Kern Carter's Blog, page 183

From Professional Football to Professional Father

A passionate parent and partner describes his balancing act.

The following was written by Kerry Carter, a husband, father, and ambitious marketer. Read his story.

As a young boy, the days seem to be endless. Mainly because I spent most of my time doing the things I loved, and they mostly involved sports, being outside, on a court, on a field, and with friends and teammates.

As a man, husband, and father of two little spark plugs, the time is still fulfilling but somehow the days seem shorter. My life has taken me in so many directions and allowed me a platform upon which to build my version of success and happiness.

I was lucky enough to live out my dream of playing professional football for many years and concluded my career before having kids. My motivation to have a successful transition out of the game I love coincides with me meeting my beautiful wife and starting a family together. My family comes first, and providing for them by pursuing something I am passionate about is imperative to me.

Being an entrepreneur afforded me a lot of great things; freedom, flexibility, and the ability to build my specific vision. The time dedicated to this pursuit sometimes kept me away from the ones I cherished most. Not just physically, but mentally and emotionally. It was difficult at times to be present when my mind constantly wandered to spreadsheets and business plans; evaluating decisions and exploring opportunities to help move my vision forward to create the life I imagined for our family.

I was constantly striving to be balanced, then I would beat myself up for being anything but that. My struggle is not an unfamiliar one for anyone who tries to balance their ambition for greatness with the responsibility of fatherhood and being a great spouse. I didn’t want to just be good at either, I wanted to be my best at both (is that too much to ask?).

What I’ve realized is that I don’t need to fight this balance battle alone. My wife has been the foundation of my success. I watch how she stays motivated, how she is driven in her own career while still being a loyal, loving wife and a passionate, devoted mother. And she makes all of it look effortless, as if her balance isn’t a struggle. And while I know it can be tough, just observing her, having her in my presence is inspiration enough.

These days, my journey has led me to a great place. Finding the balance I have craved for years in a great career, doing something that barely feels like work, while being able to disconnect and be completely present with my loved ones. The path has not been straight, and I have taken my lumps along the way, but that just gives me a great story to share, and in my opinion, callouses build character.

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From Professional Football to Professional Father was originally published in C.R.Y on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Love Your BEAUTY SCARS — Hand in Hand

Scars have the strange power to remind us that our past is real — Cormack McCarthy.

Image by Filena Arcia

The following is the first part of a series entitled Love Your BEAUTY SCARS.

In this first piece, Kerchel Carter gives insight into how he got his scar and the subsequent impact on his life.

“I got stabbed in the hand by a bouncer at a nightclub,” he recounts. “I was trying to stop him from attacking one of my friends and that’s what happened.” Kerchel was only a teenager.

The nerve damage forced Kerchel to endure months of physiotherapy. The wound is still clearly visible across the lower portion of his right hand, and it serves as a constant reminder of a different time in his life.

Image by Filena Arcia

When I look at my scar it brings me back to a place where I don’t wanna be. On one hand I see a hopeless young teen that didn’t push enough to make changes. But on the other hand I look at where I am right now in my life and I will have to credit that to my scar.

Emotionally I got over it but at times I do wonder, and wondering might lead to a min of sadness be that’s very far in between.

Thanks for reading. My second novel BEAUTY SCARS will be out June 1st!

Read my first novella THOUGHTS OF A FRACTURED SOUL , a story of family, failure, and the fight to balance ambition with responsibility.

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Love Your BEAUTY SCARS — Hand in Hand was originally published in C.R.Y on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Patience is Overrated

Who wants to wait?

Not me. Not anymore.

Patience is way too overrated.

I know how the saying goes. I know good things are supposed to come. But that’s the thing, good things are already happening. I’m ready for great.

I’m ready for life changing. I’m ready for “I don’t believe this is happening.”

Patience? You mean like six years to write a book type patience? Naw, you must mean building an audience one by one for three years type of patience. No, wait, you mean raising a teenage daughter type patience? Or maybe you’re talking about seeing your dreams within arms reach but there’s no other way there except climbing these stairs type patience?

Patience? Fuck patience! Fuck waiting! How about finding a different path. What if I run up those steps instead of walking. Or better yet, what if I say forget about these stairs and just jump in an elevator?

The only way to manipulate time is to use every second. Every minute must matter. Every movement must matter. Time is not your friend. Time is an enemy that is undefeated.

Your time will come.

In due time.

Blah, blah, blah.

Well my time is now. My patience is up. It’s now or never…

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More pieces like this on my C.R.Y publication. Follow and come CRY along with us.

Patience is Overrated was originally published in C.R.Y on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

First Letter

I’m pretty sure this is the first letter to anyone following this publication. So let me first say THANK YOU. Any time someone takes the time to read, comment, and especially follow anything I create, it still gives me shivers.

I’m also asking you to be patient. I know that’s a big ask, but I’m really going to take my time with this. I’m still plotting, still growing, still thinking about exactly how I want to say what I want to say. I’m hoping that you’ll allow me a bit of rope as figure things out.

For now, C.R.Y is a collection of stories focused on balancing the need to express yourself with the other duties the world throws at you. My point of view dominates this perspective, but that is also changing.

I also curate stories from across the web and collect them in a Flipboard mag called C.R.Y, as well. For my super creative folks, check that out here.

Trust and stay with me. I have a vision for this publication and it will come to fruition.

Till then, feel free to send me an email anytime you like. I’m down for suggestions, stories, or just to chat about whatever is on your mind.

Thanks again! We shall speak again soon :)

First Letter was originally published in C.R.Y on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Gray Ghost

Hiding…

Image by Michal Parzuchowski

For so long, I would sit down on the floor of my bathroom or my bedroom and ask myself: How long are you going to hide? How long are you going to talk about, think about, dream about all of the things that you could be doing, should be doing, are meant to be doing?

EVERY MOMENT MATTERS, Kern. Every single moment. And while you continue to put off your destiny, wait till tomorrow, take more time to “figure things out,” another day passes and with it an opportunity to creep closer to your calling. Another day that your aspirations become as elusive as that Gray Ghost hidden in the mountains.

So I treated every reason to wait as an excuse. I treated every excuse as fear taking control. And I treated fear as the enemy trying every which way to take me down, to attack my spirit, take away my hope.

I am not the Gray Ghost.

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Read my novella THOUGHTS OF A FRACTURED SOUL, a story of family, failure, and the struggle to balance passion with responsibility.

Gray Ghost was originally published in C.R.Y on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Is 25 the New 50?

That’s what the world wants you to think.

Image by Nicole Mason

When I turned 25, I remember feeling severely depressed that I hadn’t accomplished all of my goals and that my life wasn’t exactly how I had imagined it. I felt like a failure; as if my time to be successful had run out.

I thought I was alone in this, but apparently I was wrong. When finally opening up about my feelings to other Millennial aged friends and colleagues, they said they experienced some of the same emotions.

At first I was excited to know I wasn’t crazy, but then I thought about how insane I really was for believing that not being financially stable in a career I loved by my mid-twenties, or having not travelled the world or solved a catastrophic global problem, meant that I was a failure.

I wondered what could have lead me to this thinking and didn’t have to look far. Our current culture; the NOW culture where news is instantaneous and stories of millionaire and billionaire tech start-ups or seven-figure book deals right out of university give the illusion of normalcy. A culture where impatience is a virtue and if you’re not getting at least triple digit likes on all your posts, you’re pretty much invisible.

I had to seriously look at myself, analyze where I was in my personal life and my career, then strategize where I wanted to be. I had to rid myself of the notion that 25 is the new middle age and push past the culture that contributed to my thoughts.

When I did this, I was able to focus on all that I had already accomplished. I told myself that although I still had a lot to do, I should be proud of what I had already done. My mind became clear and I let the culture motivate me instead of intimidate me. I knew how I would impact the world and set out on a mission to do just that.

Since then, I’ve knocked out my goals one by one. More importantly, I’ve grown to appreciate every step along the way.

Maybe 25 is the new 50 in this wild world. But my journey isn’t defined by age, it’s defined by impact. All of my goals are centred around how many people I can touch. What has been the biggest shift for me is acknowledging to myself how many people I’ve touched already.

https://medium.com/media/931e78ff4d8b4b998560143cc7efc8ec/href

Read my novella THOUGHTS OF A FRACTURED SOUL , a story of family, failure, and the struggle to balance ambition with responsibility.

More CRYing right here . Follow and feel the emotions.

Is 25 the New 50? was originally published in C.R.Y on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Just Focus and Write

It can be frustrating, right? We write and we wait, write and wait, write then wait some more. What each of us are waiting for may differ slightly, but the angst is common.

We write and wait two months for literary agents to tell us “we appreciate you sending us your manuscript, but…”

We write and wait four months for publishers to tell us “we will not be accepting your manuscript at this time.”

We write and post on Medium and wait for the recommends and comments. We write on our own blogs and wait for shares. We send emails to other publications so we can write on their sites for the same reactions.

Then after we’ve finished writing, and writing and writing, we get another idea. Something in the back of our creative mind tells us there’s another way, a faster way, a way that will make more money without the waiting.

So we jump into that atmosphere because it’s a “good plan,” and this writing thing is taking to damn long. And we don’t have enough followers and not enough people are responding and who the hell wants to wait like half a year for a publisher to say no?

Breathe…

A few nights ago I laid down in my bed with the lights off when I got the urge to write. I grabbed my phone and started typing. I didn’t write with any structure, didn’t edit or even read it over once I was done. I just wrote.

I’ll probably never publish that piece, or maybe I will. Who knows. I just felt like writing and I did. Without the pressure, without any expectations, without any agenda other than to get those thoughts out of my head the best way I know how.

I think it’s easy to get frustrated as a writer. To get distracted by the waiting, the rejections, the seeming lack of interest in our offerings. But my humble suggestion is to stay focused and keep writing.

This industry is not for putters. You need to play the long game here. It takes time to find your voice, consistency to make your voice heard, and patience for your voice to soar. But in the mean time, just focus and keep writing.

And sometimes, or maybe often, remind yourself that you love this. If you are a true writer, you know that you didn’t choose this path, this path chose you. There is no scenario that makes sense in which you ever stop writing. So wake up and write, go to bed and write, sit on the train and write, and do it for yourself.

And know that you don’t need to wait for anything to happen. It’s already happening.

Till next time…

YES, Writing is My Only Job

So meeting someone new goes like this:

“Hi.”

“Hello.”

“What’s your name?”

“Kern Carter.” (Yes I say first and last name. Don’t judge).

“And what do you do for a living, Kern Carter?”

“I’m a writer.”

“That must be so cool. But how do you actually support yourself?”

Nine times out of ten, some variation of this conversation is what happens when I tell someone I’m a writer. And it doesn’t even have to be someone new. If I’m catching up with an old friend or colleague, they ask me the same question.

After I chuckle to myself, and sometimes out loud, I let them know that writing is how I make all of my money. Every dollar. No bartending on the side, no pyramid scheme, no selling drugs, just writing.

I wish I could take a snap of the look on their faces when I say this. It’s like I’ve found a cure for stage four lung cancer. That’s probably a bad comparison, but you get my point. They really can’t believe I’m telling the truth. And I’m sure some of them leave believing that I’m not telling the truth.

And that’s OK. I get it. Really, I do. Some people don’t believe it’s possible to make a living off of writing, or any other artistic venture for that reason. Most writers or artists don’t believe it themselves. But I’m living proof that it’s more than possible to survive in this industry, you can actually thrive.

Yeah, I said thrive. Meaning excel, do more than sit in your parents basement dreaming of one day being “successful.” You can actually carve out a pretty good life for yourself if you know how to navigate your talents.

Actually, leverage would probably be a better word than navigate. Once you realize that you have a talent that is valued, and you’ve shown yourself capable of producing content at a high level, then the opportunities are out there.

I’ve been able to live the way I want to live. I work from home, rent a two bedroom apartment on Queen Street (everyone in Toronto should have an idea of what that costs), take care of my now teenage daughter, and still go out to brunch, or the theatre, or art shows, concerts, festivals, whatever.

Life is good. All from typing words on a screen and putting it out into the world. And NO this isn’t a “how to” article so I hope you don’t expect any tips. Although, I’m sure it would be beneficial to help guide some young writers on the right path.

But to be honest, there are so many paths to take that it would be hard to decipher just what the right path looks like. I’ve taken to the freelance path, primarily. But there are so many other ways to go about earning a living from writing.

Check out my St. Bonaventure friend Sabrina Maddeaux. She’s carved out an enviable writing career and she’s younger than I am. It’s actually hard to keep up with all that she’s accomplished.

Or look at Yahaya Baruwa who has taken a completely different path but has also been successful as a writer. Or my colleague from south of the boarder Jane Friedman. Talk about being versatile. She’s literally a clinic on how to thrive as a writer.

Writers Are More than Novelists

Then there are novelists. This is where I think many people confuse the whole idea of being a writer. Yes I’ve written a book, but that only makes up part of my income as a writer. I’ve taken part in many more creative projects for which I’ve been paid and I continue to look for those opportunities.

I compare being a writer to being a musician. Musicians today don’t depend on sales from their albums to pay their bills. They leverage that music to develop an audience, and use their brand (real or created) to branch out into other creative ventures that pay much more than they would ever earn from selling music.

And I think writers today need to take on that mentality. We have to look at ourselves as brands. Once we position ourselves from that perspective, we can attract opportunities that fit with our branding and start making some real dollars.

That sounds a bit businessy, but to me that sounds exciting. That writers today can be brand ambassadors, Influencers, educators, public speakers, and even achieve a certain level of online celebrity is motivating.

And why not. We should be able to do much more than just ‘support ourselves” with our talents. We should flourish in this new digital environment. And we can. And I do, a little bit. Not nearly to the level that I expect to attain once I continue pushing. But I’m doing pretty damn good for myself at the moment.

So next time you ask me out to coffee, or message me on social media, the answer is YES! Writing is my only job. And yes it’s how I pay the rent (Millennials don’t buy houses in Toronto). And YES it’s definitely my passion.

Living the dream…

*********

CRY

YES, Writing is My Only Job was originally published in C.R.Y on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Why Aren’t More Writers Pop Stars

I really don’t get it. Is there anything happening in entertainment right now that doesn’t involve a writer? Music? Nope. Movies? No way. TV? Not a chance. Even commercials, websites, every single thing you read online was written by someone behind a laptop (or maybe some writers still use pens, who knows).

Point is, writers make the world go round. Yet anyone not named Lena Dunham or Shonda Rhimes struggle to get much recognition. No, that’s not exactly true. I mean struggle to get the same recognition as your favourite pop star.

Like why isn’t Veronica Roth as idolized as Taylor Swift? Why isn’t John Green as well known as Drake. The Fault in Our Stars sold over a million copies. Veronica Roth’s Divergent trilogy sold over six million copies. And these are books people. Books that take more than three minutes for each chapter and more than 45 minutes for an entire story.

Yet I bet very few people could pick either of these authors out of a lineup. And when I say “people,” I don’t mean us book lovers. We lovers of language who can list at least five Robert Patterson books on cue, or whose favourite author is Annie Dewitt. No, not us. I mean “people.”

Everyday people. People who wake up to notifications from their cell phones. People whose source of news is TMZ. These people, who peruse social media for facts. Whose lives are consumed by the 24 hour cycle of babble partly created by us writers.

I don’t think we’ll see any reporter asking Lauren Groff who she’s wearing on the red carpet tonight any time soon. But we should. Popular culture should embrace writers like they do any other pop star.

They should sing their praises, troll their Instagram feeds, be waiting outside their homes with cameras snapping every second till these writers snap and go all Chris Brown. But that won’t happen. Probably never.

No matter how many hits Max Martin writes, he’ll always be in the background. And without Googling, can anyone tell me who wrote the screenplay for Straight Outta Compton?

But to the background we descend. We writers are often writers for a reason. The background doesn’t bother us. Recognition for ourselves comes a distant second to the recognition we want for our work. So we write, and then watch everyone else enjoy the benefits of what we’ve created.  We watch others perform our work on stage, on camera, on the microphone, or on the big screen. We watch, and we watch, and we smile, and we go back to our space and write some more.

And nothing makes us happier…

Guest Blog - When Art Transcends Life

Guest Contributor: Nadia L. King

Art adds to the rich tapestry of our lives and is as important as schools and hospitals and roads. Art is the infrastructure for extraordinary moments in ordinary lives.

I am fascinated by that point in time where art and the everyday meet. The intersection between art and ordinary. I’m ordinary. I’m a 40s something woman who likes books and words and people. I like art in the general sense of the word and I didn’t study fine arts at university. My major was commerce. See, I’m ordinary.

I love beauty and try to keep up with exhibitions at our State Art Gallery. I like trees, music, theatre, botanical gardens and dance. Watching the tennis is also fun and I will purposely detour past Bunnings on a Saturday morning to buy a hotdog at a sausage sizzle. It’s fun to hunt down street art and I will stand in raptures in front of a public art installation. In my home city we have a gigantic sculpture outside the GPO which we call The Cactus. The sculpture supposedly represents a living organism and is officially called Grow Your Own. Personally, I love its vibrant greenness and its pointy fingers which seem to say a lot more than people bargained for. I’m also a sucker for Downton Abbey and YA books by John Green. So you see I’m ordinary.

Luckily, being ordinary doesn’t exclude you from experiencing the extraordinary.

Last weekend I was fortunate enough to see the WA Ballet at the Quarry. The Quarry performances for the season are always casual. You get to take a picnic, sip chilled wine and eat cheese while dancers delight you with their agility and talent. To be honest, I was rather ho hum about going. I’d had a busy week. I was tired. I’m more of a traditionalist with ballet and The Quarry performances have a modern edge. So I was unprepared then for what happened. When I became part of art transcending the ordinary.

Matt Lehmann and Sandy Delasalle danced. I’m not even sure what the piece was called, but it was a pas de deux where a boy and a girl dance together. The music playing was a strings piece with a cello weeping and the hairs on the back of my neck began to rise. Everything disappeared around me. The Quarry and the sparkling city beyond. Scores of people with their hampers and their glasses of wine. Even the chair beneath me seemed to float away as I joined with the dancers. I was openly weeping, and gasping and clutching my hands to my breast. I was overcome. When the performance ended I clapped, wolf whistled, and kept exclaiming to myself. It was one of those extraordinary moments in an ordinary life. I have been around long enough to know those moments sneak up on you and they don’t happen often. They are precious. They are the moments to keep you warm in your old age when you have time to sift through your memories.

Art can bypass language and engage your senses. Music composed hundreds of years ago can move you. Music can elevate you and yet pull you down to the lowest levels of sadness. A photograph, a painting or a sculpture can also communicate with you on a different plane to language. They can show you another world and another way of being. I have heard instances of stroke victims being unable to speak yet able to sing in a choir. Harpists play in palliative care wards of hospitals to engender a sense of peace for patients in their last moments. Music can help you overcome pain, and is played in neonatal units, in gyms across the world and at sporting events. Art therapy can benefit your emotional, physical and mental wellbeing. Art then is good for us.

Last year I became a Haruki Murakami freak to put it mildly. To put this in context his novels had been chasing me for years but I resisted for quite some time and then finally I read Norwegian Wood. After finishing, I had to not read for a few weeks. Now I’m a serious bookworm so not reading for a few weeks is torture but I couldn’t pick up another book. I had bonded with the book in such a way I knew I would never be the same. I can’t express this any other way than to use the words of a good friend who lives in Puerto Rico. Sarah said it was as if Murakami had gotten inside her head and changed her on a cellular level and that’s exactly how I felt.

This may not be as strange a thing to say as you think. I am an adult learner of the piano. I have no musical talent but a strong desire to master this instrument and make music. My teacher talks a lot about cellular memory and it seems my fingers know scales and chords but I can’t verbalise them for you. She will ask me to play a scale and I close my eyes. My brain will be no help, here it is all up to my fingers and invariably they will perform without me. It is cellular memory. It is the same with tennis. Again I learnt to play as an adult and I had to train my body to hold the racquet just so. To finish a forehand shot with my racquet hand caught in my left. Much of my playing is down to cellular memory.

So I think I can safely say there is more going on with art than us standing in contemplative silence at a gallery. Art moves us on a cellular level. Art touches our souls. Art provides dare I say a religious experience. It adds to the rich tapestry of our lives and is as important as schools and hospitals, and roads. Art is the infrastructure for extraordinary moments in ordinary lives.

Late last year I was in Melbourne at the Victorian State Library. I stood outside the La Trobe Reading Room in tears. My family had gone in before me but I had taken a moment to savour everything the library means to me as a writer. I stood there feeling a bit foolish when a young man, an Asian tourist looked at me and grinned. He gestured with his professional looking camera and nodded at me. It seems we shared a love of the place. We shared a moment in time of appreciation for art. For what better art can there be but a library?

About The Author

Nadia L. King is a writer based in Perth, Australia. She writes short stories, book reviews and essays. Her first book "Jenna's Truth" is published by Aulexic.
Nadia can be found at www.nadialking.wordpress.com.