K.E. Garland's Blog, page 12

Monday Notes: Bravery and Truth Telling

“I think it’s brave of you to write this kind of book,” he said.

“A lot of people have said that, and I really want to explore it. It seems everyone thinks I’m brave for telling the truth.”

“Well,” he explained, “I think it’s brave of you to go out on a limb to tell the truth and trust that people will understand why.”

“Isn’t that what faith is?” I asked.

This was a partial conversation I had with a former deacon about In Search of a Salve. It illustrates the topic of conversation I’ve had with many people. The sentiment began months before public consumption, with one of the first ARC reviews:

Recounting your worst mistakes is often called ‘brave’ by those who wouldn’t dream of exposing such truths, but Garland isn’t doing this for approval.

She knew. The author of a book about porn addiction knew that people would say I was “brave,” because she’d already been there…done that. Her review was a forewarning for the reader and me. She tried to caution buyers about the use of the word; she tried to warn me about what was to come. But still, I wasn’t prepared.

Five days prior to release, I wrote the following in my notes:

 If one more person calls me brave, I’m going to scream. I’m brave because I told the truth. Telling the unadulterated truth is brave.

Once the masses read the contents, the idea of bravery reverberated everywhere. One reviewer said that it was “raw, brave, and powerful.” Another reviewer echoed the deacon’s conversation and said, “It takes incredible trust and faith to lay bare your struggles for the world to see and judge in the hopes they will help someone else out of the same darkness and despair.”

I don’t want to minimize the contents or what it took for me to divulge vulnerable moments, emotions, and thoughts. I recognize that Salve is a lot of truth. Most people wouldn’t share chapter one’s contents, much less the recesses of addiction buried in part three. I understand Salve is truth on steroids. This level of honesty is not “normal.” I get this.

But what I struggle with is the paradox of truth telling.

Everyone wants others to be truthful with them, but rarely does one want to offer the truth to others. In fact, sometimes, we do the opposite; we condone and perpetuate lying. We think we’re protecting people from our words and thoughts. We even have categories of lies we deem “okay.” For example, psychologists say a white lie is fine, and they’ve shown how it is a behavior we naturally learn in childhood. Thus, white lies have not only become socially acceptable, but they are also developed and expected. It is normal to tell a white lie to spare someone’s feelings.

But even an abundance of these types of lies can be harmful. The same NPR article warns about lying too much and advises shifting your attention away from shame and focusing more on your values to avoid this behavior. I’d suggest the same process for telling major lies. Knowing your values is integral. If you’re clear about personal morals, then it is easier to share from a space of truth. This is how I was able to demonstrate the so-called bravery everyone is discussing. At some point, I decided to be as authentic as possible with everyone in every space. At some point, I decided it was more important to tell the truth than to lie.

That is not to say I tell the truth 100% of the time. After all, I battle being a human being who was conditioned in this society, and the occasional white lie slips from my lips. But when it comes to major things that I suspect will impact meaningful relationships? I tell the truth. And to be honest, I want others in my life to do the same.

I know that truth telling is hard. But it shouldn’t be brave to do so. It should be an expected part of our culture and of loving relationships. But to do so, it must begin with us. Tell someone the truth today. Trust me, they can handle it.

Monday Notes: Bravery and Truth TellingMonday Notes: 3 Types of People From Whom I Take AdviceMonday Notes: “Family Ties” Essay on Midnight & IndigoMonday Notes: TodayOther People’s Quotes: Xmas Edition

Monday Notes: 3 Types of People From Whom I Take Advice

I don’t like unsolicited advice. My close friends and family know this. I don’t feel bad about not listening or taking someone’s advice, especially if I didn’t ask for it. But there are times when I seek advice, and when I do, it’s from three specific types of people.

#1: A person who has done what I’m trying to do.

When I was in graduate school, I sought advice from those who were further along in their doc programs. For example, I had a colleague named Jenn. Jenn was two years ahead of me. I read Jenn’s dissertation, so I would know what scholarly writing looked and sounded like. She was able to tell me about her first job, which didn’t pay well, stressed her out, and was riddled with racist antics (even though she is white). Jenn also sent me calls for proposals for publications and presentations, and when I was wavering about leaving the research institution, she listened to me with an ear of understanding. I trusted Jenn’s opinion, because Jenn had been where I was, and she understood what I was going through. Though I had colleagues who were in a similar phase as I was, their “suggestions” were oftentimes opinions wrapped in gripes and venting sessions. Jenn’s advice, however, was valuable and solution oriented, so I listened.

#2: A person who has explicitly demonstrated love and care for my wellbeing.

When I found my biological mother’s side of the family in the early aughts, I learned that there were friends and family who didn’t know how to respond. Some friends were dismissive, as if finding family isn’t a life-altering event, and some family members were seemingly insecure and only concerned with their own uncomfortable feelings, thus their advice wasn’t about me; it was about them. A decade later, I mistakenly found my biological father via ancestry.com. With this newfound person, came an overwhelming flood of emotions. As a result, when I began speaking with my biological father and siblings, I only shared details with a few family members, like my husband, daughters, and goddaughter. Similarly, only a few friends were privy to other intimate parts. Thus, when I needed advice about how to proceed in relationship with this part of my family, I only sought advice from these folks, because they’d demonstrated their advice wasn’t self-serving.

#3: A person who is confident in their identity.

Imposter syndrome is when you feel as if you’re fraudulent in your position, even if you possess the characteristics required to be in said position and have proven to be high-achieving and successful. Having imposter syndrome is common, so this is not a judgment about feeling like an imposter. What I’m suggesting is that, even if a person has achieved what you want, you cannot always trust their advice (if they have imposter syndrome), because it will sometimes be steeped in perceived failure. They believe you’re going to make the same so-called errors they did, so they advise you to do otherwise or to avoid the journey altogether. For example, someone told me that reading my own audiobook was a bad idea. “It’s too much work,” they said. “Don’t do it.” I almost took their advice, but upon further thought, I decided I’d rather find out myself. Maybe my experience would differ from theirs, especially because I had guidance from someone who’d created audiobooks. And guess what? It was. I took my time and had the audio mixed and mastered. From what I’ve heard, the audiobook sounds good and added a layer to the story that otherwise wouldn’t have existed.

So, what say you? From whom do you take advice? Whom do you allow to guide you?

Monday Notes: 3 Types of People From Whom I Take AdviceMonday Notes: “Family Ties” Essay on Midnight & IndigoMonday Notes: TodayOther People’s Quotes: Xmas EditionOther People’s Quotes: Xmas Edition

Monday Notes: “Family Ties” Essay on Midnight & Indigo

To date, I believe this to be one of the top 3 essays I’ve written.

I like to practice different writing styles, and this one is called a braided or woven essay. A braided essay is where you take two seemingly dissimilar topics and weave them together into one. In this case, I describe the physical and psychological strength my adoptive mother required to live with a terminal illness with the physical and psychological strength her great grandmother must have required to live as an enslaved woman. Furthermore, it is layered with sociocultural implications, like how Black American descendants of enslaved people sometimes don’t have recorded history.

I hope you enjoy Family Ties on Midnight & Indigo. Link here as well.

Monday Notes: Today

All you have is today.

Let that sink in.

I don’t want these words to sound like perfectly packaged clichéd mantras. This is not a Just do it! Nike commercial created for you to swipe a card, or a YOLO-inspired song touted to youth to foolishly live in the moment of drugs, sex, and rock-and-roll.

No. This is not that.

This is me exerting my privilege. I have had the honor to interact with quite a few people in life. I’ve had time and have chosen to hold lengthy conversations to understand others’ lives. I sleep over their homes and observe their traits. Many look the same, like hamsters on wheels:

wake upcheck phonewash upgo workorder dinnerbinge seriesgo to sleep

It fascinates me that we’re whirling about on a wondrous rock with free will, yet we’ve regulated our lives to a bulleted list like the one above or maybe a special one unique to ourselves. Replace order dinner with make dinner or binge TV with scroll socials. I don’t want to split the hairs of our individual lives. I just want to remind you that no matter your ritual or routine, you only have today. Should you spend it stuck on a racetrack, running round and round, no ribbon in sight to even signal if it’s over or if you’ve won?

I hear the question. “But what should we be doing?” you might ask.

The answer lies within you. The answer is as far as your imagination wanders. One blogger friend plays her guitar on Insight Timer. From what I can tell, this brings her joy and others healing. Another blogger friend has spoken about beginning a free library in his neighborhood. Wouldn’t that be fun? There’s someone else I’ve read who is working on her novel with a writing group. Still, another blogger walks around taking photos in the city and shares them with his readers.

The answers are in the space between the bullet points.

“But KG,” I hear you saying, “I don’t have the time.”

To that I say, think again. It’s probably not true. The answer is found in replacing one of the bullet points. Sure, you must sleep, but you don’t have to scroll. You must bathe, but you don’t have to binge.

If you’d remember that all you have is today, then maybe you’d live your life a little differently. Maybe, you’d make each moment count.

Monday Notes: TodayOther People’s Quotes: Xmas EditionOther People’s Quotes: Xmas EditionOther People’s Quotes: Xmas EditionMonday Notes: Why I Threw Myself a Book Release Brunch

Other People’s Quotes: Xmas Edition

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Other People’s Quotes: Xmas Edition

Other People’s Quotes: Xmas Edition

Monday Notes: Why I Threw Myself a Book Release Brunch

I threw myself a book release brunch because I knew no one else was going to do it. I don’t mean this in a woe is me sort of fashion. I mean this in an I know who I’m dealing with kind of way. For example, my sister is very generous. She will give me money if I don’t ask for it. She will give me money if I do ask for it. But what she does not have the time or bandwidth to do is to plan a book release party. So, I didn’t ask or expect it. My husband will exert all his energy to create a milestone birthday in another country; he will plan a surprise trip for the two of us to another state. But what he may or may not do is plan a way to celebrate a major accomplishment. That’s just not who he is.

I have also surrounded myself with a lot of people who I call friends. My friends are familiar with one another but not enough to collaborate and organize an event. Furthermore, friends of mine seem to have one thing in common: they are introverts. They are not the sort of people who want to be at parties, much less plan them.

However, this project was special to me, and I knew I wanted to have an event. So, I planned one myself.

The Date: My publisher had set Tuesday, September 26, 2023, as the release date, so I went backwards from there. But even that required care. My anniversary date is September 21st, so I had to carefully balance celebrating 27 years of marriage with releasing one of the most important books I’ve written. I decided my husband and I would celebrate Friday and Saturday. The release would be on Sunday, September 24th.

The Venue: Where should I have this event? Should I rent a hall with a microphone? Should guests be served fancy dishes on white tablecloths? Nah. I decided to have it at Silkie’s Chicken and Champagne Bar. Chef Kenny Gilbert once cooked for Oprah on Thanksgiving, and she went on and on about it (as only Oprah can do). Gilbert’s restaurant was the perfect place because it is intimate, the food is good, and there’s something to be said about six degrees of separation. I mean, if Gilbert can cook a holiday meal for Oprah, who says I can’t be conjuring a conversation with the woman? Anything can literally happen, and I’m in a space of believing impossible things, so Silkie’s it was.

The Guests: I was very selective about who I invited. This was a growth move. In the past, I would’ve invited any and every person I’d ever encountered, in the spirit of promoting a book. But this wasn’t about book promotion. I invited people who fit one of the following qualifications: the person had to have positively influenced my life in the past or present, the person had to have been externally supportive of me in the past or the present, or the person had to possess an understanding of this project that transcended current culture. That’s a mouthful, I know. But it worked. I sent out 10 invites and allowed them a plus one.

The Documentation: Based on past events, I knew a photographer was mandatory. I wanted attendees to relax, to not worry about who took the best selfie or group photo, to not worry about sending photos and videos to me or one another. I wanted a professional to document this special event, so I hired the same woman who did my latest headshots. Her name is Mariia, and her work is amazing.

The Result: My sister flew in for the day, and yes, she tried to pay for everything, but quickly found out there was no need. I asked my husband to stay home because I didn’t want his presence or people’s (valid) concern about his wellbeing to overshadow the point and purpose. Fifteen people attended, including my daughters. Some guests brought my favorite celebratory drink or flowers, and one of my mentors, who couldn’t attend, had the most beautiful bird of paradise arrangement sent as a congratulations.

Throughout the years, I’ve gone back-and-forth on whether it is okay to celebrate yourself or if you should wait and expect others to do it. Here’s my final answer to date: if you want to be celebrated, it is okay to do that yourself. It can be as elaborate as a book release brunch catered by a celebrity chef, or it can be you having an appetizer and glass of Prosecco by yourself to say, “Job well done.” Either way, there is nothing wrong with taking time out to pat yourself on the back.

Monday Notes: Why I Threw Myself a Book Release BrunchIn Search of a Salve: Khaya Ronkainen’s ReviewMonday Notes: Begining/Beginning: The Memory of EmotionIn Search of a Salve: Lish’s Video ReviewIn Search of a Salve Healing Tour ’23 (Chicago Reading)

In Search of a Salve: Khaya Ronkainen’s Review

Lit eZine Vol 4 | p-23 | BOOK REVIEW | In Search of a Salve: Memoir of a Sex Addict

Please comment on Manic Sylph Writes.

Monday Notes: Begining/Beginning: The Memory of Emotion

Picture it: seventh-grade science at an academically gifted middle school that was embedded in a high school in 1985. Our science teacher was a stern, Black woman, who was notorious for “preparing students for the future.”

Students feared her.

I remember completing a major assignment that year. I’d worked all night on a task that is long forgotten. On that assignment, I had misspelled the word beginning. I’d left off an ‘n,’ the one right before that second ‘i.’

I received a 99/100.

I remember staring at the paper. I was twelve, and I’d worked very hard on an assignment that was, at the time, very important. By then, my mother had taught me that working hard and doing my best was imperative. It showed integrity. No sloppy white-out marks. No half-assed efforts. But here I was with a 99/100 because I’d misspelled beginning.

People have remarked at how great my memory must be to have written such a detailed memoir full of emotion, so I’d like to share this fun fact about me. I always remember how something made me feel, and because I wasn’t praised for sharing my feelings; oftentimes, I suppressed the emotion. Subsequently, the detailed feelings of many things were buried, stacked, and stored in my memory at the cellular level.

Thus, I don’t remember the specific assignment, but I do remember how it felt to receive 99/100. Even though a 99 is still an “A,” I remember feeling like a failure. I remember the -1 etched in blood-red ink on white notebook paper appearing larger than the 99/100 circled at the top. I remember suspecting that perfectionism was attainable, if only I knew how to spell beginning. I remember suspecting that perfectionism was unattainable because I didn’t know how to spell beginning. I remember the anger that brewed inside. And I remember giving up. Science wasn’t for me. Even though the one-point deduction had nothing to do with science, that’s what I’d determined…in the seventh grade. Not only did I never work hard in that lady’s class again, but I also never worked hard at science.

For some, this may seem like a lot. The rumination. The what ifs. The self-denigration. The resolution. The stored memory of a seemingly insignificant event. However, this is how my brain used to function. This is why I can recall how something felt decades later.

Furthermore, I was not raised with implicit or explicit lessons about feelings, emotions, or how to handle them. No one taught me that feelings weren’t (always) facts, as they say now. I wasn’t taught how to process emotions into a healthier existence, just to overthink them into an abyss of shame associated with my sense of self.

But now, I know better.

If I were to re-parent myself, a common and therapeutic practice, then I would explain the following to twelve-year-old KG: Grades are not the end all be all. Grades have nothing to do with your self-worth. That one-point deduction was related to language arts, not science. You are still good at science. And even though you didn’t know how to spell beginning, it turns out language arts was your thing—cue Alanis Morissette.

My point here is this: if someone asked me if I remember when I knew the sciences weren’t for me, I’d share this story, not because I remember seventh-grade science, but more so because I remember the emotion associated with being one point away from perceived perfection.

And that, my friends, is how I can write about memories with so much emotion.

Monday Notes: Begining/Beginning: The Memory of EmotionIn Search of a Salve: Lish’s Video ReviewIn Search of a Salve Healing Tour ’23 (Chicago Reading)In Search of a Salve: Healing Tour ’23 (Atlanta Reading)Monday Notes: How to Release People and Experiences