Jennifer Probst's Blog, page 10

An Ode to My Son…

Life takes us many places we never intended.

Some good. Some bad. All part of our path, I believe.

One of the biggest surprises people don’t realize about me is how I was quite sure about one thing in my life: I never wanted children. This philosophy was met mostly with a laugh and pat on the head with the phrase, “You’ll change your mind.” Sometimes, I was told I was being “selfish”. As I grew older and past my thirtieth birthday, I was surrounded by many women becoming frantic about not being able to find a life partner, and couldn’t understand my nonexistent ticking biological clock.

Personally, I was grateful it was not functioning. I had dreams of my future of travel, intense relationships, money, freedom, and fabulousness. Sometimes, yes, it was lonely, but I never felt I needed a baby to fulfill me.

I was thirty-three when I met the man I’d finally want to marry.

The problem was: he wanted kids.

This pivot threw me into quite a dilemma. I hadn’t changed my mind on my not wanting kids. We reached a point in our relationship where we needed to clearly decide if we’d go forward, or break up. We had many discussions on what we’d both need from the other if we were to agree on having a baby. Maybe it was my age, but as “unromantic” as this may seem to some, it was a lifesaver for me. I clearly outlined exactly what I’d need if I did agree to have one child. I knew if he wasn’t a complete fifty/fifty partner, we’d end in divorce and co-parenting. When we agreed to go ahead and get married, it was with our eyes wide open and knowing what we both needed to bring in order to have a successful relationship. I agreed to one baby in the distant future.

We set a wedding date and got engaged.

And I got pregnant in a completely unplanned, surprised, shocking way.

Oh, life knows how to throw a curve ball.

I then decided the only way this would work out was if the baby was a girl. I already had two nieces who I adored, and I only knew about girls. Boys scared me. Puzzled me. They had this penis thing that rules their life, and I wanted nothing to do with it. So, I set my mind on having a girl, and dreamed of all the wonderful things I’d do and teach her and began planning for our future spa appointments.

The sonogram showed it was a boy.

I cried.

I remember sobbing to my husband that I didn’t know what to do with a boy. That I’d mess everything up. That I had no idea how to raise someone with a penis.

Underneath, of course I was grateful the baby was healthy because that’s the main concern, but once that fear was removed all I could think of was :Why oh Why did God give me a BOY?

My baby was two weeks late and I got induced. Right before I went to the hospital, I threw up because I’d never been so terrified in my life. I questioned this bargain I’d made with my husband but it was already too late.

When I got to the hospital, they told me to put on the gown. When I came out of the bathroom, the nurse yelled at me because I had left my underwear on. I think mentally, I was hoping the baby would be able to come out in some other miraculous way, but she stripped me of my final fantasy defense.

He took twenty-six hours to birth. I had my Rubik’s cube which was my focal point. As the hours went on, and the pain worsened, I realized this type of agony was not something a human could really handle. I thought I’d die. I screamed for drugs. Finally, I got them, and remember the absolute blissed out state of numbness. I closed my eyes and literally ten minutes later, they flew back open because there was this intense pressure in my lower half like it was getting ripped apart.

The nurse said it was time to push.

I pushed him out. They laid him on my belly and immediately he stopped wailing. We looked at each other in shock; in recognition; in acceptance. We’d known each other forever. We had finally met.

We both burst into tears.

When I got home, I spiraled into deep postpartum depression that tore me apart. I felt like I was slowly losing my mind, and as much as I loved him, I was becoming someone I didn’t recognize any longer. It was a bad time, but I was lucky I responded quickly to the drugs my doctor prescribed, and eventually, I was able to embrace motherhood in a healthy, stable way.

My son ruined my life.

He also gave me a new life. One I could never imagine not having anymore. It’s amazing how you take home a baby with no operating instructions and need to try to keep them alive. It’s terrifying being a mother. There is no other job in the entire world like it.

You do everything to protect and nurture and love this beautiful tiny human, so it becomes a habit. You don’t know how NOT to do it.

Yet, one day, you wake up and your son is thirteen.

I have a teenager now in my house. He woke me up this morning like it was Christmas, proudly announcing his new age, asking for a big breakfast, planning his day with me. He is the kindest soul I have ever met. He teaches me things I never knew. He’s brought out my very worst.

He’s brought out my very best.

I’m proud of who he’s becoming, but I’m getting closer to the time when I need to step back. Change hangs heavily in the air. Those times of playing on the floor, and building race car sets, and tickling his belly while he laughs, and watching him run around in footy pajamas has passed. His voice is deeper, he’s growing a mustache, he has a crush on a girl, and he’s just as tall as me. There’s great things to come, but today, I can’t help but mourn a little of what has gone by.

I learned that time is slow when you’re younger. It goes slow when they are little, and dependent, and in diapers and so needy all the time, you wish to God you could just get an hour by yourself or a full night sleep.

But they grow, and suddenly, time morphs into this hazy mystical fog that races by so fast, you hope you can remember it all.

And I’m so grateful for the curve balls of life. I’m so grateful I had a boy because I learned later – God gives you what you need, not necessarily what you want. I was meant to be the Mom of two boys.

Today, my son Jake turns thirteen.

Happy birthday, Jake. Thank you for being my son.

Mom loves you.

WORD…

I always seem to be late catching on to trends. I’m not sure if I don’t trust a trend, or I like to wait and see on my own terms if I want to do it, or I’m just so damn distracted I’m clueless about the trend and figure it out weeks after it’s been declared hot.

Probably the latter.

Anyhoo, I’ve been limited on social media for a while and took my time easing back in. When I did, I found these really cool posts on Facebook about people declaring their WORD of the year. I’ve always been a huge fan of the power of a word, and how it soaks into our daily intentions and gets harnessed by the Universe. I always wear a Giving Key stamped with the word that I’m practicing currently, and when I find the right person that needs my word in their life, I give them the key, and then I go buy a new one for the next person I’ll meet one day.

The new trend was to pick a word that emanated what you wanted to accomplish in the New Year. One night I literally spent an hour scrolling through all the comments and posts, reading people’s words and their explanations behind their choice of word. It was a real peek into their lives and what they were going through- a shred of honestly and sharing that was beautiful to see.

I immediately began thinking about my word, figuring I’d have it immediately and jump in to write an awesome blog post but I came up with nothing. Over and over, I pondered what I wanted, where I was in my life, what I craved to change or accomplish and came up with…nothing.

The last months grieving over my Dad’s loss has been tough. I’ve changed. Loss will do that. Now, it was easier not to obsess over my word, or worry that I didn’t have a word like the rest of the world and all that bullshit, so I let the whole thing go and figured I wouldn’t participate this year. I got enough out of it reading other people’s words.

A few days later, I shot up at 2am in the dark and I said this word aloud.

Re-start.

Then I went back to sleep. In the morning, I actually remembered the word. I said it aloud, testing it on my tongue and came to the conclusion it was a pretty stupid word. Flat. Kind of boring. Not very inspirational and a bit awkward.

Ugh, I am so not writing a blog post on this, I thought, and went on with my life.

But when faced with the blank page, a looming scary deadline, and endless buckets of words I needed to come up with QUICKLY, I kept thinking about my dead-of-night revelation. It began making so much more sense to me.

Every day, I come into my office and choose to re-start. I don’t have a boss to call into, or someone who will miss me if I’m not at work. I’m the only one who holds me accountable. Over and over, I’d leave my office at night, exhausted from trying to flesh out a decent story on the page; wracked with frustration and fear I won’t get it done, and tell myself I’m finished in this career I truly love. I just don’t have the will or inclination to go back into that office tomorrow.

But I wake up and re-start. I go back to the page with new vision and new hope. And so far, with all the ups and downs, it’s worked out.

I gained a lot of weight during my grieving time. The first week of the new year, I embarked on a diet of healthy eating and light exercise, with a long term goal firmly in mind and a bucket of patience. Why can I gain five pounds in one weekend but it takes almost two weeks to lose it?

Not fair.

I’ve been consistently drinking my water, consuming my high protein, low carb diet, and doing some light exercise. I usually feel pretty good and want to continue. But eventually, I’ll succumb to something fatty, sugary, chocolatey and delicious. Instead of beating myself up with recriminations, I have another path I can choose from.

Just wake up the next morning and re-start.

It’s been a strange revelation to me that things don’t have to be so hard anymore. Not this year. Because…

When I fail spectacularly, I’ll just get back up and re-start.

When I go in the wrong direction, I’ll reverse, and re-start my journey.

When I have a bad writing day, I’ll go back an hour later, or a day later, and re-start.

When the scale shows I gained weight, I’ll re-start the diet with a clean slate.

There is great power in being able to re-start things. You are never at a dead end, because there’s always a new way out.

My father was an alcoholic for most of his life. In a story that’s more like a miracle, in his fifties, he drove himself to rehab one day, got clean, and got his life and family back. He made a decision to re-start.

I decided to re-start our relationship when I made a decision to forgive.

When I think about the year ahead, and the changes incurred from the past few months, I think re-start is a perfect word. It promises nothing I can’t give. It doesn’t intimidate or stress me out. It’s a quiet, stable word that works in the background of our everyday life.

And right now, that seems perfect to me.

Do you have a word?

May all the right words be with you.

#writenaked

The Element of Will Power…and 25 Things Accomplished

I’ve been thinking a lot about will power lately.

The past few months have been difficult, and I lost my way for a bit. Or so I thought. I learned later that even the paths we choose that seem to meander aimlessly and stop short at a dead end is there for a reason. Maybe we needed to stop exploring for a while and just sit with who we are. Take account. Take a breath. Cry, rage, be depressed, sleep, and isolate from the world. Experience the bad so we can enjoy the good.

Eventually, though, we need to get back to some sort of reality, which means getting out of bed, caring for your children, seeing friends, doing work, walking the dog, and a million other tasks that cannot be ignored forever. Getting back into some sort of routine is soothing. It’s what makes us human.

I chose a career that is built on will power. Will to go into my office every day. Will to stare at a blank page and wrestle words that will create a story. Will to spend endless hours in that room, no matter what happens – good or bad (and trust me there’s a lot of bad in there sometimes). I have to choose writing every single day, and then have the willpower to follow through, not knowing what type of quality I will get or what type of quantity.

I took about six weeks off from any writing. I think I could have gone even longer, but I began thinking about this will thing that drives us as humans and artists to get shit done. I began thinking of the sheer power I can harness just by my thoughts and decision to sit in my chair and open up a Word document. The capacity for achievement and greatness by following these two elements is mind boggling.

Maybe that’s why writing humbles me. I’m the one who has to choose it every day. It’s like re-committing to a lover and my vow to honor, love, and cherish my partner. Six weeks ago, I chose to walk away from writing so I can figure some stuff out.

Now, I’m choosing to write again because it’s what I want. It’s still not easy, and I’m moving slower, but the sheer power of being able to make my choice and create something from nothing is awe inspiring.

What if you’re not a writer?

You’re harnessing the same will power every day. By showing up at the gym. By cooking rather than eating junk. By spending time with your kids even though you have a million other things that need doing. By honoring your creativity even though it’s not practical – whether it’s painting, or jewelry making, or pottery, or acting, or singing, or anything that feeds your artistic spirit. By choosing to try one more time.

Let’s honor the greatness of willpower and the epic things you can accomplish.

A few authors on Facebook were composing and sharing posts on a challenge to name 25 things you accomplished this past year. Not wanted to do, or failed to do, but actually did. Here’s my list. I think as 2017 ends, it’s a good thing to honor the past and remind ourselves we did our best, and most of the time, surpassed even our own expectations. I may not have climbed Mount Everest, but I held my father’s hand every day while he was dying, and I laughed with my kids and cuddled my dog and cried on my best friend’s shoulder. I lived. I tried.

So, here’s my list in no particular order. I’m looking forward to seeing yours. Here’s a hint: Peek at your yearly calendar – you forget a lot!

Make sure you tag me if you post on Facebook or IG!

1. Published my first nonfiction book.

2. Published four other full length books and one novella.

3. Wrote three books.

4. Wrote a proposal for a new series.

5. Attended RWA in Orlando.

6. Was nominated for 2 Rita awards.

7. Went with my family to Disneyworld.

8. Attended my first Writer’s Digest Conference in NYC.

9. Attended BEA in NYC and signed Write Naked.

10. Attended Pen Parentis Salon in NYC and read.

11. Attended Apollycon in Orlando.

12. Spoke at the Dalton College Book Festival in Atlanta.

13. Attended an amazing writer’s retreat in Philly.

14. Hit #1 on Ibooks.

15. Went to a Neil Diamond concert with my bestie.

16. Attended the Harvest of Hope in honor of my charity, Pets Alive.

17. Learned about amazing power of family and friends when I needed it most.

18. Went Ziplining with my nieces.

19. Went to Amish Country and Hershey with my family.

20. Spoke and held workshops at RWA and Writer’s Digest conferences.

21. Wrote and read a eulogy for my Dad.

22. Sent a Xmas box to a family in St. Thomas.

23. Donated to numerous charities.

24. Watched my boys grow up happy and healthy this past year.

25. Learned how grief can also bring great love from people you never expected.

A Conversation With My Muse…

I was out driving yesterday. This was a good sign since I actually left the house to meet a girlfriend of mine for lunch, and had a solid 45 minutes each way. I listened to my music and took in the scenery in a world that hasn’t changed that much outside, but has changed tremendously for me.

I began thinking about my book. The book due soon that I haven’t really started.

As some interesting scenes began slinking their way into my subconscious, I heard the most amazing voice—a voice that has been glaringly absent from my life in the past two months—and I almost swerved off the road in pure surprise.

Then began to have this conversation:

Muse: Hey, I like that idea. Instead of making the father an asshole for the whole book, we can try to redeem him and that will open up this really interesting part of the hero to the reader and explore the themes of forgiveness. In fact, what if we—

Me: Mouth dropping open. Where the hell have you been? You come to visit me NOW when I’m going to lunch and doing some shopping? I finally gave up looking for you!

Muse: Geez, dramatic much? Maybe it was time I took my vacation instead of asking you for one, since you deny me all the time anyway. Can you believe the Jersey Housewives this season? I think Theresa’s book tanked and was it wrong of me to feel good about that? Probably, but I don’t care.

Me: Is that why I’ve been gorging on all seasons of every Housewife episode on Bravo this past month? And Project Runway? And Hallmark channel Christmas movies?

Muse: **filing nails** Hell, yeah. That’s what I like to do on my vacation. Nada. You liking the naps?

Me: No! Well, yeah, but this is not what sells books! Promotion and social media and writing and stuff sells books! We are not retired. Do you know we have a deadline in less than two months? How are we going to do this? We’ll need to really dig in and get this thing going –oh, my, God, I don’t even know if we can pull this off!

Muse: Listen up. You’ve chained me to your desk for the past few years, promising me less books per year, trying to tempt me by saying “oh, it’s only a novella – we’ll just whip one out!” I don’t’ whip shit out. Every book takes something from me. I’m tired and cranky. Plus, we just lost two people in the family plus Rockin’ Robert, and you may want to magically recover in a week but I don’t work that way. I want to write what I want when I want and lately I haven’t wanted to write at all. I want to eat all the Halloween candy and take naps and hang out.

Me: This is unacceptable!

Muse: Don’t care. Make it work.

Me: I cannot believe you are throwing Tim Gunn in my face.

Muse: Part one of the finale is this week, dudette! Aren’t you excited?

Me: Yes, of course, but please can’t we just do a little writing? Can we try? I mean, I wrote this whole writing book and it’s Nanowrimo and I’m not being the best role model right now.

Muse: Rolls eyes. Maybe. I’m kind of interested to see how this first meeting will play out since the heroine doesn’t know the hero is showing up at the Inn. And what about that big secret? How are you going to introduce that?

Me: I don’t know but I need you to find out.

Muse: I’ll think about it. For now, I gave you this blog to write to entertain your readers so don’t push me. Can we have a grilled cheese for lunch with sour cream and onion chips?!

Me: I’m supposed to be watching carbs.

Muse: Fuck that.

Me: Okay, fine, but I’m going to sit in front of the computer and try for at least half an hour. You can show up or not, but I’m not moving for at least half an hour, even if I write: all work and no play makes Jen a dull girl. We’ll take it real slow. Fair?

Muse: mutters grumpily. Maybe.

Right now? That’s good enough for me.

For all of you out there with cranky, fabulous, moody, talented Muses—I hope she bestows buckets of inspiration and behaves herself this month for Nanowrimo.

Write on.

#writenaked

The Collateral Beauty…and Why I Write…

Two months ago, I decided to watch the movie, Collateral Beauty.

It had a stellar cast including Will Smith, Kiera Knightley, Helen Mira, and many others. I’d avoided it for a while since it got terrible reviews—by both critics and movie goers– so I chalked it off my list as something I could skip.

But one night, it was late and everyone was sleeping, and it was free on HBO so I watched it.

The movie struck me like an uppercut to the chin. The plot revolves around a father who lost his young daughter, and his life exploded into grief and chaos. Two years later, he’s not getting any better so his friends devise a plan to have him confront three universal symbols he’s been writing letters to: Time, Love, and Death.

That’s all I’ll give you but I’d highly recommend it. Yes, it could be considered cheesy but I found its message something I desperately needed.

I just hadn’t known it yet.

A few weeks later, my mother in law died. Over the summer, she checked into the hospital for a broken rib. She never got out.

Then my Dad was diagnosed with aggressive lung and bone cancer. He’d been in pain for about a month, and was first told it was muscular and to use Ben Gay. Then they said it was a kidney stone. Finally, a decent MRI was taken and they found it was all too late.

He died 2 weeks after my mother in law. I took care of him with my family and watched death take him a little more each day, right before my eyes. I experienced such a combination of tragic horror, shock, and grief it was hard to put into words for a while.

Then I remembered the movie, and a particular scene, and a sharp clarity jolted me like a lightning bolt.

The mother is in the hospital trying to deal with the shock of her daughter’s illness. A stranger sitting beside her asks, “Are you losing someone?” The mother says yes. And the stranger replies, “As you go through this, don’t forget to notice the collateral beauty around you.”

This insight has made all the difference.

In between the cracks of great loss, comes great beauty. A new vision that one simply cannot see or appreciate when things are too good. We scratch the surface of such happiness, perhaps grateful for it, but rarely diving deep into the soul to drink the nectar and savor the stunning beauty around us.

My world had shattered, but in the midst, was a vivid, ripping appreciation and awareness I hadn’t felt in a long time. The memories of my ups and down journey with my father throughout the years, finally leading to a relationship that meant everything to me because it was my choice. The way the sun bounced off the fall leaves and blinded me in a rainbow of golden colors as I drove to his funeral. The feel of my tears as they slid down my cheeks at the same time my lips curved up in a grateful smile as I remembered how he always made me laugh at the most serious of times. The solemn procession of my loved ones carrying his casket as the strains of Ave Maria echoed and bounced off the stained windows of the church. The pure white, silky smooth petals of the roses as we threw them into the hearse in our final goodbyes.

Everything looked different; felt different; and was experienced different.

I watched my Facebook feed blow up with support and love from everyone, and treasured every comment, appreciating each story people shared with me about their own losses. Food piled in; text messages piled up; flowers brightened my rooms.

I finally sat at my computer after two weeks—the longest I’ve been away from my work in over a decade. I looked at the blank page before me, knowing there was a book due, and a new release to promo, and a million other things I’d missed and felt…peaceful.

The old me would’ve had a panic attack or a stress breakdown. I’m really a workaholic.

The new me accepted that death doesn’t come in tidy packages in between your schedule. You are never truly prepared for what is around the corner and it was my time to be reminded. To savor this time and do what I needed to heal.

We all take our turns, my peeps.

Now, as you all know, everything in my life relates back to writing, even when the page is blank and the words simply won’t come. Because eventually, the words do come back. Maybe in a trickle at first, but if you sit and wait and try, eventually the trickle becomes a stream. Maybe it takes more time than you wanted, maybe you’ll find solace in your words earlier than others. Maybe you’ll write complete shit for a long time until the surface algae is cleaned out and the words run pure again.

You must walk your writing path alone.

Today is #WHYIWRITE day.

I encourage all writers—aspiring, published, or hobbyists—to write naked. Unleash all the demons onto the page, especially the mess of loss and grief and sadness. Instill your characters with these fragile human emotions and your story will be better. You will be better. Don’t stop to listen to the critics of your mind or on the outside because this is your unique journey – and YOU are the only one who can tell it.

Respect your journey. Honor it. Celebrate it. Grieve it.

Give it your all.

In closing, I am sharing the eulogy I wrote and read at my father’s funeral. Words are my comfort, and writing this from my heart helped express my desire for others to know a glimpse about the man who had a big effect on my life.

Thank you to everyone for their support.

May the words be with you.

#writenaked

EULOGY

My father wasn’t the classic TV type of Dad like Mike Brady from the Brady Bunch.

He was more like…Clint Eastwood. Or John Wayne. More of the lone wolf sort who liked to run his own show on his own terms.

He had a colorful past. Born in Brooklyn, one of five brothers, his stories about his childhood reminded me more of a Dickens novel rather than any type of television sitcom.

Dad may not have been the best in the world, but he taught me some of the most important things in life that have made my brother and I better people.

He taught me how important it is to laugh. He had the wickedest sense of humor—a dry wit that consistently surprised and entertained people. When my poor husband was first introduced to the family, he learned early that if we accepted you, we pranked you. He could lighten a tragic event with one of his one liners, and remind all of us how good laughing out loud felt. Even toward the end of his life, he still managed to joke, and I think that’s another reason he was so well-liked by everyone. Laughter is way underrated nowadays.

He taught me to challenge myself. When I was young, I kept reading the same books over and over again, rechecking them out from the library. He nagged me for a long time, telling me I had a responsibility to read across all genres and broaden my interest. He was the first person to introduce me to my very first romance novel – a juicy Danielle Steele. Mom got mad, but afterward, I got hooked, along with some of the greats like Sydney Sheldon, Stephen King, Dean Koontz, and all the endless classics. He did the same with music, and even today, an array of 70’s songs blare proudly from my Ipod with no apology—especially the Bee Gees.

He pushed me to learn new things. Not only did I love my father—I really liked him. He taught me and my brother how to play Chess, Poker, pinochle, and shoot pool. He showed me how to bet a long shot at the track, and to pick a horse in a race. Triple Crown season was a holiday to us, with stacks of OTB tickets by our side, as we yelled at the television set. He had a brilliant mind that consistently amazed and entertained me. He was the master at Scrabble and Trivial Pursuit and Jeopardy. I have a feeling right now, he’s gathering a big group of people in heaven for a poker game and urging them to ante up.

He was also an expert on directions. Being a cab driver for many years, he’d never let anyone drive without peppering them with long explanations of why to take what road and what the multiple outcomes could be if we didn’t, stomping on an imaginary brake when he believed me or Mom was going too fast.

But most of all, my father taught me about the power of forgiveness.

Family relationships can be difficult at many times. Bad choices and selfishness and human weakness cause great rifts, and bring us to a crossroads where we must make a choice. Family is forever—blood is blood—and by offering forgiveness when it was needed, my brother and I got our Dad back. We were able to experience the later part of his life with sheer joy, welcoming five grandchildren, endless dogs, in-laws, and chaos galore. He taught me not to hold grudges, and that sometimes, people can actually change, if given just one more chance.

I am truly blessed to have been with him in his final weeks, with my family. I will treasure every single memory, and never take a moment for granted. And when I hit a long shot, I’ll know it was you who giving me some extra luck from heaven.

Thank you, Dad. We love you.

Rest in Peace.

 

 

Let’s Talk About IT…

My son trying to scare me…

I know. Many of you aren’t horror fans. Many of you may not be (gasp!) Stephen King fans. The majority probably despise clowns. But I saw the movie IT this weekend and I began thinking about the story on a bigger scale.

First off, go read Chuck Wendig’s fabulous blog on IT and his take here:

http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2017/09/12/it-horror-fiction-and-story-shaped-heart-holes/

Many of his thoughts echo mine. So, not to repeat his stuff, I wanted to go deeper and wriggle into the actual writing of the story and what fascinates me so much.

Number one: the kids. King is well known to draft stories revolving around children, which also reminds me of the fabulous Netflix series, Stranger Things, I watched with my own boys. There is power in being a kid we forget about as we age. Sometimes, I think there is this magic pixie dust that hits us in the face at 30, or 40, and makes us forget all the important stuff of being young and excited about the world.

I’ve become less brave. I hate that about myself, and because I recognize, it, I force myself to do things I don’t want to do. Kids may be scared of the monster under the bed, but they’re fierce in the daytime world. They want to solve puzzles, and question why things are and how adults think. They relish time and squeeze out every moment. They challenge the status quo and the societal expectations and run really fast and get hurt and PUSH. They see things adults can’t see because we have lost our true vision. There are no monsters under the bed for us. Our monsters are the mortgage bills, and getting to work on time, and the oil change for the car, and cleaning the house and surviving life. We traded in dreams for adult problems. If there’s a paved road in front and a wooded one to the side, we have learned by experience to just trudge down the paved road because it’s easier and shorter.

We couldn’t see Pennywise or the blood in the bathroom or the red balloon because we don’t think it’s real. But it is. It’s a huge, real problem taking children from the neighborhoods, so the kids have to solve the problem because at least THEY SEE IT.

The second power of the movie is friendship.

At first, the small core of friends expands by accepting others who are being bullied by the same boys. But eventually, they all bond and recognize each of them have problems at home. One lost a sibling. One is abused by her father. One is trapped in life he despises and is told he can’t have more. One is tricked into believing he is sick. One is overweight and new in town.

What’s so beautiful watching kids deal with others is the simplicity of acceptance. They are there for each other, but they also realize there is not much they can do. They are only kids. They are trapped under the rule of adults, so together, they get to make different rules. They earn the respect of one another. They don’t whine about their lot in life, or waste time on things they can’t change. They take action on the things they can—even if they are scared. And they are more powerful together.

They fight. They separate for a while. But when the shit hits the fan, they are there for each other. That’s how life in the adult world should be. Less blame and whining and complaining that things can’t change. More powerful group dynamics and bravery and acceptance.

Less Facebook and social media.

More creativity and real dialogue and real experiences – not just an update on your status.

So, watching the movie come to life helped bring some of these elements of the world into view. I didn’t see these when I read the book because I was 14. Now, rereading it and watching the movie, I see things differently. I sigh and ponder that fourteen-year-old who was adored her dog-eared paperback and shivered in delight at the classic tale of good versus evil.

I still love the thrill of a good scare. Maybe because it reminds me of when I was younger and braver. It reminds me of climbing to the top branch of a tree just to prove I could do it, and reading in bed with a flashlight under my covers, and picking raspberries in the woods and eating them even though they weren’t washed and there were scary bugs and pricker bushes and ticks.

What memories do you cherish from your childhood?

Practicing Writing Naked…

It’s odd how some days emotion lurks dangerously close to the surface, seeping through the skin and threatening to release in a flood of tears. The philosophies and circle of life is such a mix of joy and pain – that is why I write. There is no other way to sift through the mess and try to make some sense of it.

My mother in law lays in a hospital bed at seventy-eight years old. She had no health issues and went to the hospital for a broken rib.

She never got out.

The X-rays revealed kidney issues, which led to dialysis. This led to a stroke and a brain bleed and a stint in her brain. This led to feeding issues, and then pneumonia. Now she’s in ICU and we don’t know what will happen. My husband waits every day by his phone, dreading a call, the nights spent hoping sleep isn’t broken by a professional, clipped voice telling him the news of her passing.

My son attended his first day of middle school. School is a reminder to me my children are on loan – though in my bones and heart they are all mine and I love them with a fierceness that would intimidate a mama bear, once he got out of my car and walked toward the school, I realized I was on the timer. He is becoming his own person, learning the rules of society and figuring out who he is. What actions he can live with and which ones he can’t. He’ll make many mistakes and get his heart broken and I’ll stand on the sidelines watching.

I’ve been crying most of the day allowing myself to feel the reality of my children growing up while my mother-in-law battles for life. Crying is damn freeing and it’s truth for me, on this day, in this moment.

I think of my mother in law sending my husband off to school for the very first time. The clothes may have changed, the social environment and the schools are different, but the actions of letting go are timeless. Did her heart squeeze with pride and joy and sadness when he disappeared through that school door? Did she think of him grown up, with a family of his own, sending off his own children like I do right now? Did she memorize his crooked smile and big boy clothes and shiny new backpack and hold the image tight to her heart, positive she’d never forget it?

Today, I watched my dog sleep undisturbed when I entered the house. She never picked up her head because she didn’t hear me. She’s fourteen years old and half deaf. Her face is white and she has to go the bathroom more and she sometimes walks like her hips and joints ache. I think about when I got her as a puppy at eight weeks old, and how when I held her for the first time, she threw up all over me and I knew she was meant to be mine. I think of how she ate my furniture and curtains and most of my shoes and how she’d run so fast, no one could ever catch her. I think of how she lays on her leopard memory foam bed beside my desk every day while I write. And I wonder if I’ll ever be able to write again if she leaves me. So, I’ve been treasuring her more lately, giving her extra bones and kisses and quality time, because when I see that beautiful white face look into mine with pure adoration, my heart feels like it’ll break it’s so full. And I try not to think past the moment because it hurts too much.

Some things begin. Some things end. Some things continue.

Everything changes.

Take all of it – especially on those days when the mess is bubbling up like a pot of stew, spewing bursts of food against the walls, leaking over the stove, a bit out of control.

Take it and use it in the writing and refuse to apologize. This is the stuff that is human and real and true.

This is the stuff that must be on the page because it will translate to a great book.

Tomorrow I may wake up and feel none of this. I may look back and laugh at myself for feeling so vulnerable and emotional and silly.

But I don’t want to forget. This day happened and it was real and it should be turned into something beautiful.

It should be turned into story.

#writenaked

 

The Easy Road? Or the Hard Road? Creative Musings…

I went to dinner with an old friend tonight and had too much wine and got a bit emotional. I figured it would make for a good blog so here we go…

I realized there are a lot of things that are easy to do in this life. Here are some of them.

It’s easy to listen to other people’s opinions about your own self.

It’s easy to believe the bad rather than the good.

It’s easy to believe we got lucky or didn’t deserve it when something good happens to us.

It’s easy to believe we don’t deserve love.

It’s easy to believe we shouldn’t pursue creative passions such as art, or writing, or music, because it’s a bit selfish and completely illogical.

It’s easy to believe consistent rejection means you will never sell or be worth anything.

It’s easy to give up.

 

This is the hard stuff:

It’s hard to think you are deserving of everything wonderful and good in this world.

It’s hard to think you are really talented and worked hard and that is why your book, or painting, or song is successful.

It’s hard to believe in yourself when no one else does.

It’s hard to imagine living a beautiful life when there is so much pain surrounding us.

It’s hard to believe you are special and God has a plan for you.

It’s hard to keep going.

Life is difficult. But damn, when we pursue our passions and believe in ourselves, eventually, one day, the amazing stuff happens. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But someday.

If we quit, we’ll never know. Isn’t that so much harder to always wonder what if?

Write the book. Write the song. Paint the picture. Get on stage and act. Sing. Do. Be.

Because I’ve learned an important lesson.

If you do, the hard stuff becomes…easier.

Peace out.

May the words be with you.

#writenaked

 

The Official Playlist for All or Nothing At All

Music is a passion of mine, like writing. Within each stanza, diving deeply into the rich layers of voice, I discover a new world of emotion I can tap into over and over. Each book I write I create a specialized playlist which reflects my characters, the unique story, and the twisted pathway to a happy ever after that is many times, quite painful to travel.

This is my playlist for my newest release, All or Nothing At All. You’ll find there’s a theme within each song, thrown in with a few hits I couldn’t stop hitting the repeat button on.

The list is always uploaded on my Spotify page for your enjoyment. I hope you enjoy the journey of Tristan and Sydney, and the music I listened to while I created it.

 

Broken – Lifehouse

Oh, No – Commodores

Ride – 21 Pilots

Rise – Katy Perry

We Don’t Talk Anymore – Charlie Puth/Selena Gomez

Silver Springs – Fleetwood Mac/Stevie Nicks

Let It Go – James Bay

Unsteady – X Ambassadors

Not Today – Imagine Dragons

Closer – Chainsmokers featuring Halsey

When We Were Young – Adele

Let Me Love You – DJ Snake/Justin Bieber

All or Nothing At All – Frank Sinatra

Insensitive – Jan Arden

Whatever It Takes – Lifehouse

 

On Joy…

Summer’s been kicking my ass.

In a good way. A really good way. Vacations and family time. Summer reading and cocktails. Delivering a new book in a series and scrambling to get the word out about my newest release. Boys demanding to be fed constantly and my house trashed on a daily basis. It’s a lot but it’s all good.

Of course, my blog suffers a bit, and I promised to be on a more regular schedule so I do apologize my peeps.

When I was at the beach I composed this blog in my head, so I hope some of the words made it back home. I was watching my boys play in the surf at the beach. Every mother enjoys watching their children, especially during happy moments, but I was struck almost like a lightning bolt at the sheer joy on my boys’ faces as they jumped waves and fell in the sand, laughing and running around in pure freedom. I looked out at the horizon, blue sky and fluffy clouds, feet curled in the hot sand, gritty on my skin and my tongue, and thought to myself, “This is everything.”

And it was. That moment. I savored each precious second and drowned myself in the pleasure. This type of pleasure is so fleeting, we miss it too much. When I looked around, I realized most of the people on the beach were also paying attention. I’m so used to seeing everyone with heads bent over their phones, caught up in the world of their own making and trapped in social media land. I love it too, but there’s a place for it. And when we’re too busy posting or texting the moment to actually enjoy the moment, we may need to step back.

I thought about the joy of holding my book in my hands. All or Nothing At All releases on Tuesday. It was a hard book to write, with four complete drafts and a lot of whining, crying, anger, and finally, writing. The last book in a series is bittersweet. I love this book I created. It’s rich with emotion and story and I forgot how important it is to take a step back and savor the joy of realizing your book is published and being read by people other than your family. It’s intoxicating. Too many times, I’m rushing so hard to the goal line of writing another book, I forget to give myself a bit of room and pride for the one I released. I forget to think over the series that I finished and what I brought to the world –these stories that intermingled and arced together to make a perfect puzzle.

Whether it’s work, family, or play, joy can be a quiet thing that is ready to be recognized at any time; or come at you like a fire burst, shattering in waves and sparks around you, begging you to look up and SEE.

I hope everyone is enjoying summer and basking in whatever joy you may find in your life.

Oh, and don’t forget to order All or Nothing At All.

That will bring me great joy LOL!