T.M. Haddock's Blog, page 3

How to Ruin a Good Thing (A Revealed Short)

I have a sneaking suspicion that this short story will not only provide a bit of clarity from another POV, but it will also assist greatly in anticipation of Book II: Atonement. With that in mind, make sure to leave a comment and let me know what you think (and what unanswered questions you might have…you just may see them answered in print). ENJOY!

~T.M.

He was out of his mind with both lust, and a rage so pronounced that his body almost couldn’t register what she was doing between his staggered legs.

Almost.

Tongue swirling over him as if
belonging in the mouth of a contortionist, his anger briefly gave way as one of
his knees buckled slightly under the sensation.

“Mmm,” she moaned salaciously,
feeling the shift in his weighted stance that she knew was caused by her expert
ministrations.

Where had she learned that?

He was prepared in that moment to
yank her to her feet to find out.  They
had never even—

“Shit!” He interrupted his own train of thought as he felt himself bobbing vigorously against her uvula when she grasped his muscled buttocks for leverage.  When she laughed at him, causing the tiny membrane to dance across his engorged flesh, he nearly embarrassed himself right then and there.

“Come here,” he growled as he
pulled her up from her knees and bent her across the back of the chaise that
sat in front of the open bay windows. 
Grabbing the foil wrapper from the cushion, he sheathed himself before
plunging excruciatingly deep.

“Uggghhh,” she moaned her pleasured
response.

No.

He shook the sound from his head,
but never slowed his pace.  He didn’t
want to hear, he only wanted to feel.

No.

That wasn’t true.  He didn’t want to feel either, but he
couldn’t stop.  He was angry.  He was in love. He was conflicted. He wanted
to punish.

“You feel so good,” she purred as
she rode wave after wave of the friction he caused with each thrusting
impression.

Shh!

He almost told her to shut up.  He needed to concentrate on the rhythm…the
stroke…her hazel eyes…those bouncing curls.

Ah, yeah.  There she was.  He could smell her unique scent.  He could taste her sweetness.  He could feel her like he’d never felt her
before.

His first love. 

His only love.

“Baby, I’m so close,” she pushed
back against his driving thrust and rolled her hips like a pro.

 Wait.

That wasn’t right.  She didn’t know how—

“You’re too…I can’t…” she sounded
as if she were speaking through gritted teeth.

He knew that if he slowed down it
would quiet her.  He wanted her to be
quiet.  He needed her to be quiet. 

Squeezing his eyes tightly closed,
he gripped her shapely hips and slow-dragged in a sawing motion.  The hypnotic back and forth propulsion had
the desired effect.  His every advance
was received like a warm embrace.  He
could feel the moisture starting to pool in the corners of his eyes.  It had taken a long time, but he could
finally see his future.  She was everything
he had ever wanted, and she wanted him too. 
The muscles that suddenly gripped him tightly told him so.

“Aaahh…” the spasm that shot up his
spine was white hot and rendered his senses completely useless.

“RUSSELL!”

“GAGE!”

They screamed at the same time.

Then it was quiet. 

Deadly quiet.

Slumped over her on the chaise, it
took him several long moments to catch his breath and gain his bearings.  Realizing that he was probably crushing her,
he sat up, quickly pulling her with him.

“Don’t touch me!” she shrieked furiously.

“What’s wrong? What did I do?” but when she turned to face him, he
immediately knew.

“You said her name! I can’t believe you thought you were fu—” she lunged
forward in an attempt to slap him, but he caught her wrist before she could deliver
the vicious blow.

“Hey, just calm down Celeste, it’s not what you think,” Russell tried to
rationalize to both her and to himself.

“So you weren’t just fanaticizing about having sex with your fiancé while
you were buried inside of me?” she spat angrily and snatched away from him.

“I…I…” he scrubbed his hands down his face in disbelief, anger and shame.

Russell hadn’t meant to start sleeping with Gage’s friend.  He’d been deeply hurt when she’d decided that
globetrotting all over Europe was more important than being with him.  They’d built a solid relationship that he’d
been ecstatic about making permanent once she graduated.  Gage apparently had had other ideas; ideas
that did not include him.

Celeste had been something of an ego boost when he’d been at his
lowest.  She’d reminded him that Gage’s
sabbatical from the relationship was only temporary and that she was definitely
lucky to have a man like him, whether she realized it or not.  Along with her encouraging words, she’d been
an available ear when he’d felt like ranting and a fast friend that invited him
out for coffee or a matinee when he was down.

After a while, down became manageable and manageable eventually became better.  Through it all, Celeste had been along for
the ride, reminding him that he’d deserved to be happy.  She told him quite boldly one evening after a
Marvel flick that pining would not make him happy, but she could.

And like a fool, he had believed her.

Russell had been sleeping with Celeste for months before he’d found out
what Gage had been up to in France. 

Sure that she’d sexed the other woman out of his system, Celeste was
sitting astride him one night when she’d brashly shown him an article on her
phone about some random rich guy and his dating habits.  Not thinking much of it, Russell had been
prepared to toss the phone across the room and enact round two of their sweaty
lovemaking just as she caught his
eye.  Seeing Gage in the other man’s arms
had effectively ruined any chance of him getting off again.

For weeks, Russell had been unable to understand how she hadn’t wanted to
be with him, yet had taken up with some random foreigner in less time than it
took the moon to complete a lunar phase. 
The reality broke him, but it also maddened him.  Full of pain, hubris and guile, he set out to
get his girlfriend back; but this time, on his terms.

“I’m sorry Celeste,” he mumbled as he discarded the latex and reached for
his floor-strewn boxers.

“You are sorry, you know that?” she snapped. “Must I remind you that Gage
basically told you to kiss her ass in front of the whole world?”

“And must I remind you to keep her name out of your mouth.  I told you that I still loved her.  I told you that I was going to try to get her
back.  I told you that I was going to
marry her.  I never lied to you; you knew
what this was,” Russell could feel himself getting angry over her vindictive
reminder.

“Right. You are just lying to her,”
she tossed as she bent to pick up her own panties from the floor, brushing her
lush ass against his groin as she did.

“Same time tomorrow?” she expressed deadpanned once she’d donned her
underwear and climbed into the rest of her clothing.  Snaking her arms around his neck, she kissed
him squarely on his full mouth.

“Hmph,” he affirmed in spite of himself.

“I hate you, you know,” she grabbed his crotch before collecting her
purse from the nearby nightstand and sauntering away.

“I hate me too,” Russell said to himself as he caught the gentle breeze from the open windows.  Casting his almond eyes over the void of the dark night, he sighed in defeat.

The hidden camera in the dense brush several feet away however, continued to document his every move…

Hearing & Listening

Have you ever been in a conversation with someone who was a
masterful storyteller, yet took the longest route imaginable to reach his or
her conclusion?  Were you so enthralled
that you listened intently throughout each ebb and flow, or did you slowly
checkout; temporarily registering consciousness at a seemingly pivotal
point?  Did you listen, hoping to
interject with clarifying questions? Or, at what point were you simply hoping
that it would soon be your turn?

I think it is safe to say that listening is a specialized
skill because it requires the removal of self-interest in order to be able to
receive a message from others in an unfiltered and unbiased way.  Additionally, it has become such a refined
ability because amid the noise of life, personal welfares and agendas, far too
many people continue to confuse and interchange the words listening and hearing as
if noting sonance and deciphering sound was the same thing.

Many of us hear our bosses, friends, significant others and
even children on a daily basis, but we aren’t really listening to them.  We know this to be true because in the midst
of their discourse, instead of immersing ourselves in their words for the sake
of context and meaning, we’ve usually already prepared a response or rebuttal
before they’ve even finished speaking. 

And while distances and Diasporas have been successfully bridged with the advent of advanced telecommunicating tech like mobile phone applications and video chatting, on some unexpected level, doesn’t the immediacy and impersonality of such technology seem to take away the inherent and organic nature of listening; gleaning from a conversation based on hearing the other person’s tone, vocal inflections or inarticulate utterances?

Which begs the question, if we never take the time to intently and authentically listen, how then can we claim to be knowledgeable about the things and the people with whom we engage?

Two Truths & A Lie

Have you ever met someone who was so intriguing, so outrageous and/or so impenitent that you weren’t quite sure how they could actually exist?  As an author, I am often asked how real my characters are, or if they are all just figments of my ever rampant imagination.

Well, I did have the pleasure of meeting one such captivating and amazing woman, who for the sake of this post we will call Raven.  She was of a certain age, defiantly single, apathetically well heeled, maternal though not quite motherly and determined to live life by her own rules.

She often spoke to me about excursions to New Delhi and sailing along the Seychelles, liaisons with people so renowned that I would never guess them in a million lifetimes and lovers who professed their devotion to her after years of not having set eyes on her countenance.

She’d worked for people who did not have the best interests of those whom looked like her at heart, and she consulted individuals who found it easier to throw cash at problems than rightly address them.

Raven was well accomplished; a king maker and a powerbroker.  She told people what they didn’t want to hear while daring others to do the same to her.  She was complex but easygoing, quite durable yet minutely fractured and fragile.

I asked her one day, with all that she had accomplished in life, what more could she want?

Everything, she told me unflinchingly.

But how? I wondered silently, only for Raven to answer my unspoken question with a hint of knowing in her brilliant smile.

I am all that I want to be and nothing I don’t.

I forgive myself daily, not ever excusing my bad behavior.

I relinquish control of the uncontrollable.

I don’t apologize for my best if it’s all I have to give.

I love with abandon, but never to abandonment.

The events of my life begin and end with my permission.

Only my pen can craft my story, my ink is the positive Type B.

Raven perplexed me.  Raven provoked me.  Raven inspired me.

I knew her.  I’ve known her.  She is indeed real.

The Thanks You Give

In assessment and overview of the recent macro-climate in the world over the past 365 days (give or take), Oxford Dictionary has recently named “Toxic” as its Word of The Year. Though not surprising, what with the literal and metaphoric rise in poisonous political demagoguery, malevolent attitudes toward migrants and the latest patriarchal reckoning that has come about due to the #MeToo Movement, this rather bleak outlook would have one to believe that throwing the whole year away or at least getting through the next five weeks unscathed would be the most viable solution for the repugnance that has been described as 2018.

But to say that this year has only been mercilessly debauched would be a slightly inaccurate appraisal. I mean, the world was blessed with technologically savvy and intellectually shrewd representation from Wakanda, the holy matrimony of Ginger and Cinnamon British Royalty and (most of the) G7 leaders agreeing to work together to embrace environmental protections, gender equity and the defense of democracies currently being undermined by destabilizing entities. Not only that, but for those of us with breath in our lungs, we have been given another opportunity to live a little bit of a better life than we attempted yesterday.

So while we can certainly agree that this year has left a lot to be desired, let us also be grateful that 2018 has become a benchmark from which to measure our comparative growth against this time next November and hopefully our political, social and financial ascensions in years to come.

Atonement

I think it is safe to say that we all understand–at least on a basic level–that absence makes the heart grow fonder, but are also very conscious of the fact that it is easier than one may think for things that are out of sight to eventually become out of mind.

It is because of this awareness that I am giving you, my loyal followers and readers, the very first sneak peek into Revealed Book Two: Atonement.

For those wanting to follow along, but are finding themselves trying to piece together the order of events, head on over to the SHOP tab to purchase Revealed Book One to get caught up! For everyone else, make sure that you comment on the excerpt and ask loads of questions.

We are shooting for an April 2019 release date, and who’s to say that your valuable input won’t help to enrich the fictional lives of Martin, Gage and the gang?

Happy Reading!

~T.M.

***

     “Gage, I cannot believe you still aren’t over that. I mean sure, it sounded like Martin Toussaint put you through hell back then, but at the end of the day, you had a far more candid insight into the business than any of the other interns. You were on the ground floor when it came to the brokering of deals and the establishment of business relationships. The rest of us spent the semester case-studying ourselves to death,” Leigha said, flipping her hair over her shoulder the way she always did when she indirectly dismissed someone’s unsubstantiated complaints.

     Although Leigha had met the man, she had no idea just how tortuous Martin Toussaint’s attentions had been for Gage.

     Just then, all conversation was sidelined as a band of wait staff approached the pair, encircling their table with a trio of dome-lidded serving trays. Lowering the platters expertly at each place setting, the lids were lifted to reveal the sumptuous fare. Leigha had ordered grilled cognac prawns in beurre blanc sauce with saffron rice, lightly seasoned cauliflower and a remoulade dressing on the side, while Gage’s taste buds had insisted on the slow cooked sesame duckling filet in orange sauce with basil steamed vegetables and whipped sweet potatoes. The final salver boasted an aromatic boeuf bourguignon in a spicy butter-flour reduction with pearl onions, carrots, potatoes and mushrooms with crusty bread. Gage didn’t know if it was the presentation of the appetizing cuisine or the startling recollection of whose favorite meal it was that had her unconsciously salivating.

     “Ah, it looks as though I’ve arrived just in time.”

     Upon hearing the crisp tenor of his voice, she had her answer.

     If Dominic were to find out that Martin had purposely arrived late for the externs’ welcoming dinner, he would have gut-punched his younger brother on sight. Where business was concerned, the elder sibling had always stressed the importance of punctuality. Of course, as a successful executive at the Toussaint Corporation himself, Martin had embraced not only the ideal of promptness, but also the family’s staunch standard when it came to fierce negotiations, lucrative acquisitions and aggressive deal closings. The fact that he hadn’t given two damns about any of that with the prospect looming over him of seeing Gage again was truly a staggering revelation.

     And not because he still wanted her.  

     It was quite the opposite, he kept telling himself. He’d had four years to get over her latent disregard, but anytime he thought about her callousness, her stanch dismissal of their situation, it made him angry. She was lucky that the business could really utilize her skills. Why he had acquiesced to Mateo’s request was not something he was willing to explore presently, but as it were, all Gage would get from him henceforth would be flippant indifference.

     “Mr. Toussaint, it is certainly good to see you again, although I must admit that we were expecting your brother!” Leigha chirped in surprise.

     “Dominic was unfortunately called away on business, but hopefully I will prove myself to be a suitable stand in,” Martin grinned charmingly at the giggling woman as he made his way around the table to shake her hand and kiss her cheek. Nearing Gage next, he leaned in low before she could mimic Leigha in standing to greet him.

     “Cela fait trop longtemps.”

     It has been far too long, Martin murmured in her ear, positioned so close that Gage was caught in a perpetual squat between his looming figure and the chair she had been trying to rise from. His minty breath swirled as he spoke, caressing the exposed column and nape of her neck like an emboldened scribe.

     “Good evening Mr. Toussaint,” Gage exhaled the whispered hiss as she fought to keep her eyes from drifting closed at the shocking sensation his warm breath immediately triggered.

     When Martin made no attempt to move along, Gage turned her head, only to meet his cold, gray stare. Still crouched uncomfortably below his towering stature, her chair scraped the floor loudly as she was forced to stand to her full height and extend her hand, lest they remain stalemated all night. Ignoring the initiation of her proffered handshake, Martin simply kissed Gage’s cheek before moving to his own seat. Politely waiting for the pair to descend back into their chairs, Martin unhurriedly observed the table’s immaculate setting and the lovely contrast between his dinner companions before finally taking his seat. If the furtive glances and subtle attention being paid to their section of the dining room were any indication, then these two women had obviously picked up right where they’d left off in turning heads since arriving back in Aix.

     Not that he cared.  

     “So, are you able to disclose the nature of business that kept Mr. Toussaint from meeting with us this evening?” Gage interrupted Martin’s distracted train of thought, as she speared a tender piece of meat on her plate before popping the morsel into her mouth.

     “Miss Taylor Weston, after working together so intently nearly four years ago, has still not enough time passed for you, that you’d find my presence here tonight less favorable than that of my brother’s?” Martin queried with a completely disingenuous smile on his face.

     Gage’s slick response was spoiled by a choking cough that had her immediately reaching for her glass of wine, while her best friend patted her back sympathetically through an unrestrained chuckle.

     “Oh my goodness, Mr. Toussaint! I was just having this conversation with Gage before you arrived. I can’t believe that she still isn’t over you alls relationship,” Leigha reflected amusedly.

     “What?” Gage squawked in disbelieving panic.

     “Well, you aren’t. The fact that you are still holding your internship demotion against this man is ridiculous. To this day, I am still envious of the hands-on learning you received while the rest of us interns participated in a bunch of groupthink exercises,” Leigha stated, believing herself to finally be bringing a resolution to the matter.

     “You are right Miss Hinton; she did receive quite a lot of hands-on experience,” Martin confirmed straight-faced as he scooped the delicious stew up and into his awaiting mouth.

     Where was a vial of hemlock when a girl needed it, Gage thought to herself as she tried not to envision first poisoning her loud ass friend and then her smug… whatever Martin was to her now. Taking the time to regain her composure, Gage sipped a bit more wine than was customary during a business dinner before replying.

     “You’ve both brought up some very good points that I would be more than happy to address,” Gage spoke in the exasperatingly measured way that she’d mastered during her Civil Litigation courses. “Firstly Mr. Toussaint, I was only curious about your brother’s whereabouts in relation to the nature of work we’d be embarking on during our externship. If that information is in fact unrelated to our job functions, then please forgive my curiosity.”

     Pausing for effect, Gage bestowed Martin with the same fake smirk he’d just lobbed her way before continuing on to her meddlesome friend, “And Leigha, despite your beliefs on the matter, I assure you that everything between Mr. Toussaint and myself is not only forgiven but long forgotten. Now, if all hearts and minds are clear, I’d love to hear more about what we can expect to be working on in the coming days.”

     Her best friend’s “my-bad-sis” face had Gage nearly snickering, if not for the storming over of Martin’s already frosty gaze. In truth, she’d long ago become accustomed to his furious looks, but this one was especially lethal in its intensity.

     So be it, Gage thought. She knew good and well that things were far from resolved between the two of them, but better to proceed with no illusions of consorting at all than to leave things open to interpretation. Besides, four years was a long time to hold a grudge, and she wasn’t the same silly girl who’d lost herself twice over in the pursuit of a man for whom she was obviously not enough.

     “Business it is,” Martin responded dryly, his uncanny ability to read her like a book still potent.

We Hold These Truths

We Hold These Truths.

Repeat that phrase.

Again.

Like the evocative words that Thomas Jefferson’s Declaration of Independence championed (if you can overlook the overt fact that those same words weren’t drafted to include people who either looked like me or had my lady parts), there are just some things in our lives that are simply, and undeniably true. And it is because of that truth that we cannot sit idly by, while allowing ourselves to be swallowed whole by the lies of others, or even those of our own making.

After visiting a specialist a few weeks ago due to some health concerns, I was shown an x-ray of myself before being asked if I’d been in a recent automobile accident. Responding bemusedly that I had not, the specialist went on to explain that if not an accident, then the stress that I had been carrying had manifested itself physically; to the point that my x-rays resembled those of a whiplash sufferer.

It took several weeks and multiple treatments to get my proverbial equilibrium fully adjusted, but it has taken much longer to truly assess the purported stress that was shown to have been literally weighing me down. The more time I took to sit quietly and introspectively, the more I was able to identify areas in my life where stress was indeed staking a claim. Assessing those situations even more stringently, and I could pinpoint a single denominator common to every situation: untruth.

Whether lies I told myself to get through the day (“It’ll be all right”) or lies I knowingly let other people tell me (“We have to stick together…I’m here for you”), I realized that over time, I harbored those misstatements and even allowed them to become a part of who I was. And sadly, in so doing, I took on not only the fallacy of those words, but the intent behind them. I became responsible for their duplicity and the perpetuation of their harm. Those lies became a denseness; like a misty fog that didn’t quite saturated my clothing, but that dampened my skin just enough to be truly uncomfortable.

And it was in that perpetual discomfort that I had to decide to be dry. To be renewed. To be light.

I came to realize that I actually was accountable for any falsehood allowed to reside in my presence, and that that was no longer a responsibility I was willing to own. I stopped pursuing the best that I wanted from people, and instead began to see them for who they were. My conversations (and who I engaged in them with) started to change. I uncovered a lie whenever I heard one and asked for forgiveness when I told one.

I have come to accept more firmly than I ever have before that there is far too much truth in life to allow lies to inhibit the quality of that life. Because ultimately, combating lies for the sake of the truth is not only right, but self-evident.

Get Out

 

It’s a timeless tale.

You Meet.

You Engage.

You Toil.

You Diverge.

You Fallout.

You Disconnect.

Oftentimes as humans, when we find ourselves at our wits end from either a personal or professional association, we begin to look for signs and clues to indicate where things could have gone wrong and further, to warrant or justify our desire to transition. But the fact of the matter is that those indicators have typically been there in plain view all the time, we’ve just been too absorbed or distracted to notice.

Of those indicators, there are usually three telltale signs to hone in on that will alert us (well in advance) to the toxic tendencies of those whom we find ourselves in relationship with who see us as valuable so long as it benefits them.

Lure, woo and observe

This set of moves is usually the person’s attempt to engage us while also assessing the things about us that they can use to their advantage later. With this behavior, we typically experience flattery of epic and unreasonable proportions for the situation. We’re also made to feel as if our connection was the long-lost piece of their intricate puzzle.

Shame, Intimidate and Discredit

As time goes on, a disagreement will ultimately test the limits that we’ve established within this relationship. After attempting to reinforce our boundaries, we may find that we’ve been painted as over-reactors or worse, are made to feel as if our concerns are not only not valid, but not important enough to warrant addressing.

Reject and Dismiss

At this point, with a line drawn in the sand, our outspokenness (and hence our usefulness) has been determined outlived. Because we have our own mind and are not easily swayed by the things that we cannot abide by, we are seen as dissidents and are therefore easily ignored and scorned.

While this apparent 180-degree shift in behavior of someone we might love or respect may be profoundly hurtful, what it should confirm is that our sense of self and whom it is that we embody is worthy of respect. Identifying these deficiencies and eliminating them from our lives is what makes us powerful and deserving of connections built on trust, equity and purpose, not manipulation, usury and mistreatment.

 

Shooting My Shot

As I confirmed the hour-long appointment with my technician to have one of my car tires replaced yesterday, I contemplated what I would do to pass those minutes, since I was certain that sitting in the repair shop was not on my list of effectual time usage. Realizing that I would be within walking distance of my local mall, I considered a bit of retail therapy until a better, more apropos idea came to mind.

Having just recently restocked the inventory for Revealed, I could not help but to explore what other marketing strategies I could implement in order to gain greater exposure for my debut novel. On a whim, I Googled “How to Sell an Indie Book at Barnes & Noble” and was stunned (if the pages upon pages of results were any indicator) to find that my search was not a random or isolated one. Selecting a blog link outlining how fellow independent author Brendan Leonard took book-marketing matters into his own hands, I literally hissed with laughter at how he visited random B&N brick and mortars across the country to reverse-shoplift his book onto shelves!

Granted, for as ingenious as this idea was and a page clearly taken from the Russell Simmons/Curtis Blow Fake It ‘Till You Make It Handbook, there were several issued here that would be definitely insurmountable for little ole’ indie me:

What you should know about me is that I am a bean counter by trade and a coin counter by nature. If I went the Brendan route, I would essentially be committing to giving some product away. Not that it couldn’t be chalked up to marketing cost, but would I really be willing to part with one of my books with no guarantee that it would even be selected (or if discovered as a bookshelf interloper, tossed)?
How could I ensure the final resting place of my book? Sheesh, just the thought of giving away one of my babies without the certainty of her final home still has me completely triggered.
If said baby happened to get sold, how would B&N be able to reconcile the revenue (since clearly, I’m not an author in their database)? Would they even seek me out or would they blackball me as a literary menace?

The more these questions and concerns ran rampant in my mind, the more I realized that the plan was bold and audacious…and right up my alley.

Within an hour I had crafted the perfect proposal, and had stuffed a freshly minted copy of Revealed into my computer bag. En route to the repair shop, I rehearsed and edited the pitch I would woo the store manager with:

“Good afternoon. I was wondering if, as a high grossing local store of one of the biggest global bookstore chains, you’ve considered ways in which to maintain a competitive advantage in the marketplace? Yes, I’m so glad you asked! One such forward-thinking way would be by supporting local indie authors like myself. As you can see (pulls out book while maintaining eye contact) at no cost to you, you’d received inventory for the purpose of product placement to support our literary works. Not only would it grow the market of home grown authorship, but in this case, it could highlight genres like contemporary romance and women’s literature in a creative and organic way!”

With a winning smile, and my semi-glossed cover image, how could I lose?

After dropping off my car, walking across the street to Barnes & Noble, purchasing a pastry from their café (lest I be accused of soliciting or worse), I built up my nerve, wiped away the buttercream frosting from my top lip and went in search of the most managerial looking employee in the store. After a few minutes, I spotted two such individuals and observed them carefully. What ultimately ended up happening surprised even me. Instead of acting on my adrenaline and audacity, I assessed the employees, not as vehicles of opportunity, but as agents for obstacles. And the more I watched them, the more I allowed my perspectives of these individuals (one with shaggy blonde hair, terse lips and a vacant expression; the other with a protruding belly, thick bifocals and an unforgiving comb-over) to discourage me into believing that they would never be interested in my proposal or my book.

Defeated and with a sugar high to boot, I left B&N. Needing encouragement as I made my way back to the repair shop, I rang my S.O. to tell him what stupid shenanigans I had almost embroiled myself in. After listening quietly and intently, he reminded me of two important things:

I had egregiously judged and stereotyped two people in much the same way that I oftentimes vocally condemned when observed being done by others.
Accepting defeat was not a familiar characteristic that he was used to hearing from me.

It was the last thing he said however, that arrested the breathe in my lungs. He told me not to believe that there were no bad shots taken in life, because there absolutely were; namely the ones that we did not have the skill or capacity to take. With that though, he expressed that there are worse shots taken in life and those are the ones where we have the opportunity to line the ball up perfectly, yet allow the shot clock run out on us.

Suffice it to say, my shot will never expire again.

Look But Don’t Touch

For as long as there’s been engagement between the sexes, society has embraced the manifestation of a relational construct where men have been established as the stronger and more dominant sex to women. This ideology has even paved the way for women to be viewed as fairer (re: weaker), less intelligent and to a degree, not as capable as their male counterparts. With this viewpoint and the further masculine interpretations of resounding religious and legal doctrine, is it any wonder that for centuries, women have struggled to exert their voices, find a place of equality or even preserve the rights to their own bodies?

But even with suffragist and feminist movements over the years, and as social climate and culture have finally begun to reflect the accurate and important contributions of women, we still see by and large that females continue to experience issues ranging from inequity in pay and access to care to egregious acts of physical violence and sexual assaults (that in many cases go unreported or cause is attributed in-part to the victim).

As recently as last month outside of a Parisian café, an exchange between a woman and man was captured on surveillance where, after some heated words, the woman was physically assaulted. In the face of widespread condemnation and a global outcry, French authorities soon enacted legislation that outlawed sexual harassment on the streets and in public transportation. When enforced, the penalty for those who catcall or otherwise harass women will be an immediate fine of up to 750 euros.

Now, while it is certainly interesting to witness the immediacy of a governmental response like this in support of the right of women to essentially exist in public spaces, one does wonder if a law like this will truly be a deterrent for (some) men who have always felt entitled where women have been concerned. Further, before the blanket establishment of a law like this, it would be good to know if anyone had even considered addressing the (aforementioned) root of this cancer as opposed to simply the symptoms of the disease?

Nevertheless, as a woman grateful to know that there are lawmakers willing to acknowledge and remedy their failings in the protection of women, I suppose we (re: they) must begin somewhere.

Random Acts of Kindness

I watched a news feature this morning that highlighted a Milwaukee Public Transit Bus Driver who regularly left his post to assist a blind patron in crossing a busy street laden with detours and construction barriers to his destination.

Keep in mind that this act occurred despite the fact that the driver himself had a bus full of other passengers, that he consciously risked the delay of his own route and that he was essentially blocking two-way traffic on said busy street.

But even in the face of being reported (or terminated) for breaking city protocols in order to do the right thing, it is this kind of selflessness that gives me hope that despite what seem like the regular horrors and egregious acts against humanity that we see everyday, there are individuals who have committed in their hearts to lead a life that though may not necessarily enact some great ideological or global shift, can still reflect a modicum of goodness that can be passed on to others. And it is those small kernels of hope that can eventually bloom into vast outpourings of thoughtfulness for one another locally and abroad.

From picking up an errant piece of litter on your neighbor’s lawn, holding open a door for someone with an arm full of parcels or extending the right of way to another vehicle on the highway…

What altruistic deed can you commit to executing this week?