Nina Foxx's Blog, page 6
January 6, 2015
Finding Humor in Your Day/Not screaming about shit
Finding the humor in your day can keep you sane. I had to find humor in mine this morning. I'm now doing two-a-day workouts. That means I am splitting my gym time, separating the cardio and the weight workouts. Going to the gym before works requires a lot of extra effort if you 're a girl. That means pre-thinking what you are going to wear and giving up the time spent in your closet changing your outfit. It means you have to commit to your clothes without trying two different shirts or three different pair of shoes. It also means you can't forget anything..shampoo, conditioner, hair gel, makeup and associated brushes, jewelry...shoes...and underwear. Let's not forget that last one. I tried, at first, to get up and get things ready, but that didn't work too well. I had a day where I forgot proper bottoms, so now, I have taken to getting EVRYTHING ready the night before. This is HUGE for someone who packs for a flight an hour before they have to leave for the airport. Last night, I fixed all of my meals (Yes, I have to pack them too), packaged them, then got my clothes ready. I decided I would wear these lovely wedge heel knee high boots. They didn't quite fit in my bag, so I left the bag open and laid them across the top. All was well. This morning, as I was walking out the door, laden with my gym bag, my lunch bag, my purse, my morning-before-workout protein shake and my coffee cup, I felt a little over burdened, so I asked the minime to take my lunch and wedged my coffee mug down in the side of my bag, and prepared to enjoy our normal banter as I took her to school and the hubster walked the dog. My garage is under the house, so I headed downstairs behind my kid. On about the third step, I realized that there was a river of coffee running across my bag and cascading down the waterfall that had been my carpeted steps. My coffee had tipped over inside my bag and my boots had created the perfect creek bed of caffeine goodness. I shrieked at the top of my lungs and grabbed the cup. All I could think about were the accessories in my bag, one of which was an Hermes silk scarf...which would never be the same if soaked in Java. I sat the cup down on the steps and for some reason, it acted as if it had a rounded bottom and clunked on its side. I shrieked at the top of my lungs again. All I could think of now was the brand new carpet in my almost brand new house. My daughter ran back into the house and up the stairs now. My husband hollered from the kitchen. "What?! What?!" And then the mug fell over one more time, for good measure. So of course I shrieked again. (Was there a mischievous little elf watching in the corner, holding his stomach and laughing at me?) The dog ran and hid. I started grabbing things out of my bag and throwing them up in the air to save them from the coffee I was sure must be soaking down into the bag by now. I screamed some more, then yelled to my husband, "Bring a paper towel, quick!" He yelled back "what?! What?! Are you okay?" A pause. "Did the dog shit?" My daughter was now standing looking at me. "Am I going to be late?" My husband was at top of the steps with a quizzical look on his face. The dog...was still hiding. Recently, the vet told us that if the dog has an accident (or an on-purpose) in the house, we shouldn't yell at his little 3.1 lb self. Instead, we should yell AT the shit. (My husband was relieved to know that I wasn't yelling at shit.) I grabbed the paper towels he was offering and cleaned up the best I could, then took a deep breath. The scarf was safe. The carpet...could be cleaned and will probably, eventually be replaced with wood floors. No liquid had actually gotten inside the bag. My family looked at me all silent like for a bit, and then, my husband offered-- "It's okay to ask me for help." I stopped in my tracks. He was absolutely right. "How about, you take her to school, and I will take a leisurely walk with the dog?" He nodded, we exchanged jobs. I texted him later, when I knew the car would read the text out loud to him so my daughter would hear. --Sorry I'm so crazy. Their reply: -Mommy, you were pretty funny this morning. We liked it." A smile spread across my face as I walked the pooch in the morning twilight, enjoy the few extra minutes I had been given. The Coffee river had made me slow down. There was an upside to everything. I'd been reminded that it was okay to ask for help...and to be grateful that I was not screaming about shit.
December 28, 2014
A Couch of One's Own
I'm thinking I should start with a warning, something like TVMA. This blog has no blood, sex , or gore, but it does have sentiment that may offend some masquerading as grown folk. It's not personal, people. It's the fruit of the seed That was germinating in my brain when I awoke this morning.
My first job out of college was on Wall Street, at Merrill Lynch. It wasn't what I wanted to do, but it beat being chronically unemployed or underemployed. When I first started, everyone took a financial principles type class and I don't remember what they taught us in there mostly, but it all boiled down (or summed up) into one thing: you have got to pay yourself first. I remember the instructor telling us that you should put something into savings, even before you paid your utility bills, religiously and without fail, even it you could only carve out fifty bucks a paycheck, because after everything else was paid, you would, God willing, still have you.
I've heard this over and over again in my life in different forms. I left Wall Street and went on to other things, but once again while grad school I heard Suze Orman talk about the same principles. She was talking to women and recommended a book called A Girl needs Cash. At the time, I wasn't the type of Orman fan that sought out her advice, but if she were on the tv or radio, I didn't change the channel, but I still bought that book. It was mostly a refresher of what I’d learned at Merrill Lynch; money management, how the stock market worked – and retirement strategies, but at twenty something, you aren't exactly thinking about retirement. The book did add to the idea that I needed to pay myself first, a practice I still adhered to, but it also added another tidbit: a room of one's own is nice, but no matter what your relationship status, a girl needed to have a little something something of her own. When I got married, an older female member echoed these sentiments on the night before my wedding. “Girl, make sure you always have little something of your own. Something you don't have to explain or ask for, your own rainy day fund. And you should always know where the money is. God forbid something happens to your husband, but if it does, you shouldn't have to rely on others to tell you how much you have or worry about being robbed blind because you let your husband manage all the assets, but if you do, at least what he is doing.”
All of these together, rounds out to a good set of advice for man OR woman. A person should always be able to take care of themselves. I've heard many a person say “oh, he takes care of me.” We’ve all seen someone rely on someone so much that if something happens, they are left standing long-faced, penniless, and homeless because their “boo” has cut off the credit cards, closed the bank accounts or kicked them out of their home after a breakup and the person has no means to fend for themselves.
I believe in marriage and commitment, but to not have a rainy day fund is akin to a grown person believing in the Easter Bunny. Even if you can only save that 20 bucks a paycheck, in a little over a month, that adds up to hundred bucks. A few months of that and you can buy your own damned red bottom shoes or stock pick of your choice. And paying yourself first means putting that money in your sock drawer before you spend the 60 bucks on your mani-pedi, getting your hair did, the fancy handbag, the rims for your car or the New Air Jordans.
Mothers give this advice to their daughters, but what about the sons? In our society, no matter how capable the woman is our how much she earns, the unspoken stereotype for many of us is that the man provide. Whether that is our case or not, having some fiscal know how is a good thing…but it's that other case I'm pondering, the case where a person, male or female knowingly lives with someone, with no rainy day fund or future view.
What happens when your significant other whom you may or may not be married to wakes up and starts singing Beyonce’s To The Left and you are left with no money and maybe nothing but the clothes on your back, and if you are lucky, a car that you can live in? What is it about a person that lets this happen to themselves over and over again, ending each bout of homelessness by finding another sugar momma or daddy to take them in?
Does this person ever take responsibility for themselves or do they keep waiting for Santa Claus every year? What happens when they hit retirement age? If they have been working, they have hopefully been working a legit gig where they can now receive some social security, but it seems like more often than not this need to take an easy route hasn’t been confined to relationships, and are they then society’s responsibility? If we help them are we enabling this behavior?
Many parent want their kids to grow up to be rich and famous, doctors and lawyers, MBA stars and the like. I don't want that for mine. I want them to grow up and follow their path to financial independence. (Technology jobs are the new doctors and lawyers,but that's another blog) I wish my children to understand the value of working for a dollar knowing that although they may shAre with someone they love, they are not entitled to the dollar that someone else earns. I do not care if their home is fancy or in a high-dollar zip code. My wish for them is that they work hard, pay themselves first, even if they can only squeeze off a little bit each paycheck so that the couch they choose to live on may be their own.
My first job out of college was on Wall Street, at Merrill Lynch. It wasn't what I wanted to do, but it beat being chronically unemployed or underemployed. When I first started, everyone took a financial principles type class and I don't remember what they taught us in there mostly, but it all boiled down (or summed up) into one thing: you have got to pay yourself first. I remember the instructor telling us that you should put something into savings, even before you paid your utility bills, religiously and without fail, even it you could only carve out fifty bucks a paycheck, because after everything else was paid, you would, God willing, still have you.
I've heard this over and over again in my life in different forms. I left Wall Street and went on to other things, but once again while grad school I heard Suze Orman talk about the same principles. She was talking to women and recommended a book called A Girl needs Cash. At the time, I wasn't the type of Orman fan that sought out her advice, but if she were on the tv or radio, I didn't change the channel, but I still bought that book. It was mostly a refresher of what I’d learned at Merrill Lynch; money management, how the stock market worked – and retirement strategies, but at twenty something, you aren't exactly thinking about retirement. The book did add to the idea that I needed to pay myself first, a practice I still adhered to, but it also added another tidbit: a room of one's own is nice, but no matter what your relationship status, a girl needed to have a little something something of her own. When I got married, an older female member echoed these sentiments on the night before my wedding. “Girl, make sure you always have little something of your own. Something you don't have to explain or ask for, your own rainy day fund. And you should always know where the money is. God forbid something happens to your husband, but if it does, you shouldn't have to rely on others to tell you how much you have or worry about being robbed blind because you let your husband manage all the assets, but if you do, at least what he is doing.”
All of these together, rounds out to a good set of advice for man OR woman. A person should always be able to take care of themselves. I've heard many a person say “oh, he takes care of me.” We’ve all seen someone rely on someone so much that if something happens, they are left standing long-faced, penniless, and homeless because their “boo” has cut off the credit cards, closed the bank accounts or kicked them out of their home after a breakup and the person has no means to fend for themselves.
I believe in marriage and commitment, but to not have a rainy day fund is akin to a grown person believing in the Easter Bunny. Even if you can only save that 20 bucks a paycheck, in a little over a month, that adds up to hundred bucks. A few months of that and you can buy your own damned red bottom shoes or stock pick of your choice. And paying yourself first means putting that money in your sock drawer before you spend the 60 bucks on your mani-pedi, getting your hair did, the fancy handbag, the rims for your car or the New Air Jordans.
Mothers give this advice to their daughters, but what about the sons? In our society, no matter how capable the woman is our how much she earns, the unspoken stereotype for many of us is that the man provide. Whether that is our case or not, having some fiscal know how is a good thing…but it's that other case I'm pondering, the case where a person, male or female knowingly lives with someone, with no rainy day fund or future view.
What happens when your significant other whom you may or may not be married to wakes up and starts singing Beyonce’s To The Left and you are left with no money and maybe nothing but the clothes on your back, and if you are lucky, a car that you can live in? What is it about a person that lets this happen to themselves over and over again, ending each bout of homelessness by finding another sugar momma or daddy to take them in?
Does this person ever take responsibility for themselves or do they keep waiting for Santa Claus every year? What happens when they hit retirement age? If they have been working, they have hopefully been working a legit gig where they can now receive some social security, but it seems like more often than not this need to take an easy route hasn’t been confined to relationships, and are they then society’s responsibility? If we help them are we enabling this behavior?
Many parent want their kids to grow up to be rich and famous, doctors and lawyers, MBA stars and the like. I don't want that for mine. I want them to grow up and follow their path to financial independence. (Technology jobs are the new doctors and lawyers,but that's another blog) I wish my children to understand the value of working for a dollar knowing that although they may shAre with someone they love, they are not entitled to the dollar that someone else earns. I do not care if their home is fancy or in a high-dollar zip code. My wish for them is that they work hard, pay themselves first, even if they can only squeeze off a little bit each paycheck so that the couch they choose to live on may be their own.
December 7, 2014
November 18, 2014
Truth is stranger than Fiction
Momma: Gone is fiction, but yes,it is based on my life. It is fiction because I changed the names of everyone in the book, even combining characters around a single issue. I did that to make the book read more like fiction, to give the main character more of an arc.I also changed the way the large problem was resolved in the story to make it more "fiction"-like. Without giving it away, Sweetie, eventually finds a way to fix her problem (and her brother's problem) herself. She stops watching her life and acts in it, instead. That is not what happened. I will let you wonder about that.
I also combined some of my memories and some of my brothers to show a more complete picture of the settings where the story takes place. I do not remember the KKK rally, but my brother does. That is because when my grandmother told me to come inside because the Klan was having a rally, I did. My brother on the other hand, was curious, so he didn't. While I was inside watching Gunsmoke on television,my brother literally saw the white sheets and the writing on the outhouse walls.
Although I changed the names of all of the people, almost all of the major adult characters in the book are now deceased. I was probably the closest relative to all of them, and probably didn't have to ask permission to tell the stories or use their names, but I chose other names to make it easier for me to write, and to make it easier for those who knew the story to read. As personal as the story is, and as much as I think I owned the story, there are others still living who might think otherwise. My mother, "Momma" was their ________ (fill in the blank). They knew my father when______(fill in the blank again). That all may be true, but their memories are not mine.
I recently visited my uncle. He hadn't read the book. He said he wasn't ready, but my second cousin, whom I talk to maybe twice a year, had. She'd promplty called my uncle and was disturbed by parts of what I had written. She was distrubed by my truth. I don't know if that is because she didn't know, or because, like so many others at the time, she did and could not decide how to act,or didn't discuss it.
I am not sorry that I told my truth. I'm sure the same truth belonged to so many others. When I talk to people, they say things that make me remember other details that I wish I had known. My uncle speaks of a money tree in my mother's hospital window the day before she died. When he told the story, I remembered that day too. Am I bitter about the truth? No. I have to admit that despite all of the things in the book,. I like what I have become, and am happy that I had to courage to look back. Sometimes, you have to look your roots in the face to understand and appreciate your path.
Momma: Gone by Nina Foxx
I also combined some of my memories and some of my brothers to show a more complete picture of the settings where the story takes place. I do not remember the KKK rally, but my brother does. That is because when my grandmother told me to come inside because the Klan was having a rally, I did. My brother on the other hand, was curious, so he didn't. While I was inside watching Gunsmoke on television,my brother literally saw the white sheets and the writing on the outhouse walls.
Although I changed the names of all of the people, almost all of the major adult characters in the book are now deceased. I was probably the closest relative to all of them, and probably didn't have to ask permission to tell the stories or use their names, but I chose other names to make it easier for me to write, and to make it easier for those who knew the story to read. As personal as the story is, and as much as I think I owned the story, there are others still living who might think otherwise. My mother, "Momma" was their ________ (fill in the blank). They knew my father when______(fill in the blank again). That all may be true, but their memories are not mine.
I recently visited my uncle. He hadn't read the book. He said he wasn't ready, but my second cousin, whom I talk to maybe twice a year, had. She'd promplty called my uncle and was disturbed by parts of what I had written. She was distrubed by my truth. I don't know if that is because she didn't know, or because, like so many others at the time, she did and could not decide how to act,or didn't discuss it.
I am not sorry that I told my truth. I'm sure the same truth belonged to so many others. When I talk to people, they say things that make me remember other details that I wish I had known. My uncle speaks of a money tree in my mother's hospital window the day before she died. When he told the story, I remembered that day too. Am I bitter about the truth? No. I have to admit that despite all of the things in the book,. I like what I have become, and am happy that I had to courage to look back. Sometimes, you have to look your roots in the face to understand and appreciate your path.
Momma: Gone by Nina Foxx
August 31, 2014
African American Literary Awards Nominations
Hello,
I'm honored to be nominated for the 2014 African American Literary Awards. Please vote for me. I'm nominated in several categories, including Best Anthology, Best Young Adult, Best Fiction and Author of the Year.
Cast your vote at www.literaryawardshow.com, and then tell three friends to do the same. Voting ends on Sunday, September 7th.
Thank you!
Nina Foxx
Nina Foxx
ww.ninafoxx.com
I'm honored to be nominated for the 2014 African American Literary Awards. Please vote for me. I'm nominated in several categories, including Best Anthology, Best Young Adult, Best Fiction and Author of the Year.
Cast your vote at www.literaryawardshow.com, and then tell three friends to do the same. Voting ends on Sunday, September 7th.
Thank you!
Nina Foxx
Nina Foxx
ww.ninafoxx.com
August 8, 2014
Get into the car and off of my couch...or the continued adventures of MidiMe.
For a person with control issues (which I admit I am ), letting your child grow up and do things like...drive...is a hard thing. And for a person with control issues mixed with a bit of Helicopter Mom, it's even harder. I realize that since I really have no control over her growing, I could spend a lot of energy trying to hold her back by figuratively wrapping myself around her leg and dragging behind her on the floor, or I can put on my big girl panties and go forth into the world alongside her.
I did not want my MidiMe to drive. I don't know if it was because my father never let me drive while I lived at home, because I didn't want to pay the increased insurance premium, or because I knew in the back of my mind that if she had a car there's a pretty good chance that at several points during the day, I probably, most assuredly, won't know where she is and who she is with.
But I have exhaled. Since I'm not raising MidiMe in New York City and her social calendar is more full than mine is, I have sat back and watched as my child has obtained her driver's license. I will admit that I do not want to drive her to her two a day cheerleading practices or her parties and Starbucks' runs, so...she is driving herself. And I am proud of her. Most days.
Practice started yesterday and she took herself with no incident. Today she learned, though, that if you drive a car, you have to pay for gas. When we woke up this morning, my husband told her that she needed to put twenty dollars of gas in his hybrid car. (That is almost a full tank).
Her eyebrows shot towards the ceiling and her eyes welled up. "Huh?" she replied.
He spoke slowly. "Car-no-go-o with no-gas-o."
Sensing her panic, I volunteered to lead her to the gas station, and to stand by while she operated, but I would not do it for her.
We started out good....except--It took her a good 4 minutes to get the car out of the garage. My driveway goes up a steep hill then turns a corner. While I waited at the bottom, I sent Minime up to check. She came screaming down the hill. "She couldn't get the car to GO!"
It took everything I had not to run up the hill to her rescue. I held my breath, and held my breath and then finally, she came down the hill. Without my help.
Huh.Imagine that.
She successfully followed me to the gas station, holding up her "talk to the hand" hand while she pulled up to the pump. I watched with my hands on her hips, her chorus of "I know, Mom, ringing in my head" from when I gave her verbal instructions on what to do.
She clearly listened when I told her that the little arrow in the car that points to the gas icon is meant to tell her which side the gas tank is on. She pulled to the correct side of the pump.
She listened not so well when I was telling her how to determine which pump she was at. She looked around like she was lost. I didn't say a word. Instead, I pointed up at the big number four overhead.
She was looking pitiful now. I tilted my head towards the building. "You got this? I need to get your sister to camp."
"Yes. I mean, No. Please stay, Mom." She was suddenly eight years old again. My heart melted.
I walked a few steps behind her as she went in to the gas attendant. Once inside, she turned to me "Mom, what are you doing here?"
"You said--" I was confused. Who was this Jekyll and Hyde in my daughter's body?
"I meant don't leave. But stay out there!" She pointed outside.
The attendant laughed, recognizing the situation.
We went back outside.
She clearly listened when I told her that the car took regular gas. She had a little difficulty with the funky pump, but I bit my lip and did not do it for her.
I couldn't hold it anymore when she dripped gas on the car. "You have to clean that up," I snipped.
"How?" She was eight again.
I pointed to the towels.
She reluctantly got some, put acted like she was putting her hand in a toilet boil as she wiped.
I held back, though. My helicopter blades did not start rotating.
She was almost through. "Okay, you know how to get to school, right?"
"MOOOOM! Of course I do."
I backed away. "Alright then," I said. "You clearly GOT this." I tried not to be offended. My asking was not rooted in me assuming that she couldn't handle things, not this time. If anything, I was more concerned that sense of direction, or lack thereof, was hereditary. I have none, and hers was probably made even worse by the continual use of GPS and Siri and Cortana to even walk up the road a piece to the store.
"Yes, mom. I'm not two!"
I backed away and retreated to my car, watched her turn on her engine and then TURN THE WRONG WAY out of the gas station.
My first instinct was to follow her, chase her down and put her on the right track, but then I exhaled and let her take that wrong left turn, and I...went right.
I realized in that instant that I could fix it for her again, or I could let her take a few wrong turns and get there eventually. She might be late and she might discover a short cut. She might discover parts of our 'hood that she didn't know existed. Bigger than that though, I realized that I could keep doing everything for her, or I could let her do for herself. That one small step, might just make the difference between her venturing out across the world to find her own path, or being stuck, too afraid to go anywhere unless I (or someone else) laid out the map and turns in front of her. What kind of mother would I be if I let my child become dependent on someone else to be her GPS on the road of life?
That option is just not acceptable because that leaves her in my sight, under my control, with no adventure tale to tell, and most assuredly living on my Italian leather couch.
I did not want my MidiMe to drive. I don't know if it was because my father never let me drive while I lived at home, because I didn't want to pay the increased insurance premium, or because I knew in the back of my mind that if she had a car there's a pretty good chance that at several points during the day, I probably, most assuredly, won't know where she is and who she is with.
But I have exhaled. Since I'm not raising MidiMe in New York City and her social calendar is more full than mine is, I have sat back and watched as my child has obtained her driver's license. I will admit that I do not want to drive her to her two a day cheerleading practices or her parties and Starbucks' runs, so...she is driving herself. And I am proud of her. Most days.
Practice started yesterday and she took herself with no incident. Today she learned, though, that if you drive a car, you have to pay for gas. When we woke up this morning, my husband told her that she needed to put twenty dollars of gas in his hybrid car. (That is almost a full tank).
Her eyebrows shot towards the ceiling and her eyes welled up. "Huh?" she replied.
He spoke slowly. "Car-no-go-o with no-gas-o."
Sensing her panic, I volunteered to lead her to the gas station, and to stand by while she operated, but I would not do it for her.
We started out good....except--It took her a good 4 minutes to get the car out of the garage. My driveway goes up a steep hill then turns a corner. While I waited at the bottom, I sent Minime up to check. She came screaming down the hill. "She couldn't get the car to GO!"
It took everything I had not to run up the hill to her rescue. I held my breath, and held my breath and then finally, she came down the hill. Without my help.
Huh.Imagine that.
She successfully followed me to the gas station, holding up her "talk to the hand" hand while she pulled up to the pump. I watched with my hands on her hips, her chorus of "I know, Mom, ringing in my head" from when I gave her verbal instructions on what to do.
She clearly listened when I told her that the little arrow in the car that points to the gas icon is meant to tell her which side the gas tank is on. She pulled to the correct side of the pump.
She listened not so well when I was telling her how to determine which pump she was at. She looked around like she was lost. I didn't say a word. Instead, I pointed up at the big number four overhead.
She was looking pitiful now. I tilted my head towards the building. "You got this? I need to get your sister to camp."
"Yes. I mean, No. Please stay, Mom." She was suddenly eight years old again. My heart melted.
I walked a few steps behind her as she went in to the gas attendant. Once inside, she turned to me "Mom, what are you doing here?"
"You said--" I was confused. Who was this Jekyll and Hyde in my daughter's body?
"I meant don't leave. But stay out there!" She pointed outside.
The attendant laughed, recognizing the situation.
We went back outside.
She clearly listened when I told her that the car took regular gas. She had a little difficulty with the funky pump, but I bit my lip and did not do it for her.
I couldn't hold it anymore when she dripped gas on the car. "You have to clean that up," I snipped.
"How?" She was eight again.
I pointed to the towels.
She reluctantly got some, put acted like she was putting her hand in a toilet boil as she wiped.
I held back, though. My helicopter blades did not start rotating.
She was almost through. "Okay, you know how to get to school, right?"
"MOOOOM! Of course I do."
I backed away. "Alright then," I said. "You clearly GOT this." I tried not to be offended. My asking was not rooted in me assuming that she couldn't handle things, not this time. If anything, I was more concerned that sense of direction, or lack thereof, was hereditary. I have none, and hers was probably made even worse by the continual use of GPS and Siri and Cortana to even walk up the road a piece to the store.
"Yes, mom. I'm not two!"
I backed away and retreated to my car, watched her turn on her engine and then TURN THE WRONG WAY out of the gas station.
My first instinct was to follow her, chase her down and put her on the right track, but then I exhaled and let her take that wrong left turn, and I...went right.
I realized in that instant that I could fix it for her again, or I could let her take a few wrong turns and get there eventually. She might be late and she might discover a short cut. She might discover parts of our 'hood that she didn't know existed. Bigger than that though, I realized that I could keep doing everything for her, or I could let her do for herself. That one small step, might just make the difference between her venturing out across the world to find her own path, or being stuck, too afraid to go anywhere unless I (or someone else) laid out the map and turns in front of her. What kind of mother would I be if I let my child become dependent on someone else to be her GPS on the road of life?
That option is just not acceptable because that leaves her in my sight, under my control, with no adventure tale to tell, and most assuredly living on my Italian leather couch.
Please cast your vote for me and....
Friends, I'm honored to be nominated for the 2014 African American Literary Awards. Please vote for me. I'm nominated in several categories, including best anthology, best young adult, best fiction and author of the year. Cast your vote at www.literaryawardshow.com, and then tell three friends to do the same.
July 29, 2014
Blog in the Round - Passing the Torch
My friend and author Marissa Monteilh has asked me to participate in Blog in The Round. What is that you ask? It's a way for you and me to get to know authors and find out what they are working on. Marissa was asked by KL Brady, who was asked by Trice Hickman, who was asked by another writer-friend of mine, Trisha Thomas. I'm supposed to answer four questions about my writing process, and then pass it on to other authors.
What am I writing./working on?
I always have more than one project in my head at the same time in various stages of development. I am working on co-writing a non-fiction book with Shalay Peterson called The Sentinel Event. It is an account of her journey from Islam to Christianity after a medical mistake critically injured her newborn. Shalay and her husband received a landmark settlement from the federal government that reformed the way service members and their families are compensated for medical injuries.
I am also brewing another YA/NA novel to follow up on Catfish, and have begun writing the finally book in the Cynnamon Foster series. Western Fusion takes place in Istanbul. It picks up where Sam and Desiree left off, but this time, they are split up on assignment.
How does my writing/work differ from others in its genre?
Which one? I write in several. Even though most of my work is fiction, I like to include real stuff in it. The Cynnamon Foster books take place in far flung locations that I have traveled to, and I try to make the details as true as possible so that readers can experience that. Catfish (YA) tackles real life problems. In fact, I based some of the goings on on things that really happened in the hopes that parents and teens are both entertained and enlightened as they navigate their electronic lives.
Why do I write what I do?
I write what intrigues me. I'm a naturally curious person, so that changes a lot. My brain gets to working and I write about the "what if...".
How does my writing process work?
It is forever evolving. Right now, I get an idea in my head, and mull on it quite a bit. Usually, a detail will reveal itself to me, and I write a snippet down. Finally , I write the story that makes the snippets all come together. I often end up in places I didn't expect this way.
Who's next? I will be passing the torch to Pat Tucker and Raquel Penzo. Check them both out on their blogs!
What am I writing./working on?
I always have more than one project in my head at the same time in various stages of development. I am working on co-writing a non-fiction book with Shalay Peterson called The Sentinel Event. It is an account of her journey from Islam to Christianity after a medical mistake critically injured her newborn. Shalay and her husband received a landmark settlement from the federal government that reformed the way service members and their families are compensated for medical injuries.
I am also brewing another YA/NA novel to follow up on Catfish, and have begun writing the finally book in the Cynnamon Foster series. Western Fusion takes place in Istanbul. It picks up where Sam and Desiree left off, but this time, they are split up on assignment.
How does my writing/work differ from others in its genre?
Which one? I write in several. Even though most of my work is fiction, I like to include real stuff in it. The Cynnamon Foster books take place in far flung locations that I have traveled to, and I try to make the details as true as possible so that readers can experience that. Catfish (YA) tackles real life problems. In fact, I based some of the goings on on things that really happened in the hopes that parents and teens are both entertained and enlightened as they navigate their electronic lives.
Why do I write what I do?
I write what intrigues me. I'm a naturally curious person, so that changes a lot. My brain gets to working and I write about the "what if...".
How does my writing process work?
It is forever evolving. Right now, I get an idea in my head, and mull on it quite a bit. Usually, a detail will reveal itself to me, and I write a snippet down. Finally , I write the story that makes the snippets all come together. I often end up in places I didn't expect this way.
Who's next? I will be passing the torch to Pat Tucker and Raquel Penzo. Check them both out on their blogs!
June 20, 2014
The Get Fit, Get Fine Plan
So far so good...on my get fit get fine plan. I started in January and have kept at it. After losing 35 lbs And maintaining lean muscle mass reasonably well, I am within 4 lbs of my goal weight, and feel as if I am more than ready for the beach. There are several things that have helped me to stay focused on the prize. First, the hubster is right there with me, not just cheering me on, but participating as well. He's lost just as much as I have. Another is community. Yes, I do love my fitbit. There are many nights where I have gone out for a last run because I can't get less steps than so-and-so. So and so knows who they are. Next, my kids. Nothing feels better than having my teen tell me I'm fitter than her or my ass looks better than hers when she used to say things like, "mom, you look like you are pregnant" or "I like putting my head on your belly. It's like a pillow." Now her sideways compliments sound more like "Mom, your butt is finally bigger than your stomach." Thank you. Sort of.
A big motivator has been having a fitness goal as well as a weight loss goal, even if the fitness goal has been a moving one. First, I wanted to run, really run, a 5 k race. Check. then it changed to a 10k. Check. And now I'm up to half marathon.
For some of my friends, running a half marathon or even a full marathon, is like breathing, an aerobic piece of cAke. Not so for me. It's a major accomplishment. You see, I hate running.
I kind of got into it just a little when they told me that I got to eat more carbs before my race. Since I've been on the get fit, get fine plan, my carbs have mainly come from leafy greens, fresh veggies and some whole grain products, but very few of those. TRaining for a half marathon means I get to eat pasta and Mexican food the week before.
This plan has helped me to discover all sorts of tidbits about my food tolerances that I didn't know before. We all know I like wine..,I mean, we make it so how could we not like it? And what goes better with wine than cheese? I did discover that I can't rally tolerate cheese and lose weight.
It caused my intestines to swell and swelling weighs something!
So last night, when we chose Mexican, I picked an item that had a minimum of cheese in it..,or so I thought. Last night I experienced crazy stomach cramps...and you know what came after. Since I Am a glass half full kind of girl (and extremely blessed I have a glass to contemplate, thank you), I can appreciate the upside of that experience...I woke up skinnier than when I started. (Yes, I know that is a little sick). I enjoyed admiring the look of my new belly button ring in my flatter-than-last week middle. Today, we start again and will have Italian for lunch. Yes, Pasta! Real pasta, not spaghetti squash faux imposter pasta.
So tomorrow, when I cross the finish line at the Seattle Rock and Roll half marathon..,and I will finish...not guarantee I will run the whole way, but I will finish...I will check another box on the get fit, get fine plan. I can't imagine I am going to fall in love with marathons like my friend Jetola, but I am going to finish....and pick a new fitness goal. I think I want to compete in a figure competition by years end. We'll see how that goes. I may have to change to a Get fit, get FINER plan, 'cause the 40. Something's that compete are more together than the 20 something. Cheer for me tomorrow...
A big motivator has been having a fitness goal as well as a weight loss goal, even if the fitness goal has been a moving one. First, I wanted to run, really run, a 5 k race. Check. then it changed to a 10k. Check. And now I'm up to half marathon.
For some of my friends, running a half marathon or even a full marathon, is like breathing, an aerobic piece of cAke. Not so for me. It's a major accomplishment. You see, I hate running.
I kind of got into it just a little when they told me that I got to eat more carbs before my race. Since I've been on the get fit, get fine plan, my carbs have mainly come from leafy greens, fresh veggies and some whole grain products, but very few of those. TRaining for a half marathon means I get to eat pasta and Mexican food the week before.
This plan has helped me to discover all sorts of tidbits about my food tolerances that I didn't know before. We all know I like wine..,I mean, we make it so how could we not like it? And what goes better with wine than cheese? I did discover that I can't rally tolerate cheese and lose weight.
It caused my intestines to swell and swelling weighs something!
So last night, when we chose Mexican, I picked an item that had a minimum of cheese in it..,or so I thought. Last night I experienced crazy stomach cramps...and you know what came after. Since I Am a glass half full kind of girl (and extremely blessed I have a glass to contemplate, thank you), I can appreciate the upside of that experience...I woke up skinnier than when I started. (Yes, I know that is a little sick). I enjoyed admiring the look of my new belly button ring in my flatter-than-last week middle. Today, we start again and will have Italian for lunch. Yes, Pasta! Real pasta, not spaghetti squash faux imposter pasta.
So tomorrow, when I cross the finish line at the Seattle Rock and Roll half marathon..,and I will finish...not guarantee I will run the whole way, but I will finish...I will check another box on the get fit, get fine plan. I can't imagine I am going to fall in love with marathons like my friend Jetola, but I am going to finish....and pick a new fitness goal. I think I want to compete in a figure competition by years end. We'll see how that goes. I may have to change to a Get fit, get FINER plan, 'cause the 40. Something's that compete are more together than the 20 something. Cheer for me tomorrow...
June 6, 2014
There's a hole in the bucket or Why you don't like working out before you go to work in the morning
Those of you that follow me know I embarked in a more healthy lifestyle at the beginning of the year. I've accomplished several goals and have set new ones. My workouts, for the most part, take place evenings, although I have been trying to do one on Friday morning before work. This is really, really hard. Mornings are very full. I'm all about learning from other's mistakes, so I have worked through why this is hard to do for all of us. My reasons follow.
1. Forgetting of the underwear. This sucks. You think you packed it, but left it on the bed. Not good. In the movies, being au natural looks cool. Its not. Its uncomfortable.
2.You try to solve number one by leaving undies in the gym bag. But then you discover that you have used them all. Or they clash terribly with the rest of your undergarments. Foundations needs to feel fantastic, and this can ruin your day. Clashing undies means you blush when you walk around the lockerroom in them. And you will walk around in them because you have been working out for a bit. Sigh.
3. Or Underwear that you leave in the bag show through your clothes, because well, they are the fabulous color that was hot a Vicky's secret, and of course you picked up a white blouse to wear today.
4. You try to solve number three by making everything beige, but that doesn't work either. Some days, the only ezxcitement in your life is the secret undies under your clothes. That plus your skin is beige, so it look like you are walking around naked in the locker room. You want to show off your muscles a little bit, but not get crazy.
5. You forget the deodorant. being smelly is never a good look, and the spray deodorant in the gym smells wrong, like Listerine. And its itchy.
6. You try to solve this by leaving some in the bag. It crumbles and leaves your bag coated with white stuff. Which is now all over everything you put in the bag.
7. Shoe choice. AT home, you can get dressed, then go into the shoe area of your closet, and choose the appropriate footwear. Can't do that at the gym.
8. Or you forget the shoes and are stuck in athletic shoes all day. What a way to ruin an outfit. Might as well go home.
9. You try to solve number 7 by thinking ahead. The feeling just wasn't the same, and by the time your workout is done, your mood has changed, but you can't change the shoes with the mood, so your stuck. And grumpy. And then you don't say hello to the receptionist when you walk into your building, even though you know you will pay for that later. Might as well go home.
10.. You also try to solve number 7 by bringing more than one pair of shoes to go with the outfit you'd chosen. That didn't work either. You need a gym bag instead of a suitcase.
11. Forgetting makeup. I know you say go without, but let's be real. Not happening. Eyeliner is a must, so is mascara. Still working on this. One day you will rent a long term locker and buy doubles of your makeup. When you hit the lottery, 'cause you know you wear the expensive stuff. Might as well go home, 'cause makeup less, no one will recognize you at your office.
11. Forgetting the jewelry or bringing the wrong jewelry. When they did that right hand ring commercial, they did a number on you and now you walk lopsided if you go without. Invariably, that's the item you forget. Which means you feel naked all day. Again. Or you go to the bathroom, look down, panic, and then have to compose yourself all over again when you realize you didn't lose it, you left it at home. Sigh.
12. Ironing. I can just say this and you will understand. But let's be clear, you are a lundry fanatic. You won't let anyone do it for you because it has to be done a certain way, and that includes so you don't have to iron. At all. Ever. But when you get dressed at the gym, something will be wrinkled beyod the pount of acceptableness. And then you willl have to iron there. And then there won't be water in the iron. And then the markings will be missing from the iron so you can't tell how hot it is. And then the iron will spit on your clothes,leavign a spot because its not hot enough. And then you will burn an anvil shapped spot on your skirt. And then you will walk around with an anvil print on your butt all day. As if you weren't self conscious enough about your rear view. Just saying. Might as well go home.
There you have it. Afternoon workouts are the best. This healthy lifestyle has taught me so much!
There's a hole in the bucket, Liza. Fix it. ;-)
1. Forgetting of the underwear. This sucks. You think you packed it, but left it on the bed. Not good. In the movies, being au natural looks cool. Its not. Its uncomfortable.
2.You try to solve number one by leaving undies in the gym bag. But then you discover that you have used them all. Or they clash terribly with the rest of your undergarments. Foundations needs to feel fantastic, and this can ruin your day. Clashing undies means you blush when you walk around the lockerroom in them. And you will walk around in them because you have been working out for a bit. Sigh.
3. Or Underwear that you leave in the bag show through your clothes, because well, they are the fabulous color that was hot a Vicky's secret, and of course you picked up a white blouse to wear today.
4. You try to solve number three by making everything beige, but that doesn't work either. Some days, the only ezxcitement in your life is the secret undies under your clothes. That plus your skin is beige, so it look like you are walking around naked in the locker room. You want to show off your muscles a little bit, but not get crazy.
5. You forget the deodorant. being smelly is never a good look, and the spray deodorant in the gym smells wrong, like Listerine. And its itchy.
6. You try to solve this by leaving some in the bag. It crumbles and leaves your bag coated with white stuff. Which is now all over everything you put in the bag.
7. Shoe choice. AT home, you can get dressed, then go into the shoe area of your closet, and choose the appropriate footwear. Can't do that at the gym.
8. Or you forget the shoes and are stuck in athletic shoes all day. What a way to ruin an outfit. Might as well go home.
9. You try to solve number 7 by thinking ahead. The feeling just wasn't the same, and by the time your workout is done, your mood has changed, but you can't change the shoes with the mood, so your stuck. And grumpy. And then you don't say hello to the receptionist when you walk into your building, even though you know you will pay for that later. Might as well go home.
10.. You also try to solve number 7 by bringing more than one pair of shoes to go with the outfit you'd chosen. That didn't work either. You need a gym bag instead of a suitcase.
11. Forgetting makeup. I know you say go without, but let's be real. Not happening. Eyeliner is a must, so is mascara. Still working on this. One day you will rent a long term locker and buy doubles of your makeup. When you hit the lottery, 'cause you know you wear the expensive stuff. Might as well go home, 'cause makeup less, no one will recognize you at your office.
11. Forgetting the jewelry or bringing the wrong jewelry. When they did that right hand ring commercial, they did a number on you and now you walk lopsided if you go without. Invariably, that's the item you forget. Which means you feel naked all day. Again. Or you go to the bathroom, look down, panic, and then have to compose yourself all over again when you realize you didn't lose it, you left it at home. Sigh.
12. Ironing. I can just say this and you will understand. But let's be clear, you are a lundry fanatic. You won't let anyone do it for you because it has to be done a certain way, and that includes so you don't have to iron. At all. Ever. But when you get dressed at the gym, something will be wrinkled beyod the pount of acceptableness. And then you willl have to iron there. And then there won't be water in the iron. And then the markings will be missing from the iron so you can't tell how hot it is. And then the iron will spit on your clothes,leavign a spot because its not hot enough. And then you will burn an anvil shapped spot on your skirt. And then you will walk around with an anvil print on your butt all day. As if you weren't self conscious enough about your rear view. Just saying. Might as well go home.
There you have it. Afternoon workouts are the best. This healthy lifestyle has taught me so much!
There's a hole in the bucket, Liza. Fix it. ;-)
