D.K. Sanz/Kyrian Lyndon's Blog, page 9

MY NEW BOOK TOUR AND FREE GIVEAWAY!

SPOTLIGHT BOOK TOUR: Awake with the Songbirds – Poems from the Pandemic by Kyrian LyndonEnter the GiveawayYou can win a copy of Awake with the Songbirds or the grand prize – a $25 gift certificate for Amazon.com! Click the link below.

AWAKE WITH THE SONGBIRDS Spotlight Book Tour Giveaway

Book Description:

This collection consists primarily of poems written during the COVID-19 pandemic, a time of loneliness and rumination.

Lyndon’s poetry stems from intense emotions that swing from one end of the pendulum to the other as she captures the agony of love and loss, along with innocent joy and lighthearted fun. Each poem is an earnest response to life, love, and everything in between.

“Her lyric voice speaks with careful observation and passion. In the narrative mode, she is masterful in reading life around her. Kyrian possesses the sensitivity, insight, and soul of the true poet. Her writing provides a primer on how to compose meaningful poetry.” — Lou Jones

“She has the ability to convey to the reader some of the most complex thoughts into words that truly reach our hearts.” — Love Books

Buy the Book:
Amazon
add to goodreads

Meet the Author:

Kyrian Lyndon is the author of Shattering Truths, the first book in her Deadly Veils series. She has also published three poetry collections, A Dark Rose Blooms, Remnants of Severed Chains, and Awake with the Songbirds – Poems from the Pandemic. Kyrian began writing short stories and fairy tales when she was just eight years old. In her adolescence, she moved on to poetry. At sixteen, while working as an editor for her high school newspaper, she wrote her first novel, and then completed two more novels at the ages of nineteen and twenty-five.

She is forthcoming about being a person with many years of recovery, as well as a trauma survivor. Throughout her journeys, she expressed her thoughts through poetry, embracing every challenge to triumph over adversity. In her conviction that learning, growing, healing, and evolving is a never-ending process, she remains as grateful for the dark days as she is for every flicker of hope and light. She considers herself a cheerleader for those trudging on against all odds in the hopes of living their dreams.

Born and raised in Woodside, Queens, New York, Kyrian was the middle of three daughters born to immigrants –her father from Campochiaro, Italy; her mother from Havana, Cuba. She has worked primarily in executive-level administrative positions with major New York publishing companies.

Kyrian loves nineteenth-century British literature, parallel universe fiction, and dark romanticism. She also enjoys music, art, history, fitness, and cooking.

connect with the author: website ~ twitter ~ facebook ~ pinterest ~ instagram ~ goodreads

Join Us for This Tour from October 12 to October 25, 2021

Tour Schedule:
Oct 12 – Working Mommy Journal – book spotlight / giveaway
Oct 12 – Cover Lover Book Review – book spotlight / giveaway
Oct 12 – Gina Rae Mitchell – book spotlight / giveaway
Oct 13 – Splashes of Joy – book spotlight / giveaway
Oct 14 – Rockin’ Book Reviews – book spotlight / giveaway
Oct 14 – Jazzy Book Reviews – book spotlight / giveaway
Oct 15 – Lamon Reviews – book spotlight / giveaway
Oct 18 – Locks, Hooks and Books – book spotlight / giveaway
Oct 19 – Sadie’s Spotlight – book spotlight / giveaway
Oct 20 – Westveil Publishing – book spotlight /giveaway
Oct 21 – Literary Flits – book spotlight / giveaway
Oct 22 – Kam’s Place – book spotlight
Oct 25 – Deborah-Zenha Adams – book spotlight / giveaway

IS FACEBOOK MORE BAD THAN GOOD?

Let’s put this massive collection of egos in a fishbowl and see what happens. 

That’s the gist of it.

We never before had so much access to one another’s thoughts and opinions, which can be unsettling if not altogether frightening. If we ever entertained the notion that telepathy would be a great superpower, we now realize it would be a fate worse than death.

Is Mark Zuckerberg putting profits before people, creating a deep divide among users, and manipulating our emotions? The fear, rage, stress, drama, frustration, etc., we put out there are undoubtedly good for engagement and subsequent profits. But, at least part of the blame for the insanity has to go to some of the users, right? “People” tend to mess up everything.

Relationships that had seemed unconditional are not really. Many want you to validate their core beliefs, never challenging or opposing them.

It’s similar to working in a corporate office where someone or another spreads misinformation about a situation, and it goes “office” viral. The initial gossip spreader and everyone who passes it on has no idea what they’re talking about, nor do they care. I hated working in corporate offices for that reason, yet that’s what we have here on Facebook. Often, too, when Facebook flags someone’s posts for providing false information, the poster doesn’t remove it. People insist on believing what isn’t true because it’s what they prefer to believe. The truth doesn’t matter.

Part of the problem is how addictive Facebook is. I am a person who can get addicted to water, cough drops, you name it. (I know what to stay away from.) Here, we get addicted to the dopamine effect—that little blast of euphoria from getting likes on our posts. Addiction, however, does often distort things, and it often impairs our judgment.

People don’t realize there’s no absolute privacy when you voluntarily publish stuff on the internet. They’re not aware of what rights they surrender when they create a Facebook page. They think they can get around the privacy issue by posting disclaimers. Disclaimers do not override Terms of Service, but, having created networks in the past, I realize most people do not read the Terms of Service. Some don’t even know there are terms. 

Image by Irina Ilina from Pixabay 

Then, of course, there are the trolls. People stress themselves out arguing with trolls and then complain that said trolls are threatening their family or that they have three brain tumors and this and that, yet these trolls won’t leave them alone.

Don’t talk to trolls, FFS! Please don’t sit there answering them all day! They will never feel sorry for you. You may as well tell them your house is burning down as you tweet, or you’re tweeting them from the ICU. That would be hilarious to them. The more misery they cause, the happier they’ll be. These are not people you can reason with or convince. If they can’t get a rise out of you, it’s not fun for them, so, yes, don’t feed them. That is all.

Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay 

Troll lecture aside, we fight mostly over politics here, taking our anger and frustration out on people with opposing views. Personally, I always hope, more than anything, that some post or another will help someone see the light. Don’t we all? Of course, that doesn’t usually work. In the meantime, we’re questioning and attacking one another’s integrity. Sure, you only wear the shoe if it fits, but many are determined to squoosh those shoes onto your feet any which way they can.What’s worse is, we’re not changing people’s ideas. Instead, we have them digging in their heels and becoming more vindictive.

What I know is, I don’t want to participate in this kind of thing any longer. I want my contribution to the world to be love, strength, compassion, empathy, and whatever wisdom I can muster.

Democratic Senator Richard Blumenthal recently said, “The damage to self-interest and self-worth inflicted by Facebook today will haunt a generation.” 

Over the years, I’ve dealt with people who were in the throes of agony because they can’t help comparing themselves and their lives to what they see posted on Facebook or Instagram. 

There’s a syndrome out there—people having a sense that there isn’t enough to go around, and it extends to everything. You get attention; you take from my supply. You succeed; that means I can’t. Now, you’re getting more dopamine effect than me, damn it!

The adverse reactions may often be about envy, sometimes jealousy, but other factors come into play. People-pleasing is one. Preoccupation with it is born out of trauma and persists with societal pressure.

Image by Here and now, unfortunately, ends my journey on Pixabay from Pixabay 

For example, I had the affliction of body dysmorphic disorder for most of my life. Despite the incredible progress I’ve made, there are lingering components.

I’ve often hesitated to post photos because almost every picture I see of myself is hideous to me. Many people feel the same, I’m sure. We may put up an image of us we’re happy with, and then the next day, we see it again and think, ugh, that’s awful. Why did I even post that?

It’s funny because my son once told me, don’t do that fake smile people do when they’re posing for pictures. Usually, when they do that, they look like serial killers. (We were laughing about this and not entirely serious because even he understands my sensitivity about photos.) So, I had to add, try not to look like a serial killer to my picture-taking goals. 

Every now and then when I found a photo that I thought was good, I got pushback or shaming—someone or another saying it was fake, narcissistic, etc. Over the years, I’d heard it all.  So, I’ve gotten confused over the whole picture deal.

And my insecurity seems to be a contest I have with myself because:

I have zero interest in dating. By this point in my life, I know I am enough—more than enough and worthy. I don’t get jealous of people. There’s so much joy I feel in appreciating how beautiful others are, and I’m not just talking about hair and lips or a body type. Beauty encompasses everything about a person and radiates from within. I live the life I created for myself, so I’m happy to see others enjoy themselves.

For me, it’s the people-pleasing thing. I don’t want to disappoint people. It’s an old obsession that seems to be taking longer to go away than any of my other obsessions. I say that because it’s a good reminder that most everyone has their issues and insecurities and their reasons for feeling uncomfortable.

I once thought I didn’t like people in general, but I realize now that I love people; I just don’t know how to deal with them. That’s my issue. Sometimes, along the roads we take in life, that message gets reinforced and stuck in our heads because of what people we care about say to us with or without realizing, or what we see happen when we reach out. 

Being against anyone isn’t my thing. Wanting the best for everyone is very much my thing. At the same time, it’s essential to know the difference between being genuinely kind and caring and pleasing people to ward off someone’s hostility, ridicule, or indifference. When I wake up every day, my goal is to be a better person, and I think if we focus on that, the other stuff won’t matter so much.

But if Facebook is making you feel like you’re not enough, remember that your time is precious. So is your energy and your peace. Don’t let anyone have you questioning your worth! There’s a reason we don’t fit in with certain people, and it usually means there are other people out there who are better suited for us. I know it’s hard, but lots of people love and appreciate you. Don’t forget that.

Top feature photo by ijmaki from Pixabay 

SAME OLD NEIGHBORHOOD

Kyrian Lyndon

My new book, “Awake With The Songbirds,” which includes the above poem and many more, will be available by the end of next week. I’m so excited!

Please let me know if you are interested in obtaining an advanced review copy or if you’d like me to notify you about any upcoming giveaways. There will be a few chances to win a copy in the forthcoming months!

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WHAT DOES HAPPY LOOK LIKE FOR YOU? 🥰

“The power of finding beauty in the humblest things makes home happy and life lovely.”― Louisa May Alcott

Image by Dim Hou from Pixabay 

We hear a lot these days about your “happy place” and “living your best life.” 

Your best life may be nonstop traveling or vacationing in a tropical paradise. Many are content going through the years with their extended, continually growing family, enjoying all the milestones and get-togethers. For some, it’s tending to their garden or going on a cruise, maybe taking photographs of nature. It may simply be achieving your professional goals, especially a long, fulfilling career helping others.

Ten years ago, when both of my parents were ill at the same time, I had panic attacks—even in my chiropractor’s tranquil office while listening to her soothing music. She was a gentle soul with an ethereal beauty about her, and she told me, “Don’t think about it. Just go to your happy place. Visualize it. Focus on it.”

Image by Kerstin Riemer from Pixabay 

For a lot of people, that happy place is a sun-filled or moonlit beach. Some find immediate comfort thinking about God or Jesus or prayers while surrounded by nature. I pictured a magical place with flowers, trees, birds, and a glistening lake. Taking out a rowboat was a nice thought, too.

Of course, we can have many happy places. I picture people—ones who make me smile and laugh a lot. Then there’s reading books, watching dancers, hearing people sing or play music. I love all of that.

Now, what about that timeworn phrase “happily ever after?” Is it what fairytales have dictated, something we’ve held onto since we were children? There’s a bit of societal pressure, whether it’s your dream or not, but I think most people do genuinely want to find their ideal partner and live a comfortable life with a house, pets, and children.

Image by aliceabc0 from Pixabay 

As I see it, the problem is what others expect of us and what we expect of ourselves. I’ve encountered many people who automatically assume everyone wants what they have. Have you met anyone like that? At best, they feel sad for you. At worse, someone thinks you want to take what they have away from them. Sure, that happens in some instances, but, more often, we’re not reading each other or reading the room, as they say.

I learned, long ago, that I don’t want what most people want, plain and simple and don’t necessarily like what most people like. I never felt the need to run out and get the latest thing because everyone else had it. I got it when and if I needed it. I’ll say, too, another of my happiest places is writing. Any artist might understand that, but a great many others may think that’s just pathetic!

What’s evident to me is, people often envy a life they don’t even want. They may see themselves as failures. It often happens that they didn’t succeed in creating that life because they never really wanted it in the first place. If so, they might have tried harder to get it. They think they should have gotten it, and that maybe something’s wrong with them. Or course, they worry, too, about what others may think. 

Well, I agree with those who say, “You do you.” The truth is, it is 100% okay for people to want everyday, traditional things or to want something else entirely. That’s hard for a lot of people, I know. They want to fit in. Me? I only want to fit where I belong—where I’m welcome, accepted, and embraced as who I am.

Photo by Kinga Cichewicz on Unsplash

“The most important thing is to enjoy your life—to be happy—it’s all that matters.”― Audrey Hepburn

LETTING GO (WITH ❤️LOVE FOR YOU)

Did you know you could die?

Did you want to die, or simply not care?

All that bravado,

A hellion in rebellion,

But you knew things.

And, everything you said was true.

We smoked in the factory corridor,

Played ball in the streets.

Through summer school and Nok Hockey,

You were everything.

Just like those caramel nut sundaes at Klees

And the old rooster we cried for.

You taught me to be tough

And gave the best advice.

Looking after me

When it wasn’t your job.

You needed your space,

Your own place.

You didn’t need a pesty shadow

Like me.

I didn’t understand.

We all loved you.

At least, I thought I loved you—

But I couldn’t see you then.

 

Ghosts can be so many things.

Whatever haunts you.

And, sometimes, what brings you

A silent joy and blessed peace,

You can’t share it with anyone

But the one who shares it with you.

I see you now.

And, so, I released you

When you needed to go.

Like a balloon to the sky.

Or a butterfly,

Or one of those Wish-niks

You and I loved to cling to.

I do love you now,

And I’ll keep sending love to

Wherever you are.

The memories—

I’ll cherish them forever.

And, I hope you forgive me,

As I do you.

Be happy!

Keep shining!

You always did amaze me.

Letting Go from Awake with the Songbirds by Kyrian Lyndon

Photo of sisters in hammock by Janko Ferlič  at Unsplash

Photo of rebel woman by Tibi_Varzaru from Pixabay 

Photo of caramel nut sundae by chotda on Flicker

Photo of ghost girl by Enrique Meseguer from Pixabay 

Photo of red balloon in window by Alfons Schüler from Pixabay

Photo of dandelions by InspiredImages from Pixabay 

Cover design by KH Koehler

One of The Most Inspiring Videos Ever – KEEP GOING

This is so powerful and on point. I wanted to share it for anyone who needs uplifting and motivation! It’s well worth the ten-minute time investment.

Speakers: Stuart Scott, Steve Jobs, Will Smith, Jared Leto, Les Brown, Andy Frisella, Denzel Washington, Eric Thomas

BEST FOR ALL OF US TO DO THIS TOGETHER

Image by Gordon Johnson from Pixabay 

As one of those people who believe kindness is a key to survival and, yes, empathy and love, I see that as more evident now than it ever was.

Once upon a time, I worked in a hospital where nurses, children, and hemophiliacs were testing positive for HIV along with heterosexuals who got it from an infected partner. People were saying that quarantining the infected was the solution. Of course, they believed it affected only drug addicts, gay people, sex workers, etc. Some decided it was God’s wrath.

I think most of us agree that law-abiding people with addictions, afflictions or different sexual preferences and ethnicities do not deserve punishment or anyone’s wrath. It’s just the opposite. They’re entitled to the same rights and to be treated with equal dignity and respect. We embrace them and love them for who they are because they’re as worthy of that as we are.

But when HIV was the biggest concern, I heard people say that quarantining the infected was the solution. They, including our leaders, saw no need to aggressively fight the spread of HIV because they didn’t think their own communities could be affected.

Now, here we are with COVID. Many people who might have thought it was an excellent idea to quarantine people back then are talking about their freedom not to wear a mask or get vaccinated. At a time when the disease seemed to affect minorities they’d deemed undesirable, they didn’t question the government or the existence of a pandemic. They somehow found methods of complying with safer sex.

Meanwhile, I guarantee those people infected with HIV would have loved to get vaccinated if it meant the disease going away or not being transmissible. I’m sure most of them willingly did what doctors asked them to do to prevent the spread of this disease.

Thanks to scientists and the gay community who fought tooth and nail for help, effective drugs came along, making HIV no longer a death sentence. Many of those infected live normal lives with the virus and achieve an undetectable status where they can’t infect others.

So, what is the thing about COVID that people suddenly want to be so defiant? I’m sure they’d be outraged if anyone tried to quarantine them or discriminate against them the way they did people with HIV or AIDS. And COVID is so much easier to transmit than HIV. Why would they not, at least, wear a mask?

With all I’ve seen throughout my life, I firmly believe this is not a thing to fool around with, and ego/pride is not anyone’s friend in this sort of crisis.

Please, please, everyone, be safe!

BOOK REVIEW – THE KEEP by F. PAUL WILSON

Image by ELG21 from Pixabay BOOK DESCRIPTION

“Something is murdering my men.”

Thus reads the message received from a Nazi commander stationed in a small castle high in the remote Transylvanian Alps. Invisible and silent, the enemy selects one victim per night, leaving the bloodless and mutilated corpses behind to terrify its future victims.

When an elite SS extermination squad is dispatched to solve the problem, the men find something that’s both powerful and terrifying. Panicked, the Nazis bring in a local expert on folklore–who just happens to be Jewish–to shed some light on the mysterious happenings. And unbeknownst to anyone, there is another visitor on his way–a man who awoke from a nightmare and immediately set out to meet his destiny.

The battle has begun: On one side, the ultimate evil created by man, and on the other…the unthinkable, unstoppable, unknowing terror that man has inevitably awakened.

F. Paul Wilson, AuthorMy Review: *****

The Keep by F. Paul Wilson is a supernatural thriller set at the beginning of WW II. The story is rich in history and has many elements I love—Gothic horror, immortal creatures, Romania, a creepy fortress, revenge on nazis, and a worthy nemesis in Rasalom. The book is brilliantly atmospheric.

Wilson’s descriptions are lovely. It’s a fast-paced tale with a great twist, never dull, and it has characters I loved, which is always a plus. In my opinion, it’s a fun but not a terribly scary read, but, then again, I don’t scare easily.

The best part is, I’ve found a new favorite writer in F. Paul Wison and feel as if I should have known about him long ago!

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DEADLY VEILS BOOK ONE: SHATTERING TRUTHS – EPILOGUE

EPILOGUE 

“A Soldier’s Burden” 

(The night Tommy died.) 

I 

 tailed them to Newfield Park. They were still living in Bridgeport. Phil had a place near Beardsley Park, on the North End. Sergio lived in an apartment on Wilmot Avenue, not far from the park where they dealt their drugs—thirtysomething guys hanging around dealing to kids. I considered setting them up for a sting. 

When I dropped Gianni’s name, my worth shot up a hundred feet. 

“Gianni Bonafacio, no shit,” Phil said. “You must be Tommy Cat.” 

I doubted they knew Gianni was on the road to being a cop. 

That Sergio clown bragged that he ripped off some rich snob from Westport. 

I told them I had a girlfriend—some gorgeous seventeen-year-old with a bodacious bod who lived all the way up in Glastonbury. I could tell that got their attention. I went on about how she was a wreck about something that had happened to her over the summer, and how I wished she’d tell me, because if I knew who fucked her over, I’d call in every favor to fuck them up. I’d track ‘em down with backup close behind. Their eyes were bulging. Jaws were hanging. I’m willing to bet they were thinking, I hope he doesn’t find out it was us. I’m sure they were thinking that … freakin’ airheads. 

That was two weeks ago. I racked my brain trying to decide what to do to them, who to involve. I figured I could at least scare the shit out of them so they’d leave Dani alone. 

I headed for the East End in my truck now, passing a lot of factories and old warehouses. Friend of mine got knifed here a while back. It was dark. I drove past the park, didn’t see ‘em. I went to Orange Street, near the turnpike, a rundown area where they said they hung out a lot. It looked abandoned. I headed back toward the park and spotted them coming out of one of the brownstones. These two scumbags seemed joined at the hip. At least, now they were. I’m sure they shared a lot of creepy secrets. I could imagine what else they were hiding. 

They didn’t notice me in my souped-up Ford F-150, but as soon as they got in their car, I followed them. I was listening to Metallica—“Master of Puppets.” I revved up to scare them, give them a taste of my loud custom pipes—a thing I didn’t do without a reason—and they accelerated. I laughed. I knew the moment they saw me, they figured out my agenda. And they freaked the fuck out. Someone knew their dirty secret, someone connected to people they didn’t want to mess with. Well, what other reason was there for them to speed up? They didn’t just speed up, either. They sped recklessly toward a dangerous intersection—CT Route 127 at Barnum—then careened into a utility pole. 

Oh, snap. It was all I could say. I didn’t expect that. 

I got a gas station attendee to call 911 then drove slowly ahead and pulled off the road. I turned on my emergency flashers. A transformer blew, and it was like a bomb. My mind was back in the Sahara—sand dunes, camels, sunrises, sunsets over the Mediterranean. I could hear bomb after bomb, feel fleas in the sand. Place was like another planet—just brutal. At times, more in the beginning, I thought I’d blown up and passed on to where I could see what was going on from another plane. It felt like that now. 

I got out of the car and walked as close to the scene as I could. The utility pole had snapped at its base and landed on the hood of their car. That had to be just before an oncoming Chevy Suburban hit them in the rear. The Suburban must have spun around, causing the Cutlass to overturn. The Cutlass was in flames. I never saw anything so bizarre. There was glass everywhere and smoke. The passengers in the Suburban crossed to the other side. I checked on them. They were fine, but said they doubted the people in the Cutlass were alive. I’d seen people crash into poles, get airlifted to a hospital, and survive with minor injuries, but I swear to God, this wreck seemed orchestrated by Satan. Phil and Sergio had to be wasted. 

I helped redirect traffic. Cops came, fire trucks, ambulances. They had to figure out how to extricate those two from the vehicle, but I could see the heads shaking. Those bastards were dead. It was beyond horrific, and I felt bad, but I was sure I’d get over it—faster than Dani would get over what they did to her. 

It got me thinking about Ximena Alvarez. She flew tankers with her fresh face and pouty lips, had a smile that often kept me from walking away, and these big Bambi eyes that said so much with a glance. She was wise and tough, as full of joy as she was fearless. I would have said nothing could break her. It wasn’t easy for the women there. Me and my buddies tried to make it better by treating them right or trying to shut someone up who got out of line. A senior officer we all hated raped Ximena. She was devastated. I didn’t know what to do. I felt helpless to do anything. There I was, a well-trained, highly skilled, skydiving soldier who couldn’t do shit. I wanted to. She was scared to say anything or to have me stand up for her, like Dani. I prayed for Ximena and then for Dani, but I’m not sure what good it did. I came from a praying family of which I was the lone survivor, given the honor of witnessing more and more shitheads still walking around. And I don’t believe in coincidences. It’s just a matter of time before things catch up. It would be true for me, too. 

I liked to remember Ximena, the times we were laughing together like school kids, when she shared brownies with me from a tin can. I kept her picture. 

There would always be a part of me that wanted to fix things, make it right, get any scum off the street. Ha! I should have picked the cop route, like Gianni. For the time being, I’d be satisfied that Dani never had to hear from Phil or Sergio again, never had to see them. They meted out their own justice, good riddance to them both. They’d never hurt anyone else. 

Not going to say I was a saint or have ever been. I shot dope for the first time after Libya, then a few times here and there. My bros weren’t into that. They talked me into quitting, but I started again in the fall. This winter it was more often, but I hid it. Temptation was an uphill battle, the temptation to be sedated whenever it got to be too much or too lonely. There was an addict in me who felt lonely all the time and crazy. It would get to a point where it was hard to give a fuck anymore. I promised my bros I’d stop. I promised my dear friend Liz. I loved them all to death. They were my family now. I’d always have their backs, and Dani’s—Farran’s, too, if she’d just stop playing people. 

I drove home under a canopy of wretchedness and with an overpowering need for relief. 

The End 

Thank you for reading Shattering Truths. The book will be available on this site for a couple of more weeks for anyone wishing to catch up. If you enjoyed the book, please consider leaving a review at this link. Thanks again!

Deadly Veils Book One: Shattering Truths was originally published as Deadly Veils: Book One: Provenance of Bondage copyright © October 2015 by Kyrian Lyndon. The revised edition, Deadly Veils: Book One: Shattering Truths was published in December 2016. Cover design by KH Koehler Design.

WONDERFUL! LET’S DO IT! WRITE A MEMOIR!

Image by Perfecto_Capucine on PixabayTHE GENRE

I enjoy a good memoir as a brief respite from psychological thrillers and horror books and have always gone for the human-interest element. What can I say? People and things fascinate me. The idea of writing a memoir, however, hadn’t occurred to me until recently. It seems somehow relevant now in these days of the pandemic, a time when people are still fighting for their rights and their lives.

I’ve oven heard people say, “Certain things need to be kept private.”

Hey, we’re on Facebook and Twitter. The Internet spies. They know what kind of shoes I like. You get messages like, “Don’t you want to give this another look? Come on; we know you don’t have any willpower. Go on. Get it.”

Everything I research for my writing shows up in ads. My character gets injured, and they show me compression wraps.

So, we are living in an age of transparency and accessibility. As an introvert, I never liked that, but I get over it when I’m writing. 

Image by Peter Olexa on PixabayWHY I WANT TO DO IT

Understanding is critical in the world we live in today. Oh, I know, some people think there’s way too much empathy in the world and that we need to go back to being vicious and cruel. Maybe even with a bit of medieval torture thrown in for good measure. As for me, I like the fact that time has taught us more about humanity. It’s part of evolving as a species. 

The aim of sharing is not to gain sympathy but maybe help shed some light on how certain things develop and how we overcome those challenges even when the odds are against us.

One thing I’ve heard and can relate to as a poet and a writer is, “Don’t waste your pain.” Life is beautiful and tragic, happy, sad, and everything in between, and, as a poet, I’m here for all of it. The pain is often long gone by the time we relay things in poetry and books, but through the pain we once felt, there’s a collective empathy we feel for people trying to navigate whatever we’ve already sorted out.

Speaking of that, I learn from everyone. If someone doesn’t want to talk about a subject or hear about it, that’s okay. Others may be looking for answers to the questions we once had, wanting to survive and thrive as we managed to do and then become better and stronger.

Image by John Hain on PixabayWHAT I DON’T WANT TO DO

Some of the memoirs I’ve read have shown me what I don’t want to do. Here’s my shortlist.

A personal grudge memoir – If the book is full of swipes at others for revenge, no thanks! As someone who has been on the receiving end of character assassination attempts, I don’t want to do that to anyone. I think it would hurt my soul more than it would hurt them. Write from your heart.Get into other people’s stories – Other people’s stories are theirs to tell, not mine. For the most part, I want to make every effort to respect their privacy. I won’t reveal real names (except for mine, but there are still those who would be easily identifiable, so unless I’ve found it necessary to get their permission for one thing or another, their secrets are safe with me.Name dropping – I’ve lived in New York all my life. When you live in New York, you see famous people. You meet famous people. None of them had anything to do with anything relevant in my life.List sexual conquests in graphic detail– Just no. Recently, I read a memoir where the author constantly got into what physical characteristics he liked and didn’t like in a woman. What body parts were his favorite, all the intimate details of his sexual prowess. It made me wonder, why am I reading this? What is the focus? Yeah, no. 

I’ll ask my alpha and beta readers to check me on all of that.

And, don’t get me wrong, there are people who read memoirs for all of the above, and they love it, so I’m not knocking it. If that’s your thing, go for it, no judgment here.

WHAT I DO WANT TO DO

Memoirs have a focus, yes, and it’s not just to present your life story like you would in an autobiography. Mine is a story about addiction and recovery (from many things). I am one of the fortunate ones who lived to tell how it went for me—going from victim to survivor and beyond to what we call “surthriver.” That fits because we’re learning to do so much more than merely survive. It would focus on an all-consuming fight for sanity, peace, and recovery. I want to make readers feel like they are right there with me for all of it. But, fair warning, being right there with me is bound to get pretty scary.

And let me tell you, when people say they have no regrets, I’m sure I misunderstand what they mean by that or, perhaps, take it too literally. I can’t imagine not having regrets. Most of us do cause pain, even if we don’t want to, and the one thing I regret more than anything is the people I’ve hurt in my oblivion and ignorance.

Recovery, for me, has also been an ongoing journey toward authenticity, removing the veils layer by layer, discarding the masks. I was told, in recovery, we are only as sick as our secrets. Of course, we are allowed to have secrets. But if your hidden truth has you living a double life or creates a barrier between you and the world, and you tend to compartmentalize aspects of your life as part of the deception, it can make you sick. It can limit your healing. It can impede your goal of authenticity.

Image by alexas_fotos-on Pixabay

Oh, I’ve revealed my secrets to certain people and groups of people, but some of the struggles weren’t public ones, so, in this case, I will tell the whole story of my recovery. Unfiltered, I hope to include the humor and joy among the tragic madness.

My favorite memoirs have been well-written and inspiring with a powerful message. They are my inspiration. It makes me happy, too, when an author is aware of their patterns and vulnerabilities and seeks answers. That’s how we evolve as humans. The constant transition brings wisdom and strength. Raw honesty combined with accountability helps everyone, especially those of us who have gotten caught in a cycle of self-loathing and self-sabotage at some point in life. There is a need for truth and spiritual courage, as well as a need to remain teachable.

And what is the truth? For me, the truth is what makes sense to you after all your exploration and quest for authenticity. I say it all the time, no group, no matter who, what, or where is perfect. Some have seen the light, and others have yet to see it. Let’s hope they keep looking.