Tsara Shelton's Blog, page 26

Book Talk: I'm Happy To Say My Book Was Published A Little Too Soon

A little over a year ago I did something that I wish people wouldn’t do. I won’t do it again but I’m deeply happy that I did it.
I’d like to tell you about it. (This is something I do like to do and I do wish people would do! Telling a story about why we do the things we do even when we don’t believe in the things we do!)
I love to read, especially novels. I used to wish I could go to jail for about a year so that I would have the opportunity to read and read and read without the feeling that I should be cleaning my house or creating a fulfilling career.
So when self-publishing happened and the world of books was becoming overwhelmed with stories that were raw and unique, stories that may never have made their way into the world with all the gatekeepers in the way, I was quickly thrilled!
And then I was quickly disappointed. I understood, for possibly the first time, the value of gatekeepers. These were people who could help an author hone their message and tweak their sentences and revisit their characters until the truth of the story was clearly on display. A story that, when done well, would still be entirely the author’s story, just even more so.
As a reader I was merely disappointed to learn this. As a reader it’s not such a big deal because I can continue to trust recommendations and enjoy perusing and read-testing bookshelves in thrift stores which offer obscure, eclectic, classic, previously experienced books.
But as a writer, I was deeply bothered. I know how easy it is to feel so in love with something I’ve written that I’m certain the message is clear and the story will connect with readers in magical ways. Sway sweetly with the beat of the reader’s soul. As a writer I also know how wrong I always am! Looking later I will see (with painfully stark clarity) huge holes in my storytelling and lazy word choices. Words that sort of say what I mean and take away from the experience of saying exactly what I mean. As a writer I also know that what I don’t see, what I almost never see, are the grammatical errors. I love to write but I’ve never loved to learn rules of writing.
Self-publishing is not bad, it is indeed a wonderful and fantastic choice for writers and readers! But with all of my reading heart I want us writers to keep in mind what we know. That we can’t do it alone. That we need editors and beta-readers to give feedback and offer thoughts. Sure, we know our story and our characters and our meaning more fully than any editor or beta-reader ever could. It’s not our job to let them tell us what to do or how to fix things, it’s our job to listen to feedback and learn what others are understanding from our writing. Then we can decide what, how, why, and if we’ll make changes.
By knowing what readers are understanding (and this is where we need more than one early reader because everyone has personal taste and opinions but when we have several readers we’ll uncover surprising consistencies.) we’re are able to tweak those few things or overhaul entire sections or add clarifying chapters. Whatever it takes to get feedback that is more consistently feeding back to us writers what we intended to feed our readers.
I love that I came to this conclusion before I published my novel!
But why, then, did I publish my book, Spinning in Circles and Learning from Myself, without the aid of editors? Why was I okay with my only two beta readers being my mom and my sister? Beta-readers who loved the book and told me so emphatically, as I knew they probably would since the book is basically me on paper and they love me. Why did I figure that was good enough?
I mean… hello?!
Now, before I explain please believe me that I do love my book, and I did work hard on it. I’m not so uncaring about my writing that I just threw it out there without adjusting, reworking, rethinking, and caring. And I’m certainly not so uninterested in readers (I’m a reader who loves writing, not vice versa) that I figured they didn’t deserve a book that was my best. I did my best. My best alone, without doing the work of figuring out how to get editors and beta-readers.
Luckily, the feedback and letters and reviews I’ve gotten have moved and surprised me in gorgeous ways! I had no idea that even strangers would like my stories! However, I want to talk about the feedback I’ve gotten that I would have fixed if I’d gotten it before the book was published. (Only two reviewers have given me this feedback but it stands out because I kind of wondered about it before I published the book.)
“My overall idea of the author is that she’s full of life and has so much to share, but maybe not enough self-confidence to focus it into a book with one running theme - .” 
“The author is an excellent writer but this book doesn’t give the impression of professionalism, the overall theme of the stories is vague and they aren’t told in chronological order.”
FUNNY SIDENOTE: So far the reviews have been overwhelmingly positive and even the two that included this “theme” critique were overall positive reviews. But, as I’ve been warned by other authors, it’s this critique that stands out to me as something I want to address.
As a writer of blog posts and articles I know that it’s not generally a good idea to let my feelings get in the way of the truth that a person’s experience of my writing and ideas is completely valid whether I wanted them to have that experience or not. And I’ve gotten really truly good at valuing every single critique or comment without feeling the need to explain myself or offer excuses for my choices. I like conversation too much to want to turn it into “Well, what happened is…”
However, I like sharing experiences and background stories even more! So let me tell you the story of how my book was published a little bit before it was entirely ready, and why I’m so happy that it happened.
What happened is:  
I'm writing a novel and want to take my time (years, I expect) enjoying the process and making certain I do it right. Also, I’ve wanted to have something else published first, for personal (and, I guess, professional) reasons. Someone had commented on one of my stories “Collect articles into a book,” and an idea was planted.
Noticing that I had grown up while writing, a book blossomed. I chose to gather articles and ideas that mature over time exampling, what I call, Intentional Storytelling. This theme in my book stands out, and is unclear, and is deeply true to me. The power of our stories lies in how we tell them. My stories are not chronological, because maturing happens via memories that we understand in new ways as life gives us new perspectives, but they are always told with the intention of discovering beauty and freedom and myself. It is my hope that some readers will be invited to do the same.
And, though I don’t generally like reading collection of story type books myself (with the exception of The Tent by Margaret Atwood), I did love my own. I wanted to share it with people. I started to research what to do next and even wrote a query letter for literary agents and publishers.
That summer my husband won money with a scratch-off lottery ticket and told me that, more than anything, he wanted to help me make my dream come true. (Of course, this was after paying our debts and buying more scratch tickets. Then making my dream come true was what he wanted more than anything! Tee hee!)
I had already been researching various hybrid type publishers and a friend of mine had used Archway Publishing with happy results. So, I made a call and chose the package we could afford, the one without editing and marketing. The process was pretty simple and quite exciting!
My first book was published because my husband wanted to play a role, a role that he would understand, in making my dream came true. It was built because my sons were starting to follow their dreams and I wanted to show them the value of doing it before we're ready. It was also built in order to keep myself going. My main purpose, beyond my hubby and my sons, became having something out there, something I could practice marketing as a product of my own, and something that would help me have a comfortable relationship with feedback and critiques.
Spinning in Circles and Learning from Myself: A Collection of Stories that Slowly Grow Up is a gift to me, my readers, my family, and my husband.
Especially my husband, who needed to be here on this earth when my dream of publishing a book came true.
This is the story of why my book was published when it was published.
Important to note, I don’t think my book is any more ready or less ready for publication merely based on what others think. It’s the consistent (like I said, twice) feedback that matched my own concern that make me feel like I rushed it.
There are other things “wrong” with the book. The title says nothing about autism or parenting (and there is plenty about autism and parenting in the book!) and the grammar, though it gets better as the book goes on, is never great. There is an annoying typo in the introduction and I would like the book to be a little bit smaller in size. But these are things that I either chose to do on purpose with my own honest meaning, or things I’ll learn to do different next time.
Regarding the not so excellent sentence structure or grammar in the book, I even had this tid-bit in my original query letter: I love the concept of showing that we can all tell our stories with confidence now, rather than waiting until we know exactly how, while highlighting the value in discovering the skills of presentation and storytelling along the way!
So when I’m asked about these issues I’m more than happy to share my reasons! Often people don’t agree with my reasons and often people do. But the thing is, I’m comfortable with them.  
However, the slightly unclear theme of the book (intentional storytelling) is something I was concerned about before publishing and something I could have gotten help with had I taken the time.
Still, though, my book is quite good! I know because I’ve read the reviews! Giggle!
Always we are in a position to consider all of our motivators. In the case of my first book, having it published slightly before it was completely ready even though I had a feeling it might not be completely ready, in order to keep myself going and give my husband the gift of giving me that gift, was absolutely right. Putting my book out into the world moments before it was ready at the same time that I was watching my sons go out into the world moments before they were ready had a delightful symmetry.
A little over a year ago I did something that I wish people wouldn’t do by publishing a book without the aid of editors and beta-readers. But I also did something I wish people would do, by being clear about my motivators and priorities, and publishing a book when the timing was right for me.
I’m deeply happy that I did! 
Hugs, smiles, and love!! Autism Answers with Tsara Shelton (Facebook)


*Intentional Storytelling: What I mean by that is nothing unique to me. I'm merely referring to the habit I have of telling the story of my day, my moments, my life, my neighbors, with intention. The intention to prove why it was a good day, what was magical in the moment, how my life is fabulous, what my neighbors do that amazes and intrigues me. This "intention" in my storytelling doesn't make the story of my day any less true, I still tell the story as it happened, but because the narration (in my head and to my family and friends) is intended to discover happiness, goodness, and value, I'm inclined to create, discover, and encourage it in return. This is similar to what so many other people do, I'm sure! I just like to use that name for it.

Autism Answer: It Takes A Village To Abuse A Child

My mom with my sister and me.

"If it takes a village to raise a child, believe me, it takes a village to abuse one." ~A Brilliant Line from the movie Spotlight

My mom was an abused child. Emotionally, physically, and sexually abused. 

I had abuse happen to me. Emotional and sexual. But I was not an abused child. 

The difference was made so clear in that line from the movie. My mom grew up surrounded by abusive grown ups and grown ups who looked the other way, manipulating what they were seeing in order to look away and live with themselves.

Because my mom insisted on breaking the cycle, walking away from abuse, learning and making changes, because of this I was not an abused child. Me and my siblings were given the gifts my mom craved when she was a girl. Unconditional love, brave support, and the absolute certainty that we were important and our lives had value. My mom insisted on giving this gift to me and my sister, and then adopted several kids who did come from abuse. The labels they had were many but my mom peeled them away to reveal children. Just children.

This is powerful to know! Because we all make mistakes as parents, friends, and spouses. We all do things that are abusive or cruel now and then. 

But when we insist on seeing our mistakes clearly and making changes, when we are willing to walk away from people and places that hurt us or our children, we are creating an environment of safety and love. Sure, abuse might happen - bullying, pushing, inappropriate talk or touch, stifling of passions, name calling - but when we are open to seeing these things and making changes or walking away, our children are not "abused" children. 

There are, oh so sadly, children who grow up abused. Beaten, molested, manipulated, told in all kinds of ways that they are worthless and their existence is worse than a waste. I wish with all of my heart this weren't true, but I know that it is. 

But there are many more children who grow up loved and adored, with people who will do whatever it takes to be sure they know that. Grown ups who will do whatever they imagine is right to help these children become successful. Children who have dedicated loved ones that also make mistakes.

Abusing a child is not the same as surrounding a child with love that evolves and makes mistakes.

For any of us who worried that we might have been abusive because of these mistakes, this is powerful to realize.

For those of you who stepped in and loved a child when they were in need of support and kindness - in big ways like my mom did or in small ways as I have done over the years - I hope you know that you made a difference. You planted a seed.

And for those of you who were abused children and then did the painful, rewarding, scary, eye opening work of changing things for your children or for other people's children, 

Thank you. 

Thank you, thank you, thank you! 

Hugs, smiles, and love!!
Autism Answers with Tsara Shelton (Facebook)

 My mom with with my sister and I. 

Autism Answer: Empty Seats

This photo is called: Empty Seats 
What I see: 

I see empty seats. I look at this picture and see the empty seat beside me. Then I remember talking to myself while trying to take this selfie so I could show my son that I'm thinking of him. I see the empty seat beside me and then I notice my activist wristband with the cool and clever symbols, symbols of things I try to teach my sons. Peace, love, anarchy, happiness.

Then I see the empty seat again. My son, Shay, almost always comes with me to pick his brother up from school and he sits in that seat. But he's not here right now, he's traveled to California to help my mom out for a few weeks. His first long distance trip alone and I love that he's experienced it! I miss him and I'm happy. I see the empty seat and I wonder if he knows how much space he takes up in my hopes and heart. I imagine all the ways that this trip might be a catalyst for the next phase of his life, an opportunity to know himself better and to know his uncle better and to have such fun with his Dramma while feeling, also, independent. I miss his sensory stim and consider squishing my own cheeks.

My eyes are then drawn to the other empty seats behind me. I see emptiness but feel fullness. Noise, fights, laughter, rock n' roll, and horrible amounts of junk food with weak justifications fill my memory when I see those empty seats. 

I see empty seats and a mom who holds on while she lets go. She's almost afraid not to see the empty seats because then she'll see herself. Not that she doesn't like herself, not at all! She adores who she is! She finds it funny that she rarely remembers to brush her hair and has to keep elastics on her wrist for constant ponytails that hide this laziness. It's just, well, she's still more comfortable seeing herself among her people, as who they are together, and the newness of herself surrounded by empty seats is alarming with it's potential. Potential is delightful but it's also a transition that requires choices. Choices she's already explored and knows will make her comfortable with empty seats. She's not ready to be comfortable with empty seats. Soon, though. Quite soon. 

Because I also see a picture of me, and I have always been comfortable with being comfortable. I have also always loved being alone. And I have always loved to see empty seats only to fill the meaning of them up with feelings from myself. 

When I look at this picture I see empty seats that I fill in with feelings. 

I'm not sure what you see when you look at this picture. Of course, if I had to guess I'd say you see a lady taking a picture of herself. Did I guess right? Spooky! tee hee!

The Point Is: 

When we see people and their pictures we have every right to interpret and imagine the meaning. Indeed, the beauty of images is interpreting and imagining and feeling and remembering and listening to ourselves as we do. But I think it's important to keep in mind that we don't know the story of other people and their pictures. We only know what the pictures mean to us. We only know our own evolving story. And even our own is oddly mysterious. 

We can have such fun exploring our pictures together! Remembering our reasons and laughing at our permed hair and wondering what happened to those jeans with the cool pockets. 

It is a picture of a lady taking a selfie in her car.

But it's more than that, too. 

Taking snapshots and exploring the stories of them, with open minds and a sense of humor, is a fun way to connect and stay in touch with our undercurrent of sameness. The part where our pictures all come down to feelings and hopes and loves and loss and funny hairdos. 

For me, anyway, it's a fun way to fill those empty seats. 

Hugs, smiles, and love!!
Autism Answers with Tsara Shelton (Facebook) 




Shay getting on the Greyhound. 

Autism Answer: Celebrating Angst and Telling Stories

Our lives are created and experienced and understood through story. 

When we're young we accept and play with and interpret the stories told to us. As we grow up we try our hand and telling and imagining and living our own stories. 

In the meantime we never quit enjoying and learning from the stories of others. We listen - some of us better than others! - and read and watch and debate the meaning and value of these stories. 

Somehow, though, our culture has mostly forgotten to place the power of story on top. We think of it more as entertainment or silliness or only important after we've paid the bills and worked hard. 

I cry bull corn! 
I say no way!

We become our stories. We are our stories. We live and imagine and remember our stories. 

We have the ability, joy, and power to tell and live our stories for ourselves and in our way. But you've heard me say that once or twice (or a gazillion) times before. 

What I want to talk about, for a moment, is the value and fun and importance of respecting all aspects of story. The joy, brilliance, strength, and love alongside the pain, violence, rejection, and anger.  

"We exist to feel and so we crave every aspect of story," The Hitchhiker in my screenplay argues. And I agree. Indeed, that's why I wrote my screenplay! So he/I could argue that!

I often celebrate darker more dangerous emotions. I dive in and really feel them, imagine them, learn from them, desire them even. Yet my life is a consistently beautiful happy story and I'm a chronically happy person. 

I had a friend who sang in a cover band. Before a show he would ask me what songs I wanted him to sing and, without fail, I would intensely and excitedly list off my dark favorites. Sober by Tool, Tyler by Toadies, The Water's Edge by Seven Mary Three. Songs that explore anger and self loathing and violence. Songs that, every time without fail he would say, didn't match me.

"But they do!" I would insist, getting hyped up and thrilled at a night of dancing ahead of me. "How else do you think I live so happily all the time? If I didn't celebrate those feelings in these places, dancing, reading, writing, I would invite them more often into my other reality. That's no fun! So, I honor them in the songs you're gonna sing. Let's go!"

He would laugh lovingly at me and remind me that I wasn't exactly "normal" so he'd sing my songs at the beginning of the night, when the audience wasn't yet drunk and riled up, and save happy songs for later in the evening, when the folks needed to be brought up and reminded of happiness. 

That made sense! Besides, I love happy songs too!

We all make a million choices, small and big, in our lives that take us in a million different directions. All of the stories we tell and live now are in place of a million others we could have lived. This is a fun thing to think about, and sometimes I wonder about the me I might have been who is less happy. The me who didn't listen when my mom taught me to think for myself and tell my own stories and value everyone. The me who didn't have kids. The me who ran away with that abusive boyfriend. The stories I chose not to live but still wonder about. 

As you know, friends, when I tell stories of my family life and share moments from my daily doings I'm not afraid to reveal terrific and often scary truths, but I also almost always spin it in ways that reveal answers and beauty. 

However, I find other places to be equally revealing if less happy-ish. Celebrating pure joy is gorgeous! But so, too, is celebrating pure angst. "We exist to feel." And so I celebrate feeling. 

And it's always revealing. 

Yesterday I decided to participate in Chuck Wendig's Flash Fiction Challenge, to write a five sentence story. An entire story in only five sentences.

So, with five sentences I explored the life of a homeless me, afraid of authority and confused about freedom. 

In five sentences I made up a story from a familiar me I almost was. A me I chose not to be. I remember her, and I love her.

 

I chatted quietly and sweetly in the back of the police cruiser, smiling and giggling and apologizing and nervously covering up my deep fear, taking action by putting my sweetness and youth on display.

I’d never been arrested before and I never imagined that I could be; I was a sweet girl who was afraid of authority so I rarely broke rules, other than ones of necessity.

By the time I was locked up with the others I had reassured myself that I didn’t belong, that I could at least enjoy a night with a roof over my head until this mess was cleaned up and my obvious goodness was clear and understood. Avoiding eye contact with the large black woman pooping on the toilet four feet from my mismatched sneakers I promised myself that I would be extra good and do exactly what I was told.

Then I would be free.

I do not believe that obeying rules and being good and nice means I've earned freedom, not anymore. I now believe that freedom is something I have an absolute right to and that the rules tend to take my freedom away. That doesn't mean I don't think there should ever be rules, that means I think we should always know them as taking away a freedom for a purpose that we're deeming worthy. And we should always consider whether, indeed, it is worthy. 

But writing that story and tapping into that place, where I was scared and certain that my freedom was something I should prove I deserved, gave me feelings. "We exist to feel." And I did. 

Please remember the value and power of your stories! Please be purposeful and curious, be willing to hurt and feel joy. Celebrate all of the feelings but find a safe place to explore the ones that tempt you to be hateful or angry or scared or uncertain of your value. 

For me, that safe place is on the dance floor or singing my face off in my car. It's in the books I read, some of the movies I watch (I have to be careful with those, some are healthy for me and some are dangerous) and the stories I write. 

Don't deny your less than pretty feelings and don't dress them up as something they aren't (are you hearing me Trump supporters?) but rather celebrate them in a safe space and encourage yourself to consider their meaning. Your feelings are for you and shouldn't be shoved on others, but you can share and consider and explore and explain and tweak and edit them, as a group. 

My happiness and joy doesn't grow from a life of only happy stories. It grows from a life of diverse stories that honor it all. 

"We exist to feel and so we crave every aspect of story." 

I couldn't have said it better myself!
tee hee!

Hugs, smiles, and love!!
Autism Answers with Tsara Shelton (Facebook) 

Autism Answer: This Wind Up Pocket Watch

Beautiful and created by people, this wind up pocket watch. Created by beautifully creative people. It tells time, it ticks and it tocks, it is a delicate collection of springs, cogs, and other moving parts that work together to keep track of time, an invention of ours. It's "this o'clock" and "that many minutes," it tells us. 

How valuable to enjoy and create and discuss such inventions of ours!! 

And at the same time how silly to let them enslave us. Our creations and inventions and ideas of success. Our technology and rules and ideas of value. 

This wind up pocket watch does not decide when my child should move out or when my husband should finish fixing the floor in our kitchen. This wind up pocket watch isn't interested in how many ticks or tocks it takes for my brother to speak clearly or for me to finish writing my novel. This wind up pocket watch is a beautiful invention, and it helps us make plans - but it doesn't decide or dictate. 

We are a beautifully creative species! We like to invent technology, rules, systems, labels, races, and recipes. Too often, however, we forget that those things are inventions of the moment. Necessarily needing to be re-imagined and set aside. 

My son bought himself this wind up pocket watch because he loves the way it sounds, the way it looks, the way it feels, its independence from batteries, and because he likes to imagine that it's a time machine. Not once has it been the boss of him or a tool for telling him when to be somewhere or how much more time he has to finish a thing. Admittedly, though, he could use a little of that. My son lives almost entirely in his head and some scheduling could do him good. 

Which, of course, is why we so beautifully create these things to begin with!! There is a gorgeous balance to be had. A place where our inventions and rules are always known for what they are and a comfortable connection is kept with the reason we create them. A place where we set aside inventions and rules when they harm even a small number of us or our planet. 

A place where we fully know that our creations are a way to connect with each other, expressions of the soul, and tools for survival, easily set aside when they no longer give us these gifts. 

There is a gorgeous balance to be had, and we are fully capable of insisting on it!

I think it's time. 

Hugs, smiles, and love!!
Autism Answers with Tsara Shelton (Facebook)

Autism Answer: Tell More Stories and Fight Less Fights

We need to tell more stories and fight less fights, friends. 

When we tell a story, we're encouraged to craft a narrative that understands deeper motivators and natural inclinations. When we fight, we're encouraged to shove, punch, prove and stand strong. 

Some fights are necessary but most are dangerous, distracting, and cruel. 

Stories are how we imagine ourselves in the life of another and how we understand the lives of ourselves. They are powerful tools for shifting our personal and cultural expectations and assumptions. 

They take some sophistication and a willingness to weave something bigger than winning or losing. Storytelling is a weapon that can work to persuade, enlighten, and include. 

Of course, storytelling is also used to enslave, frighten, and goad people into fighting. These stories cannot be undone by fights but are challenged and made powerless by more beautiful inspirational stories, when told with volume and skill! 

When I listen to my brothers tell the story of their experiences and I take the time to help them express that story with clarity (for, in truth, my brothers are not gifted storytellers) we're both offered new understandings and skills. 

When I fight with my brothers to stop annoying me with their crankiness and they fight with me to tell them how to stop having crankiness (for, in truth, the world is crueler to them than to me and their crankiness is often understandable) nobody wins and everybody loses and a memory of anger is created. 

Sometimes the stories my brothers and I tell include dialogues of dismissal and no more; I'm not here for them to abuse, and I'll tell them that. And they don't want to become abusive, and we'll talk about that. When they're angry, I don't allow it to be dumped on me. So, we tell a story of possibilities and reasons for the anger. In these moments we create skills and empathy and answers for forward motion. 

Stories have places to go. Fights are held in the ring or on the battlefield.

Sometimes we justify our fights by putting them in a story. But these fights aren't well disguised because we tell the story only for the benefit of the fight. We use our fancy showmanship and words to glorify fighting, and it doesn't go anywhere. It stays on the battlefield. 

Sure, stories are most often filled with the familiar. They're new ways to say many of the same things. But they are moving and flowing and sharing and exploring and rethinking and connecting and restating; like nature, they nourish and continue to do the same things in beautiful new ways. This isn't tiresome and it isn't lack of movement or progress. Instead, it's a celebration that's deeply tied to our fundamental needs and desires as living beings. 

Fights are this against that, stories are us exploring and hoping to understand. 

Some fights are necessary, but when we're living in a world that values fights over stories, that slaps you proudly on the back when you win rather than when you weave, those important fights are harder and harder to recognize. 

We need to tell more stories and fight less fights, friends. 

Our world will be better for it, and we'll have so much more fun!!

Hugs, smiles, and love!!
Autism Answers with Tsara Shelton (Facebook) 

My book is a humble example of telling stories instead of fighting.  

Cities in Books - A Waste of Words: On Learning That They Are Not

The descriptions of cities in books used to seem like a waste of words to me. 

While I skipped school, riding buses and subways around Toronto—uptown, downtown, outskirts of town—voraciously reading book after book, I would approach these descriptions with snobby annoyance. “Tell me what they’re thinking, who these characters are! Tell me why they think what they think! Tell me what they’re going to do and why! I don’t care about the city, I care about who they want to include in their lives and the description of themselves.”

As I tied my school uniform’s burgundy sweater around my waist, feeling it tickle the back of my bare thighs--exposed despite the school rules about the length of our skirts--  I’d change the tape in my Walkman from “Metallica” to “The Pogues” and step off the subway. Smiling at strangers and delighting in the smell and wind of Toronto underground, I would promise myself that one day I’d write equally moving novels as the ones I collected insatiably, but I’d use less wasted words. Describing cities and sunsets was for painters and poets, not novelists. 

Adventuring the city in search of quaint or hip or sophisticated coffee shops and book stores I celebrated with my soul the energy around me, stopping often to comfortably and curiously chat with strangers. Asking them with deep interest what they were thinking and why. Who they were and who they wanted to be. Noting without judgement how they reacted to me—my age, my appearance, my school skipping, my beliefs, my reasons for things. Suspending judgement of them and of myself, judgement that I couldn’t ignore or not imagine when I returned to whatever hometown my beautiful single mom of eight was creatively trying to make us feel comfortable and accepted in. 

I would switch the tape in my Walkman from “The Pogues” to “Chopin” and walk with characteristic speed down the older streets of the city, imagining myself as so many different kinds of people living in the old stone homes with their promise of drafty rooms and strong wood, sporting grand trees in small yards. I was a single mom of many messy children, a rich woman with a doting husband and two tidy daughters, or living with a group of women whose children would think of each other as cousins. 

Later, in the busier parts of the city, busting a move by changing the tape in my Walkman to “Young MC” I would imagine myself as a bossy business woman living in a newly built condominium, or a bartender with eclectic cozy furniture in an apartment above a store, or a writer—anywhere. 

Discovering a delightfully warm patch of sun on a deliciously cool day I’d sit beneath a tree and read. Rolling my eyes again at descriptions of cities or towns. Putting away my Walkman and listening to myself.

Eventually, after changing the tape in my Walkman from “Young MC” to “The Smiths” I’d sigh goodbye to Toronto and climb aboard transit headed out of town, heading to my home and the people who loved me. 

My people. The people who I would share my reasons with; my thoughts of who I was and why I did things and how they fit into the story of the me I was trying to be. My family.

Soon, though, I’d find myself craving the energy and anonymity I’d grown addicted to in the city.

Toronto is in my story, I know that now. She’s not a waste of words but instead part of why I think what I think, and why I do things I do. She’s someone I include in the description of me. 

Reading has helped me become who I am. Not only because of the places it takes me but also because of the narration I hear myself add while I’m in those places. 

Was I refusing, mocking even, these descriptions because I didn’t want to risk falling in love with new cities? Was it a misguided unwillingness to risk my loyalty to Toronto? Or was I truly unwilling to see the irony?

Probably. All of that. I was a young girl skipping school and craving stories. Loyalty, moral ambiguity, and blindness to ourselves are elements of the stories I craved. 

I haven’t been to Toronto in over fifteen years. Though I love her deeply, and I describe her –the her I once knew, anyway—often. Especially to my children. 

My sons, all four of them, are rocking out to “Mariana’s Trench” on their smartphones while writing and living their own stories. Stories that include the energy and descriptions of different towns and cities than mine. Descriptions I would not now consider skimming over, ignoring, or rolling my eyes to. 

Descriptions that are not at all a waste of words. # # #
Autism Answers with Tsara Shelton (Facebook) Me reading. Author's Note: If you enjoyed this story, I invite you to check out my book Spinning in Circles and Learning from Myself: A Collection of Stories that Slowly Grow up. It's, well, a collection of stories. And, you know, they slowly grow up! Thank-you with all of my heart for taking the time to read things that I write. Honestly and truly, you are a gift. xoxo

Autism Answer: Choosing A Leader

It's voting season in the USA, leadership choosing season here in The States. 

I have a permanent resident card and love my life here in the United States. I cannot vote, so I tend to engage in the election seasons a little bit differently. 

I write articles, I debate concepts, I have fun conversations with my sons. 
For example:

Shay: Do you think I'm a democrat or a republican?

Me: Oh, honey! I suggest you never label yourself that way. It's one of the problems with the system, because once you choose a "team" you start gathering proof of why you're on the winning or right one, rather than truly listening to and considering issues. 

Shay: That makes sense. 

So, I don't call myself a supporter of anyone or any specific party, though I'm not unwilling to notice the party or candidate who approaches issues in a way I like. 

I do think it's smart to take a moment, alone, away from the influence of friends, family, and media, to know what you believe and what kind of leader you want. 

Here is an example of the kind of leaders I like to choose in my life: 

-----> Compromise but not Concede or Give Up on Issues
It's important to me that there is a willingness to compromise while knowing the value of holding strong to the core important values. When there seems to be no possible way to find a common ground or to agree on how to solve a problem, a leader keeps their eye on the core important piece and refuses to let go, though they can find ways to compromise on how it all happens. (I'm married, I'm a mom, so I know this can be done! It's exhausting and takes a lot of soul searching, but it's worth it!)

-----> Engaging Everyone To Participate
A leader isn't alone and isn't the boss of us. They are our visionary and hard working expert. They consistently remind us that we are responsible for voicing our wants and for exploring our talents and passions. We are responsible for discovering how we can help and for checking in with ourselves to see if we are still in agreement with the group. 

-----> Evolve on Issues but Rarely Have To
A leader is a visionary. They see deeper into the system and aren't easily swayed by it. They have a unique understanding of what's going on beneath the surface and what they KNOW to be right. In this way, they are consistent and strong in their beliefs. My favorite leaders fight for equality and fairness when it isn't "cool" because they know the value of it. They know it so well that they are willing to be laughed at, scorned, or considered crazy because that hurts less (though it hurts) than walking away from their core values and vision. 

-----> Keep The Big Picture On Display
Too easily we get distracted by the petty details and wander off into a tangled mess of seemingly important debates. I like a leader who keeps the big picture on display, who reminds us what we're working to create. I've lived long enough and made enough of my dreams come true to know the value of this. Every single time I've had a clear vision of what I wanted, I've gotten it. Despite all of the distractions that came along to busy me, all I ever had to do was remember that picture. When I get there, it always looks a little bit different than I imagined but it's unmistakably my dream come true. A leader, I believe, should continue to paint that picture for us and encourage us to do the same for ourselves. 

These are a few of the things I look for in a leader. I myself do not possess all of these qualities, and that's okay. We can't all be leaders! (Although we all are, for ourselves and at different times in our lives for others. However, some of us are leaders at the core while others are followers. Both roles are equally important and we are happiest when we take on our roles with purpose, passion, and open minds!) 

As I've shared with you often it was my mom, Lynette Louise aka The Brain Broad, who led me to believe in myself, in the possibility of equality for my autistic brothers, in the value of working toward a world who would accept and appreciate absolutely every type of living being. And it was me who chose to allow that leading. 

I suggest with all of my heart that you take some time to define what kind of leader you want. Whether you will be voting, writing, debating, calling your local politician, spending your money with purpose, speaking at an event, chatting at the dinner table, some of the above or all of the above, I suggest we always take the time to evaluate and reevaluate our leaders. 

[And for those of you unsure I enthusiastically encourage you to read (when it becomes available) my mom's upcoming book: The Seven Senses of Leadership: The Brain Broad's Guide to Leadership Sensibilities. The book is filled with fabulous insights, actions, and ideas for all of us! I promise to let you know when it has been published, some time in the next few months. Here's a link to my mom's book page so you can check out all of the books she's already published, including books she's contributed to, in the meantime.]

So, though I can't vote, I do. With my words, my money, my conversations, and with a willingness to know what I want, shift what I want, and believe in a leader who will work with me to help us have it. 

Be sure to choose a leader who believes in you as much as you believe in them, friends!

The relationship is a symbiotic one. 

Hugs, smiles, and love!! 
Autism Answers with Tsara Shelton (Facebook)

Choose a leader who encourages you to explore along the way, but also reminds you to keep going.

Autism Answer: Fall In Love With Someone New #BrainBroadLoveHabits

I wrote this in February's edition of The Loop: 

I fall in love just a little, ol' little bit, every day with someone new." ~Hozier
Love and Habits Love is lovely, friends!  I have a fun exercise for us in this episode of The Loop; homework, if you will. (The kind of homework I think schools would do well to consider!) Let's teach ourselves a delightful love habit by falling in love, daily! I encourage us to choose ourselves first. Today. Now! Fall in love with yourself! Let the way your hair falls tickle your tummy, see your quirks as adorable, hear your ideas and swoon.  Do this everyday with someone new. Your spouse, your child, the lady on the corner asking for money, the guy who sells you your lottery ticket. Fall in love! Giggle at their jokes, put extra energy into your banter, try to make the conversations last. Have a crush on humanity with us this February!  I invite you to share your experiences and new loves on Lynette's Brain Broad Facebook page: Lynette Louise aka The Brain Broad, tweet or email thoughts and pictures to mom4evermore@juno.com with the subject line/hashtag: #BrainBroadLoveHabits  Have fun falling in love!

I've been loving the responses! Check out posts to The Brain Broad's page to get a peek at some, click on the hashtag #BrainBroadLoveHabits on Twitter, and I invite you to participate as well!! You can post a picture, a story, a link to a story... whatever works for you! Or, just enjoy the posts of others and fall in love with them. That counts!!!

Here's one of mine: 

 
Me having a crush on myself.
I like the way I comfortably hang out in my pajamas and read great books, often, without feeling guilty about taking delicious down time. I think that's pretty cool and crush-worthy of me!
#BrainBroadLoveHabits

And another one: 

Yesterday I went to the post office with Shay and we discovered a yellow slip, indicating a package was waiting. Could it have finally arrived, we wondered. Shay gave me a hopeful smile and we headed to the counter.

Upon seeing me the kind folks who distribute all of our mail, our bills, loan approvals, pizza coupons, and online ordered packages, gave a knowing grin and disappeared into the back of the building, returning with a small brown cushioned envelope.

"Well, your music's here," said the lady happily handing me my Seven Mary Three CD.

As I clapped and jumped and excitedly thanked her, I saw the others standing back watching me get the music I ordered a week ago, smiling odd knowing grins my way. I'd been coming in everyday, hopeful with anticipation, describing the dance room my husband built for me and telling them how much freedom and joy I experienced in there, diminishing slightly only when I find myself needing new music. Which I had ordered and was waiting for.
I think they think I'm strange, but none of us mind that at all!!

I fell in love with my local post office yesterday.
And then I danced my ass off in my dance room!!! ‪#‎BrainBroadLoveHabits‬

And one more to show the diversity and simplicity of possibilities: 

I got a call last night from a telemarketer. I had no interest in his product but I took some time to have interest in him. We chatted for five minutes, long enough to explore ideas but not so long that he'd lose too much work time. We laughed a little, considered his future parenting prospects for a bit, and he suggested a title to the book he'd like me to write: A Canadian in Texas. I had a crush on humanity, and a telemarketer, last night! #BrainBroadLoveHabits 
____________________

These are some fun examples of the true moments "falling in love a little bit with someone new" has offered me. There are more examples from others (see Rachel Clark's consistent and lovely posts on The Brain Broad's Facebook page!!!!) and I invite you to live out and share some examples as well!!

For inspiration, here's Hozier singing the song that inspired this idea! 



Happy falling in love, friends!!
Hugs, smiles, and love!!
Autism Answers with Tsara Shelton (Facebook)
 

Autism Answer: A Story About Getting Dressed (aka Hippie Jeans)

I haven't really bought myself clothes since I was seventeen. Everything I've worn since then was given to me by friends, family, and neighbors who were cleaning out their closets. 

I love this! I'm recycling, re-purposing, and, well, not spending any money! But most of the people who always shared their used clothes with me have moved away and for the last few years I've been wearing what little clothes I still had from long ago. This is fine, I don't mind big holes in my jeans and threadbare see-through shirts. However, there are times when I get hired to work on advertising photo shoots and I need decent clothes to wear on set, so I made a fun New Year's resolution. "In 2016 I will buy myself one new article of clothing every other month."

So, last month I went to purchase myself a pair of pants and was met with an unforeseen issue. I had no idea what kind of pants I wanted! Everything I've been wearing for so long was from other people, people who had their own styles and fashion sense, and my style became wearing other people's clothes my way. I hadn't really taken time to know what I wanted to wear, only how to wear and like what people gave me.

Finally I settled on an affordable pair of jeans that I liked. I really liked them, actually. So I got excited and ran into my youngest son's room to tell him about my jean-buying adventure.

After laughing about me not knowing what I wanted to buy and then learning that I had  finally discovered a pair of pants that I liked, he asked simply: "Were they hippie jeans?"

I thought about it for a second. "Ya, I guess they are. They do look like hippie jeans."

"Well, I could have told you that. That's your style."

I think that's pretty fabulous!
Peace and love and all that delicious jazz!!

Sometimes we are who we are because we have to be. Sometimes our style is something we discover based on necessity. That doesn't make it not our style; indeed, my style is deeply authentically truly organically about happily working with what I'm easily offered. Yet, given the chance to know who I am when in the position to choose from everything, if everything is easily offered, I find myself sometimes heading in new directions. 

This is a lovely and important gift to give ourselves! Knowing what our style is when we are absolutely able to choose accessories and outfits and environments from every single possibility gives us a clear vision of who we are and what we want. 

And I can tell you with absolute certainty that every single time I've had a clear vision of what I want, I've gotten it! With a clear idea of the fashion I want for my life I make shifts; I accessorize differently, make purposeful connections, and face new directions. And then, once again, I choose happiness in working with what I'm easily offered. Yet, because I know clearly the style I'm interested in, I'm easily offered the accessories and opportunities that match! 

When I'm confused, though, or when I'm unsure, as I was at the beginning of my pants buying adventure, my son gave me a lovely and important reminder. Ask the people close to me. Ask my trusted friends and family what style they imagine I am. Often they will have a clarity that I might be lacking. Also, too, they may be seeing something that I don't see about me, and I may want to change it. 

Either way, their idea of my style will be enlightening and interesting. So, I'll ask!

It's obvious to me now why my son would know me as someone who'd want hippie jeans. After all, when people cleaned out their closets and gave me clothes I happily accepted them with a "recycling, re-purposing, community-minded used and shared" attitude, rather than a "poor me, how embarrassing" one. 

Besides, peace and love and freedom, man. That's so me!

When we get dressed, friends, whether it's the clothes or attitudes or careers we're choosing to wear, let's always keep in touch with our personal style. 

Sure, our styles will change sometimes, and that's freaking awesome, but let's always make sure we're the one choosing our style. Not because we want to fit in or be cool, but because we want to express and celebrate who we are!

Getting dressed offers us some surprising opportunities.
Now, excuse me while I put on my hippie jeans! 

Hugs, smiles, peace, and love!!!!
Autism Answer with Tsara Shelton (Facebook) 

Barefoot, books, and coffee, outside in my hippie jeans!