Sonia Marsh's Blog, page 23

I thought I was Stupid; Now I have a PhD

From GED to PhD

“My Gutsy Story®” by Laurie Buchanan

Following thirteen months behind my only sibling’s footsteps was hard. Really hard. From elementary school on, Julie was a glowing student. Barely having to crack a book, she absorbed, digested, and understood information seemingly by osmosis, and had fun doing it.

Laurie Buchanan elementary school.

She maintained straight A’s throughout her academic career, was listed on every honor roll, was valedictorian of her graduating class, and earned a scholarship to San Diego State University. I, on the other hand, struggled to maintain a C average and ran away from home at the age of fifteen.

Let’s take a moment and rewind…

I thought I was stupid. Compared to my sister, it certainly appeared that way. However, it wasn’t until many years later I discovered that I learn in a different way from how I was being taught. There are three learning styles:

Auditory learners grasp things by hearing them—the worst test type for them is reading passages and writing answers about them in a timed test. They’re best at writing responses to lectures they’ve heard. They’re also good at oral exams.


Visual learners comprehend through seeing them—the worst test type for them is listen and respond. They’re best at diagramming, reading maps, essays (if they’ve studied using an outline), and showing a process.


Tactile (kinesthetic) learners understand through experiencing/doing them—the worst test type for them is lengthy tests and essays. They’re best at short definitions, fill in the blanks, and multiple choice.

The general teaching population when I was in school were auditory teachers. As a heavily tactile learner, with a smidgen of visual thrown in for good measure, I was missing the boat!

Fast forward…

When you run away from home, you also run away from school. Had I done any advance planning—which I had not—I would have known that if you leave high school before you graduate, you can’t test for a GED—General Education Diploma—until two years after your graduating class.

“Why not?” I asked. The firm, but polite career counselor at Clark College, the local junior college in Vancouver, Washington—a few states from home—explained that if that particular stop-gap measure weren’t in place, every high school student would jump ship early.

I had lied about my age and was working at Fred Meyer, a large, everything-under-one-roof store. Over the next few years I worked my way up to managing the women’s wear department, then added men’s wear, and topped it off with furniture.

During this window of time I was gaining valuable life experience. Part of this seat-of-the-pants wisdom was learning to say, “I don’t understand. Can you please explain it differently?” And then I noticed that no matter how many times someone “told” me, it wasn’t until they “showed” me that I got it! When shown, I not only met, but exceeded what was expected of me.

Managing all of those departments wasn’t enough to keep my mind fully occupied. If testing for the GED was out of the question at that time, I wanted to know if they’d at least let me take CLEP tests (College Level Examination Program) so I’d be ready to hit the ground running at the junior college level once I had my diploma in hand. The same polite, but firm career counselor I’d spoken with before explained, “That program is for high school graduates and people who’ve already earned their GED.”

I’d left high school as a sophomore in 1973. Four long years I waited and prepared to take the GED examination. On a hot day in late June of 1977, with the cut-grass tang of summer in the air, I slipped into a front row seat at the testing center; one of about twenty other people enveloped in the sterile classroom setting. The examiner explained that talking was expressly prohibited.

The all-day test was given in seven parts: Language Arts (writing)—50 questions, 75 minutes. Language Arts (reading) 40 questions, 65 minutes. Social Studies—50 questions, 70 minutes. Science—50 questions, 80 minutes. Math (calculator allowed)—25 questions, 45 minutes. Math (calculator not allowed)—25 questions, 45 minutes. US Constitution—45 questions, 60 minutes.

Laurie after passing her GED

Head high with a face-splitting grin, I left the facility with every confidence that I’d aced the test. Six weeks later I received my GED certificate in the mail. And that was just the beginning. Over time I earned my associates degree, then bachelors, followed by a masters degree. Finally, two weeks before my fiftieth birthday, I sat and defended my PhD thesis.

Hard-wired for buoyancy and tenacious as a terrier, when I set my mind on something I go after it with tremendous resolve. It took a while, but I eventually went from GED to PhD.

You might be wondering why I ran away from home. Ah, that’s another story…

LAURIE BUCHANAN BIO:

Board Certified with the American Association of Drugless Practitioners, Laurie Buchanan is a holistic health practitioner and transformation life coach. With the philosophy of “Whatever you are not changing, you are choosing,” Laurie works with the whole person, helping them turn intention into action; bridging the gap between where they are, and where they want to be — body, mind, and spirit. Please join Laurie on Twitter @HolEssence, and please like her on Facebook.

SONIA MARSH SAYS: I know your story will motivate someone to keep going with their education. I remember struggling to “memorize” certain subjects in school, without understanding the concepts. Congratulations on getting your PhD., and not giving up.

***

Do you have a “My Gutsy Story®” you’d like to share?

Click on cover to go to Amazon

Would you like to submit your “My Gutsy Story®” and get published in our 2nd anthology?

Please see guidelines below and contact Sonia Marsh at: sonia@soniamarsh.com for details.

You can find all the information, and our new sponsors on the “My Gutsy Story®” contest page. (VIDEO) Submission guidelines here

VOTING for your favorite December 2013  stories starts on January 2nd, 2014, and ends on January 15th. The WINNER is announced on January 16th. Please check out all our December stories with Marian Beaman and Fee Johnson, Ian Mathie, Jessica O’Gorek and Laurie Buchanan, sharing their “My Gutsy Story®.”

Are You Ready For A Quick Run?

My Christmas Gift from Duke

I hope you had a wonderful Christmas celebration with family, friends and lots of goodies to celebrate this time of year. I had 22 people over for a wonderful Danish/French/American Christmas meal.

I am so proud of my husband, Duke. He started running in April, and has lost 65 pounds. He runs daily, anywhere from 5 to 16 miles. This has made a huge difference in how he feels and in the way he now eats.

In order to stay motivated, Duke signs up for 5K and 10K races every month or so, and just registered for his first marathon next June.

I HATE running, and have always said, “I cannot run, my legs won’t move,” until two weeks ago when I decided to run a little, walk a little, run then walk, etc.

I borrowed Duke’s Garmin to see how far I could run, and was thrilled when it displayed, 1.4 miles. Well I did walk a little as well, but don’t tell anyone.

So for Christmas Duke bought me a Garmin watch, and I just downloaded “Map My Run.” I guess he really wants me to run, and with a purple watch–yes, he did try to get a turquoise one–I shall keep running as a warm-up before I go to the gym to lift weights. Yes, I refuse to give up the gym, and doubt I shall be training for a marathon in the next 5 years.

Anyway, I did eat a little too much yesterday, so as soon as I hit Publish, I shall run around the block with my new Garmin Forerunner 10.

What about you? Do you run?

“Why I love Crack” by Jessica O’Gorek

Why I love crack cocaine

My Gutsy Story® by Jessica O’Gorek

“I DO NOT ENCOURAGE THE USE OF any legal, illegal or recreational drugs, period. This is a story and not a love confession for crack cocaine. I condone no mind altering substances, not even alcohol, which is why I haven’t even had a beer in over TEN years!”– Jessica O-Gorek.

At eight years old, my parents divorced: strike one. At ten, my mother was bi-polar and had spent a good six months in Western State Mental Hospital then took off to Richmond where I didn’t see her for a good year. I was told she was sick and couldn’t handle raising me at the time: strike three. At twelve, I decided I wanted to smoke cigarettes and being the all-knowing teenager, I would proceed to replace the love I was lacking from my mother by getting it from boys. So I started having sex and sneaking out in the middle of the night: strike four.  At thirteen, I met my future husband: strike five, six and seven. At sixteen, I got drunk for the first time and spent a good half an hour retching in my boyfriend’s front yard: lost count! At seventeen, my father didn’t know what to do with my sorry ass anymore so he left me at his house and went to live thirty minutes away with his girlfriend. At eighteen, I got married, bought a house and two acres in the country and smoked a joint for the first time: Strike infinite!

What follows is a whirlwind story about spousal, drug and all forms of abuse, combined with motherhood, addiction, recovery and chasing my ultimate dream of becoming an author.

Now, where was I? Oh, right, eighteen. I quickly learned that my husband and high school sweet heart is a controlling, physically and emotionally abusive redneck and that the only way we could tolerate each other was by smoking a lot of weed. Twenty: It’s time for a baby! Yeah, I thought maybe a crying, stinky swaddled mess of adorable would save our marriage. Ha! Thankfully, my daughter, combined with a new drug, cocaine, would be the beginning of the end of my first pitiful marriage. When he decided to hit me in front of her at ten months old and strangled me because I wouldn’t let him put coke on certain body parts, I decided it was time to leave.

At twenty, I took my girl and ran over to where my dad moved. I met up with my other high school sweetheart, got my own place for the first time and got clean for about six months. Then I met White Boy Larry, the equivalent of my pimp in disguise. White Boy Larry was his code name to get into the crack house where he introduced me to my new lover, Crack.

Crack and I got along splendidly! He would keep me up all night, make me feel like superwoman, helped me lose weight, and cleaned my house, the perfect life companion, right? Our relationship was one of few words and little emotional growth. He always seemed to know what I wanted, when I wanted it and I couldn’t get enough of him! If he was gone, even for a second, I would miss him so badly! I would go out at all odd hours of the night to try and find him and bring him safely home. The only issue was he wanted me all to himself and would rarely give up any space in my brain or heart so I could share it with my daughter.

After six months, our beautiful relationship began to take a serious nosedive. When he found out I was cheating on him with Sam, my soon to be second husband, he got a little angry. When I told him my daughter meant more to me than him, he got even angrier; so angry that he kept me up for three days, stressed me out so much I developed hives and couldn’t’ eat or drink anything!

Finally, with Sam’s encouragement, I was able to break up with Crack. Sam told me I had an addiction to Crack and that I needed some serious help to get over him. At ninety pounds, with hives and an empty shell of a soul, I made a decision to enter into substance abuse counseling with sixteen other addicts like myself.

That was in 2003, at age 23. I had a few epiphanies while in counseling. As I sat in a room with sixteen other ladies, the counselor told us all that one of us would still be clean within one year’s time. As I looked at the other ladies with their scars and tats, the empty sadness in their eyes reminded me of wounded animals in a cage. I decided that I would be that one person and that no one would stop me. For once, my stubbornness was on my side and not against me.

I quit using all legal, (alcohol included) and illegal substances. I became a wonderful mother, married Sam in 2005, quit smoking cigarettes in 2007, and became a religious exerciser and a vegetarian. Today, I have been clean for eleven years, I run 3-5 miles a day, 4 days a week, I earn a dependable 50K a year, I have a car that’s paid for, my own place, a fabulous 13-year-old girl, I’m a published author and I just took a huge leap of faith by leaving my second husband because I wasn’t in love anymore. My next step at self-preservation is getting off my anti-depressants and working my way to the top of a best sellers list!

So I love crack cocaine because it took me to the dungeon so I could appreciate moving up to the tower of the castle. Without starving in its shadows, I never would have been able to be thankful for any light that crept through between the bars of my dungeon cell. It has taught that if I love myself, everything else will fall where it’s meant to. Not always where and when I want it to, but where it’s meant to.

Click on cover to go to Amazon

Amazon link
Goodreads link

 JESSICA O’GOREK BIO: I was born in Chesapeake, Virginia in 1979. I was raised within the American Indian religion and was taught great respect for the earth and all its living beings. I grew up admiring my father, Barry Weinstock, as an author. He took me around the country to different places so he could write his Wilderness Survival books. When I was twelve, I started hand writing novels. My first one was two thousand pages.In October of 2012, I lost him to lung cancer. In his hospital bed, I promised him I would be a famous author one day. He looked at me with all of wisdom and sadness and replied, “Honey, I don’t doubt it.”

The dedication in my first published book, Gemini Rising- Ethereal Fury reads, “I did daddy! I finally did it! This one’s for you.”

Please check out Jessica’s website
Twitter: @geminirising1
Facebook

SONIA MARSH SAYS: Jessica, I loved your honesty about the bad stuff you went through in your life. Not many are willing to open up to the extent you did and that’s gutsy. Thank you for sharing a tough part of your life with us, and how you succeeded in getting out of your journey towards hell.

Do you have a “My Gutsy Story®” you’d like to share?

Click on cover to go to Amazon

Would you like to submit your “My Gutsy Story®” and get published in our 2nd anthology?

Please see guidelines below and contact Sonia Marsh at: sonia@soniamarsh.com for details.

You can find all the information, and our new sponsors on the “My Gutsy Story®” contest page. (VIDEO) Submission guidelines here

Our December 2013  stories have started with Marian Beaman and Fee Johnson, and Ian Mathie sharing their “My Gutsy Story®.”

How Do I get My Book Made into a Movie?

Like most authors, I really, really want my book made into a movie, and I also believe, like most authors, that I have a unique story that lends itself to a screenplay.

The question is how do I get my book in the hands of the perfect Hollywood producer who will fall in love with my story?

First, let me tell you what happened to me on the day I launched my first book: Freeways to Flip-Flops: A Family’s Year of gutsy Living on a Tropical Island.

I received a phone call from an associate producer of a new TV talk show scheduled to air in the Fall. They found me online by Googling keywords like family/travel/adventure/gutsy. Marianne, the associate producer prepped me for the show, and although things were changed at the last minute, she helped me develop a pitch and suggested I contact (GMA) Good Morning America. Here was the pitch she developed for me: “I took my affluent teenagers to live in the jungle.” I followed her advice but had no luck with (GMA).

But I won’t give up, so I’ve been spending time listening to webinars on how to get your book made into a movie and all of them have asked me to pay a fee for either:

Turning my book into a screenplay or
Guaranteeing that my material will be reviewed by producers without the need of an agent. All I have to do is purchase a set of books and videos (offered at a one-time special low fee) that will help me prepare a 3-5 page in depth description and analysis of my book and capture the attention of real producers.

I asked an award-winning playwright if this is how I should proceed and she said:

“The way this usually works is the producer should be the one paying to option your book, not the other way around.  And there would need to be a written option agreement between you.” 

She added:

“Unless the person is clearly a working screenwriter in Hollywood with LOTS of connections,  even if he wrote the script, the chances he could get it produced are small.  You think the publishing world is tough?  Hollywood is worse.”

I have come to the conclusion that the best way to get your movie in the hands of a producer, is to either:

Know a Producer
Have a contact in the film industry who knows a producer, or who is close friends with an agent/producer/someone in the business
Have a bestseller if you’re indie-published, which will bring attention to your book; think Amanda Hocking
If you have a literary agent, have them help you with their film agent contacts
Make things happen yourself through networking at conferences, asking people you meet.

In a article by Warren Adler in the Huffington Post, Warren states:

“It is difficult to explain this reality to an eager questioner who believes he or she has created a work of genius. My usual answer is to advise them to find a way to attract the attention of the “Hollywood agentry,” those intrepid and seasoned soldiers whose experience and contacts are geared to gain the attention of stars, producers, studios, writers and the entire gaggle of entrepreneurs who put their judgment on the line and find the money to reach the entertainment marketplace.”

“The real future for novelists may be in venues yet to come made possible by technology that might be just beginning to emerge.”

I am curious what Warren means in this last statement. Sounds interesting.

Warren Adler, best known for “The War of the Roses” garnered outstanding box office and critical success with Golden Globe, BAFTA and multiple award nominations internationally, Adler went on to sell movie and film rights for 12 books, all noted for his character driven and masterful storytelling.

Here is another article I found helpful, “Turn You Book Into a Movie: Tips and Guidelines.”

Even in this article, they stress the importance of contacts.

“In any business, it’s important to make great contacts. If you’ve got big dreams of being a Hollywood blockbuster writer, then it may be time to launch yourself full-on into the Tinsel Town community.”

(Please note, I’m an indie author who is passionate about marketing and sharing with other indie authors on my blog. Please join our Gutsy Indie Publishers Facebook Group where we welcome you to ask questions.

If you’d like links to webinars on this topic, please e-mail me at: Sonia@soniamarsh.com

I hope you join me in Making things happen yourself through networking at conferences, and asking people you meet.

I refuse  to give up.

What about you?

 

“Waiting for My Camel to Come Back” by Ian Mathie

The Camel at Ngiouri Well

“ My Gutsy Story®” by Ian Mathie

I travelled south from the Bilma oasis, in the empty wastes of the Sahara, with a small Hausa salt trading caravan. We had been going five days when we reached the well at Ngiouri. Situated below a small hillock with a stone cairn on top, the well had not been visited by anyone else for some weeks, and we found it choked with windblown sand. It took us twelve hours digging, passing baskets of sand up a human chain to the surface for disposal, before we were able to get at the water which collected in a small cleft in the bedrock.

By the time we were able to begin watering our camels, I had developed a slight fever, but still had to wait for a drink as the animals are always watered first. The well’s refill time was slow so it took almost half an hour for each of the fifteen camels to drink before any of the humans got a drop. Being an outsider who had joined the caravan for my own convenience, my camel and I had to wait until almost the last.

By the time my turn came the fever had developed, and I was confused and fumbling on the verge of delirium.  When my camel had drunk the first of its intended two buckets of water, something spooked it and it shied away, wandering off into the darkness before I could get a firm grip on its lead rope. Everyone else was too preoccupied with making their own food and settling down for a good night’s sleep to notice. It was eighteen hours after arrival that I finally got a drink myself, having been without water since the previous morning when out original supply ran out.

When dawn came there was no sign of my camel, and the rest of the caravan was preparing to move on. Their party included old people who were in need of medical attention, and could not afford to delay. Hamidi, the caravan master, came to speak to me, saying they could not afford to delay. I would have to remain at the well until my camel came back, while the rest of them went on.

“Will it come back?” I asked.

“Oh, certainly,” he assured me. “A camel can only go nine days without drinking if it has had a full stomach. Yours had only had one bucket. It will be back before that as there is no other water within range. Camels can smell water from many miles away.” He said the pause would give me time to recover from the fever.

Hamidi also assured me that if anyone else found my camel they would bring it here. A white man travelling alone with a camel does not go unnoticed. I and my camel had aroused plenty of discussion at Bilma. Another caravan was due to follow this route four or five days behind us, so if all else failed I could continue my journey with them.

“Just be patient,” he said as he left me, and by noon the caravan had moved on and disappeared over the southern horizon.

Once I was on my own, I moved my camel saddle and baggage panniers onto the rising ground of the cairn topped hillock. Using a pair of four foot long poles, carried for the purpose, and a cotton sheet, I rigged an awning to provide shade, attaching the back to the saddle and weighting the corners with small stones collected from the desert around me. The shade was welcome in the rising heat, and the slightly elevated position enabled me to see some miles back down the route along which the next caravan from Bilma should come. It had the disadvantage of exposing me to the incessant grit-laden wind.

Late that afternoon as I dozed, I heard a familiar gurgling noise. I sat upright, expecting to see the second caravan arriving, but the shimmering desert was empty. When the sound came again, I scrambled from my shelter and looked around. Still there was nothing to see. It was only when I staggered further up the mound, and could look down the other side, that I saw the source of the sound.

A large bull camel was couched, its left foreleg bound with rope to stop it rising. When it saw me, it let out another gurgling bellow. It was completely alone and there was no sign of anyone camped nearby. I wondered where its owner was and how long it had been there. Had it been there before the caravan left? I had seen nobody else at the well, which was in full view of my awning.

It was quite possible the camel had been there for several days, and it had clearly not had a drink in that time. I lurched back to my awning, pulled out my canvas bucket and a half filled water skin, and dragged these over to where it sat. Its head came down immediately as I poured water into the bucket, and in seconds it had sucked this dry. I refilled it twice and as I pulled the bucked clear, the camel shook its head vigorously, its lips flapping and spraying frothy saliva in an ark which glistened in the bright sunlight.

Still not fully recovered from the fever, I lurched back to my shelter and lay down to rest. I awoke in the cool of predawn, feeling thirsty. My water skin was all bit empty, so I took it down to the well to refill it.

The wind, which never stops in this part of the desert, had deposited a generous pile of sand in the well, and it took me all morning to dig this out before I could get at the water. Even then it took the cleft a long time to refill each time I had taken a couple of bows full and decanted it into my water skin. The water was brackish, tasting very like Epsom Salts and I knew not to drink too much in one go or the results could be uncomfortable. It was almost dark by the time I dragged my full water skin out of the well, so I returned to my shelter, ate a few dates and rested.

For two more days I rested and waited. Each evening, when I climbed the hillock to look, the bull camel was still there, waiting patiently. It gurgled when it saw me, but made no effort to rise. After two days, feeling better myself, I gave it another drink.

On my seventh day at the well, the camel’s owner turned up, with two other camels and a small flock of scrawny goats. He watered his animals, thanked me for giving water to the bull and gave me a gourd of fresh goat’s milk. Then he bid me a safe journey and in minutes he and all his animals had disappeared over the horizon.

I sat, alone, through the heat of the day. Just before sunset my own camel came back. She sucked greedily at the first bucket of water I offered, and then, on a whim, I pulled the bucket aside and refused to give her more. I tucked the lead rope into her head collar and let her go. After a moment’s hesitation, she turned and ambled off into the desert as before.

Five days later there was still no sign of the second caravan from Bilma and I was beginning to wonder if I had made a very foolish mistake. As the sun kissed the western horizon, I heard a familiar gurgle. My camel had returned.

This time I watered her well and did not let her go.

Ian Mathie – Bio

Born in Scotland and taken to Africa aged three, Ian Mathie grew up in the bush. After short service as a pilot in the RAF, he returned to West Africa as a rural development officer. Well adapted to living in the bush, Ian worked with isolated societies, sharing their hardships and understanding cultures from the inside.

Following political changes, he returned to the UK and retrained as an industrial psychologist. Since then he has designed and run award winning personnel development programmes in UK, Europe and Africa.

Now restricted from travelling by a medical condition, he lives in south Warwickshire with his wife and dog, and writes books, mainly about Africa.

Soon to be published

Please check out Ian’s Website
You can Ian’s books on Amazon here.
The UK Amazon link is here.
Also on Goodreads and Facebook.
Not on Twitter.

SONIA MARSH SAYS: This is an unique “gutsy” story Ian. I think had I been in your place, I would not have let my camel wonder off. I know you have learned many life lessons from all your years in various parts of Africa. I truly enjoyed reading your first book, “Bride Price.”

 ***

Do you have a “My Gutsy Story®” you’d like to share?

Would you like to submit your “My Gutsy Story®” and get published in our 2nd anthology?

Please see guidelines below and contact Sonia Marsh at: sonia@soniamarsh.com for details.

You can find all the information, and our new sponsors on the “My Gutsy Story®” contest page. (VIDEO) Submission guidelines here

Our December 2013  stories have started with Marian Beaman and Fee Johnson, sharing their “My Gutsy Story®.” 

Winner of the November “My Gutsy Story®” Ed Robinson

Congratulations to Ed Robinson for winning the November “My Gutsy Story®” contest.

All four authors shared inspiring and motivational stories, and they shall all be included in our 2nd

“My Gutsy Story®” Anthology.

1st Place Ed Robinson.

Ed Robinson

 

Ed wrote about how he quit his job to live a simple life on a boat. Ed and his wife Kim have found their paradise.

2nd Place: Lola De Maci.

Lola De Maci

Lola De Maci wrote a remarkable story about her journey towards getting a Masters Degree in Education, despite fighting breast cancer. She never gave up.

 

Lola De Maci

 

3rd Place: Janet Simcic

Janet Simcic

Instead of letting cancer stop Janet from doing things with her life, she took a different approach. Janet took on projects she’d put off because she’d been too busy. Her story will energize and motivate you.

Janet Simcic

4th Place: Boyd Lemon

 

Boyd has a fascinating story of how he decided to uproot at age sixty-six, after spending his whole life in California, and moved to Boston. After that he decided to move to Paris. He has written several books.

Boyd Lemon

Thank you to all four authors. Your stories are all WINNERS.

***

Do you have a “My Gutsy Story®” you’d like to share?

Click on cover to see on Amazon

Would you like to submit your “My Gutsy Story®” and get published in our 2nd anthology?

Please see guidelines below and contact Sonia Marsh at: sonia@soniamarsh.com for details.

You can find all the information, and our new sponsors on the “My Gutsy Story®” contest page. (VIDEO) Submission guidelines here

Our December 2013  stories have started with Marian Beaman and Fee Johnson, sharing their “My Gutsy Story®.” Next Monday, December 16th, Ian Mathie will share his “My Gutsy Story®.”

“How Writing Saved My Life” by Felicia Johnson

“The Best Kind of Therapy”
My Gutsy Story® by Felicia Johnson

When I was six years old, my second grade teacher, Ms. Medley, gave me my first writing assignment. The only rule of the assignment was to write one paragraph about something that I wanted. My assignment was titled: I Want A Dog. Paragraph one started with how much I would have liked to have a dog (very much), why (because they are so cute and fluffy), and why I couldn’t have one (our home was too small). Then, when I finished with the reason as to why I couldn’t have a dog, I began a second paragraph. Then a third and a fourth. By the time I ran out of paper, I had written 100 pages.

Monday morning came, and Ms. Medley read a few students’ paragraphs aloud. When she finally got to mine, she held up my notebook to the class and said, “Felicia has written a novel! It is called I Want A Dog.”

After school, Ms. Medley took the time to explain to me what a novel is. She explained that a novel is a prose narrative made up of characters, emotions, and expressions. She told me that the writers who produce these novels are called authors. Ms. Medley said that if I keep writing, filling up a hundred-plus pages of notebooks, then one day I could be an author.

I asked her if I was in trouble for doing the assignment incorrectly. Ms. Medley’s reply was not what I had expected. She said, “Felicia, the assignment was completed correctly as long as it was written by you, and you feel that everything that you want to express is in the story.” I said it was, and she replied, “Okay. You’re a writer. Keep on writing.” I never forgot Ms. Medley’s encouraging words, and I kept writing through my adolescent years.

Growing up, I suffered from child abuse. My parents had me when they were very young, and my mother was single for the majority of my teenage years. As the oldest of my mother’s four children, I took on a lot of responsibility taking care of my brothers and sister. Being forced to grow up fast had its consequences.

When I was fifteen years old, I had a best friend named Holly. Holly was diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder. My friend lost her battle with BPD and committed suicide when she was only fifteen years old.

I developed major depression and I was put on medication and saw a therapist. However, I found that writing was the best therapy. I wrote journals about my memories of Holly, and what it was like growing up. Before I realized it, the journal had turned into a novel of great memories. Coping with depression through writing saved my life.

Years after Holly’s death, I had an idea to write a story about a girl who suffered from depression and BPD, but survived all that she had been through. I started on a story, with Holly in mind and combined a bit of what it was like growing up for me and surviving my own experiences.

I knew that if I had continued down the path of healing, that I would be able to help others who had suffered from child abuse and mental illness through my writing. Therefore, I continued to write and produced my first novel called Her. Her is a story of hope and survival.

Speaking out through writing was the gutsiest thing that I can say I’ve done. My gutsy story is about speaking up and speaking out through my writing. I use writing to help others who have suffered abuse, people who struggle with mental illness and their family, friends and loved ones. I share my story to help others, instead of using it as an excuse to not accomplish my goals and move forward in life.

I’m a youth advocate, mentor, and behavioral health worker. I speak out against child abuse and work to raise awareness about mental illness, particularly personality disorders. As a mentor, I’ve helped youths who are in patient treatment transition to living an independent life outside of the hospital. I’ve helped them prepare for job interviews, pay their own bills, and apply for colleges after finishing high school. I’ve seen many youths who struggle with mental illness transition from being completely dependent on they system, to gaining their independence and living on their own.

I’ll never forget the first time Ms. Medley had told me what an author is. From that moment, I knew that was my calling. Writing is my life because writing saved my life. Writing brings out many relatable emotions and thoughts to share with others. I don’t only write for myself, but I write for others. I try to always write with a purpose. It is as Maya Angelou said, “I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will not forget how you made them feel.” I write to make my readers feel. Writing about the truth and speaking out is the gutsiest thing I’ve done and will continue to do.

***

FELICIA JOHNSON is a writer, mental health worker, student, and big sister. She loves ice cream, and seeing her little sister, Laura, smile. She is an active youth mentor at Youth Villages Inner Harbour and article writer for The Personality Disorder Awareness Network (PDAN). Johnson’s debut novel, Her, is a survivor’s tale of endurance that illustrates the complex illness of Borderline Personality Disorder. (http://www.herthebook.com)
Please connect with Fee on Twitter, and on  FaceBook.

Click on cover to view on Amazon

Her Amazon Link.
Her Goodreads Link.

SONIA MARSH SAYS: “Writing is my life because writing saved my life.”  What an amazing story Fee, and I know many writers can relate to your words of writing being their therapy.
I hope others feel encouraged to express themselves and work through their problems through writing. Have you been in touch with Ms. Medley?  I hope she sees the positive effect she had on you, and the youth you have mentored.


***

It’s time to vote for your favorite one of four November “My Gutsy Story®” submissions on the sidebar.
Do you have a “My Gutsy Story®” you’d like to share?

NOW is the time to submit your “My Gutsy Story®” which may be included in our 2nd ANTHOLOGY.

Please view our 1st Published Anthology here.

You can find all the information, and our new sponsors on the “My Gutsy Story®” contest page. (VIDEO) Submission guidelines here

Ready For a Move? 3 Ways to Connect with the Locals

 

Blue Heaven Restaurant in Key West, Florida

If you’re like me, you’ve probably spent a vacation in a sunny part of the world, and while sipping a cocktail said, “Duke (insert your loved one’s name) how would you like to live (insert location)?”

Duke and Sonia enjoying a tropical drink in Florida

Now granted, these locations change as you mature, and while Cancun may be the place for you when you’re twenty-three,  Naples, Florida, may be the place for you when you’re a boomer trying to escape from Freeways to Flip-Flops.

So if you’re serious about the move, you’ll probably visit a few times, just to make sure you weren’t under the influence of too many tropical cocktails.

At home, you’ll spend hours on the internet looking at realtor.com, and zillow.com,  and then, if you’re like Duke and me:

You’ll hop on a plane to see the short sale that just came on the market.

Why? Because:

It’s such a good deal.
You will never be able to afford a house on the water canal again.
California is just too expensive to own a house on the water.
There’s a Home Depot in Naples, (unlike Belize) so you have plywood if a hurricane hits us.
You can always rent it out until you move.

If you’re responsible, which boomers are tend to be, you’ve researched other aspects like:

Finances
How your lifestyle will change
Traffic during rush hour
Jobs (do they even hire boomers?)
Gas prices (cheaper than California)
Food prices (supermarkets are the same but restaurants are much cheaper and their fish is so fresh compared to ours in California.)

There’s one important thing missing; something that will give you peace of mind before your final decision to move.

“How can I interview meet locals with similar interests to mine for coffee/lunch/dinner so I can dig down and get the scoop on what it’s really like to live here?”

So here’s what we did to connect with people prior to our 3rd vacation in Naples.

Find MeetUp groups related to your interests prior to visiting, or create your own MeetUp and ask people to join.
Find specific people online with similar interests and e-mail them before you visit. Arrange to meet them for coffee or lunch.
Connect with someone you already know who lives there, or ask your friends if they know someone in that location you can e-mail ahead of time to ask questions.

We looked for Meetups online. You can search for Meetups in different cities in the U.S. You can even create your own. Since Duke is interested in indie films and people with similar interests, he organized a MeetUp at The Pub, in Mercato, Naples, where we had a wonderful evening chatting with other writers, TV and video production people.

MeetUp Group in Naples, FL.

I looked online for local authors and writing groups, such as The Gulf Coast Writers’ Association, and other MeetUp writers’ groups, and  I found Christine Otis, a local author, and e-mailed her. She had moved from PA, less than a year ago and said she loves Naples. This was so encouraging for me to meet her and learn about all the writing groups in the area. We met for lunch, and she was so helpful and encouraging.

Christine Otis, author, and me at the Mercato for lunch.

I also had the pleasure of meeting Ed Robinson and his wife Kim, on their boat “Leap of Faith.” We met online and he submitted a “My Gutsy Story.” Ed and Kim, also made us feel comfortable about living in Florida.

 

Ed and Kim Robinson with Duke and me.

And finally, we had the privilege of meeting science-fiction, romance writer, Linnea Sinclair, and her husband for dinner one evening in Naples. Duke connected with Linnea a couple of years ago, when he made “The Down Home Alien Blues”(watch trailer) movie, based on one of her novels.

Linnea Sinclair

As I strolled on the beach in Naples early one morning, I noticed a woman wearing a San Diego sweatshirt. I asked her, “Are you from San Diego?” She said, “No, but we used to live in Huntington Beach, CA.” After chatting for ten-minutes, she said exactly what I was hoping to hear, “The quality of life is so much better here.”

So when are we moving?

Here are 4 short videos I took in Florida:

1). Bonita Springs Beach, FL November-2013

2). Downtown Key West, FL November -2013

3). Butterfly Conservatory, Key West, FL November -2013

4). Blue Heaven Restaurant, Key West, November-2013

 

It’s time to vote for your favorite one of four November “My Gutsy Story®” submissions on the sidebar.
Do you have a “My Gutsy Story®” you’d like to share?

NOW is the time to submit your “My Gutsy Story®” which may be included in our 2nd ANTHOLOGY.

Please view our 1st Published Anthology here.

You can find all the information, and our new sponsors on the “My Gutsy Story®” contest page. (VIDEO) Submission guidelines here

 

Rising Above the Pettiness to Focus on the Positive by Marian Beaman

“Gutsy in Ukraine”

My Gutsy Story® by Marian Beaman

The gutsiest part of our visit to Ukraine in 2011 was that we didn’t use the “return” part of our ticket 4 days into the trip.

Why, you ask, would you want to leave a country with affectionate, artistic people? With gold-domed cathedrals? With an astonishing exchange rate of 8.97 greve / $ 1.00 US dollar? With “free” lodging at the home of our host, for heaven’s sake?

 

Gold Domed Cathedrals

Well, some background to start. At the invitation of our friend Margot, who runs a charity fund in Ukraine, my husband Cliff and I have agreed to present 20 performances in the public schools of Kiev as a gesture of good-will, all work pro bono. Cliff does art and music shows with historical, character-building, and environmental themes.

I am asked to give short lessons in English using plastic eggs to teach the names of colors. Like children everywhere, they are eager to learn but struggle to twist their tongues around combinations of sounds unfamiliar to their native Russian: pink became pinnnngk to them. I also assist students in cleaning sticks of chalk after each multi-media performance and then make the evening meal at Margot’s apartment.

English lesson with children

We have known Margot, our host and guide, since she was 8-years-old, when we were newlyweds. We have a quasi sister/daughter relationship with her. Over the years, we have shared meals on her furloughs home to Florida. In Ukraine, she has built close relationships with her staff of six who help her design curriculum for use in schools and churches. Children she interacts with adore her warmth and creativity. But from the beginning, Margot alternates between approval and hostility for my husband Cliff, a baffling, unexplainable response from someone who is the beneficiary of free programs along with receiving funds for meals and transportation for her staff as we travel. Although we came at her invitation, we have to wonder, “Does she consider Cliff a threat for some reason? Is she envious? Something else? Fortunately, her staff is most gracious, the school children so very appreciative in Kiev, Zhitomer, and neighboring villages. Standing ovations for Cliff’s performances with requests for autographs. Grateful administrators.

And there is a lot to love here culturally: “Zorba, the Greek” ballet at the Kiev Opera House, a magnificent edifice shaped like a fancy cake, the Moscow Circus performers—even their paper money is decorative. And art everywhere! Walls of World War II-vintage schools feature cute, flowery cutouts to celebrate spring. Students are all decked out in formal outfits for class: boys in suits, girls in black and white outfits, the older ones with stiletto heels. (Odd by American standards but attractive nonetheless.)

Student Cliff Easel

Yes, there are hardships, some anticipated, and some not. At the whim of city fathers, the hot water in Kiev is turned off for days on end. Everywhere we go, the toilets are of the low-down variety: Let’s just say I’m glad I practiced my squats in the gym before the trip.

Toilet

In school rest-rooms, there rarely is soap, and I carry sections of toilet paper in my fanny pack everywhere we go. There is absolutely NO toilet paper in any of the school restrooms we visit. In fact, prior to the trip, Cliff’s easel and accoutrements including lecturer’s chalk, were all cushioned with dozens of rolls of toilet tissue for us and the staff, packed to sail on a freighter through the Black Sea and shipped into Kiev before our arrival. Once we have to pay 56 kopeks in Sevastopol to use the urinal, but there is toilet paper provided and a woman who mops up!

Beyond the hardship and adjustment to cultural differences, I treasure the new friends I meet: Anya and Sergei whose hearts are big enough to adopt several children from the bulging orphanages in the city in addition to their own brood. Good-natured Demetri, who translates Cliff’s remarks into Russian. Roman, who knows how to talk himself out of a traffic ticket. Then there’s Alona and Tanya who should be awarded gold stars for hospitality. A lovely dinner at the home of Pastor Peter and his wife Lilly. Petite, unassuming Dr. Olga, M. D. and PhD, researcher with mice, who escorts us all around Crimea near the end of our stay, touring the Tsar’s palace, visiting Yalta, and learning that the Black Sea is actually bright blue!

 

Olga

Miraculously our trip continued beyond the fourth day to embrace a culture we may never have experienced otherwise and friendships that continue to this day. We get updates from many of these new-found friends. In fact, Roman is one of my friends on Facebook! Lesson learned? Rise above the pettiness and concentrate on the positive—a lesson that apparently I needed to re-learn.

We fly to Paris on the return trip. At the Charles de Gaulle Airport, we go to the transfer desk by tram but find a long queue. When I face the agent, I practice my wobbly French to ask directions to the gate: “Quel dirreccion est la porte trente-deux?” She replies sweetly, “Prenez l’escalier derriere vous.” Okay, it’s behind me and up a flight of stairs.

“Magnifique,” her smile says. And that’s how I remember our trip to Ukraine.

***

Marian Longenecker Beaman’s life has been characterized by re-invention: Pennsylvania Mennonite girl becomes traveling artist’s wife in Florida, then English professor with credits in the Journal of the Forum on Public Policy published by Oxford University Press. Along with my work as a community activist leading a neighborhood to take on Wal-Mart expansion, I am a writer and blogger in this second phase of my career. Fitness training and Pilates classes at the gym have become a metaphor for my mind-flexing experience as a writer, mining stories from my past along with reflections on current events.

Please visit her website “Plain and Fancy Girl.” Join Marian on Twitter @martabeam, and on Facebook.

SONIA MARSH SAYS: What a story Marian! That was pretty Gutsy of you and Cliff to stay in the Ukraine and teach English to the children as well as present 20 performances in the public schools of Kiev. I have often felt like staying in a country for a few months after visiting. It seems that you learned as much, if not more than the children, and bonded with new friends.
***

It’s time to vote for your favorite one of four November “My Gutsy Story®” submissions on the sidebar.
Do you have a “My Gutsy Story®” you’d like to share?

NOW is the time to submit your “My Gutsy Story®” which may be included in our 2nd ANTHOLOGY.

Please view our 1st Published Anthology here.

You can find all the information, and our new sponsors on the “My Gutsy Story®” contest page. (VIDEO) Submission guidelines here

Vote for Your Favorite November 2013 “My Gutsy Story®”

It’s time to vote for your favorite one of four “My Gutsy Story®” submissions.

You have from now until December 11th to vote on the sidebar, (only one vote per person) and the winner will be announced on December 12th, and will select a prize from our list of sponsors.

Our first story is by Lola De Maci, and how she got her degree after 30 years and many struggles in her life.

Lola De Maci

Our second story is by Ed Robinson  a remarkable story of “How We Took a Leap of Faith and Found Paradise.”

Ed Robinson

Our third story is by Boyd Lemon,  Boyd Lemon proves that in order to live life, you cannot fear change.

Boyd Lemon

Our fourth story is by Janet Simcic, a positive story about how a woman turned tragedy into triumph.

Janet Simcic

 

I hope you enjoy their stories and vote for your favorite one. Please check out their books as well. There are links to them at the bottom of each story.

Do you have a “My Gutsy Story®” you’d like to share?

NOW is the time to submit your “My Gutsy Story®” which may be included in our 2nd ANTHOLOGY.

Please view our 1st Published Anthology here.

You can find all the information, and our new sponsors on the “My Gutsy Story®” contest page. (VIDEO) Submission guidelines here