E.L. Farris's Blog, page 6

YouTube: I Won’t Be Quiet Anymore

A day ago, I read about Rehtaeh Parson and made a video in which I vow that I won’t be quiet anymore. This video has already gotten 320 views and I am sincerely hoping it gets a whole lot more. I know a lot of people who really need to hear this message, if not from me, then from someone else.

An excerpt follows.

This scares the hell out of me, that we keep it all to ourselves. We’re so ashamed and we’re in so much pain and we all think it’s our fault. Almost every single child who’s been raped thinks it’s their fault. They’re terrified—terrified of speaking up, terrified  to hurt their family, terrified of being accused of being a slut, terrifed that no one will believe them, terrified that when they seek help it won’t be given to them. And this is exactly why those of us who have been raped or sexually assaulted are so fucking scared, because when a girl does go for help, even after being gang-raped, and had pictures taken of it, is not given any help, in fact, not only is she not helped, but her entire community turns her into a pariah. It boggles my mind, it boggles my mind—where were the adults and what kind of humanity or lack thereof is present in these other children, these girls, these supposed friends of hers who are sending her notes calling her a slut and what about these boys, these boys are sending her notes and asking her to have sex with them, “Will you fuck me,” they ask. Are you kidding me? Really? What kind of humanity or lack thereof is happening here, where the police are doing nothing, the community is only harming the girl who was gang-raped?

I had to sit with this for a few hours and think about how to answer to it. What I thought about was that after I wrote Ripple, I asked a friend to help with the elevator speech or logline of it. I told her that a 15-year old girl is raped by her father and the mom kills the father and they run off to a safe house. And she said, well, are you sure this is a realistic storyline.

And immediately I felt this shame, and this anger and this, this—I felt like a freak. That’s what happens over and over again. We feel like freaks. We feel like no one gives a shit. Because when someone says that’s not believable, what they’re saying to us who have been raped and sexually abused is that they don’t believe US. I swear it’s like being raped a second time all over again and it’s even worse because we feel that much more abandoned, that much more alone, we feel as if the crime that happened to us is being denied, and therefore in some fundamental way our worth is being denied. The pain we’re feeling is not worthy, we’re not worthy—I could go on and on.

___

I wish you peace. I hope you know you’re loved, no matter what happened to you. I hope you know if you were abused, it was not your fault. I hope you know that if you reach out for help, it will be given to you. I hope you know that are very much loved, that you are very special just the way you are, that no matter what anyone else did to you, it does not destroy the essential beauty you were born with.

Me on the Air: YouTube and Ustream

Hey friends. I’ve created my own Ustream Channel http://www.ustream.tv/channel/running.... I’ve also created a YouTube channel: http://www.youtube.com/user/runningfr....

I’ve made several videos and plan to broadcast fairly regularly on Ustream, which I will then upload to YouTube. I feel like this is a big part of my calling, my mission, what God wants me doing. So please grab a cup of coffee when you can and come listen. And if you have anything you want me to talk about, drop me a line. I’m probably game. And if anyone wants to go on the air with me, please just ask and I’ll get you on!

With love,

El

Sally Lane Brookman

My name is Sally Lane Brookman. If you met me on the street, you’d probably wonder if you knew me from somewhere else, from another city or another time in your life. But unless you have lived or do live within an hour’s drive of Washington D.C., or maybe met me half a lifetime ago down in Williamsburg, Virginia, or just happened to catch a glimpse of my unruly blonde hair flowing behind me as I ran past you on some running trail somewhere in the Mid Atlantic states, my familiarity would be just a mirage, a hint, a tiny wisp of a suggestion.  You’d maybe feel wistful, as I do, for something or someone you never even met. I feel like that a lot. I’m so often stuck not quite feeling the way other people feel, and I’m not sure if this is a good thing or not. I used to hate it. But I’m 40 years old and there’s something about reaching the autumn of your years that makes you stop caring what people think about you quite so intensely.

You know the kind of person who never quite fits in wherever she goes? Who wears some invisible freak flag that everyone can sense without exactly seeing? That was me until I had one of my breakdowns and then in a moment of desperate clarity, when I was asking God if he would still love me no matter how much of a fuckup I was, I realized that everyone probably feels a little like that, at least if they’re honest about it. And that’s when I realized that even if I were a little crazy, I was no better and no worse than any other woman. There’s peace that comes with knowing that.

Being a little crazy is just one of the things someone might tell you about me. I’m a writer and a runner; a mother and a wife. There’s a bunch of stuff that’s maybe sub-optimal with me: I’m bipolar and have AD/HD, so if my thoughts seem to race or my attention wanders all over the place, just bear with me and we’ll end up wherever we were headed at some point.

I’m many things really, and who I am depends on whatever lens you’re looking through and which voices are loudest in my head. Who you see in me depends in part on who you’re looking for. In some ways, I am everyone and no one all caught up in one big suburban, mediocre not great soccer mama mixing pot.  I look like every woman and yet no woman. I always was and probably always will be the girl next door according to my dear husband William.

I think we all want to feel special. We just don’t really want to feel too special. At least that’s always been one of my conundrums, and I have a lot of them. No matter how hard I’ve tried to stay in step with the people around me, I only seem to be able to hear and see the world when it, when I, am tuned to a certain frequency. I’m still trying to figure out the exact nature of this, my own frequency. I’m learning that God must have something to do with it, but I’m not sure. There’s a lot of things I’m not sure about. But I won’t stop trying to figure them all out, just like I won’t stop running until I’m done. I won’t stop until I get there.

______________________

That’s the first chapter of my upcoming novel, I Run: Running from Hell. The elevator speech version of I Run is that it’s the story of a woman who finally stops running from her past, and in the process, finds herself . . . and finds her way back to God. It’s got all the usual stuff I write about in it: addiction; abuse; overcoming all that stuff; love; marriage; lots of sex; spiritual questions asked and sometimes maybe answered;  Zander stories; musings on motherhood . . . but at it’s heart, I Run is the story of a woman who finally grew up. I’m still working on the blurb, and I really hate writing them, but what I really wanna say is that I Run is like what would happen if Holden Caulfield was reincarnated as a woman, got a lot of therapy, stopped getting into trouble all the time, fell in love, had children and got scared enough to go looking for God.

I’m crazy enough to write that on the back of a book, so I’m hoping someone talks sense to me about it.

Oh. I need advance reviewers. Please. And help marketing this one. It’s stupid to release it so soon after Ripple and Ripple: YA but I gotta get Wave and Michael’s Hand written and I can’t write them until someone rips this damn manuscript out of my hands.

 

 

            

 

A Teen Version of Ripple

In the next week or so, I will be publishing a teen version of Ripple. Here’s the Forward that explains why . . .

Dear reader: This book is a condensed, abridged and quite frankly, a cleaned up version of Ripple, A Tale of Hope and Redemption. For weeks after I released Ripple, I felt a tinge of sadness and regret because my own daughter could not read it. “Mom,” she would urge, her blue-gray eyes only partially-hidden behind her girlish, red eyeglasses, “Can’t you make a version of it just for me?”

I would laugh and smile and without giving it too much thought, reply, “Well, sure, darling. I could do that.”

“Because I’d really like to read it now, and not have to wait until I’m—how old did you say I would have to be?”

“At least 14, but even then,” I’d groan, “It would be dicey.”

And then, just yesterday, my youngest son asked me if I would come into his first grade class and speak to them about writing. Naturally I was overjoyed to comply, but first I had to run it past his teacher. I sent her a link to Ripple, and I could sense her cringing across the interweb. I followed up with a note in which I sent her a couple of funny chapters, ones that I’d read to all three of my children. “They laughed so hard they cried,” I promised.

She wrote back and gave me the all-clear to come in for a visit.

But all of this got me thinking. It isn’t just adults that need a book like Ripple. Little girls, young women, and even young men, need a book they can read if they or someone they love is struggling with difficult issues like addiction and abuse. I wish I had been able to read a book like this when I was a little girl. It would have helped me a lot, and I am thinking that this book will help the Phoebes of the world.

As the mother of three, and as someone who has been through many dark days myself, I want to assure the mothers and fathers who are reading this book that I think it’s appropriate for young adults, and for even super-mature ten year olds like my daughter. I would encourage you to give this condensed version, which I have subtitled Phoebe’s Story, a read or at a minimum, be available to listen to your kids when they come to you with questions.

And to my fellow Christians, I have removed all the R-rated language. While this book does not address too much about God, I am a born-again Christian and I do write about theology and God at length in my other works. In the true tradition of Jesus, my story is one of hope, healing and redemption, and I am hoping that this version of Ripple will also cross boundaries between and among all people of faith.

One of my characters does take a stand on same sex marriages in this book, but I don’t hit the reader over the head with it. Just to be absolutely clear, I believe in love. Love is love. I believe that above all else, God wants us to love Him, and then to love one another. This theme is only lightly touched on, but it’s the sort of thing that certain Christians might feel uncomfortable with, so please be aware of it in the pages that follow.

One final caveat: the themes touched on in Phoebe’s Story are serious ones. But these are things that we as a society must stop sweeping under the rug. In order for the afflicted to heal, we must be courageous and honest about what happens to more than twenty five percent of our children. More important, we must give these children and their friends coping tools and keys to healing.

That is what this book offers.

Hanging with Catie

Morning friends. I’m sorry I’ve been a kind of sucky blogger lately. I miss you all. I miss reading and commenting as much as I used to. I really really miss you all. I’m trying to figure out how to squeeze more productive time out of my day, and I am having a helluva time finding a way to market RIPPLE and write its sequel.  Meanwhile, the rewrites on I RUN, which has now become a full-length novel and thus a “more bigger” (as my daughter would say) project than I expected, has become a full-time job and more of its own. I think I put in more than 70 hours last week, and I’m redlining because of it.

Oh. And I have been spending too much time working on way too many causes, and I am realizing that I got to put my writing career first. You know–get paid and all of that. Sigh. And I am looking at a list of bills a mile long, thinking, crap, what have I gotten myself into? I keep second-guessing this decision to go Indie. I still think it was the right thing to do, and now I’m doubling down with I RUN. I’m freaking out about the whole thing this morning to be honest with you. The marketing process reminds me of selling cars. Ugh.

I promise to try harder to visit y’all. Really, I do.

I’m hanging out over at my good friend Catie Rhodes today. She has become one of my favorite people to chat with about, well, all kinds of crazy stuff, from writing, to recovery, to ghosts, to God and of course one of our mutual topics of interest: crazy shit we’ve done, and crazy shit we wanna do. I love hanging out with Catie, and I’m hoping that you will swing by her home and wave hello. Yes, yes, she’s saying a few nice things about RIPPLE, and yes, you’ve heard plenty of nice stuff about my first novel, so there’s no need to talk about that much more, but I sure do hope you’ll swing by and hang with a couple people they warned your mama about, to paraphrase Catie.

Minutes with Ben

“Mom!!” It was a two-syllable use of my name, accompanied by a serious-sounding wail.

I glanced up from the table, which I was polishing with Murphy’s Almond Oil spray.

Ben came tumbling around the entrance to the kitchen via the center hallway. As usual, he appeared disheveled. His pants were too short. His hair was all over the place. But he wasn’t, as I noted when I took him in with that practiced sort of inspection that takes all moms about ten milliseconds, in any real pain.

“Mo—oooooom!” He rubbed his belly for emphasis, “Maddie hit me really hard in the stomach and it hurts.”

I nodded, taking in the scent of the spray, which mixed in a comforting way with the vinegar Travis used to make Mrs. Rogers salad dressing (which is really just an excuse to add ketchup to a totally unsuspecting dish). In a level voice, I asked, “Why did she hit you?”

He bounced on his feet, explaining things as much visually as with language. “She said I was annoying her, and then I did this,” he paused to show something with his arms, “And that I wouldn’t stop singing, and so she hit me.”

I finished the section of the table I was working on and then nodded in his direction.

Without further discussion, he raced off, and less than two seconds later, he bellowed from the bottom of the stairs, “Maddie! Mom said I could hit you back! So that’s what I’m comin’ to do!”

I chuckled, and with my voice still cracking from the effects of bronchitis, called up after him, “Did not!”

Handing Shame to God

“Okay,” She said, her blue eyes offsetting her light hair, “What I want to do is try some distancing. I want to take you back there in that room, where you are . . .” she paused delicately, “In that situation. And remember last time where you flew above and fast-forwarded away, farther and farther?”

“Yep.”

“I want you to do that. Float away. And this time, tell me how you feel.”

She flipped the EMDR machine on and I gripped the black plastic in my right hand and the gray plastic in my left hand. The blue dots flashed from the middle, to the left, and all the way to the right again and I let my eyes focus in on them. I sat very still and just waited.

“What are you seeing?”

I closed my eyes and chuckled. This was going to probably make her laugh, because we’d just talked about how I will focus on general themes and concepts because I’m scared of feeling primitive emotions.

I’m scared it will make me go crazy. She promised me it won’t, but I’m scared anyway, but that’s not it this time. I’m not afraid.



“Well, leave it to me to get all metaphysical, but here’s the thing. I feel like I’m with Archangel Michael, you know, like in my novel. And we’re going toward God, and I gotta go there, and he’s going to . . . I’m going to have to tell Him everything. He’s going to see all my sins and my . . . “ I inhaled and tried to keep talking. “He’s going to be ashamed of me.”

She didn’t say anything and so I kept watching the blue light skipping from right to left and back again. And then I heard Him, I saw Him, I felt Him. “But that’s the thing. He’s not ashamed of me. He just said to me that ‘He’s got this.’ He told me to hand it all over to him. He told me to hand Him my pain and my shame and . . .” I grinned. A lightness infused me as I kept talking. “He’s seen it already. He’s seen everything. And He wants to take it from me.”

I was silent then. I sat and felt Him taking my shame away and once He did, I felt lightness in my being.

“Now what are you feeling?”

I smiled. “Peace. Peace. I feel peaceful. He’s got this, so I don’t need to carry it anymore.”

“That’s amazing.”

I nodded. “Mmm.”

She waited for the blue lights to stop in the middle, and she clicked the black machine off. “No really, that was amazing. Did you notice that once you left that room, you went, you floated, towards God?”

I grinned. “Yep. Pretty awesome, eh?”

Her eyes lit up. “I just gotta tell you what I was thinking—what my thought process was. When I took you away, and you were floating and said you felt ashamed, I thought, ‘Oh shit, that’s not where I wanted to take you with this, and I was about to intervene, to bring us back.’ You just never know where someone is going to go with this EMDR. But anyway, that’s the beauty of it. You went full circle. You then turned it around, and . . . it’s amazing the way the EMDR worked with your synapses.”

I smiled again at her. “Yep. He took it all away. Maybe it sounded weird—“

—“No! It’s perfect.”

“That’s where I ended up.”

She looked at me and I could tell she was thinking about therapeutic methods and EMDR and synapses and all things clinical. I genuflected mentally in the direction of those thoughts, her thoughts, and then smiled. There were other things on my mind.

“So how are you feeling now?”

“Bemused. He’s got this. I’m at peace now.”

She looked at the clock and back at me. “That’s a good place to stop.”

I nodded.

“Unless you want to keep going? I just don’t like being wedded to the clock. If that’s all for today—“

I glanced at the clock. It was a little bit past the 90-minute mark and really, I had nothing else I needed to say. “Yep. It’s a good place to stop.”

She sorted through her papers, scribbled the code down on the bill, and then handed the rectangular white paper to me. “We’re good next week?”

I stood up and took the paper from her. “Yep.”

“And you’ll take good care of yourself.” She stated it more than she asked me.

“I will. Thank you.”

Child Abuse Laws: How Bad is Child Porn?

As a brief housekeeping matter, I’ve learned a great deal about building websites since I last spoke to you. I learned, for example, that Sitebuilder and WordPress don’t play well together. I could not migrate my old blog to the new site. So while I designed a beautiful site, with lots of pretty graphics, I could not bring three hundred pages of blog entries with me, and  that was too high of a price to pay. After all, I’m still the messy kid who can’t draw inside the lines. My creations are more bold than they are beautiful. So I added a widget to lead folks easily to purchasing RIPPLE on Amazon. I added a page dedicated to reviews. And my pride and joy–I added an entire section on intellectual property. Sigh–I know, boring, right? Well, maybe, but useful too, so if you have any questions about what you can and can’t use on the Internet, please ask me questions over there. Or here. It’s all good.

While I was cussing at my poor iMac or his little bro, the Macbook Pro, I was also formulating the plot for the sequel to RIPPLE. It’s tentatively named WAVE, and it will pick up five-six years from where we left off. Phoebe is a gun-wielding poet, with a lot of anger still, but a lot of beauty. Helen and Cass are working together. And Anne has just passed away.

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The problem is that two of the perps, the sick bastards that participated in the child porn ring with Parkings, are out of jail now, and Phoebe must confront her PTSD panic, her anger, and her quest for revenge. After all, the legal system is notoriously unjust in cases involving sexual abuse.

I’m just getting started with this book, and being the ex-lawyer that I am, I started researching the issues of prison sentences for sexual offenders. In fact, judges are refusing to follow sentencing guidelines in almost 50% of child porn cases. Here’s some of what I found:

“For years, federal sentencing guidelines have provided that someone convicted of downloading child porn would receive a minimum of five years in prison, plus extra time for, among other things, using a computer or having more than 10 images. Judges were rarely able to deviate from the guidelines. But Supreme Court rulings in 2005 and 2007 effectively made the guidelines advisory, not mandatory. Now, judges increasingly are giving prison terms for child porn that are lower than the range recommended by the guidelines.

“In the 12 months ended September 2009, federal judges gave prison sentences below the guidelines in 44% of cases in which individuals obtained child pornography or shared it with others, up from 27.2% two years earlier, according to data from the U.S. Sentencing Commission, a federal agency that develops the guidelines.”–AMIR EFRATI, Judges Trim Jail Time for Child Porn (WSJ POLITICS January 19, 2010).

Many judges argue that it’s unfair to treat those who merely view porn with as much (if not more) severity than “actual” child molesters. Putting aside the fact that all consumption of child porn presupposes an act of abuse involving a minor, a recent article in the University of Michigan Law Review debunks this belief. According to two separate studies, when interviewed in the course of receiving treatment, 65 to 85% of perpetrators confessed to having sexually abused, on average, more than eight victims prior to being convicted on charges of child pornography. They simply hadn’t been caught. Here’s the relevant provision:

“Hernandez and Michael L. Bourke recently expanded on the 2000 Butner study findings in a subsequent study with results similar to the first. In this study, 155 men who had been convicted of child pornography offenses were analyzed. Before the study, seventy-four percent of the subjects had no documented history of sexual abuse, but at the end of treatment, eighty-five percent admitted to having committed at least one hands-on sexual offense. The subjects who had no known history of hands-on crimes ultimately disclosed an average of 8.7 victims each. Hernandez and Bourke argued that the “dramatic increase (2,369%) in the number of contact sexual offenses acknowledged by the treatment participants challenges the often-repeated assertion that child pornography offenders are ‘only’ involved with ‘pictures.’ ” Instead, these studies suggest that pedophilia and an interest in child pornography can be valid indicators of more serious offenses that may go undetected by the criminal justice system.” See Kristin Carlson, Commentary, Strong Medicine: Toward Effective Sentencing of Child Pornography Offenders, 109 MICH. L. REV. FIRST IMPRESSIONS 27 (2010), http://www.michiganlawreview.org/asse....

This is the scary reality facing women and children all across this great nation of ours. And as mothers and fathers, it’s our job to understand the way the law works and to advocate on behalf of the defenseless victims who most need us. Obviously I’ll have more to say about these issues, but I wanted to leave you with an anecdote.

On Monday, I was sitting in the pediatrician’s office waiting to confer with Dr. M. I overheard a father explaining to his daughter, who appeared to be a wee creature, but undoubtedly was older than she appeared, on why she needed to get a shot to prevent the HPV virus. A wave of self-righteous anger swept over me. How can the government tell me to get my own daughter vaccinated, I wondered, when she enters sixth grade? Well, hell, I can prevent it if . . . And then it hit me: the shot is for her own protection. You see, in our society, we do need to worry about sixth graders needing HPV viruses.

Why? Well, please read RIPPLE if you don’t understand why.

And until my daughter, and all of your daughters are safe, I won’t stop speaking out on these issues. I’ve only begun to speak, and I’m not going away.

LOL. I know I said otherwise two weeks ago, but really–that was a technicality.

Self-publishing, Marketing and Brave Farewells

Hello friends! This may be my last blog past from this platform. I’ve signed up with Hostgator and am moving on to the brave new world of self-hosting, which is both exciting and freakin’ awful. Seriously, I’m somewhere between creatively technical and technically crazy, so the process of setting up my new website, which will be elfarris.com, has been one that would invite much hair pulling if that didn’t give me such a bad headache.

Why a new platform? Maybe because it’s just time for a change, as a ballplayer in many a city has said. I love WordPress. I love what blogging has done in terms of helping me hone my voice and meet other bloggers and writers. Recently, though, my heart hasn’t really been in it.

With one book published and another on the way this spring, the honest to God’s truth is that marketing these two titles, and writing a third, with an expected release date of fall or winter this year, is leaving me very little time for blogging and commenting on other blogs.

And I’m okay with that. Well, no, it makes me feel a little sad, because I hate goodbyes and I’m about to enter a brave new world but I don’t feel very brave. So I am trying to be okay with it–trying really hard. My deep-down intuition tells me that this is the right move for me at this moment in time.

As far as marketing, I’m relying a great deal on advance reviews (34 and counting), word of mouth, and my flagship platform, my Facebook Page, Running from Hell with El. I am also hoping that some of you will invite me to chat on your blogs and will buy a copy of Ripple. The support I’ve received from fellow writers has been astounding me, and I don’t know where I’d be without your help.

One of the things I’ve been doing a lot of is creating posters, and each poster contains a hyperlink to Ripple on Amazon. One of the posters, for example, has been share 160 times on Facebook. I read somewhere that a reader must see the name of a book four times on average before they purchase it, so I’m hoping that as my page-friends and author-friends and regular just awesome as-is friends share these posters, enough readers will see it in order to decide to click over and buy it.

Well, I have lots more marketing tips, and would be happy to ask any questions from anyone, especially in a Q&A, but for tonight, I’m going to close with a gentle fare thee well, and let the characters from Ripple have the last word. I’ll make sure I leave my forwarding information, but you can always find me on Facebook or Twitter, or in the pages of my books. xoxo

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Skating with Molotov: Portland Renegade Roller Derby

Last week, after I wrote a post that referred to my own elbow-throwing, competitive propensities, a woman who skates by the name of Molotov approached me on my Facebook Page, Running from Hell with El, to see if I was interested in sponsoring a growing derby league, Portland Renegade Roller Derby. We started talking, and this Q&A is what resulted. Oh, and my answer is yes, hell yes I want to help support this league of hardy souls!

_____________

El: I just think roller derby is the coolest, most fascinating thing!

Molotov: It is pretty great. And seeing how it can bring a community of women together is kinda amazing too. My league is a renegade league, which means we broke off from a bigger league here in our town.

El: Ahhh–I was wondering what the renegade meant. I mean, I see renegade and I automatically smile!

Molotov: It was too big and micro managed and became for profit and lost a lot of its community feel. What they are doing is great for a lot of people, but we just wanted something different. So it thus has became a lot of hard work starting a league and team from the ground up!

El: Grinning. How long have you been playing roller derby (is “playing” the right word?)?

Molotov: I’ve been skating most of my life, but only have been skating derby since November.

El: So it’s called “skating” derby?

Molotov: Most of our coaches and base teammates have been playing for four to six years. It’s called “bouting.” Once I made the mistake of calling it a “game” the first time I went to a bout. And I was very embarrassed.

El: LOL–I can imagine.

 Molotov: But we say skate usually.

 El: you’ve been skating most your life? Hockey or ice skating?

 Molotov: Just roller skating and blading.

El: This is fascinating! And you were a runner before?

Molotov: Yes, since I was 18. I still want to run again. I haven’t really since last June.

El: I don’t think we ever lose that desire. Did you suffer an injury?

Molotov: I have anemia and it was too much. I was getting out of breath and really sick. My 7 year old beat me in the last 5k we did together.

El: Shaking head–that’s rough.

Molotov: So I knew something must be wrong then.

El: Yes for sure. How did you find derby?

Molotov: I wanted to play derby for a long time. My kids and I watched Whip It back when it came out.

El: That was awesome!

Molotov: My best friend is involved in another derby group in our town.

El: That’s the main league right?

Molotov: she has been skating with them for years and still not on a team. I went with her to a bout a couple of years ago and met the person who is now the ringleader of our group.

El: The ringleader–is that the league commissioner of the renegade league?

Molotov: Yes, our president. I just call her ringleader to be silly.

El: LOL! What does roller derby do for you?

Molotov: I always wanted to do derby, but always thought it was too expensive, too much time, I didn’t deserve to spend then time on myself, etc etc. I was in a very unpleasant marriage up until just a few years ago and never would have been doing this if I was still married.

El: I’m so glad you’re out of that marriage hun! I was talking about derby tonight with my husband, and he grinned at me.

“You know Cutie, if you were younger . . .”

 ” . . . Yep. I’d do it for sure! Nothing more fun than throwing elbows and hitting people, lol.” I replied.

^^^

© Earl McGehee

does that sound familiar?

Molotov: Lol! Totally.

El: Grinning. I thought so!

Molotov: We have people of all ages.

El: What’s the range?

Molotov: 23-43, currently.

El: How old are you, if you don’t mind my asking?

Molotov: I’m 32.

El: Oh you’re just a kid!

Molotov: Ugh–wish I felt like just a kid.

El: Are you kidding me? 32?! You’re in your athletic prime!

Molotov: So I met this crazy, fun, positive, happy gal at a bout. Her name is Julie Locktress and a year later (last November) she invited me to be part of what we are calling the Renegade movement. At first I thought I was too weak and tired to even skate because of my anemia. I hadn’t ran since June or May. I hadn’t been on skates in two years, since I had taken a fall and hurt my tailbone. But I was depressed and anxious and needed a cause for myself other then just raising my kids and carting them around to their sporting events and working 50 hours a week to keep a roof over their heads I don’t get any child support from their father and am basically on my own.

El: Oh man–50 hours a week and no child support? And hun, we all need something greater than ourselves, you know?

Molotov: Yes, exactly. So I figured at least I could help with the admin part of it.

El: (nodding)

Molotov: But then I started taking derby classes and I went broke and ate Top rRmen and oatmeal packets for lunch to buy skates and gear

El: that is *awesome* good on you!

 Molotov: And I’ve been working ferociously to get better and stronger and raise awareness and get sponsors and skaters. I got in touch with a friend I had not seen for 10 years and now she is going to skate with us. And she brought another girl, who also brought a friend and so on and so on.

 El: Right!

Molotov: So we have a mix of new skaters and older experienced skaters. we are from all walks of life

El: Like what careers?

Molotov: One is a Native American and she is a licensed Drug and alcohol counselor.

Locktress is a hairdresser.

El: grinning.

Molotov: We have a waitress/model, a graduate student, a nurse, a logistics worker/liberal arts major.

El: A nurse!? LOL!

Molotov: Yep . . . and a construction/flooring sales person

El: And what’s your 50-hour week job?

Molotov: I work in shipping/receiving/inventory control for a laser test equipment company. I was a full time student too up until a couple of years ago . . . I’m hoping to get back to school one day.

El: (nodding) I hear ya.

 Molotov: Yes . . . no time to be sad or feel sorry for myself. When I am not busy that is when I start to fade. So I work hard, love hard, play hard.

 El: Seriously I get that. And don’t think too hard or too much (that’s my problem lol).

 Molotov: Mine too.

El: Yeah.

Molotov: I wanted to be a philosophy major.

El: And that’s where sports and competition help me. Who is your favorite philosopher?

Molotov: Tolstoy.

El: Loved War and Peace. Why Tolstoy?

Molotov: His writings on women and love really speak to me for some reason. I like a lot of the less known ones too… like Karl Marx. Economics and philosophy are very closely related.

El: So as a philosopher, what does derby signify to you?

Molotov: Oh wow . . . that is very deep . . .

El: that’s where I abide lol!

Molotov: I suppose it lies in the theory that we must make today count . . . and each moment . . . and I want to inspire and help others the way that I have been inspired and helped by so many. If I had know that my life could be as good as it is now, I would have chosen a different path very long ago. But it matters not now, because here I am and I am what I do with it. I got a tattoo on my back a year ago that reads ” take the pieces and build them up to the sky” its a line from my favorite song and summarizes the journey of my life.

El: Beautiful. What song is it?

Molotov: It’s a most beautiful song . . .

El: Biffy Clyro?

Molotov: YES. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E0q2iXlsKNA

El: Listening now. OMG if I were building a soundtrack for Ripple this would be in it. It’s profoundly moving to me, in ways I can hardly explain. There’s a scene in Ripple when Phoebe, the rape victim, is falling apart, but her friend talks to her, helps hold her together, and this song, it could be playing.

Molotov: I’ve had a lot of people who have helped hold me together . . . so yes.

El: Same here. This song, the one tattooed on your back–is this what derby kind of means to you?

Molotov: I think what derby means to me . . . is a dream that I had given up on coming true. And an exciting journey just beginning. One I am so honored and proud to be a part of.

El: That makes me so happy to hear, almost happy tears, you know? Because we should all find those dreams and take part in those journeys.

Molotov: It’s easy to find excuses not to follow our dreams. The hard part is doing what we really want.

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Filed under: Inspiration, Life, Philosophy, Sports Tagged: overcoming challenges, roller derby, sports, women in sports, work and family