Connie May Fowler's Blog: http://conniemayfowler.tumblr.com/, page 2

Some nice ink from Flavorwire regarding A MILLION FRAGILE BONES:“Fowler includes a scene with a...

Some nice ink from Flavorwire regarding A MILLION FRAGILE BONES:

“Fowler includes a scene with a dying baby dolphin and references to the
plight of young sea turtles that surely will melt even the hardest heart
(and made me weep on the subway) yes — but the book is also a
courageous act of bearing witness to something that both the corporation
and the Obama administration wanted covered up.”

Staff Picks: ‘Hooperman,’ ‘Star Trek Cats,’ a Day in Awesome Movie Trailers

Staff Picks: ‘Hooperman,’ ‘Star Trek Cats,’ a Day in Awesome Movie Trailers:

Some nice ink from Flavorwire for A MILLION FRAGILE BONES.

Come to the VCFA Novel Retreat and work with T. Geronimo...

Come to the VCFA Novel Retreat and work with T. Geronimo Johnson, Jacquelyn Mitchard, et moi! Scholarships available.

Carnaval Isla de Cozumel 2017❤

Carnaval Isla de Cozumel 2017❤

Carnaval Isla de Cozumel 2017 ❤

Carnaval Isla de Cozumel 2017 ❤

Carnaval 2017, Isla de Cozumel.

Carnaval 2017, Isla de Cozumel.

Murmur Lee left us one year ago today. I miss her so much. She...

Murmur Lee left us one year ago today. I miss her so much. She was my baby girl who will be forever loved. ❤

New Memoir Out This April

My memoir, A MILLION FRAGILE BONES, hits bookstores April 20, 2017, the anniversary of the Deepwater Horizon BP oil spill that dumped 4.9 million barrels of oil into the Gulf of Mexico. My memoir tracks how I ended up living on a remote barrier island, healing from past traumas, and the hell that ensued as a result of the oil disaster. It’s available for pre-ordering now. Here is the cover.

A Remembrance on St. Patrick's Day: Kateland

It's St. Patrick's Day, which to me means it's time to honor Katie. I've taken to re-posting this on the anniversary of her death as way to honor and celebrate her life. Though Katie has been gone for 11 years, I feel her presence daily. And I love her as much as I did the day she passed. 

And as I said last year, ". . .  it's fitting to offer it (the blog entry)
here again in tribute to one of the great canine loves of my life. And
though the piece was written with the idea of honoring her . . . on the day Ireland and all of us with a bit of green in our blood
celebrate the Emerald Isle's patron saint, if you would, hold up your
Guinness, or your Bushmills, or whatever it is you fancy, and say, "To
Katie.  She was a good dog" 

Those of you who have read my memoir, When Katie Wakes,
know that the unconditional love of a Labrador/German Shepherd mix
named Katie helped see me through the dark days of being a battered
woman.

On St. Patrick's
Eve—nine years ago today—I lost my dear Katie. She is buried just steps
from me, in the backyard, facing the bay, under the shade of a palm
tree. It was where I could find her on most any sunny day.

She was with me for 18 years.

Katie and the mighty Atticus in a game of tug-o-war:

As
I buried her–it was about 3 o'clock in the afternoon–a soft rain began
to fall; the sky did not clear until morning. My other dogs stayed by
her grave, throughout the night, refusing to come in despite the
weather. I think they were watching over her soul as it transitioned to
some place we can't yet know.

I
find grace in the fact that as I write this, a spring shower has just
arrived. I cannot shake the feeling that Katie brought the storm on as a
cosmic kiss.

I miss her
everyday, but on this anniversary of her passing, with the scent and
sound of rain engulfing me, the loss is fresh, new, overwhelming. Yes,
indeed, a remembrance is in order.

Katie: a black dog with a white heart, ticklish feet, eyes that left no doubt she was an old soul.

Katie: a wild child who smiled with a largess that escapes even some humans; she showed all her pearly canines.

Katie: she had a sense of humor, knew I was going to cry before I did, and never suffered fools.

Katie: the Houdini of Dogdom, defying the laws of science, escaping through cracks in a fence she couldn't fit through.

Katie: cow-barker, cat-licker, wind-chaser, sun-bather, lover of the McDonald's drive-thru.

Katie:
Cuban sandwich thief, perceptive, smart, snorer, understood that the
dressmaker down the street was just crazy enough to be avoided.

Katie: full of hope, full of light, full of unrepentant dog love.

Katie: died in my arms, not in my heart.

Katie: a patient girl who put up with me singing into her dense coat, "KkkKatie, kkkKatie! You're the only ddddog that I adore!"

Katie: she loved her Guinness.

Katie: what a good dog she was!

On
this St. Paddy's Eve, if the spirit stirs you, tip one back for
Kateland, The Wonder Dog, knowing that there is goodness in this world
and that sometimes it arrives on your doorstop with four paws, a wet
nose, and a soulful bark.

Heart and soul,

Connie

P.S. A link to love: Adopt a Pet

Rehab for the Hopelessly Vile

Violence and words. Unfortunately, the two are often linked.

My mother beating me with the buckle end of a leather belt doesn't hurt anymore. But the epithets she hurled as easily as she breathed stalk me to this day.

Several years ago, while I soundly slept, someone I trusted broke into my home. I awoke amid the horror, disbelief, and pain engendered by a full on assault. The feeling of terror at being pinned down as he pushed his full weight into me will probably never fully dissipate. The sense of powerlessness and rage still, occasionally, haunts my dreams. However, I've managed to stuff into a mental box most of the hurt inflicted by his physical actions. I'm a careful woman: I rarely inspect its contents.  But the disgusting, demeaning words he hurled broke me. What he said, and then the subsequent ugly whispering of a few of my colleagues I had considered friends, will bring me to my knees if I allow them to surface, if I run my finger across the barbed wire of their intent. So I don't.

But then things happen. Things like the horrific and brutal assault journalist Lara Logan suffered in Egypt. While I was trying to keep my bearings in the light of that news, a handful of so-called journalists weighed in with the despicable vitriol people of lesser minds still aim at rape victims. Salon's Mary Elizabeth William's offered an insightful rumination on their hate speech, so I won't rehash the particulars (read her piece here ), but I feel compelled to point out that hating and/or blaming the victim has no place in a civil or moral society.

Those in the media (and we have stretched that term so thin it is increasingly applied to people who are little more than compulsive tweeters) who think it's okay to damn, demean, and vilify Lara Logan are compounding her trauma. And they--just like the folks who whispered behind my back that rape doesn't really happen, just like a Florida state attorney who contends there is no penetration without cooperation--are culpable. Their violent and irresponsible words are a form of assault.  Their words stick.

I'm not sure when it became okay to publicly spew reckless violence via the spoken and written word. Surely the advent of social networking sites and blogs are in the mix. But I know this: We live in a world where rape as a tool of warfare has again become commonplace, where women can't serve in the U.S. military without risk of sexual assault , where colleges and universities under report and cover-up rapes that occur on their campuses, and where people in positions of power bully rape victims by insinuating they are liars or that they asked for it (yes, that worn out insult is still astoundingly in play). In short, it's 2011 and everyone has a virtual stage thanks to the Internet. And, sure, technology drives wondrous innovations and conveniences. But women still aren't safe.

Here's the thing: People who tweet and blog and otherwise rant-n-rave need to remember that they might be sitting in their living rooms in front of their computer screens, but their words are entering the public dialogue. If you're violent and stupid enough to think that what happened to Lara Logan is okay, if you think that joking about her personal horror is acceptable, then I hope someone takes away your computer privileges and sends you to rehab for the hopelessly vile. This isn't about free speech. This is about the fact that irresponsible, mean-spirited, brutal words incite others to act out in ways that are illegal, morally abhorrent, and violent. Such hate speech sends this message: Women are second class citizens, so it's okay to beat and rape them.

Words matter. Tone matters. Civility and empathy do too.