Aug 23, 2013 |
TGIF
I apologize. This week has zoomed by with such tornado force that I neglected to blog for an entire seven days. Seven days! That’s like… a year at Catford Manor, yah? Maybe not… but it certainly felt like it. I don’t know if you missed reading, but I certainly missed writing.
I’m happy to say the reasons for my Blogosphere Silence are good reasons. Strong reasons. And beautifully foundational reasons. And I (95%) don’t feel guilty about this time otherwise well spent. The other 5% is that control-freak-oh-my-gosh-I’m-gonna-die-if-I-don’t-write-this-out attitude that infiltrates every fiber of my being, every hour of every day.
I know the photos in this post are ones previously viewed on Frankly, My Dear… rest assured this isn’t a rerun. Rather more of an affirmation.
The first is the Theme for this year.
Expand Your Horizons
Boundaries. Some are meant to keep us in. Others are meant to be broadened. Whenever I think of Boundaries, I think of Louis L’Amour and the Wild West. If you’ve been around the Blog for any length of time you’ll understand my grand affinity for Louis and his writings. I even named last year’s nutcracker after him!
Louis & Louis
This is appropriate this week as I have once again picked up the book and have been reading. You would think, as a writer, I would read just as prolifically. While I desire to, I just haven’t made the time. Until recently. And it excites me. Living in some of the areas that he wrote about, still seeing the lavender painted mountains at sunset and still breathing the thousand year old dust in the wind, these things bring to me a sense of belonging and hope and determination. I feel an inner affinity with the Cowboy and his Tales.
I’ve expanded boundaries the last few weeks with New Inklings Press. I’ve determined even more to grow my writing and company and baby step by baby step, it’s coming along. I’ve changed banks to one that’s more friendly to the Little People, while offering Big Business perks. It’s a win-win situation and has been a breath of fresh air.
Monday I was abundantly blessed to spend time with a dear friend I haven’t seen in two years. One of my closest friends, my confidante. The one I can call and cry without words to. Or send a smiley face text to. We have the kind of friendship that time can’t whither, and I’m exceptionally thankful. We needed to see each other again. To look each other in the eye and know we were being honest. To hear what each one had to say. And through our wonderful albeit too short discourse, we reminded each other of the intimate power of prayer. What an absolute treasure to hear him tell me I’m doing things right. That he’s proud of my writings, proud to call me friend. Just as I’m proud to have his trust and friendship.
He gave me a new nudge with my writing. A step out of the shadows. And those boundaries were opened as I took a flying leap into the air, not sure where (or how) I’d land, and I placed The Unemployment Cookbook on sale at Amazon. [It’s on sale for only $12 through Saturday!] Which reminds me: would y’all mind doing me a favor? I need reviews to boost my standing at Amazon. Could you take three minutes out of your time and click here to offer your word gems for such purpose? That’s a fancy way of saying, could ya help with some free word-of-mouth advertising and tell others what you think of the Cookbook? Huge thanks for Janice and Jaye for already jumping on board this fast moving train!
The Unemployment Cookbook, Second Edition
I came to a revelation of why the more I get into a project, the slower it goes. I’m constantly editing! I read, add, edit, then read again. And the more I add, the more there is to read and edit and read again. My newly adopted habit now is to just write. Write at least 1,500 creative words each day, with at least half that for my New Orleans -based story. If I can keep writing, I will. If I need a break, that’s when I can review. Lightly edit. And when I find myself picking a paragraph to its death, it’s time to stop. Once the story is complete and a rough draft is printed, then I (and a few trusted friends) will review. And re-edit. But for now I need to be all about the writing.
As a reminder, I still keep this as my wallpaper on both my iPhone and laptop:
NOLA Inspiration
Yeah. I’m all about the N’Awlins these days. After weeks of calling it “The Untitled Molly Jo NOLA Project” or just “my NOLA story” for short, I’ve realized it’s already named itself. NOLA. It’s absolutely perfect. Here’s a thought from the protagonist:
“I often wondered if my parents knew the hardships they were thrusting upon me when they named me Penny. How much better life may have turned out if they’d instead named me something like “Ruby” or “Goldie”?”
My Darling Dot finally jumped on the YouTube bandwagon. She and her friends have been having fun making videos. She then edits them on her laptop in a manner that makes me jealous. She definitely has an eye for behind-the-lens action. She thinks she wants to be a nurse. I think she should be a photographer. Check out her newest video, making cupcakes for my jewelry party with one of her best friends, Hayley:
I would love to start making videos but I get in my own way. What could I possibly video that y’all would want to watch? Certainly two teenaged girls baking cupcakes is far better than if it were me…
And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote!
You may also enjoy reading:
TGIF: One
Five Things Friday: Safety in Numbers
My Housing Project: A New Leaf
Word of the Year: 2013
Louis and Max and Me
Why I Write. Every Day.
Jun 16, 2013 |
It happened again. I couldn’t understand someone on the phone. There was a language barrier. And because I tried to explain I don’t speak their language, they reported to my Boss that I’m “racist”.
In the same week, a local business accused my Boss of training racists because we didn’t stand up for them in what was clearly an issue that didn’t involve us.
It bothered me. It bothered me a lot. It bothered me because I don’t understand why I’m expected to be someone I’m not, and how someone else’s issues have become my responsibility.
I love helping people. I really do. I’m The Girl who feeds the homeless and smiles to make a sad stranger feel better. I can’t write murder-mysteries because I don’t know how to get that gritty. I don’t brag about my Good Deeds because that’s between me and whoever and I don’t do things to earn Worldly Brownie Points.
Yes, I make mistakes. No, I’m not perfect.
I am a Good Person.
And for someone to suggest otherwise is like a cold, steely dagger gutting me. It’s painful. And confusing.
It goes deeper than a personal attack on me. I’ve noticed a tendency of certain types of people to feel “entitled”. There is not one group or ethnicity or culture that does it. Rather, it’s individuals. Just as some people are born with brown eyes or some students grasp math over English. Some people are unable to take responsibility for their own actions, responses, and thought processes.
And because of that, I’ve been labeled “racist”.
I don’t speak a second language. If a phone connection is not very clear, I have a hard time with the conversation. When people mumble, I don’t hear. And I politely say, “I’m sorry; I’m having a hard time understanding you.”
And because of that, I’ve been labeled “racist”.
I’m not hear to argue “If you’re in my country, speak my language”. That only goes so far. When I finally have a passport and money to travel the world, I won’t be able to learn 26 different languages. I’ll try to speak Italian and get past the baroque of the Irish. I’ll carry my Berlitz interpretive dictionaries. I’ll be thankful for the natives who will help me. And I’ll understand when they say they can’t understand me.
But I won’t call them “racist”.
I am a Person. An individual. I do the best I can, and I believe that most others do, too.
I don’t believe any class of people is less important to the World than another. I believe individuals make choices, and at times are unable to make responsible choices.
That doesn’t make me “racist”.
Does it?
Expand Your Horizons
And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote!
You may also enjoy reading:
Hypocritical / Christian
Word of the Year: 2013
Am I One of “Those” People?
May 31, 2013 |
Frankly, My Dear… had a facelift. And a tummy tuck. And, well, pretty much a complete chassis overhaul. Inn’t she purtty? From the inner workings to the aesthetic design, I am overwhelmed at the difference between yesterday and today.
While yesterday I had a blog… today I have The Blog. Designed to tie in with the New Inklings Press website, FMD is growing up. I’m amazed at the difference a few subtle and not-so-subtle changes can make.
I’d love to say I had the help of a great web designer, but the truth is, I made a few suggestions and he ran with it. What you see is his doing. Completely. You’ve heard the expression, “Newer isn’t always better!”? That may be true for things like one-size-fits-all vitamins and synthetics vs. organics… but don’t you believe it about The Blog! Frankly, My Dear… has stepped out of the woods and into the light!
First Morning
I thought I might miss a few things about the old version. The formatting. The photo banner. The many categories and sub-categories and sub-sub-categories. Guess what…
I was wrong!
I don’t miss those things. At all. I see now how chaotic the design was; how distracting and at times either overwhelming or just “ehh…”
But now. Now it’s New. And I couldn’t be happier.
I just needed to get out of my own way and hand the reins over to One Who Knows and let him work his web magic. And I just had to give him a Great Shout Out for all his hard work!
I’d tried designing the Blog myself. I did my research. I viewed other blogs and websites. But I’m a writer. Not a designer. I had no idea how to code this or format that. I know words. This coding thing… yeah. I’m about as efficient as a fish holding a baseball bat.
But my designer. He gets it. He gets me. He gets design. As I live for the words, he lives for the codes. And Frankly, My Dear… we wouldn’t be here without him.
And now all things are new again.
Field of Dreams
I’m rediscovering my honest love for writing. Not just because it’s what I do. Not just because it’s who I am. Yes, it is and it is. But it’s also what I love. More than anything. And I can’t imagine ever doing anything else.
I received a wonderful email from a friend just this afternoon:
“I know how hard it is to will anything into existence (well, will and a lot of work)! … You have so much going on – just keep doing what you’re doing.”
And so I shall. Because I can’t not be surrounded by words.
When I was in 8th grade, I was in the School-Wide Spelling Bee. Yes, I was one of those students. Teachers called me “Quiet”. Teachers called me “Sweet”. And teachers called me “Smart”.
From a very young age, I knew that Words would be my Life. One way or another, no matter what else I did, writing would always be a part of me. And that meant knowing how to spell.
I was pathetically shy back then. I couldn’t look anyone in the eye unless my family was with me, and even then, notsomuch. That’s why I loved books. I could be a daring cliff-diver or a humble seamstress. I learned to ride horses, fly airplanes. I built the first campfire and knew how to time-travel. I did it all. Through books.
When I was in 8th grade, my English teacher didn’t like me. This was new territory for me. I mean, he really didn’t like me. He lived down the street. And he would make a point of stopping at our house, unannounced, and often on breaks or mini-holidays, to complain how poorly my brother and I were doing in our classes. Considering we both studied hard and received A’s and B’s in nearly every class but his… Considering he bent the rules for other students but not for us… Considering he tried to rummage through my purse before class even began… well, you get the picture. He just really didn’t like me.
And in 8th grade, he was one of the monitors for the School-Wide Spelling Bee. We were down to the Finals. There were ten students left. We lined up against the blackboards and one by one were tasked with correctly spelling out those words from a list that contained four-syllable combinations and homonyms and other great wordsmithing. It was my Personal Nirvana.
When my turn came, it was my English teacher from 7th grade who presented my word. She smiled widely as I spelled it out correctly. At least she liked me and wasn’t afraid to show it.
After nearly another round, I was four places down the line when The One Who Hated Me took the reins. “I’m going to do something a little different,” he said, looking hard at the list. His eyes lit darkly when he found what he was looking for. He looked at me and smirked. “I want to skip ahead to Molly.” The other teachers were puzzled. Was this in the rules? Can he do this? It seemed wrong. It seemed… personal.
I stood tall as he spoke. “Spell… ” and he gave me my word. I met his gaze. He had the satisfied look of one who has beaten another, that sneer of arrogance and pride.
I held his gaze without blinking. As I felt the injustice and anger rise inside me, I clenched my fists and through a delightfully fake smile I began to spell my word. “A-P-P…” I stopped to swallow, and gather my wits. I was meant for this. And I will not lose in spite of him.
I began again.
“A-P-P-R-E-C-I-A-T-I-V-E-L-Y.”
As I casually looked away, betraying the pounding in my heart and head, I caught the glimpse of The Good Teacher. I saw her smile affirmingly at me. A smile of “Atta girl!” and a glance toward him that warned he’d better not try that again. In another round, I was one of the Finalists. And he was Finished.
That’s a memory I used to want to forget. How someone, an authority figure, could without cause bring havoc and turmoil to a student’s life just for the sheer enjoyment he received from doing so… the world is often unbalanced and this was my first real taste. The shame and confusion he laid at my feet for me to pick up and carry with me throughout my student life and into early adulthood… Did I deserve this? Did I present myself in someway that he felt he had to bring me down to size? What was it that I did to make him try to fail me in class and in life?
And yet… it was that word. That word. One of the hardest word on our 8th grade Spelling Bee list. And I’m the one who got it right. That’s what I need to remember more. That even though he tried to pull me down, I fought back. I climbed. I succeeded.
Today, I’m very thankful for struggles. It’s so true that character is borne of hard times. I’m so very appreciative of those who have come alongside me and encouraged me, and yes, even challenged me. I’m thankful that my parents taught me to be gentle even in the midst of adversity. And I’m thankful for endurance.
“There are far, far better things ahead
than anything we leave behind.”
~C.S. Lewis
I’m aware of those pinnacle moments in life when I could have chosen a different path. I could have walked away from Words. I could have let The One Who Hated Me cause me to stumble but instead I chose to climb over the boundaries he set for me.
I learned that day that it’s not what others think I can do. It’s what’s inside that makes me who I am. The day of the 8th grade Spelling Bee cemented in my innermost being that I belong with Words. They are my children, my nightmares, my joys, my soulmates.
“I write for the same reason I breathe:
Because if I didn’t, I would die.”
~Isaac Asimov
I’m thankful for the barriers that have been placed for my protection. I’m thankful for the boundaries I can stretch. And I’m thankful that I know how to jump hurdles when necessary.
“Don’t Fence Me In.”
~Gene Autry
Expand Your Horizons
And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote!
Jan 1, 2013 |
Last year instead of making Resolutions, I chose a three-word theme. Remember? I Dared to Be an Awesome Orange, only to find myself lost in East L.A. just days later.
This year, my theme is simple. One word. And I didn’t have to think about it. It came to me a few weeks ago, and has been bursting at the seams to get out.
Boundaries protect you. They set up a perimeter that the world can’t encroach upon unless you allow. Boundaries are fences, gates, edges. It makes me think of Lonesome Dove and stories by Louis L’Amour. The Wild West. Homesteading. Making a name for yourself. And creating your own private place.
If the world does come in unwanted and unwarranted, it’s okay to take a stand and stop. It’s okay to say, “This is my space.” But it’s also okay to make friends. To share what you can share. To expand your Circle of Life without breaking it.
Although some Boundaries are meant to be broken. Enlarged. They’re the horizon beyond the horizon, or, as Finian says, “The hill beyond yon hill.”
This year, I intend to strengthen my Boundaries. Whether I need to set up a better perimeter around my family, my home, my time, my writing or my finances, I will establish better Boundaries. And then I’ll open the gate when I can, and step out into unknown territories.
I’ll explore. Adjust. Enjoy. And establish.
Excitement doesn’t begin to explain how I feel. I’m pretty sure surviving the Mayan Apocalypse has given me a new lease on life. After all, one can hardly expect to go back to humdrum when the clock still ticks and the lungs still breathe, right?
This is me. Learning how to set Boundaries. And sometimes, how to step over them.
And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote!
