Kern Carter's Blog, page 52
March 10, 2022
March 9, 2022
No One Gets It Like Women Do
“It” being the connection between women, and the violence we sustain.
March 8, 2022
I Was Born Yesterday
Photo by Lucas Benjamin on UnsplashI had a friend, a long time ago, who once walked off into the woods to die.
She was bipolar, off her medication, just lost her job, boyfriend, and daughter due to her mental illness, and was about to lose her home, too.
“Where’s Gaby?” one of my friends texted me one afternoon.
But no one knew.
Two days later, she was found, half dead but mostly alive and fighting like hell when police pulled her out from under a bush a mile’s walk into a State forest.
Weeks after that, after her stint in a mental hospital, I finally saw her again for the first time and cried, “Why did you want to kill yourself? You have so much to live for, Gaby.”
She said:
I don’t want to die. I just want a different life.
I felt the weight and the truth of that then.
I feel that now, deeply, myself.
It’s not that I want to die, it’s just that I wish I could walk into the woods and walk out and back into a completely different life.
A life where the mistakes I’ve made in the past haven’t happened, a life where I made different, better choices for myself.
I’d like to tell you all about that, one story at a time.
I don’t feel comfortable being myself or revealing my “real” name on the internet, but I felt exhilarated last night when I birthed “Mary Duncan” on Gmail, on Twitter, and on Medium.
Maybe this time, I think, my best friends won’t try to sleuth me out on purpose, my boyfriend (maybe) won’t find me before I (maybe) tell him about this new alter-ego.
Maybe, for a little while, I can be free.
Maybe I can tell my stories of mental illness and how I live with it and deal with it and fight it every day.
Maybe I can tell my stories of being a caregiver to my aging, ill grandmother.
Maybe I can tell my stories of parenting a teenager with significant intellectual disabilities.
Maybe I can tell my stories about my relationships, my friendships, and my own way with myself.
I want to get to know you, and I want you to get to know me.
But I didn’t think it was fair to start this journey in any other way than admitting I’m starting out scared, afraid, wearing a mask, and feeling vulnerable in a very questionable way.
Like, should I do this again?
Should I bother trying?
The truth is, I’ve just abandoned a Medium account with over seven thousand followers after five years of writing… because I was found out.
Because I can’t handle certain people in my “real life” knowing what’s really going on inside my head and in my world.
The thing of it is, I don’t think I’m the only person here who feels that way.
So I ask myself, can I really be open, vulnerable, true, and taken seriously under a new pen name?
I think the answer is, I have no choice.
I have to write.
It’s a need I have, like water, like breathing.
You know what I mean, don’t you?
Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here, too.
Meanwhile, I want nothing more than to be deep in the middle of writing a book.
I don’t just blog about my life, I write.
Science fiction, space operas, westerns, vampires, erotica, dystopia, post-apocalypse, mystery, crime, romance — I feel I’ve broached it all…
But I’ve never published anything.
Not yet.
I’m one of those people who writes book after book, participates in NaNoWriMo and Camp NaNoWriMo once or twice a year, churns out story after story and then I tell myself:
It’s crap. This is crap. No one will want to read it because it’s crap.
Then I do nothing with the story. I tuck it away in a file and sometimes literally forget that I have written it, for years, before I stumble upon a folder again and go — oh my God — look at all this wasted time and potential.
I’d like to NOT waste my time and potential any longer.
I’d like “Mary Duncan” to be the one who finally publishes a book this year or the next.
So, this is my “Hello.” 👋
Hello, world, I’m here (again).
I was born yesterday and want desperately to live, not to go into the woods and die, but go into the woods, into the weeds, into the tall grass of pulling words out of my heart and through my fingers and into you.
I believe that sharing our words and stories has the ability to change lives for the better, and not for nothing, that’s my primary goal here.
This platform is a beautiful thing, you know?
It gives us the ability to connect with like-minded, like-hearted people — people who are on the same journey, people who will read and listen and give us the opportunity to learn and grow as well.
I’m just so happy to be here.
Thank you for reading. I’d love it if you would follow me on Twitter to keep in touch. 🙂
[image error]I Was Born Yesterday was originally published in CRY Magazine on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.
Call For Submissions — Women And The World
Hello our dear readers, we purposely put off our Monday prompt so we can connect with you on this special day. Of course we should be celebrating the women in our lives every day, but it’s always great to dedicate time specifically for honouring women and all that they mean to our lives and culture.
We titled this call for submissions Women and the World for a reason. Writing this from the perspective of a straight male, it seems like women are enduring a strange time in history. From one perspective, it feels like there has been a focused effort to value women in all aspects of culture, from the home to the workplace and everywhere in between. But from another perspective, I read and hear stories that makes me pause before I brag about any progress.
One comment in particular hasn’t left my mind since I heard it weeks ago. I was listening in on a Spaces convo made up mostly of women when the host of the convo said this:
“The one thing that unites all women is the violence we face.”
I felt confused, then angry, then defensive because surely this couldn’t be true. But as I continued to listen to story after story from different women for well over an hour, I no longer questioned whether this was true, I got upset with my self for never recognizing this reality.
So with this writing prompt, I want you to do one of two things:
Respond to the conversation I just told you about. How does that statement make you feel and what is your experience with violence as a woman? Or…Tell me how you see your place in the world as a woman. And if you’re a male writer, tell me how you interpret a woman’s place in this world and your experiences with the women in your life.I realize that the first option may be a bit heavy, so feel free to skip it for the second option.
Same rules as always:You can submit to this or ANY of our past writing prompts. Just scroll through our previous newsletters. They’ll be marked “Call for Submissions.”If you’re already a writer for CRY, go ahead and submit.Be as creative as you want in your submissions. As long as you stick to the topic, we’ll consider it.Just because you submit doesn’t mean we’ll post. If you haven’t heard back from us in three days, consider that a pass.[image error]Call For Submissions — Women And The World was originally published in CRY Magazine on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.
What Happens When You Type Drafts On Your Phone At Night
©2022 Juliet Altmann1:26 AM and I’m babbling on inside my head
About how I don’t write as often when I haven’t recently read
Only to suddenly remember that it’s not totally true
So I fall back into the lull of the TV
Flashing screen illuminating the room
The low battery alert arrives as expected
“You have reached 20%”
I click “low power mode” because I’m not done writing yet
Though my typing is getting unsteady
Word formation becoming delayed
I’d say it’s me — eyes blurry, late at night
But I swear I’m totally awake
It seems like a problem with the phone
I wonder if it’s because the battery is low
As my next speculation arises, I gasp
Perhaps it’s the length of this note!
I wonder whether I should start a new one
What would that mean for this work as a whole?
I reserved this part of the night to draft my book
But I think I’ve lost sight of my goals
Oh well, there the battery goes —
©2022 Juliet Altmann
[image error]What Happens When You Type Drafts On Your Phone At Night was originally published in CRY Magazine on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.
My Story with Anger
A Picture I’ve taken with my Phone of snowy Ifran (Morocco)“There is no Bad Day, There is Only Bad ‘Something’ Day”-Me.
Every time I feel angry, I wrap my arms around my body and I smile while looking at the mirror.
Because I know that ‘anger’ is too strong of a name for that painful, clutching sensation that starts at the base of the throat and ravages the heart against the ribcage.
Hurt. Maybe that is what we need to start calling it from now on.
Happy March, everyone!
Amidst the unsettling developments in the world, snow has fallen in the small town that I’ve sought for my postgraduate studies.
Being an hour's drive from the nearest city, even this calm and seemingly isolated town wasn’t exempt from the drama of life and the sour that stems from the news and environment of constant pressure and expectations.
But first, why do we get angry?The last time I got angry was when I was starting to feel that a friend might not be who they seem to be.
Shortly before that, I was crying from finally being able to see the love I’d been blindsided to by the people who’ve been around me all this time. How come I only saw it now—as I was on my way to becoming my person?
“I don’t want to leave them behind” has become a sentence I hear more and more often from my peers, and echoing inside my head.
But it didn’t stop there. “… I want to bring them with me, wherever I go”.
I didn’t realize the meaning of these words until now.
Right then, I saw that my anger stemmed from love; the one I couldn’t give once. I saw that this love could hardly be the same and that I didn’t need that kind of comfort right now. No matter how I pulled into the strings, I couldn’t slow down this crazy ride towards ‘the’ future — as a high achiever.
What also strikes me most from my experience with anger lately is how it never really disappears either. Sometimes, the flame dies down, even seems nonexistent, but it ignites as soon as my mind drifts to the past, as soon as I start to ask questions, and as soon as I look at my reflection and see my parents’ morphs on the screen during our video calls.
“No, they aren’t getting younger.”
So lately, I’ve been trying to smile more; when there is so much in the news to be angry about, do we know what (exactly) gets us most angry?
Anger molded into hurt, and that hurt made me hold onto my integrity as a writer…As creators, finding our people somewhere new is more of a creative survival mechanism than a matter of ‘fitting in’ (yet another linguistic decision that I’ve made).
Currently, I’m about to start my second draft of my novel, and aside from the pressure of deadlines I have yet to meet, I’m mostly excited to start writing with a clearer voice and a more determined stance and vision.
I like to think of this as a result of the pressure of ‘having to fit in’ in this new environment. I couldn’t do it: Why would I ‘fit in’? What difference is me ‘fitting in’ going to make when everyone is already (unknowingly) aspiring to become carbon copies?
… and what is wrong with a “Wannabe”?What is wrong with a wannabe?
I find the negative connotations of labels linked to the early stages of any amazing creative venture astounding.
I don’t think we should be afraid of a world full of ‘wannabes’ when we’re already hearing stories of individuals with potential who don’t want to be anything anymore.
When we know that we and our beloved ones can blossom but are withering, what is wrong with a wannabe? And, is a world where everyone already ‘is’ really happier and freer than one where they’re doing their best to be who they ‘wanna be’?
BONUS: Let them ‘fit in’Sometimes, ‘going with the flow’ is not as passive as it sounds to be.
As creators, we realize the burden of ‘standing out’ among the many pieces and handiworks in our fields. Whether we write, paint, or are learning a new interesting twist with pancakes, we are all equally aware of the need to have something ‘special’ about our product.
The trick to ‘going with the flow,’ as creators, is to find excitement in taking the driver's seat, creating our own while keeping our clashes (that are bound to happen) with the environment, as subtle and least damaging as possible.
Today, my challenge is not to stay angry at a system that will not change overnight, maybe even after my graduation (perhaps it will).
What I can do, however, is to make a difference in the lives of all the wannabes I come across while I do so. Well, that sounds different!
And what if this was us learning to ride a bicycle in a new territory? How do we make sure to protect ourselves from all of these new things that can distract, hamper, or shake up our process?
As much as possible, listen more:One of the things that trigger the use of ‘unbearable’ when describing (our experience in) a new environment is when we think ‘there are no people to listen to me here.’
Consequently, giving an attentive ear to those around us can make so much difference in their lives. Yet, while practicing active listening, we need to stay mindful of how the input of others affects us too, and speak up/acknowledge if it makes us uncomfortable in any way.
Nowadays, and especially in these circumstances, giving our time and unconditional attention to someone can be the biggest help we can give.
2. Often, develop (or take interest in) with an entrepreneurial mindset:
Ask the question: ‘what do these people need most right now?’ or ‘what does this place need most right now’ AND ‘how can I give it?’ I find that shift of mindset alone, extremely empowering.
When applying this to my situation: it was much more productive for me to think of how I can help people—often silently suffering from the pressure, than to rehearse that speech of anger inside my head.
3. Sometimes, take detours:
Especially if you like adventures!
I have to admit that I find this as one of the most fun, ironic, and educational ways to keep myself inspired and true to who I am, as a creator. Yet, this is hardly the time to let our guard down (Oops!)
A new friend told me to be ‘selectively social,’ and I realized that this tip could also be applied to new experiences in this new zone; while putting ourselves out there is important, we must know which align best with what we want to get out of our overall experience of this new territory.
4. Be prepared to lose balance:
Aka, do not be afraid to fall.
After all, we are not trying to ‘perfect’ riding this territory. We are going to fall more than we expected to, sometimes harder, sometimes faster, sometimes slower, and every time is going to feel frustrating.
It is part of the package. But when it comes to our creative integrity, we need to keep an open mind to our moments of falling, seek others around us, and most importantly, do not take these moments so seriously that they define our experience.
So what if it takes longer to understand people? So what if it gets harder to sleep at night because we miss some familiarity? So what if it is frustrating to describe what is going on?
Trust me, there are plenty of people going through the same thing, and in these instances, what works best is to stay true to ourselves.
This reminds me of the day my roommate confided in me after a week of keeping her distance—even though I confided in her first. As a result, we realized we had some amazing things in common.
5. Always catch yourself when you fall out of balance:
Always.
Catching ourselves when we know we’re losing balance, as creators, is what I refer to as creative integrity. For example, acknowledging our creative difficulties in a new environment and giving ourselves what we need to maximize potential makes us feel more confident and secure in our decision to create.
It is but a fall, and after all, we’re learning.
6. Always make time to listen to yourself:
Giving ourselves time to reflect on our experiences is crucial to stay up-to-date with our feelings and overall performance on that day.
Feelings of confusion, loss, and even meaninglessness often arise when we become aware of the noise inside our head, but nothing ‘worth’ writing or creating.
Pro Tip: The following morning, try your best to smile about your fall.
Just try it!
Last Friday was the first time I experienced a snowy morning. I was excited about my outing with my close friend in town, which got canceled last minute!
The following morning, I couldn’t help but smile thinking that I have yet to build and take pictures with my snowman!
[image error]My Story with Anger was originally published in CRY Magazine on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.
March 7, 2022
Why Writing For A Target Audience Is Horrible Advice
As a new writer on the Medium platform, I catch myself reading many, many, many, posts regarding how to be successful here, which breaks down to being told how to write. I keep reading advice that is telling me to write with my reader's interests in mind, but then I realized I don’t have any readers. That realization made me further realize that that theory is flawed and is bad creative advice. It’s not our job, as writers, to cater to our fan base. It’s our job as writers to weave our words together into a tale that tells our truth in a way that we can walk away from when the telling is complete, satisfied that we did the best we could. Writing with a target audience in mind is whore’s work…pimping out your art in some mass-pleasing sanitized public service announcement is not what we were built to do.
When I go onto this or any other forum of its type, I don’t do so because someone has managed to write up yet another pop piece that is the literary equivalent to baby food; tasteless yet not actively offensive, lacking flavor and spice—something that fills you yet could never feel satisfied or sated after consuming. I don’t want to read these fluff pieces that nobody really gives a shit about, including you. I want to read your pain. I want to taste your frustrations, your loss, your unadulterated joy. I want to experience the raw, nerve-wracked, unrelatable angst-filled misery that you have no other recourse BUT to write about. I want to see where your truths and mine intersect and where they don’t.
I write because I am an artist and because I have no other choice if I want to stay sane and alive. I write, not to appease the herd, but to incense the other artists hidden in amongst it. I leave the mind-numbing, crowd-pleasing verbal porridge for the rest of you to serve up.
[image error]Why Writing For A Target Audience Is Horrible Advice was originally published in CRY Magazine on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.
Strawberry Ice Cream in the City
Photo by Pawel Janiak on UnsplashI drove past your street last night, and all I could think at that moment was how excited you were to take me home.
I still remember the look on your face. You don't know how much I miss you.
This city is the last thing we share. Every busy street, every traffic light, spells out your name.
I wish we could go back in time. We’d drive around the city and eat strawberry ice cream that tastes just like your lips. I never knew I could love a person this much, who reminds me of strawberry ice cream.
You’ve drawn scars on my soul with a permanent marker. No amount of i-hate-you’s or brand new memories seems to heal the wounds.
I try not to keep you in my memory, but no one knows how hard forgetting you is.
I knew you for a little while, but I feel I need to unlearn a lot about you if I wish to forget you.
It’s a lot to keep safe in my stupid little heart. A lot of joy, a lot of pain, a lot of love.
For the last eight months, I have only eaten strawberry ice cream for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. That’s how much I crave your lips on mine.
Photo by Brianna Tucker on UnsplashBut today, I hope to drive around town and not take the road that leads to you. Instead, I’ll walk into our favorite ice cream parlor and order chocolate ice cream that tastes like a lover addicted to cigarettes. I’ll breathe the smoke in and shape my scars into stars that look like art.
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