Sonia Marsh's Blog, page 36

“My Gutsy Story” by Kimberly Brower

The Chicken and Beer Dance

We get to the dance hall at seven o’clock sharp, and already it seems as if half the town is there. The total population of St. Jacob is barely in the hundreds, but some folks have come from as far away as Alhambra, and there’s barely room to stand let alone sit.

In farm country, I have found that each season has its own type of celebration. In summer, it’s homecoming with games and rides and barbequed brats. In autumn, it’s bonfires and hayrides and hot apple cider. In winter, people go into hibernation with the occasional fried fish dinner at the VFW on Friday nights. And in the spring, it’s the chicken and beer dances, where, for a nominal price, you can eat all the chicken and drink all the beer you can hold and then dance the night away.

This particular chicken and beer dance is a fundraiser for Jason, one of my students at the local elementary. He’s a small boy with a hole in his heart, and I can relate with him more than most because I feel like I have a hole in my own heart half the time, though no one could see it. I find myself breathless and dizzy from the thought of living life without my husband, who is still back in Los Angeles where I left him. Though we have not filed for divorce, our union seems as tenuous as a fluttering heart, and sometimes I feel myself turning blue.

I left the rush and pulse of the city in part to escape from a painful marriage and in part to find the hometown I never had growing up. I went to six different elementary schools while my father climbed the corporate ladder. Now, I’ve dragged my three sons away from their own father with vague explanations of how great this is all going to be. The youngest two still trust me enough to give it a chance. My teenager thinks I’m a heartless witch.

Kimberly & Boys on Farm

My “date” for tonight is my good neighbor, Cindy, whose own husband is working a double shift at the Granite City Steel Mill. We are an unlikely pair. She is country through and through, and I am not. She knows exactly where she is because she’s been here all her life, and I am lost.

From where I sit with Cindy, I can see one of the local boys named Steve standing off by himself, looking dapper and forlorn. Folks say poor Ol’ Steve is suffering from a broken heart ever since his wife rolled his arm up in the car window and “drug” him down the road.

The wife is not present tonight. Divorce in this part of the country is a horrible thing; you are not only separated from your spouse but also from the community that they inhabit. In most divorces, one or the other spouse usually ends up having to move out of town. In Steve’s case, since he’s got the farm, his wife has had to move in with her sister down in Belleville.

I have noticed that these people are not shy about discussing their most intimate lives. In Los Angeles, no matter what, you put on a good front in the never-ending battle to keep up with the Joneses. You might be living in an empty shell of a home, but from the outside everything looks fine. It’s different out here, where everybody knows everybody’s business and there’s no point in trying to “put on airs.”

I wonder, for a moment, what people are saying about me, then decide that it doesn’t really matter. They’re farmers. They understand that sometimes, no matter how well you prepare the soil, no matter how diligently you watch the weather, no matter when you plant, your crops just don’t yield. There’s no shame in failure as long as you’ve given the effort all your heart.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Jason’s mom drink straight from a bottle of green apple schnapps. It’s her boy going to the hospital tomorrow for open-heart surgery.  She catches my glance and blushes, then offers me the bottle. It’s a sin to drink alone in these parts. You can be fall down drunk every Friday night of the year and not be deemed an alcoholic, but drink alone and tongues will wag. It’s equally sinful to allow someone to drink alone, so I take a swig and am immediately warmed by the tangy, sweet liqueur.

Now the music starts up and everyone who can gets out to cut a rug. The wooden floors of the community center are worn from use from where generations of St. Jakies have danced their worries and their fears away. The band plays Bob Seiger and The Boss, and we all stagger out together to twist and shout. My neighbor and I do a mean jitterbug to the earsplitting sounds of “That Old Time Rock and Roll”; and, for a giddy, swirling moment, time stands still.

Crops may fail, dreams may be lost, lives may take a sudden turn for better or for worse, but the heart of this community is strong and good. This half-cocked, hair-brained idea of mine to pull up stakes and move my family away from the only home they’ve ever known has landed us all in a place where everyone belongs. And, whatever else happens, that is enough.

Kimberly Brower Bio:

Kim Brower (K.B. Keilbach) is a graduate of the University of Southern California’s Master of Professional Writing Program and author of the award-winning book Global Warming is Good for Business: How Savvy Entrepreneurs, Large Corporations and Others are Making Money While Saving the Planet. Her work has been featured in WomenEntrepreneur.com, FoxBusiness.com and CNN’s AC360. Kim also won Honorable Mention in the 75th Annual Writer’s Digest Genre Competition for her fiction short story, “Clueless.” In addition to writing, Kim works as an educational program designer with USC’s Marshall School of Business. She lives in the suburbs of Los Angeles with her family, a Jack Russell Terrier and a potbelly pig named Hamlet.

Sonia Marsh Says:  In sharing a typical spring-time farm dance,  you brought us into the heart of farm  culture; a  place that is good and strong, something you needed while questioning the city life you left behind. You had me questioning whether life is better in a rural community where everyone knows everyone’s business, or in a city community, where you can remain anonymous.

***

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

To submit your own, “My Gutsy Story” you can find all the information, and our sponsors on the “My Gutsy Story” contest page. (VIDEO) Submission guidelines here.

Two October stories are up, both men for a change. So far we have Duke Marsh “My Gutsy Story” and Don Darkes “My Gutsy Story.”

I hope you enjoy the “My Gutsy Story” series and share with others through the links below. Perhaps you’d like to submit your own. Thanks.

The Winner of the September “My Gutsy Story”

Congratulations to Paige Strickland who won the September 2012, “My Gutsy Story” contest with 56% of the votes. I also want to congratulate Jonna Ivin, Tom Cirignano and Tracy Leigh Ball. You are all winners and thank you for sharing your “My Gutsy Story.”

Paige Strickland 1st Place

 

Paige Strickland Congratulations for all your hard work.

Sonia Marsh Says: A very encouraging and positive ending to your hard work and determination to find your birth roots.

 

Jonna Ivin 2nd Place

 

Jonna Ivin takes 2nd place.

Jonna Ivin

Sonia Marsh Says: Jonna, you have a skill at injecting humor into a dramatic situation.

 

Tom Cirignano 3rd Place

Tom Cirignano, came in 3rd place.

 

Tom Cirignano

Sonia Marsh Says: Tom shows the “Gutsy” side of a young man who just goes for it.

 

Tracy Leigh Ball

 Tracy Leigh Ball takes 4th place.

Sonia Marsh says: I found your story incredible and a warning to others. As you say, “I am sharing my story today so that I can help prevent others from doing the same thing my parents did.”

***

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

To submit your own, “My Gutsy Story” you can find all the information, and our sponsors on the “My Gutsy Story” contest page. (VIDEO) Submission guidelines here.

Two October stories are up, both men for a change. So far we have Duke Marsh “My Gutsy Story” and Don Darkes “My Gutsy Story.”

I hope you enjoy the “My Gutsy Story” series and share with others through the links below. Perhaps you’d like to submit your own. Thanks.

***

I am doing at book signing this evening, October 11th, at Pages Indie Book Store in Manhattan Beach, from 7-8:30 pm. Please come join me.

 

 

“My Gutsy Story” by Don Darkes

Fighting Fear With Fear

 The advent of my forty-fifth birthday was marred by the unexpected delivery of a large brown envelope containing photographs of family I have never known. Each photographic image of my biological father, half-brother and my half-sister was carefully annotated with the names and circumstances portrayed by each picture.

If fear could be measured on a scale like earthquakes, the prospect of meeting my father for the first time would have registered in my heart as a catastrophe. As the meeting date drew nearer I desperately sought to neutralise my rising anxiety by misapplying a tenet borrowed from homoeopathy, to “cure like with like” by fighting fear with fear.

Shelley Beach, a stones throw from Ramsgate, in KwaZulu-Natal is the launch site for scuba diving expeditions to Protea Banks, a deep-water reef, world famous for its annual congregations of mating ragged tooth sharks. By way of opposing emotional and physical fear, fighting fire with flames, I booked a shark dive for my son Bill and I, deliberately coinciding it with the day that I was to meet my father for the first time.

Don and his son Bill

The azure sea hissed the arrival of each hissing wave wafting the sharp smell of ozone and clean wet sand over us as the dive-master delivered his pre-dive briefing like a General inspiring his troops. He outlined the objectives making certain everyone understood their roles in an emergency before leading the ritual of forming divers hand-signs to which we chorused the meaning out loud as we returned the underwater hand sign indicating the appropriate response. He concluded the rite with a shout.

“May the sharks be with you!”

Bill and I bantered with the false bravado of anxious combatants about to engage their foe. Looking to my son for support, I gave voice to the war cry of the Hillbrow Diving School where we had we had earned our divers qualifications.

“What must you do if you spot a shark? Which he instinctively responded,

“Stab someone else’s buddy!

The other divers laughed uneasily at the cynical parody of the scuba divers cardinal rule although they may not have understood the black humour anchored in the bizarre scuba training we had endured in a dry concrete jungle hundreds of miles from any ocean, dodging traffic, weighed down by our heavy equipment trudging between the Hillbrow Dive School’s seedy high-rise classrooms and the fluorescent-lit, sickly-green underground pool deep in the bowels of the Summit Club.

Raggie tooth shark at Protea banks

The Club was infested with human sharks ready to exploit any opportunity to prey on the weak and helpless, as they perpetually trolled the premises, one of the most notorious brothels in the cesspool heart of the famous gold mining town, Johannesburg.

Shining silver shattered mercury bubbles marked our descent through iridescent green water. We exchanged the OK! sign with each other and with the dive master when we reached the half-way point at a depth equivalent to the height of a three story building. Submerging further, the cheerful sunlight receding far above our heads grew dimmer, muting our brightly coloured wetsuits to muddy browns and greens as our ears ached and squeaked their warning of increasing pressure. Fighting the urge to thrash for the surface, silently screaming boiling bubbles, clawing my way upward out of my self-made predicament, I revolved instead, long scuba fins fanning slowly, scanning the murky depths for any sign of movement. My scalp prickled, anticipating the swirl of dark sleek shapes of the creatures we had chosen to confront. Bill’s eyes widened with shock as a torpedo-like shape cruised lazily between his legs and the dim sunlight around us flickered as dozens of grinning sharks appeared, suspended above and below us, their half-open jaws exposing curved, sharp white teeth, their cruel pointed snouts frozen in a silent snarl and their unblinking eyes showing no sign of acknowledging our presence as they engaged in a mating ritual as old as time. Bill and I exchanged glances, acknowledging a bond forged by the sharing of a powerful experience, facing and overcoming one of our deepest fears, together. My heart contracted painfully out of my love for him and in response to a new wave of fear, as my thoughts turned to an encounter far more terrifying than this, that awaited me.

“Hey dad did you see that the cocky big guy didn’t even make it halfway down?” A jubilant Bill chortled as we climbed into the car setting off for my fathers house and the first meeting that made me numb with terror.

“What about the redhead who refused to remove his wetsuit pants when we got back to the beach?” I replied with a nervous laugh.

“Hello Desmond”, I said, with a catch in my throat as I extended my trembling hand toward him.  “I would like you to meet your grandson Bill”.

“This situation is like something out of a movie” he replied gruffly, attempting unsuccessfully to lighten the moment.

***

An excerpt from a soon to be released book, 2nd Time Lucky, the  sequel to 6692 Pisces the Sailfish.

Website. http://www.dondarkes.com

Blog:      2nd Time Lucky

Facebook  Don Darkes

Linked-in    Don Darkes

Don Darkes Bio:

I was born as Lawrence Huntingdon-Rusch, adopted and renamed Lawrence de Robillard. I was reborn on June 6th 2012 as the Writer Don Darkes. My choice of pseudonym is due partly to the fact that I am penning a Biographical Memoir entitled My Life of Crime, the memoir of an intriguing man, the “real” Don Darkes who was marked with this identity at birth to protect a secret and the fact that like him, my given name also conceals my true heritage. The irony in this tickles my love of the bizarre and my sense of the ridiculous. Of course it makes marketing sense too since any of my “real” names would fill a book cover and leave no space for the Title!

Following a number of exciting and successful careers in Construction, Manufacturing, Information Technology, Franchising and Entrepreneurship I find myself combining them all into my new role as an Author.

I repudiated my Psychology degree in the mid-seventies prior to serving my mandatory National Military Service in a top-secret Electronic Warfare unit, clandestinely deployed in Rhodesia, (Now Zimbabwe) a horrendous episode, for which I later received a medal. (novel in progress)

Don Darkes Family

During the eighties, at the height of apartheid, together with (then) illegal “black” partners I built a successful manufacturing company. Following a series of traumatic events I sold it and opted-out to buy the yacht upon which I was shipwrecked together with my wife, our five year old son and four year old daughter. (Non fiction novel, 6692 Pisces the Sailfish). After returning destitute to South Africa I rode a ripple in the dot.com wave and sold my Internet start-up in order to distribute organic chocolate and to research a challenging historical novel exploring an intriguing link between the Jewish Holocaust and Madagascar. (Novel in progress– Bread from Air)

Currently, together with my wife, son and two daughters we are building another yacht and living aboard it whilst I work on several books with a common denominator; my love of history and my belief that fact is stranger and far more interesting than fiction.

Sonia Marsh Says: You certainly have a “Gutsy” life with many adventures and I am so happy you contacted me to share your “My Gutsy Story (ies)” with all of us. Please leave your comments for Don below.

***

Check out the wonderful bloggers who interviewed me around the world.

You can check out all the interviews here, and if you’re an author and want to learn more about marketing and promotion, see Linda Austin’s blog.

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

To submit your own, “My Gutsy Story” you can find all the information, and our sponsors on the “My Gutsy Story” contest page. (VIDEO) Submission guidelines here.

Please vote for your favorite September, “My Gutsy Story” on the sidebar. The winner will be announced on October 11th.

Gutsy Book Buzz: A Different Way to Market Your Book

Writing and publishing a book is a business, and if you want to be successful, you have to promote and market your book yourself.

There are several ways to market your book, and one way is to start small, and build your way up. That’s what I’m doing, and I decided to never say “no,” even if the group I speak to is small.

Most of us can’t afford a super expensive publicist who promises a national TV spot for $5,000 or more.

So last week, I was invited to sell my book at a fashion store in Newport Beach. Most authors would not think of promoting their book at a fashion store unless it was related to fashion design, modeling, or starting your own clothing store.

Sonia Marsh far left, customers and staff

But since I refuse to say “No,” to opportunities, I said, “Yes,” to Monir Ghaneian, and had the most amazing afternoon and evening at her beautiful “Tropez” Boutique in Newport Beach.

Inside Tropez Boutique, Newport Beach, California

Not only was I surrounded by gorgeous dresses, necklaces, purses and shoes, including fancy flip-flops, to go with the theme of my book: Freeways to Flip-Flops but Monir invited her Persian friends and relatives and I have never felt so comfortable in a clothing store in my life.

Monir Ghaneian, far left and her staff

We had a wine tasting with Lillian Norminton offering wines from the Napa Valley Levendi Winery as well as home made Persian appetizers and salads and gourmet cheeses.

Lilliian Normington from Levendi Winery holding a bottle of their Chardonnay

Several customers walked in, tried on outfits, and came out of the changing room to get feedback from all of us women, and I honestly felt like I was invited to my best friend’s house. A singer walked in, a small business owner, and a mother and her daughter shopping for her high school reunion outfit. The atmoshere was magical and women from different backgrounds bonded, just as women love to do.

Monir wanted to help me promote my book, and asked me to make a mini-presentation in front of all her customers. She heard me speak at WomenROK at the Wine Artist in June, and thought I should share my memoir with her relatives and customers.

I truly believe that when you are open to new ideas in your local community, magical things can happen to you, with your business.

What have you tried that was different to market your book? Did it work?

Check out the wonderful bloggers who interviewed me around the world.

You can check out all the interviews here, and I’m so happy to be a guest on Linda Austin’s blog 9-30-12

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

To submit your own, “My Gutsy Story” you can find all the information, and our sponsors on the “My Gutsy Story” contest page. (VIDEO) Submission guidelines here.

Please vote for your favorite September, “My Gutsy Story” on the sidebar. The winner will be announced on October 11th.

 

“My Gutsy Story” by Duke Marsh

I was interviewed once by a film school graduate for a film magazine, who had the attitude of who was I to think I can make feature film without an expensive film school, and without working for years as an intern.

Who am I?  I was born in a small town in Pennsylvania.  The first house I remember as a child was a log cabin without electricity out in the woods on Mason Hill.  Later we lived in an oil boom town that had gone bust.  It was a small town with limited opportunities.

As a kid I decided that I needed to do things differently from the people around me if I was going to be a winner.  I heard the famous coach Vince Lombardi say “Victory doesn’t just go to the strongest and the fastest it goes to the one who thinks he can win.”  I came to four important conclusions.

If I don’t try I don’t win.

Winning doesn’t require that I to be better than everyone else.
Bad habits and bad assumptions are my worst enemies.
Teaching others teaches me.

As a kid I read classic books because no matter how difficult they were to read, there was a reason that they had become classics.  I remembered a quote from Aristotle who said “We are what we do.  Excellence is not an act, but a habit.”

After the real estate bust in the 1980s I realized that economic security is a necessity, so I decided to become the first person in my family to become an attorney.

I had no role model, but I realized that I could only be defeated by my own doubts.

I worked full time at a maximum security prison in a disciplinary unit at night to get through law school.  All my workers were murderers.  I went to law school full time in the day time even when I had to stand up in the class to stay awake.  I discovered that if I trained my mind to win, success would follow.

I passed the bar, worked hard for 25 years, raised my family, put the kids through college.  But that’s not who I am either.  Not all of me anyway.

When I was a kid I wrote poems and stories.  I wanted to make films, but we had no money.  Filmmaking is a risky proposition.  It was better for me to put my nose to the grindstone, but I always wanted more.  I wanted a change and I viewed myself as a winner.

I learned several things about life while working in the prison.  Life will keep you on your knees if you let it and excuses don’t count so don’t bother making them.

Rocky Balboa said something like “Winning is about how much you can take and still keep moving forward” and I don’t think truer words have ever been spoken.

Duke Marsh Directing

Young people are fun to be around because they are the opposite.  They radiate potential.  Unfortunately that doesn’t last long as they are continually told they aren’t good enough, aren’t smart enough or don’t have the background to reach their dreams.  Eventually they believe the criticism.

I want to tell each of them to “Dare to be great!”  “Live your life with a purpose!”  “It’s not where you came from, it’s about your desire to do something!”

The first thing I do every morning is the hardest thing for me to do that day, so I’ll have no excuses. I focus on doing one small thing at a time and do it the best I can do it.  Doing things right the first time gives you more free time!

The happiest times of my life are when I am making progress on my projects.  Don’t do it by force of will power.  Create an inspiring goal to fuel your desire.  By creating this vision I create an intense positive emotional reason to succeed.

I do little steps every day, and consistent problem solving.  There are no sudden successes or failures.  The old joke is that it takes 10 years to become an overnight success.  Remember to meet people, to read books and write a nice notes.

Tony Robbins says “We act consistent with who we think we are.”  If you think of yourself as a smoker, even if you quit smoking you’ll eventually return to smoking.

When did you define yourself?  Did you decide what you were capable of doing as an undeveloped kid?  Is that fair to who you are now?  What is the tipping point to decide it’s time to redefine who we are?

Athletes find the time to work out.  People who make money find a way to make more money.  We are the actions we do consistently.  I know who I am and I’m taking action.

I continue to work at improving my script writing, editing and camera work.  I don’t have a Masters degree in filmmaking, so I draw upon the unconventional.  I find that if I work with people with a high standard for filmmaking that I raise the bar for my own standards.

I won’t let my filmmaking associates down.  I won’t let my filmmaking friends fail. Age, experience and education will not stop me. I will not know the meaning of defeat!  I’ve made three feature length movies and this year I’m going to (AFM) American Film Market, October 31st-November 7th, 2012.  (like Cannes for the west coast.)

My latest movie, based on a novel by Linnea Sinclair is for women who like romance in a sci-fi setting. Watch the trailer here and photos here.

The Down Home Alien Blues movie details are on IMDb.  Some fun production shots here. Be sure to ask for The Down Home Alien Blues at your local theater.

Nathalie Biermanns

By the way, that film school graduate that told me I would never make it in movies, to this day has never completed a feature film of his own.

 

Jay Mitsch

I am Duke Marsh, a feature film maker, and I am a winner!

Please Like my Facebook page

Duke Marsh Bio:

C. Duke Marsh – Director, Cinematographer, Writer, Producer (and attorney)

Born in Pennsylvania and raised in California.  Duke has a doctorate in law as well as degrees in business and real estate. While married, raising his three sons and practicing law he also wanted to learn about filmmaking.

The time spent practicing law would not allow him to intern on movies or gain experience in other traditional ways.

He never believed anyone was going to just give him a chance to work on films.  But, when the video revolution began he saw it as opening to create digital movies, and built his own video camera and video monitor from parts.

Then he spent years learning about lighting, sound, lenses, cameras, writing, directing, and movie production in order to do it on his own.

Back in the VHS days video wasn’t good enough to produce a feature film, but the second video revolution of digital cinema slowly made filmmaking broadly available to those with the knowledge to use it properly.

The equipment was soon upgraded to increasingly better equipment as he gained experience and connections while writing, producing, direction and shooting various movies.  He has won a Telly Award and a Videographer’s award.

Sonia Marsh Says: Yes, Duke is my husband. You may already know about our family from my book, Freeways to Flip-Flops: A Family’s Year of gutsy Living on a Tropical Island.

I am so proud of Duke, but confess that I had no idea about his childhood passion and dream to make movies, is drive to make movies, until I heard his emotional speech at a recent SCWA event, where he shared his story with the audience.

 ***

Check out the wonderful bloggers who interviewed me around the world.

You can check out all the interviews here, and I’m so happy to be a guest on Linda Austin’s blog. 9-30-12

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

To submit your own, “My Gutsy Story” you can find all the information, and our sponsors on the “My Gutsy Story” contest page. (VIDEO) Submission guidelines here.

Please vote for your favorite September, “My Gutsy Story” on the sidebar. The winner will be announced on October 11th.

Vote for your favorite September “My Gutsy Story”

Another wonderful month with 4 “My Gutsy Story” authors to vote for your favorite. Please go to the sidebar and only ONE vote per person.

Tom Cirignano shows his “Gutsy” side when he was a young man who just decided to go for it with his ultralight. Thankfully his ultralight mishap ended well.

Tom Cirignano

 

Tracy Leigh Ball shares her story to make parents aware of what happens when you send your child away to become a “star” without taking the necessary legal steps and more.

Tracy Leigh Ball

 

Jonna Ivin injects humor into a dramatic situation: “Oh Dear Lord, I’ve just killed my mother.” 

Jonna Ivin

 

Paige Strickland shows her persistence and positive attitude in attempting to find her birth relatives and how it paid off.

Paige Strickland

Check out the wonderful bloggers who interviewed me around the world.

You can check out all the interviews here, and I’m so happy to be a guest on Rebecca Hall’s blog “Leaving Cairo” 9-28-12

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

To submit your own, “My Gutsy Story” you can find all the information, and our sponsors on the “My Gutsy Story” contest page. (VIDEO) Submission guidelines here.

The vote for your favorite September, “My Gutsy Story” submissions starts on September 27, and ends on October 10th. The winner will be announced on October 11th.

“My Gutsy Story” by Paige Strickland

Ever since I could remember, I knew I was adopted.  I absolutely hated it and felt ashamed, weird and different.  Growing up in the 1960s and 70s, there weren’t any other blended or “other lifestyle” families where I lived, and being an adopted kid was stigmatizing and awkward. My adoption was considered a closed and permanent matter by the court anyway, so most of the time, I tried to forget about that part of myself and just live like regular-born people did, (whatever that was), even if it meant I had to lie to friends and acquaintances.

As hard as I tried to forget about it, I couldn’t, and that was frustrating and agonizing to not really be like other kids.  My adoption was a success in that I had a great family and plenty of advantages, but I never felt normal.

I knew nothing about “The Lady Who Had Me”, as I thought of her, nor any information about her circumstances other than the fact that she was young, poor and couldn’t keep me.  I never felt anger toward her or my birth father, but I did feel anger because I didn’t have a typical start in life, like my peers and my brother, who was my adoptive parents’ natural child. At the time, “The Lady Who Had Me” was brave and faithful because she went through with her pregnancy and then made the choice to relinquish her parental rights to Hamilton County Welfare with the hope that I would have a better life than the one she could provide for me. It doesn’t get much gutsier than that.

In 1987 when I was 26 years old, after watching a local TV talk show, I learned that my adoption record in Ohio was actually open, thanks to House Bill 84.  I was one of the lucky few that could obtain personal information about my secret identity if I wanted to.  After living in denial of being adopted for 26 years and mad because I couldn’t be like other people without having to fake it, I made the decision to send away to Columbus for my unamended birth certificate, which I imagined to be locked away in the bottom part of a top-secret file cabinet in a smoke and coffee-smelling office, where hurried social workers scurried about answering phones and filling out forms.

For all those years, I’d been living securely in my own adoption closet because I was embarrassed about being labeled as “different”, with no way of altering that. All of a sudden, I had a chance to change and have a real heritage and a real identity. Would I even like what I found? I was willing to take that risk.

Once I had those precious birth documents in hand, I spent many months lurking in local libraries and courthouses. In a large, three-ring binder I collected a paper trail of data about my birth parents and my half-siblings. Every time I found a new tid-bit of information, I wanted to learn more. My birth mother came from the south and had worked as a waitress. I pictured her to be something like the character, “Flo” from the TV comedy show, “Alice” in a diner restaurant uniform, a bee hive hair do and a note pad in her hand for taking orders saying, “What’ll it be honey?” I pictured my birth father to be a tough-talking, football-loving, all-American factory worker on some assembly line with car parts rolling by. I quickly went from thinking, “Adopted? Who? Me?” and “Why me?”” to “I want to know all about them” and “I would do ANYTHING to meet them”. It was an intense bargaining phase.

That bargaining stage motivated me to keep working thoroughly and methodically as I took notes and copied forms found on microfiches and in old criss-cross directories. (pre computers). It drove me to make phone calls to complete strangers and assert myself, and it inspired me to even join an adoption support group and network with people like myself.

I was unhappy to learn that my birth mother had passed away in 1976.  I would never have had the chance to meet her. However, the sad stage didn’t last for very long because her ex-husband, (not my father), told me about her two other daughters and where I might find them. I was also closing in on making contact with my birth father, who still lived locally. During the whole search process doors constantly shut, but others opened wider than I ever imagined possible.

Between 1987 and 1988, I found and met my birth father, some of my birth siblings, cousins and an aunt. Everyone welcomed me and was delighted and amazed at how persistent I was in finding my missing family members. I finally felt accomplished and complete, and I definitely love what and whom I found!

It would have been easy to do nothing. I could have avoided the fear of disappointment or the disapproval of my adoptive parents, to whom I was tremendously loyal, but I refused to stay silent and closeted forever. I could have played it safe and avoided the risk of potential rejection from my birth relatives. I could have kept myself sequestered safely and predictably from unknown waters, but instead, I dove off the proverbial high board and submerged myself in research involving the current whereabouts of my biological people. My adoptive parents accepted what I did, and my birth-family members are grateful that I found everyone. I will never regret having the courage to find and contact them and also work through my personal issues about being an adopted person.

Paige Strickland

Paige Strickland Bio: 

Paige A. Strickland is a Spanish teacher / tutor who has written a memoir about growing up in the 1960s and 70s as an adopted kid who found her birth family in 1987-88.  The story addresses the grief and loss issues most adoptees face throughout their lives, intertwined with the struggle for both social and self-acceptance. Paige has been married 28 years with two daughters, an almost son-in-law and 5 + cats. In her spare time she enjoys pursuing her writing interests and teaching Zumba Fitness™ classes. Paige Strickland is in the process of publishing her book, Reunions: Growing Up Adopted and Finding Myself.

You can visit Paige’s website, join her on Twitter, Facebook, as well as LinkedIn

Sonia Marsh Says:

I love your persistence and positive attitude in attempting to find your relatives and the way it felt like a research project you’re going to solve. I also like when you mention, “During the whole search process doors constantly shut, but others opened wider than I ever imagined possible.” A very encouraging and positive ending to your hard work and determination to find your birth roots.

***

Sonia Marsh is on her virtual blog tour this month.

You can check out all the interviews here, and today I’m so happy to be a guest on Bob Lowry’s:Satisfying Retirement blog.

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

To submit your own, “My Gutsy Story” you can find all the information, and our sponsors on the “My Gutsy Story” contest page. (VIDEO) Submission guidelines here.

The vote for your favorite of September, “My Gutsy Story” submissions starts on September 27, and ends on October 10th. The winner will be announced on October 11th.

 

Check out my new office

If  you’ve seen me on a Hangout video with Jason Matthews’ Indie Authors show, you will know that I have a paper towel holder and a red cutting board behind my desk as well as  a stainless steel toaster and tea kettle. I tried to hide some of the kitchen mess with an orchid from my living room table, but that didn’t work well.

After seven years in my kitchen, I now have a desk in a proper room.

Just in case you didn’t see my kitchen, check this out. Here I’m introducing Jason Matthews and our wonderful panel of indie authors from my kitchen. Looks like I forgot to put the oven dish with foil away. Two of my sons were home during these videos, and I told them not to come into the kitchen while we were recording. Poor kids were thirsty and starving, they had to go out and get food as they couldn’t get to the fridge.

I converted my youngest son’s bedroom into an office and purchased a used cherry wood table and file cabinet, from Craig’s list.

You should have seen Duke and I struggle to carry this table off his truck into our garage, and then slide it along our narrow hallway into my son’s bedroom. Duke had to take the door off the hinges as it barely fit.

Can you see the photo on the wall in front of me? Well that’s a present from a friend in Belize, Olivera Rusu, a professional photographer on the island where we lived called, Ambergris Caye. She sent me this photo for my birthday; it’s from Azul, a small resort about half a mile north of where we lived.

Azul Resort by Olivera Rusu Photography

Goff’s Caye, above our TV in living room.

Duke received this beautiful photograph of Goff’s Caye, an island eleven miles from Belize City.

What do you think? Comments?

Sonia Marsh is on her virtual blog tour this month.

You can check out all my interviews here, and tomorrow I shall be in France with Stephanie Dagg and her wonderful Blog in France.

I shall also be speaking on Monday September 24th at Signal Hill Library with one of the winners of the “My Gutsy Story” contest, Jill Fales. Remember Jill?

 

“My Gutsy Story” by Jonna Ivin

 Role Reversal

“What’s wrong?” I asked rushing into my mother’s room.

She placed a finger over the tracheotomy tube that had been inserted into her neck a few months before and struggled to form words, “It’s…” She began to fiddle with the trach tube moving it around.

I tried to move her hand away to get a better look. “Don’t touch it. Let me see.”

Mom didn’t listen. She kept her finger where it was, forcing her breath to make the words. “Feels crooked.”

“Your trach is crooked?” I asked.

She rested her head back on the pillow and nodded having used up what little energy she had.

I took a closer look. “It doesn’t look crooked.”

Mom glared at me and covered the hole once again. “Crooked.”

“It feels crooked on the inside, like in your throat?”

She nodded, her eyes indicating with frustration, how many times do I have to repeat myself?

“Do you think I should replace it?” I asked, hoping she would shake her head no.

Instead, Mom shrugged, as if to say, “Beats the hell out of me.”

The hospital had sent us home with boxes of new, sterile tracheostomy tubes. The problem was I had never actually switched one out before. A nurse spent five minutes talking me through it before they released Mom into my care. That was my training. I took a deep breath and told myself, I can do this. What can be so hard—just take one out and put another back in, right?

I pulled on a pair of gloves and carefully undid the ties that kept the trach securely in place. I wiggled it a little; it seemed loose enough. Just give it a soft tug, it would slip right out; pop a new one in, tie it off, and I’d be done. Simple.

“You ready?”

Mom shrugged. Go for it.

I pulled gently on the tracheotomy tube; just as I’d hoped, it slid out easily.

“Oh. That was easy,” I said feeling quite proud of myself while tossing the old trach into the trashcan.

Relieved, Mom inhaled deeply.

And then I watched in horror as flaps of skin growing around the edges of the incision were quickly sucked into the hole blocking her airway. Mom’s eyes grew huge as she realized no air was entering her lungs. I froze, staring at her and thinking, Oh Dear Lord, I’ve just killed my mother. Mom stared back, no doubt thinking, my stupid kid is trying to kill me.

I panicked and did the only thing that came to mind: I stuck my index finger into the hole. In all my life I never imagined that my finger would be in my mother’s throat. There had been numerous fantasies throughout the years involving my foot up her ass, but never once did I imagine finger in throat.

As I removed my finger the skin flaps followed, clearing her airway. As long as I held the skin pulled back she could breathe.

I looked down at her “It’s OK. We’re cool,” I said, trying to convince myself as much as her.

She nodded.

Unable to let go, I stretched out my free hand, blindly searching for anything that might help. On table near the bed, the tips of my fingers were able to reach a small, clear, plastic tube that was meant to go inside the larger tracheostomy tube. I inserted it into the hole; as I did, the skin flaps disappeared back into her neck. Fortunately, she was still able to get air through the tube. Unfortunately, the tube was the diameter of a drinking straw. The hole in my mother’s neck was the diameter of a dime. If I let go it would slide down her throat.

My mother had taken care of me my entire life; now she needed me to step up and return the favor and I was failing miserably. I didn’t trust myself to go back to the original plan of inserting the new tracheotomy. As calmly as I could, I called to my boyfriend in the other room. “Adam? Hey, Adam. Could you do me a favor,” I said, “and call 911?”

It wasn’t long before eight huge firefighters crowded into my mother’s small bedroom and gathered around her hospital bed.

The Captain stepped forward asking, “What seems to be the trouble?”

“I took out her tracheotomy.”

“Why would you do that?” he asked in a very deliberate tone.

“I was trying to change it, but when I took it out these two flaps of skin sucked into the hole, so I grabbed this tube and I stuck that in the hole. But now if I let go, it will slide down her throat.”

The firemen exchanged glances then looked at me. Mom and I looked at each other then back at them. I guess they were expecting me to elaborate, but that’s all I had.

The Captain spoke directly to my mother, “Ma’am are you OK?”

She smiled and nodded. I got the feeling she was enjoying the attention.

“Do you have the other trach?”

“Yes,” I said pointing to a box out of my reach.

Another fireman pulled a tracheostomy out of the box and handed it to the Captain.

“So what do you need me to do?” the Captain asked.

“Um… put it in?” I replied.

He shoved the package at me, “Oh, I can’t do that.”

I pushed it back, “Of course you can.”

“No. I can’t.”

Mom’s eyes followed the box like a tennis match.

“You’re the fireman.” I reminded him.

“I don’t know anything about trachs. Are you her caregiver?”

“Yeah.”

“Then you know more than we do.”

Clearly,” I said, indicating the situation, “I’m not qualified.”

“We can take her to the emergency room. You can ride along and hold the tube.”

I was petrified of making the situation worse, but felt backed into a corner. I screwed it up so I had to fix it. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

The captain put on gloves, asking “What do you need me to do?”

“When I pull this tube out, you to poke your finger in the hole and…”

“How about if I just hold the tube?” He said, cutting me off with a smile.

I nervously joked in return, “Fine, ya big chicken, I’ll do the hard part.”

I shifted to the other side so he could hold the tube.

“Take it out slowly,” I said as the other firemen crowded around to get a better look. My hands shook but I was able to work the sides of the hole and ease the skin out along with it.

“Okay… um… hold the skin back.” I mentally said a quick prayer: Please dear God, don’t let me fuck this up; then asked Mom, “You ready?”

If she was scared she didn’t show it. I tried to be as brave as she was, but my trembling hands gave me away. Slowly, I slid the curved end of the trach into the hole and down her throat. When I felt it was all the way in, I held up my hands, stepped back, and asked Mom, “Does that feel OK?”

The entire room exhaled with relief as Mom answered, “You did good.”

Later when the house was quiet. I sat by my mother’s bed. I could see she was tired. We both were. She looked into my eyes and I couldn’t hold back the tears as I whispered, “I am so sorry.”

I covered my face with my hands and pressed my forehead to the edge of her bed. Then I felt her hand gently rubbing the top of my head, telling me everything was OK. It was a lie, of course. Nothing was OK. She was dying and we both knew it. But no matter how sick she was, or what little time she had left, she was still the mother and I was the daughter that needed comforting.

Jonna Ivin Bio: Jonna Ivin is the author of the crime thriller 8th Amendment and Will Love For Crumbs – A Memoir

Her crime thriller 8th Amendment is also on Amazon.


She is the editor of Loving For Crumbs – An Anthology. Now available on Amazon.



Jonna is a freelance story consultant and available to help you write your memoir or fiction novel. You may contact her via email at jonna@jonnaivin.com, and link to Jonna on Facebook

 

***

Sonia Marsh Says: You have a skill at injecting humor into a dramatic situation and made me smile several times, even when you said, “Oh Dear Lord, I’ve just killed my mother.”  I also felt all the emotions you must have gone through while trying to help your mother “breathe” again.

Please leave your comments for Jonna below and she will be over to respond.

***

 Sonia Marsh is on her virtual blog tour this month.

You can check out all the interviews here, and today I’m so happy to be a guest on Kathy Pooler’s blog. Check out our Google Hangout interview together: “Making your memoir read like a movie.”

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

To submit your own, “My Gutsy Story” you can find all the information, and our sponsors on the “My Gutsy Story” contest page. (VIDEO) Submission guidelines here.

Winner of the August “My Gutsy Story” contest

Congratulations to Laura Dennis, winner of the August “My Gutsy Story” contest who succeeded in getting 122 votes from all her fans. I also want to congratulate Sharon Melton Lippincott in second place, as well as Heidi Morrell and Barbara Ehrentreu for sharing their inspiring stories.

Laura Dennis, 1st Place

 Laura Dennis

Congratulation to Laura Dennis.

Sonia Marsh Says: Laura, what a thought-provoking story about being both the adoptive mother, the adopted child and the birth mother.

Sharon Melton Lippincott

 Sharon Melton Lippincott takes 2nd place.

Sonia Marsh Says: Your story is about taking risks, even though you might be risking disapproval and/or disappointment with a family member. As Samantha White commented, “We can find it within ourselves every time we choose to break a pattern of behavior.”

Heidi Morrell

Heidi Morrell, came in 3rd place.

Sonia Marsh Says: Heidi Morell is a true inspiration to all of us, especially when we take our health for granted. Heidi has MSA and reminds us to “appreciate what we have right now,” and that, “it can always be worse.”

Barbara Ehrentreu 4th place winner.

Sonia Marsh Says: Barbara Ehrentreu shared her beautiful story of the power of love, and how her “gutsy” decision at twenty, was the right one for her.

***

You are all WINNERS, with such amazing writing and stories to share. Thank you for participating, and to all VOTERS for taking part.

Our WINNER Laura Dennis, gets to select his prize from our new list of SPONSORS,

***

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

To submit your own, “My Gutsy Story” you can find all the information, and our sponsors on the “My Gutsy Story” contest page. (VIDEO) Submission guidelines here.

Two September stories are up. So far we have Tom Cirignano  “My Gutsy Story” and Tracy Leigh Ball “My Gutsy Story.”

I hope you enjoy the “My Gutsy Story” series and share with others through the links below. Perhaps you’d like to submit your own. Thanks.

 Sonia Marsh is on her virtual blog tour this month.

Please check out these wonderful ladies who have hosted me on their blogs, and tomorrow 9-14-12, I shall be on My Rite of Passage, Belinda Nicoll’s blog.

Sonia’s 1st interview with author Susan Pohlman on Expat Chat 8-31-12

Sonia’s 2nd interview with Shirley Showalter on 100 memoirs 9-3-12

Sonia’s 3rd Interview with Muriel Demarcus onFrenchYummyMummy.com 9-7-12 watch our Hangout video.