Phoebe Alexander's Blog, page 3
November 20, 2015
What "Mountains Wanted" Is All About
I've been writing since I was a young girl.
When I was 7, I distinctly remember writing a series of stories featuring the character Strawberry Shortcake. I may have had a bit of an obsession with the curly red-headed, berry-scented doll. My mother, a teacher, sat me down and explained the ins and outs of proper punctuation to me. Here I was this tiny thing writing dialogue with quotation marks and the whole nine yards.
I wrote books, poems, short stories, songs, angst-filled manifestos - anything and everything. In my college and grad-school years I had a little addiction to The Sims video game. I wrote stories with my Sims characters which were then uploaded to the Sims website. I garnered an international following, and My Christmas Rose Trilogy was one of the top-ranked stories for months.
Then I became a blogger. I blogged on MySpace, LiveJournal and god knows where else until finally I joined an adult site with a very active blogging community. That is where I found my voice, writing about my sexual reawakening. That is also where I grew a thick enough skin to accept criticism - not always gracefully, but I'm still learning and growing in that area. You have to start somewhere.
You do have to start somewhere. Those early writings were like foothills that I ambled over. It was easy then. Not that many seven-year-olds to compete with, you know? The blogs were possibly my first mountain range. There were about 500K blogs on the site which had a ranking system based on the number of comments received each month. And the competition to get to the top of that list was pretty cut-throat. You probably won't believe this, but my life was threatened a time or two when I was in or near the number one spot.
I met my husband in the midst of all that. I've blogged about our story before and how it became the foundation for my Mountains Trilogy. I got the title "Mountains Wanted" from his username on a dating site. I knew what he meant by it. We live where it's very flat, almost sea-level. There are no mountains for miles; there are not even any hills to speak of. He enjoys the majestic beauty of the mountains and misses it, even though he loves living near the ocean as well.
But for me, Mountains Wanted became a metaphor for wanting to overcome obstacles or challenges in my life. In the Mountains Trilogy, that's certainly the case for Dr. Sarah Lynde when it comes to James McAllister. He is a challenge that she first wants, then climbs. At long last, she is able to step back and see that she loves the mountain, James, unconditionally, both his peaks and valleys.
As much as mountains were a symbol in my own relationship, the metaphor also extends to my writing career. That's why I chose to call my publishing company Mountains Wanted. You don't just wake up one morning and think, "Oh, I'll climb Mount Everest today." God, no. A journey like that takes months or years of preparation and training, but all the preparation and training in the world is useless without the the mental energy and strength of WANTING it.
I know what it's like to want it, to climb it, and to love it. I know what it's like to be stuck in the valley, to suffer setbacks. I know what it's like to take a deep breath and try again. If you feel like you have a book inside you and you want to see it come to fruition, give me a shout. I've been there. Let's talk about your mountain, why you want it, and how I can help you climb.
When I was 7, I distinctly remember writing a series of stories featuring the character Strawberry Shortcake. I may have had a bit of an obsession with the curly red-headed, berry-scented doll. My mother, a teacher, sat me down and explained the ins and outs of proper punctuation to me. Here I was this tiny thing writing dialogue with quotation marks and the whole nine yards.
I wrote books, poems, short stories, songs, angst-filled manifestos - anything and everything. In my college and grad-school years I had a little addiction to The Sims video game. I wrote stories with my Sims characters which were then uploaded to the Sims website. I garnered an international following, and My Christmas Rose Trilogy was one of the top-ranked stories for months.
Then I became a blogger. I blogged on MySpace, LiveJournal and god knows where else until finally I joined an adult site with a very active blogging community. That is where I found my voice, writing about my sexual reawakening. That is also where I grew a thick enough skin to accept criticism - not always gracefully, but I'm still learning and growing in that area. You have to start somewhere.
You do have to start somewhere. Those early writings were like foothills that I ambled over. It was easy then. Not that many seven-year-olds to compete with, you know? The blogs were possibly my first mountain range. There were about 500K blogs on the site which had a ranking system based on the number of comments received each month. And the competition to get to the top of that list was pretty cut-throat. You probably won't believe this, but my life was threatened a time or two when I was in or near the number one spot.
I met my husband in the midst of all that. I've blogged about our story before and how it became the foundation for my Mountains Trilogy. I got the title "Mountains Wanted" from his username on a dating site. I knew what he meant by it. We live where it's very flat, almost sea-level. There are no mountains for miles; there are not even any hills to speak of. He enjoys the majestic beauty of the mountains and misses it, even though he loves living near the ocean as well.
But for me, Mountains Wanted became a metaphor for wanting to overcome obstacles or challenges in my life. In the Mountains Trilogy, that's certainly the case for Dr. Sarah Lynde when it comes to James McAllister. He is a challenge that she first wants, then climbs. At long last, she is able to step back and see that she loves the mountain, James, unconditionally, both his peaks and valleys.
As much as mountains were a symbol in my own relationship, the metaphor also extends to my writing career. That's why I chose to call my publishing company Mountains Wanted. You don't just wake up one morning and think, "Oh, I'll climb Mount Everest today." God, no. A journey like that takes months or years of preparation and training, but all the preparation and training in the world is useless without the the mental energy and strength of WANTING it.
I know what it's like to want it, to climb it, and to love it. I know what it's like to be stuck in the valley, to suffer setbacks. I know what it's like to take a deep breath and try again. If you feel like you have a book inside you and you want to see it come to fruition, give me a shout. I've been there. Let's talk about your mountain, why you want it, and how I can help you climb.
October 9, 2015
Our Wedding Story
Nearly five years ago I met a man who would change my life. Of course, I didn’t really know to what extent at the time. For a while, I thought God put him in my life to get me writing again, but I fell in love with him too. I fell in deep, relentless, all-consuming love with him, as a matter of fact. And there were so many obstacles in the way of us being together, I thought I was destined to live with a broken heart.
But then things very slowly changed. We began trudging our way up a very high mountain, which is why it was apropos that he proposed to me last fall at the top of Pike’s Peak in Colorado. We began planning an October 3, 2015, wedding.
When you choose a wedding date and subsequently begin to plan said wedding, you create a distinct vision for the event. Oh, it was mapped out so very clearly in my mind: an arbor trailing with fall leaves at the edge of our woods, an aisle delineated by shepherd’s hooks scalloped with romantic tulle and hanging jars of wildflowers. The other side of the backyard would be dotted with round tables draped with ivory cloth and topped by paisley-stamped burlap squares, anchored by centerpieces of wildflowers in glass jars, candles, tiny pumpkins, pinecones and a stack of books. A dance floor would twinkle with lights as stars began to emerge in the darkening skies, and a paisley-piped triple-tiered wedding cake decorated with our monogram would provide a sweet ending for our night.
I’m a writer and librarian, and I love musical theatre; hence, I planned a “story” theme. Our programs looked like Broadway Playbills. Our tables were named for couples from our favorite stories. The hand-lettered chalkboard sign on the way out would read “And they lived happily ever after.”But about six weeks out from the wedding, that “happily ever after” looked farther and farther away.First, I suffered a freak accident getting a pedicure. When I climbed into the chair, I slammed my foot into the plastic faucet of the soaking basin. I cut a chunk from my right foot which later required antibiotics to treat. For several weeks, I was unsure if I’d be able to wear shoes on the Big Day! The doctor even threatened me with hospitalization if the antibiotics didn’t work. While I was recovering from that, I had an unfortunate encounter with a poisonous millipede which left chemical burns on my left foot. I’m not even making this up; I promise! In the coming weeks I also dropped a heavy gun belt on my foot and a metal keyboard tray fell on my foot too. It was looking like someone didn’t want me to walk down the aisle!
But that’s not all that went wrong.
First one bridesmaid canceled due to her husband’s medical issues. I was sad, but my motto was “The Show Must Go On!” A week after that, another bridesmaid, traveling internationally, told me she was unable to commit. So I was scrambling around figuring out how we would rearrange the bridal party. No big deal. I wasn’t going to be Bridezilla. I had it all under control. Or so I thought.Then the bartender announced he was backing out. At that point, I thought I was going to lose it, but friends helped me find a replacement. Things were looking up for a brief, shining moment.Very brief. Because then my fiancé hurt his shoulder playing rugby. For a while, we were afraid he was going to need surgery, but after consultation with an orthopedist, he learned he simply needed to avoid using his arm for several weeks. This was another crushing blow to our wedding agenda. He had a week vacation from work during which he was supposed to be finishing last minute projects around the house. Thank goodness for a friend who helped us finish tiling and pull the downstairs bathroom together just in time.
Two weeks before the wedding, my fiancé had a meltdown. He wasn’t sure if he could go through with it. Even though we’d lived together for two years, the financial ramifications of the union were – for lack of a better term – freaking him out. He had a terrible case of cold feet, which was sort of ironic considering my earlier foot issues (cases of hot feet?) But we sat down and discussed his fears and together we figured everything out. So I was still down two bridesmaids, but my feet were healed and I had a new bartender and an on board groom. What could go wrong now?
A week out from the wedding, the weather forecast looked okay: partly cloudy and 67 degrees. Not bad, I thought. I’ll take it. But in the coming days things began to look bleak. Devastatingly bleak.We soon discovered that Hurricane Joaquin was heading right for us, and the Tuesday and Wednesday before the Big Day became two of the worst days of my life. The place at which we had reserved tents refused to put them up in bad weather (which, duh, was why I had reserved them in the first place.) We called around all over Delmarva and no one had a tent to spare. At that point I wondered how in the world we were going to pull this off, but then we found two tents for a reasonable price online and paid extra for two day shipping.
But the forecast worsened.
Finally, my fiancé said that he wasn’t getting married if his family from New York didn’t feel comfortable braving the storm to drive down. One by one he called his sisters and his two out-of-town groomsmen to ask what they’d like to do. The latter decided to stay home, as did another of my bridesmaids. I spent two hours biting off what was left of my nails as I waited to learn if I’d be getting married or if the fourteen pounds of frozen meatless meatballs in my fridge were going to be staying there for a long while.
We did consider rescheduling. They were predicting 5-8 inches of rain between Wednesday and Saturday with wind gusts up to 50-60 mph as a nor’easter pounded the coastline in advance of the hurricane. But trying to get 80 people together in one place with only a few weeks’ notice is no easy task. Not to mention we had a marriage license only good for another week, a crap ton of food and drink, rental items already paid for, and I had told everyone I knew I was getting married. The thought of not getting married on October 3rd was soul-crushing.
Finally my fiancé got off the phone and announced he had found a solution. Most of his family was not willing to make the trip. However, his parents agreed to come down no matter what, which was good enough for him. And all of the sudden, the wedding was on!
Because of the uncertainty and the rain, I wasn’t able to do a lot of set-up in advance. Much of the festivities needed to be moved indoors, so we were trying to figure out where to put 40-50 people (down from our original guest list of 80) in our 2500 square feet house. We decided to do the ceremony outside with umbrellas and erect one tent for the bar and at least two tables. Everything else would go inside. I scrapped my extensive seating plan (which had changed approximately 100 times in the prior weeks) as well as half of my décor. I still had my (now terribly wrong) Playbill programs and the cute wedding games (Mad Libs anyone?) I’d created along with the plantable seed-paper bookmarks we used as favors. I was committed to making this work.
The day of the wedding was just plain crazy. I ran all over the county gathering last minute things and my friends and fiancé tirelessly cleaned, set up, got food ready, put up the tent and secured it against the ferocious wind. Amidst all that chaos, we had to call a tow truck to pull his parents’ car out of the mud in our front yard. We also had to wait to hear from our photographer who had missed the rehearsal due to flooding in his neighborhood. A few hours before showtime, he assured me he could get out at low tide.
We were running out of time so I threw on my makeup, didn’t bother to fix my hair, and got into my dress without any assistance. My ladies were running around trying to get themselves together so there was not a bit of relaxation! I wore rain boots under my dress – my something borrowed.Next thing I knew, my youngest son and my last-minute flower girl (appointed the night before at the rehearsal based on the fact she owned a purple dress) were heading into the backyard. My older sons flanked me, ready to escort me into the angry, swirling wind. As soon as we arrived at the leaf-covered arbor where my betrothed waited, there was a sudden downburst of wind and rain as if to punctuate the commencement of our vows.
The ceremony was beautiful despite the wind, rain, and shivering, umbrella-canopied guests. Even in my sleeveless gown, I felt warm and glowing the entire time, with a smile perpetually tugging my lips upward. The words my dear friend Phather Phil wrote were breathtaking, and I was completely in the moment as I looked into my beloved’s eyes and promised to be his “till death do us part.”
Twenty minutes later, we had said our “I do’s” and kissed. We headed down the aisle, a newly minted Mr. and Mrs., to the Star Wars Theme, crossing underneath a light saber arch. We had made it! Despite all the odds we faced from injured shoulders, to canceling bridesmaids and bartenders, to millipede burns, to tents threatening to blow away, we emerged victorious. And wed.
It was not the wedding I envisioned, not by a long shot. But as I told the minister at the rehearsal: “If we end up married by the end of the night, it’s a success.” It was not the beautiful, sun-kissed early fall wedding with dancing under the emerging stars I had dreamed of; it was blowing and muddy – tow trucks and begging neighbors to use their driveways were involved. We didn’t have the 80 guests I’d planned for surrounding us, but we had 30-something loved ones who proved they would be there for us no matter what.
In the end, it was not at all what I’d imagined or planned, but it was so US. We have overcome so many struggles in our relationship, and the events leading up to our “I Do’s” were just a few more to overcome. We’ve always climbed every mountain that stood in our path. I can’t help but believe our wedding day was just exactly as it should be. It was completely ours, and it was perfect. And now we are finally living our happily ever after, secure in the knowledge we can not only climb any mountain but we can also weather any storm.
June 16, 2015
two Junes ago
June 16, 2013, was a pivotal day in my life.
First, you have to understand what a mess I was in on that date. I had just resigned from a job that I couldn't deal with any longer, and I was interviewing across the country, preparing myself for what seemed like an inevitable out-of-state move. I was finishing up my second year of cohabitation with my first husband, a necessary evil as we both desperately wanted a divorce. I wanted to move out, but I had no place to go. Family back in my homeland were less than supportive of my situation. And, to cap it all off, I was in love with a man who was trying to decide between me and the woman he thought was his ideal. He was away that very weekend visiting her, and I believed they were making plans for their future together.
Basically, my life was a complete mess. I had no job, no place to live, no family support, and no partner. So I went to the mountains that weekend. Seems like an obvious choice, right?
I traveled to Asheville, North Carolina, to seek some solitude and finish writing Mountains Climbed. I had finished Mountains Wanted while visiting Charleston, South Carolina, so North Carolina seemed like the ideal place to finish the second book in the series. Not to mention the fact that the book happens to end in that geographic area.
I remember sitting on the bed in my hotel room furiously typing away on my laptop, the final words of the 500 page novel pouring down into my fingers from my brain. Tears streamed in thick channels down my cheeks. The Mountains Books were an allegory for my relationship with the man I loved. I had vowed to write the happy ending that I didn't ever believe we would have together. The whole time I was writing the ending, I was mourning the fact that it wouldn't be coming true.
Two days later, when I picked him up from the airport, he told me he had decided not to pursue marriage with the "other woman," the "Maggie" of our story. Yes, this was amazing, welcome news, but it didn't mean I automatically got my happy ending. It didn't mean he and I would walk off into the sunset and live happily ever after. Not yet, anyway. It just meant the wheels were in motion.
Slowly, so very slowly, things began to fall into place over the next two years. I found a place to live - with him - temporarily at first. Then, eight months later he asked me to stay indefinitely. I finally closed the door on my first marriage after nearly three years of separation. Then I found a job - not a great job, but a job nonetheless.
In October, after a little more than a year of living together, he asked me to marry him. Everything seemed to be falling into place except for two huge things: my estrangement from my parents and siblings; and my job, which was stringing me along, giving me more responsibility but refusing to give me a raise or give me permanent, full-time status.
Admittedly, the family situation was never resolved. But, I gradually made peace with it. It's taken me nearly a year and a half of horrible sadness and anger, mostly directed inward, to finally be able to say that I've moved on. It is what it is. They will never accept the person I've grown up to be, and that's okay.
And then, the final peace of the puzzle - the job - fell into place in the last few weeks. I not only found a new full-time job with benefits, but I also started a freelance social media management gig that will nicely round out my income. In addition, I had a great release for Fat Girl, and doors continue to open for me with my writing career as well.
It took TWO full years for things to finally sort themselves out. And maybe that's why it feels like the time is right to finish out my Mountains Trilogy. I began writing Mountains Loved this month. I am in love with the characters Sarah, James and Abby. I tried to outline all 20 chapters today, but to be honest, I only know the beginning and the ending at this point. The middle parts are not clear to me yet. But just like everything gradually came into focus with my life, I know the same will happen with this book. And in a few months, the characters will have revealed to me what happens in the final chapters of their story.
Call it a case of life imitating art, but all I know is that two Junes ago when I was finishing Mountains Climbed, I thought I was heading off to climb an entirely different range of mountains than the ones I ended up climbing. Now, standing on the peak, looking out across the vast distance I covered, all I can think is that I'm finally home.
First, you have to understand what a mess I was in on that date. I had just resigned from a job that I couldn't deal with any longer, and I was interviewing across the country, preparing myself for what seemed like an inevitable out-of-state move. I was finishing up my second year of cohabitation with my first husband, a necessary evil as we both desperately wanted a divorce. I wanted to move out, but I had no place to go. Family back in my homeland were less than supportive of my situation. And, to cap it all off, I was in love with a man who was trying to decide between me and the woman he thought was his ideal. He was away that very weekend visiting her, and I believed they were making plans for their future together.
Basically, my life was a complete mess. I had no job, no place to live, no family support, and no partner. So I went to the mountains that weekend. Seems like an obvious choice, right?
I traveled to Asheville, North Carolina, to seek some solitude and finish writing Mountains Climbed. I had finished Mountains Wanted while visiting Charleston, South Carolina, so North Carolina seemed like the ideal place to finish the second book in the series. Not to mention the fact that the book happens to end in that geographic area.
I remember sitting on the bed in my hotel room furiously typing away on my laptop, the final words of the 500 page novel pouring down into my fingers from my brain. Tears streamed in thick channels down my cheeks. The Mountains Books were an allegory for my relationship with the man I loved. I had vowed to write the happy ending that I didn't ever believe we would have together. The whole time I was writing the ending, I was mourning the fact that it wouldn't be coming true.
Two days later, when I picked him up from the airport, he told me he had decided not to pursue marriage with the "other woman," the "Maggie" of our story. Yes, this was amazing, welcome news, but it didn't mean I automatically got my happy ending. It didn't mean he and I would walk off into the sunset and live happily ever after. Not yet, anyway. It just meant the wheels were in motion.
Slowly, so very slowly, things began to fall into place over the next two years. I found a place to live - with him - temporarily at first. Then, eight months later he asked me to stay indefinitely. I finally closed the door on my first marriage after nearly three years of separation. Then I found a job - not a great job, but a job nonetheless.
In October, after a little more than a year of living together, he asked me to marry him. Everything seemed to be falling into place except for two huge things: my estrangement from my parents and siblings; and my job, which was stringing me along, giving me more responsibility but refusing to give me a raise or give me permanent, full-time status.
Admittedly, the family situation was never resolved. But, I gradually made peace with it. It's taken me nearly a year and a half of horrible sadness and anger, mostly directed inward, to finally be able to say that I've moved on. It is what it is. They will never accept the person I've grown up to be, and that's okay.
And then, the final peace of the puzzle - the job - fell into place in the last few weeks. I not only found a new full-time job with benefits, but I also started a freelance social media management gig that will nicely round out my income. In addition, I had a great release for Fat Girl, and doors continue to open for me with my writing career as well.
It took TWO full years for things to finally sort themselves out. And maybe that's why it feels like the time is right to finish out my Mountains Trilogy. I began writing Mountains Loved this month. I am in love with the characters Sarah, James and Abby. I tried to outline all 20 chapters today, but to be honest, I only know the beginning and the ending at this point. The middle parts are not clear to me yet. But just like everything gradually came into focus with my life, I know the same will happen with this book. And in a few months, the characters will have revealed to me what happens in the final chapters of their story.
Call it a case of life imitating art, but all I know is that two Junes ago when I was finishing Mountains Climbed, I thought I was heading off to climb an entirely different range of mountains than the ones I ended up climbing. Now, standing on the peak, looking out across the vast distance I covered, all I can think is that I'm finally home.
February 2, 2015
getting what I deserve
It's amazing how negativity stays with you. It hibernates sometimes, shoved way down deep, only to spring up like a vengeful ghost whenever you let your guard down. It happened to me Big Time today and no matter how hard I try, I can't seem to shake this dark cloud of self-loathing hanging over me.
Over the weekend, my mini van pretty much bit the dust. It's 10 years old and has 154K miles on it, so it's not a big surprise. But I was hoping to drive it another year or so before having to take on a car payment. It's just not in my budget to make a car payment right now. The transmission went out and it already needed brakes and a muffler, so it's not worth fixing considering its value (or lack thereof.)
Instead of just chalking it up to bad luck and the car being past its prime, I started thinking today about how I've been quite unfortunate in all things financial in the past few years, and really my whole life, if I think about it. I can never seem to get ahead and as soon as I think the clouds are parting, something goes awry.
Today I remembered two things that were said to me a few years ago. When we had been separated for almost a year and I accidentally rear-ended someone in his car, my ex-husband was rightfully pissed off at me. And he made this comment: "When you're not a good person, bad things happen to you." Basically he felt hurt that our marriage had fallen apart, so he invoked Karma. Apparently my wreck was punishment for not wanting to be with him anymore.
A year before that, when he and I were still together, we were looking to buy a house. My parents had promised to help us with the downpayment but when push came to shove, they reneged. Do you know what they told us? They told us that maybe if we went to church and tithed regularly we wouldn't have financial problems.
At the time I thought, whoa, whatever happened to being saved by grace? And then I thought, "Who tells their adult children that they are poor because they're being punished by God?" At the time we were both state employees and hadn't gotten raises in four years. We'd actually been furloughed for half of the time we'd worked for the state. So I thought, wow, who knew The State of Maryland's budget issues were all because we didn't go to church and tithe?
Even though I know their accusations have no logical merit, on days like today I wonder if I AM being punished. Am I a bad person getting what I deserve in never being able to get ahead? Am I going to drag my fiance down under this curse? I try pretty hard to treat people the way I want to be treated. That's what it's all about, right? The Golden Rule? Then I wonder, is God punishing me because I am not the Good Little Churchgoer that I was for decades, even though my faith has not faltered? If I'd stayed in my marriage and in the church, would I be living in the lap of luxury right now? Or at least be able to afford a new car?
I'm a sinner, I fully admit. I try to do the right thing, but sometimes I fail. I write about sex and I am living in sin with my fiance. I broke up my family and I share custody of my children, so I'm not with them everyday. Maybe I am a bad person and a bad Christian. But it seems like there are some pretty Big Time Assholes out there living it up and rolling in dough. What do all the self-righteous, fundamentalist Christians have to say about that?
I just don't know some days. All I do know is that I'm not going to be driving my own vehicle anywhere for awhile.
Over the weekend, my mini van pretty much bit the dust. It's 10 years old and has 154K miles on it, so it's not a big surprise. But I was hoping to drive it another year or so before having to take on a car payment. It's just not in my budget to make a car payment right now. The transmission went out and it already needed brakes and a muffler, so it's not worth fixing considering its value (or lack thereof.)
Instead of just chalking it up to bad luck and the car being past its prime, I started thinking today about how I've been quite unfortunate in all things financial in the past few years, and really my whole life, if I think about it. I can never seem to get ahead and as soon as I think the clouds are parting, something goes awry.
Today I remembered two things that were said to me a few years ago. When we had been separated for almost a year and I accidentally rear-ended someone in his car, my ex-husband was rightfully pissed off at me. And he made this comment: "When you're not a good person, bad things happen to you." Basically he felt hurt that our marriage had fallen apart, so he invoked Karma. Apparently my wreck was punishment for not wanting to be with him anymore.
A year before that, when he and I were still together, we were looking to buy a house. My parents had promised to help us with the downpayment but when push came to shove, they reneged. Do you know what they told us? They told us that maybe if we went to church and tithed regularly we wouldn't have financial problems.
At the time I thought, whoa, whatever happened to being saved by grace? And then I thought, "Who tells their adult children that they are poor because they're being punished by God?" At the time we were both state employees and hadn't gotten raises in four years. We'd actually been furloughed for half of the time we'd worked for the state. So I thought, wow, who knew The State of Maryland's budget issues were all because we didn't go to church and tithe?
Even though I know their accusations have no logical merit, on days like today I wonder if I AM being punished. Am I a bad person getting what I deserve in never being able to get ahead? Am I going to drag my fiance down under this curse? I try pretty hard to treat people the way I want to be treated. That's what it's all about, right? The Golden Rule? Then I wonder, is God punishing me because I am not the Good Little Churchgoer that I was for decades, even though my faith has not faltered? If I'd stayed in my marriage and in the church, would I be living in the lap of luxury right now? Or at least be able to afford a new car?
I'm a sinner, I fully admit. I try to do the right thing, but sometimes I fail. I write about sex and I am living in sin with my fiance. I broke up my family and I share custody of my children, so I'm not with them everyday. Maybe I am a bad person and a bad Christian. But it seems like there are some pretty Big Time Assholes out there living it up and rolling in dough. What do all the self-righteous, fundamentalist Christians have to say about that?
I just don't know some days. All I do know is that I'm not going to be driving my own vehicle anywhere for awhile.
January 22, 2015
The Dark Side of Self-Publishing (a.k.a. GrammarGate)
Anyone can be a writer now.
Self-publishing one's words in the form of novels, blog posts, tweets, Facebook rants, and myriad other outlets has become commonplace. Although there are equal numbers of platforms for sharing graphics or images, never has it been so easy to disseminate one's written ideas to large numbers of people. I suppose we have the internet to thank for democratizing thoughts, opinions, and information.
In many ways, I think it's awesome that curmudgeonly editors no longer hold the keys to the publishing castle. Let's face it, if I had to rely on a literary agent or publishing house to publish my four novels, there's a good chance I wouldn't have gotten past the traditional guardians of the written word. And if I'd not had the opportunity to post my thoughts and ramblings on various blogs throughout the past eight years, there's a good chance I would have never had the confidence to put my ideas in print. Self-publishing has certainly been a wonderful development for me.
But there is definitely a dark side to the ease and immediacy of blasting our words out into cyberspace. I came across several reminders of this dark side today while exploring trending topics on Facebook and Twitter. Two happened to be on the same topic, DeflateGate. Unless you're an extreme Media Hermit, you are likely aware that DeflateGate involves the 11 deflated footballs used in the January 18th NFL playoff game between the New England Patriots and the Indianapolis Colts. I should disclose that I was born in Indianapolis, so it's not hard to imagine where my loyalties lie, but that's neither here nor there. I'm much more disturbed by our deflated standards for writing than I am by deflated footballs.
One was an article in USAToday which had apparently never seen the eyes of an editor. Rather, it was pushed out in a rush after Bill Belichick's press conference earlier today. There were several errors, mostly typos. Reading it made my head and stomach hurt a little. This is a national newspaper publishing an article with glaring grammatical and spelling errors. And why? To save the few measly minutes it would have taken for an editor to fix them. We value timeliness over correctness, not only for the facts, but also for the delivery.
Another example was a blog post picked up by an Indianapolis media outlet that was written by a "mommy blogger." In her post, she implored the NFL to set some standards so that we can teach children that breaking rules has consequences and all that jazz. But she opened her blog post with the phrase "strike a cord" instead of "strike a chord." More head and stomach hurting ensued. I know not everyone out there is an English major, but I feel pretty strongly that writers should at least strive to get their idioms right. There seem to be no consequences for breaking the rules of English, but there's no outrage over GrammarGate.
I also read an article today encouraging women to be naked more frequently (obviously I have a wide range of interests!) The author used the phrase "drop trowel." Um no. It is "drop trou," not "drop trowel." The author clearly didn't know the difference because she used the word "trowel" twice. And apparently an editor didn't catch that either.
Three articles, three disappointments for this Grammar Snob.
Furthermore, as an indie author, I follow a lot of other indie authors on social media. Sometimes I read particularly cringe-worthy excerpts that make me question why in the world these individuals decided that writing was a suitable career, or even hobby for that matter. And then to see that these books get sold and garner positive reviews is just befuddling to me. Do their fans overlook the obvious issues or are they completely ignorant of the poor quality of the writing, both in style and syntax? Don't even get me started about how the junior-high level 50 Shades became such a phenomenon.
I am not sure what the solution to this issue is. I like the fact that so many people are taking an interest in writing, specifically in writing complete sentences devoid of abbreviations and text talk. I like the fact that people want to express themselves publicly and to foster discourse and debate. I feel hopeful that the written word is far from dead. But I also feel sad that our standards for grammatical conventions are so low. And that so many seem not to care. Do we continue down this path? Do we let the language evolve to have different or looser rules? Or is there something that can be done to renew an interest in learning and adhering to grammatical conventions?
Now it's your turn to write. Please share your answers in complete sentences with correct punctuation and spelling! #comeonyoucandoit #goodgrammarrules (pardon the pun!)
Self-publishing one's words in the form of novels, blog posts, tweets, Facebook rants, and myriad other outlets has become commonplace. Although there are equal numbers of platforms for sharing graphics or images, never has it been so easy to disseminate one's written ideas to large numbers of people. I suppose we have the internet to thank for democratizing thoughts, opinions, and information.
In many ways, I think it's awesome that curmudgeonly editors no longer hold the keys to the publishing castle. Let's face it, if I had to rely on a literary agent or publishing house to publish my four novels, there's a good chance I wouldn't have gotten past the traditional guardians of the written word. And if I'd not had the opportunity to post my thoughts and ramblings on various blogs throughout the past eight years, there's a good chance I would have never had the confidence to put my ideas in print. Self-publishing has certainly been a wonderful development for me.
But there is definitely a dark side to the ease and immediacy of blasting our words out into cyberspace. I came across several reminders of this dark side today while exploring trending topics on Facebook and Twitter. Two happened to be on the same topic, DeflateGate. Unless you're an extreme Media Hermit, you are likely aware that DeflateGate involves the 11 deflated footballs used in the January 18th NFL playoff game between the New England Patriots and the Indianapolis Colts. I should disclose that I was born in Indianapolis, so it's not hard to imagine where my loyalties lie, but that's neither here nor there. I'm much more disturbed by our deflated standards for writing than I am by deflated footballs.
One was an article in USAToday which had apparently never seen the eyes of an editor. Rather, it was pushed out in a rush after Bill Belichick's press conference earlier today. There were several errors, mostly typos. Reading it made my head and stomach hurt a little. This is a national newspaper publishing an article with glaring grammatical and spelling errors. And why? To save the few measly minutes it would have taken for an editor to fix them. We value timeliness over correctness, not only for the facts, but also for the delivery.
Another example was a blog post picked up by an Indianapolis media outlet that was written by a "mommy blogger." In her post, she implored the NFL to set some standards so that we can teach children that breaking rules has consequences and all that jazz. But she opened her blog post with the phrase "strike a cord" instead of "strike a chord." More head and stomach hurting ensued. I know not everyone out there is an English major, but I feel pretty strongly that writers should at least strive to get their idioms right. There seem to be no consequences for breaking the rules of English, but there's no outrage over GrammarGate.
I also read an article today encouraging women to be naked more frequently (obviously I have a wide range of interests!) The author used the phrase "drop trowel." Um no. It is "drop trou," not "drop trowel." The author clearly didn't know the difference because she used the word "trowel" twice. And apparently an editor didn't catch that either.
Three articles, three disappointments for this Grammar Snob.
Furthermore, as an indie author, I follow a lot of other indie authors on social media. Sometimes I read particularly cringe-worthy excerpts that make me question why in the world these individuals decided that writing was a suitable career, or even hobby for that matter. And then to see that these books get sold and garner positive reviews is just befuddling to me. Do their fans overlook the obvious issues or are they completely ignorant of the poor quality of the writing, both in style and syntax? Don't even get me started about how the junior-high level 50 Shades became such a phenomenon.
I am not sure what the solution to this issue is. I like the fact that so many people are taking an interest in writing, specifically in writing complete sentences devoid of abbreviations and text talk. I like the fact that people want to express themselves publicly and to foster discourse and debate. I feel hopeful that the written word is far from dead. But I also feel sad that our standards for grammatical conventions are so low. And that so many seem not to care. Do we continue down this path? Do we let the language evolve to have different or looser rules? Or is there something that can be done to renew an interest in learning and adhering to grammatical conventions?
Now it's your turn to write. Please share your answers in complete sentences with correct punctuation and spelling! #comeonyoucandoit #goodgrammarrules (pardon the pun!)
December 29, 2014
slut shaming, cattiness, and empowerment
I've been thinking a lot about the controversy that brewed on my Facebook profile a week or so ago. Several female erotica readers and authors were outraged that I would dare to show my body in conjunction with my writing. Strangely enough, no male readers or authors complained. As a matter of fact, they were pretty damn supportive of my exhibitionist endeavors.
It reminded me a lot of blogging on AdultFriendFinder and all the drama that ensued many moons ago. No matter what parts of my body I showed, there was always that contingent of females that had to voice complaints, either that I was fat or showing too much or whatever.
I know our society still endures many vestiges of misogyny and oppression that were created by antiquated patriarchal systems. One of the main tenets of those systems is that women who flaunt their sexuality are lesser beings than their pure and virginal sisters. As many of the other vestiges of sexism fade away, we continue to battle this paradigm of slut shaming, and I honestly believe that women perpetuate it as much or more than men.
Here's a newsflash for you: celebrating and embracing one's body does not make a person bad. Let me tell you about bad people. Bad people are selfish, rude, unkind, not generous, disloyal, manipulative, jealous and intolerant.
Posting pictures of my body on an adult site or anywhere associated with erotica is not only appropriate, but I believe is a step in the right direction for shaming the Slut Shamers. Why? Because it's not just about my body. Like someone pointed out to me recently: I'm not only an exhibitionist of my body, but also of my mind. I don't just post pictures. I post thoughts, feelings, poetry, observations, philosophical ramblings, and god knows what else in conjunction with the photos.
It boils down to this: we must stop thinking of people, men or women, as one dimensional. We are not just our bodies or our minds. We are not just breasts, a penis, or a brain. We are complex organisms with rich and diverse strengths and weaknesses. I am an erotica writer with ample curves, a sharp mind, and the ability to paint pictures with words. I believe my blog, my Facebook page, and my Twitter account are all representative of that. It doesn't have to be that I'm either a Slut or a Serious Writer. I am both. And I embrace both roles.
So let me make a suggestion to women: stop the cattiness. Stop the slut shaming. Empower your sisters and support their choices to be whomever they want to be. You may not like to show off your body, but other women do and their choice does not impact you. Just because a behavior or a choice is not right for you doesn't make it wrong for someone else. Celebrate each others' strengths and tolerate each others' weaknesses.
My fiance and I have an Italian phrase written on our living room wall: "L'unione fa la forza." It means "In unity, there is strength." Stand in solidarity, ladies, because that is simply the best way to fight misogyny and sexism.
It reminded me a lot of blogging on AdultFriendFinder and all the drama that ensued many moons ago. No matter what parts of my body I showed, there was always that contingent of females that had to voice complaints, either that I was fat or showing too much or whatever.
I know our society still endures many vestiges of misogyny and oppression that were created by antiquated patriarchal systems. One of the main tenets of those systems is that women who flaunt their sexuality are lesser beings than their pure and virginal sisters. As many of the other vestiges of sexism fade away, we continue to battle this paradigm of slut shaming, and I honestly believe that women perpetuate it as much or more than men.
Here's a newsflash for you: celebrating and embracing one's body does not make a person bad. Let me tell you about bad people. Bad people are selfish, rude, unkind, not generous, disloyal, manipulative, jealous and intolerant.
Posting pictures of my body on an adult site or anywhere associated with erotica is not only appropriate, but I believe is a step in the right direction for shaming the Slut Shamers. Why? Because it's not just about my body. Like someone pointed out to me recently: I'm not only an exhibitionist of my body, but also of my mind. I don't just post pictures. I post thoughts, feelings, poetry, observations, philosophical ramblings, and god knows what else in conjunction with the photos.
It boils down to this: we must stop thinking of people, men or women, as one dimensional. We are not just our bodies or our minds. We are not just breasts, a penis, or a brain. We are complex organisms with rich and diverse strengths and weaknesses. I am an erotica writer with ample curves, a sharp mind, and the ability to paint pictures with words. I believe my blog, my Facebook page, and my Twitter account are all representative of that. It doesn't have to be that I'm either a Slut or a Serious Writer. I am both. And I embrace both roles.
So let me make a suggestion to women: stop the cattiness. Stop the slut shaming. Empower your sisters and support their choices to be whomever they want to be. You may not like to show off your body, but other women do and their choice does not impact you. Just because a behavior or a choice is not right for you doesn't make it wrong for someone else. Celebrate each others' strengths and tolerate each others' weaknesses.
My fiance and I have an Italian phrase written on our living room wall: "L'unione fa la forza." It means "In unity, there is strength." Stand in solidarity, ladies, because that is simply the best way to fight misogyny and sexism.
December 11, 2014
December 2, 2014
to my brother
Dear Brother,
About a year ago, you made some nasty comments about me on Facebook. I hadn't talked to you for months and you ignored me the last time I made the 750 mile trek to the Homeland. So I sent you a private message and offered the solution of talking over the phone about why you are so angry with me instead of you acting out in public in front of all our mutual friends and other family members.
You declined talking to me and said you didn't want anything to do with me. You claimed I was a "selfish bitch" and that I "abandoned" (your word, not mine) my children when I moved across state lines to be with my (now) fiance.
Here are the facts:
1. I moved 45 minutes away from my children.
2. I lived with their father for 2 years while we were separated because we didn't have any other choice financially. When we had the opportunity to finally go our own ways, we BOTH jumped on it. It was a carefully discussed, mutual decision.
3. My children wanted to stay in the town where their schools are rather than start over at new schools. I honored that.
4. I send their father money every month and managed to do so even when I was unemployed.
5. I see them once a week for the evening and they spend every other weekend at my house. They spend most breaks (Christmas, Spring Break, Summer Break etc) with me as well.
I'm not sure how that classifies as abandonment, but whatever. The point is, you feel very strongly that I am a horrible mother and asked that I never contact you again.
Now nearly a year has gone by and I've heard several reports that you are very sick. Your diabetes is out of control and you have never been the best patient. From what I understand, you may not have much longer to live.
I could argue that if you die because you choose not to take care of yourself, then you are essentially abandoning your daughter in the most literal and final of ways. But I'm not going to do that. The last thing I said to you is that you will always be my brother and I will always love you.
And that is the message I want to send out now. It's not too late to salvage our relationship. Although I was very hurt by your accusations, I was even more hurt that you didn't want me to be part of your life anymore.
I look at this picture, circa 1978, from time to time:
And I think about how happy and innocent we look. It breaks my heart to think that I will likely never see you again and that you will die hating me. I don't understand why families have to be so hateful to each other and know exactly how to inflict the most pain. I don't understand why we can't have this pure, simple bond like what I see in that picture.
So I'm putting this out there, my dear brother, in written word, because that's what I do. I'm not doing it to clear my conscience because I have not done anything wrong. I'm extending the proverbial olive branch, telling you that I still love you and forgiving you for saying those hurtful things to me. It's not too late for us to come to an understanding. We don't have to be friends, but it would be nice if we could at least show our children what acceptance, forgiveness and love are. And those are three things every family should embrace.
Love always,
Your Sister
About a year ago, you made some nasty comments about me on Facebook. I hadn't talked to you for months and you ignored me the last time I made the 750 mile trek to the Homeland. So I sent you a private message and offered the solution of talking over the phone about why you are so angry with me instead of you acting out in public in front of all our mutual friends and other family members.
You declined talking to me and said you didn't want anything to do with me. You claimed I was a "selfish bitch" and that I "abandoned" (your word, not mine) my children when I moved across state lines to be with my (now) fiance.
Here are the facts:
1. I moved 45 minutes away from my children.
2. I lived with their father for 2 years while we were separated because we didn't have any other choice financially. When we had the opportunity to finally go our own ways, we BOTH jumped on it. It was a carefully discussed, mutual decision.
3. My children wanted to stay in the town where their schools are rather than start over at new schools. I honored that.
4. I send their father money every month and managed to do so even when I was unemployed.
5. I see them once a week for the evening and they spend every other weekend at my house. They spend most breaks (Christmas, Spring Break, Summer Break etc) with me as well.
I'm not sure how that classifies as abandonment, but whatever. The point is, you feel very strongly that I am a horrible mother and asked that I never contact you again.
Now nearly a year has gone by and I've heard several reports that you are very sick. Your diabetes is out of control and you have never been the best patient. From what I understand, you may not have much longer to live.
I could argue that if you die because you choose not to take care of yourself, then you are essentially abandoning your daughter in the most literal and final of ways. But I'm not going to do that. The last thing I said to you is that you will always be my brother and I will always love you.
And that is the message I want to send out now. It's not too late to salvage our relationship. Although I was very hurt by your accusations, I was even more hurt that you didn't want me to be part of your life anymore.
I look at this picture, circa 1978, from time to time:
And I think about how happy and innocent we look. It breaks my heart to think that I will likely never see you again and that you will die hating me. I don't understand why families have to be so hateful to each other and know exactly how to inflict the most pain. I don't understand why we can't have this pure, simple bond like what I see in that picture.
So I'm putting this out there, my dear brother, in written word, because that's what I do. I'm not doing it to clear my conscience because I have not done anything wrong. I'm extending the proverbial olive branch, telling you that I still love you and forgiving you for saying those hurtful things to me. It's not too late for us to come to an understanding. We don't have to be friends, but it would be nice if we could at least show our children what acceptance, forgiveness and love are. And those are three things every family should embrace.
Love always,
Your Sister
November 23, 2014
13 Things I Will Not Do At My Wedding
(That I Did the First Time Around)
1. Plan around my university's winter break. I was a sophomore in college when I got married the first time. I wanted a Fall wedding but couldn't since I was in school. I'm getting it this time.
2. Stick to traditional music. I always hated the traditional recessional so we did "Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring" instead, which is still fairly traditional. This time the recessional will be totally stellar. (That's a hint.)
3. Not serve alcohol. I was under 21 at my first wedding, and we got married and had the reception at my parents' church so there was no booze. We are going to more than make up for that this time around!
4. Have bridesmaids who want to make it all about them. I'm not going to rehash details from 20 years ago, but suffice it to say I don't speak to any of those so-called friends anymore. This time, I know my maids will have my back on my wedding day and beyond!
5. Worry about everything being matchy matchy. First time, if it wasn't teal, silver or white, it didn't belong. This time I'm sticking to a Fall color scheme but I'm not going to be nutso about it.
6. Deny my love of paisley. Going along with #5, who cares about color? There will be lots of paisley!
7. Waste money on response cards. Having to mail RSVPs back is a pain. They can just email or text me.
8. Have my dad walk me down the aisle. I haven't even talked to my father in a year. My sons will be escorting me instead.
9. And likewise, my mother will not be taking over the planning. She won't even be there.
10. Wear white. I'll wear ivory instead. Because it looks better with my pale skin and red hair.
11. Wear a poofy dress. Because no. Just no.
12. Take the day so seriously. I didn't have fun at my first wedding. It all seemed like a huge production for my parents' friends in which I was just along for the ride. At this wedding, we're all having fun, damn it!
13. Marry someone I've never lived with. One of the main reasons I got married at 19 is because my parents would have disowned me if I'd lived in sin. Now I'm 40 years old and I've lived in sin for over a year, and as a result, I know for certain this the man I want to spend the rest of my life with. I'm not going into marriage blissfully ignorant this time. I know that my man is a slob. But I also know he's a great cook, amazing cuddler, and every once in awhile he'll do the dishes. Above all, I know he will do everything in his power to build an amazing life with me.
What did you or would you do differently the second time around?
1. Plan around my university's winter break. I was a sophomore in college when I got married the first time. I wanted a Fall wedding but couldn't since I was in school. I'm getting it this time.
2. Stick to traditional music. I always hated the traditional recessional so we did "Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring" instead, which is still fairly traditional. This time the recessional will be totally stellar. (That's a hint.)
3. Not serve alcohol. I was under 21 at my first wedding, and we got married and had the reception at my parents' church so there was no booze. We are going to more than make up for that this time around!
4. Have bridesmaids who want to make it all about them. I'm not going to rehash details from 20 years ago, but suffice it to say I don't speak to any of those so-called friends anymore. This time, I know my maids will have my back on my wedding day and beyond!
5. Worry about everything being matchy matchy. First time, if it wasn't teal, silver or white, it didn't belong. This time I'm sticking to a Fall color scheme but I'm not going to be nutso about it.
6. Deny my love of paisley. Going along with #5, who cares about color? There will be lots of paisley!
7. Waste money on response cards. Having to mail RSVPs back is a pain. They can just email or text me.
8. Have my dad walk me down the aisle. I haven't even talked to my father in a year. My sons will be escorting me instead.
9. And likewise, my mother will not be taking over the planning. She won't even be there.
10. Wear white. I'll wear ivory instead. Because it looks better with my pale skin and red hair.
11. Wear a poofy dress. Because no. Just no.
12. Take the day so seriously. I didn't have fun at my first wedding. It all seemed like a huge production for my parents' friends in which I was just along for the ride. At this wedding, we're all having fun, damn it!
13. Marry someone I've never lived with. One of the main reasons I got married at 19 is because my parents would have disowned me if I'd lived in sin. Now I'm 40 years old and I've lived in sin for over a year, and as a result, I know for certain this the man I want to spend the rest of my life with. I'm not going into marriage blissfully ignorant this time. I know that my man is a slob. But I also know he's a great cook, amazing cuddler, and every once in awhile he'll do the dishes. Above all, I know he will do everything in his power to build an amazing life with me.
What did you or would you do differently the second time around?
November 10, 2014
trading one group of assholes for another
I think I may have traded one opinionated, self-righteous group of assholes for another.
I had this epiphany yesterday after reading two sets of comments spewing hate, intolerance, vitriol and a holier-than-thou attitude that left a really bad taste in my mouth. Especially bad now that I belong to both groups of commenters.
One was a group of Christians posting about why gay marriage is so wrong, unnatural and damning; and the other was a group of vegans shaming a poster who admitted he wasn't vegan. At best, the vegans suggested that he should go fuck himself. At worst, they posted memes implying he should die a cruel and hellish death. Strangely enough, the Christians predicted a similar fate for homosexuals, the "hellish" part anyway.
I posted awhile back about how it feels to be Christan and love sex, and how I have rejected many of the social. political and economic ideals held dear by evangelical Christians because I find them antithetical to Jesus' teachings of love, forgiveness and acceptance.
I've started following several vegan groups now that I'm on the vegan bandwagon and have found them to be equally intolerant and hateful. I'm quickly learning why so many people hate vegans, and it's for the same reasons that people hate Christians. What I find most interesting about this parallel is that so many vegans are atheists. And many Christians feel that eating meat is a God-granted right. So far apart philosophically, yet their treatment of people who disagree with them is strikingly similar.
Just as I stepped back from mainstream Christianity to publicly declare I'm "Not Like That," I feel I must do the same with my newfound veganism. I promise my meat-eating friends and family members that I will respect their choices while I hope that they will respect mine. Not to say I won't discuss my beliefs. I will, and I will do it with respect.
How can you have an ideology that's based on compassion and love, whether it's for humans or animals, and be such an asshole? It really blows my mind that any group would think this is the right way to promote their agenda and gain converts.
I welcome your thoughts.
I had this epiphany yesterday after reading two sets of comments spewing hate, intolerance, vitriol and a holier-than-thou attitude that left a really bad taste in my mouth. Especially bad now that I belong to both groups of commenters.
One was a group of Christians posting about why gay marriage is so wrong, unnatural and damning; and the other was a group of vegans shaming a poster who admitted he wasn't vegan. At best, the vegans suggested that he should go fuck himself. At worst, they posted memes implying he should die a cruel and hellish death. Strangely enough, the Christians predicted a similar fate for homosexuals, the "hellish" part anyway.
I posted awhile back about how it feels to be Christan and love sex, and how I have rejected many of the social. political and economic ideals held dear by evangelical Christians because I find them antithetical to Jesus' teachings of love, forgiveness and acceptance.
I've started following several vegan groups now that I'm on the vegan bandwagon and have found them to be equally intolerant and hateful. I'm quickly learning why so many people hate vegans, and it's for the same reasons that people hate Christians. What I find most interesting about this parallel is that so many vegans are atheists. And many Christians feel that eating meat is a God-granted right. So far apart philosophically, yet their treatment of people who disagree with them is strikingly similar.
Just as I stepped back from mainstream Christianity to publicly declare I'm "Not Like That," I feel I must do the same with my newfound veganism. I promise my meat-eating friends and family members that I will respect their choices while I hope that they will respect mine. Not to say I won't discuss my beliefs. I will, and I will do it with respect.
How can you have an ideology that's based on compassion and love, whether it's for humans or animals, and be such an asshole? It really blows my mind that any group would think this is the right way to promote their agenda and gain converts.
I welcome your thoughts.
