you? I have visited a recycling facility first-hand and learned a lot about what can and cannot be recycled for starters. You should too.
I refuse to simply do nothing...in a few years, who knows what may be discovered, what inventions scientists and environmentalists may unlock. In the mean-time, besides recycling, and all the things we know--shut off the water when brushing your teeth, don't leave on lights, don't linger in the shower for 100 minutes, STOP drinking bottled water FFS (fill up reusable water bottles anywhere filtered water is (I'm fortunate my school has them everywhere) ), grow some of your own food--what else can we do? What else do I do? Lots. But here are some REALLY easy things MOST of us can do:
1. Use reusuable STUFF whenever possible. Glass containers vs. plastic bags, reusuable cups or mugs vs. plastic or styrofoam, and reusable straws vs. plastic ones for example. I have silicone ones, and Starbucks even has a reusuable cup with said draw for refills. Dunkin' Donuts will be banning them soon. Places are banning them everywhere. I wouldn't be surprised if they're outlawed completely soon. Some are even switching to paper straws that decompose naturally. Visit OUR LAST STRAW for more details.
1. Use reusuable STUFF whenever possible. Glass containers vs. plastic bags, reusuable cups or mugs vs. plastic or styrofoam, and reusable straws vs. plastic ones for example. I have silicone ones, and Starbucks even has a reusuable cup with said draw for refills. Dunkin' Donuts will be banning them soon. Places are banning them everywhere. I wouldn't be surprised if they're outlawed completely soon. Some are even switching to paper straws that decompose naturally. Visit OUR LAST STRAW for more details.
DON'T use plastic bags. They can't be recycled! And if something can fit easily in a purse or a pocket, don't get a bag! I have a huge purse. If I buy small items, there they go. Bring recyclable bags to the grocery store. You don't need plastic bags! For anything anymore. Come on, people! If your receipt can be sent electronically do that too while you're at it while shopping.
2. Get big organizations, hospitals, schools, etc. to make it easier for people to recycle. Make signs. Ask for cafeterias and such to go back to old-school trays. Make a stink. Make it a priority. And TELL people. Spread the word.
3. If you drive, walk. If you can, take public transportation. If you can ride a bike, do it. If you must drive, get a hybrid, or even better, a fully-electric car as I did. You think it's expensive? Check in with your gov't and see if there are any reimbursements still available. I got huge ones. And think of all the gas you'll be saving. But at the very least, CAR POOL!
4. Don't print if you don't have to--now this one is controversial, especially with book lovers, myself included. But first of all, LIBRARIES DO STILL EXIST! And I realize we haven't quite figured out what we're going to do with our electronics...but Amazon has the right idea. Print only what people buy for books...so I can dig that, and do, and reading is important any way you slice it! How else do we get Paper Cuts right? WINK. WINK. (Insert shameless plug. If you don't know what I'm talking about, you probably shouldn't be reading this.)
2. Get big organizations, hospitals, schools, etc. to make it easier for people to recycle. Make signs. Ask for cafeterias and such to go back to old-school trays. Make a stink. Make it a priority. And TELL people. Spread the word.
3. If you drive, walk. If you can, take public transportation. If you can ride a bike, do it. If you must drive, get a hybrid, or even better, a fully-electric car as I did. You think it's expensive? Check in with your gov't and see if there are any reimbursements still available. I got huge ones. And think of all the gas you'll be saving. But at the very least, CAR POOL!
4. Don't print if you don't have to--now this one is controversial, especially with book lovers, myself included. But first of all, LIBRARIES DO STILL EXIST! And I realize we haven't quite figured out what we're going to do with our electronics...but Amazon has the right idea. Print only what people buy for books...so I can dig that, and do, and reading is important any way you slice it! How else do we get Paper Cuts right? WINK. WINK. (Insert shameless plug. If you don't know what I'm talking about, you probably shouldn't be reading this.)
As I said, we haven't figured this all out regarding electronics, how to dispose of them, etc. So this isn't perfect, but Kindles, Nooks, laptops, etc., do save the trees. Never mind germs! I've gone to almost fully paperless classrooms. And for Pete's sake, stop printing needless things that don't get read! And NO COLOR or tissue paper. These things can't be recycled. They are unnecessary. Use your imagination the next time your gift-wrapping.
5. If you can, get solar panels. They're not as expensive you think. Check with your government. Do research. And you'll see. Never mind the money you'll save down the road. Just be sure the place you must "pay your bills" also uses CLEAN electricity and not "dirty" coal. Another thing, if you can afford it, insulate your home.
6. Finally, don't buy from places that don't give a rat's ass about these things. We have choices. Make good ones.
5. If you can, get solar panels. They're not as expensive you think. Check with your government. Do research. And you'll see. Never mind the money you'll save down the road. Just be sure the place you must "pay your bills" also uses CLEAN electricity and not "dirty" coal. Another thing, if you can afford it, insulate your home.
6. Finally, don't buy from places that don't give a rat's ass about these things. We have choices. Make good ones.
Okay. I'll get off my soapbox now. I'm sure this is old news to some of you...but just in case you're one of the nay-sayers, like my friend, you're welcome. :)
What do you fear? And what do you do with that? Do you hide? Bury it? Or do you tackle it, head-on? Have you grown in this regard or do you fall back on old habits? I’m a work in progress. And fear isn’t going anywhere any time soon. But it’s not a guiding force in my life anymore. Steps, even baby ones, are better than no steps.
People often tell us to face our fears in order to get over them. But sometimes, fear needn’t be faced. Sometimes it’s okay to simply remove yourself from situations or even people. If something or the idea of something is causing you so much anxiety, why do it? How does that help? Many say that you’ll never get over it if you don’t. But again, I disagree, even some psychologists have discovered this. It can often lead to worse fears, deeper anxieties, even withdrawal or reclusive behaviors. So, for me, it’s important to face things that I must overcome in order to find happiness and balance, to find myself and who I want to be, and what I want to accomplish. Sometimes, even, it’s timing.
I recently had an opportunity to take a trip somewhere I’d never been. It didn’t feel right. I can’t put my finger on why, it just didn’t. And ignoring it wasn’t helping. I was, quite literally, waking in the middle of the night, finding it hard to breathe. “You’ll be fine.” “Just do it.” “You’ll regret it if you don’t.” “These opportunities don’t present themselves but rarely.” Perhaps all of these replies are true. Perhaps I won’t have this opportunity again. But after careful thought, I realized I do and will have ample opportunities.
There comes a time in our lives where we must accept who we are not versions of who we WISH we were or how others want us to be. Certain things don’t thrill me. But instead, make me uncomfortable. Ignoring those feelings and emotions seem downright counter-intuitive to me. Was I going on this trip to please others? Prove to others that I can overcome my fears? Or was I contemplating going because I wanted to improve myself, grow, and overcome unfounded emotions of fear?
People often tell us to face our fears in order to get over them. But sometimes, fear needn’t be faced. Sometimes it’s okay to simply remove yourself from situations or even people. If something or the idea of something is causing you so much anxiety, why do it? How does that help? Many say that you’ll never get over it if you don’t. But again, I disagree, even some psychologists have discovered this. It can often lead to worse fears, deeper anxieties, even withdrawal or reclusive behaviors. So, for me, it’s important to face things that I must overcome in order to find happiness and balance, to find myself and who I want to be, and what I want to accomplish. Sometimes, even, it’s timing.
I recently had an opportunity to take a trip somewhere I’d never been. It didn’t feel right. I can’t put my finger on why, it just didn’t. And ignoring it wasn’t helping. I was, quite literally, waking in the middle of the night, finding it hard to breathe. “You’ll be fine.” “Just do it.” “You’ll regret it if you don’t.” “These opportunities don’t present themselves but rarely.” Perhaps all of these replies are true. Perhaps I won’t have this opportunity again. But after careful thought, I realized I do and will have ample opportunities.
There comes a time in our lives where we must accept who we are not versions of who we WISH we were or how others want us to be. Certain things don’t thrill me. But instead, make me uncomfortable. Ignoring those feelings and emotions seem downright counter-intuitive to me. Was I going on this trip to please others? Prove to others that I can overcome my fears? Or was I contemplating going because I wanted to improve myself, grow, and overcome unfounded emotions of fear?
If I really listened to myself, it was the former. I had no desire to tackle this on my own behalf but instead, to “prove” something. That’s not overcoming a fear. That’s worrying, again, about what other people think or expect from me. So, in essence, by bowing out and deciding not to go, I actually conquered something else far more important in the process: Letting go of the fear of disappointing others. I’m done with that. After I decided not to go, I could finally sleep again, and I could finally begin thinking about what I wanted from my own life, not the life others saw of me.
Instead, though, I did tackle a smaller, more manageable fear. I rode The Hulk in Orlando. And that was a small baby step for me. Living in the moment for a change. Hopping in that line. Waiting an hour. Cruising down the twists and turns. Facing the truth that I don’t fear death either. What I really fear is not living for myself but living for others, living for the future and not the present, living, then, not really at all, but waiting...waiting for others to decide my fate. So, however superficial it may seem on the surface, that ride was a metaphor for where I am in my life. I’ll face what I want, when I want, and when I think it benefits myself not because it might impress someone else. Selfish? No. Progress. That ride a silly metaphor, you say? Not for me. And I don’t care if you do think it’s silly, remember? Because… I’ve overcome that fear. It's time I wrote my own story. And I won't fear what others have to say about it. My pencil. My eraser. My life. My fears. My story. :) And yes, I'm still more than a little scared...
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I LOVE to write and read. I particularly enjoy reading erotic romance that has tons of emotion in it. I hope you will ask me questions and share your favorite authors and novels. I welcome all feedback.
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