Strong Women are my Spirit Animal

Since I was a kid, I’ve been a fan of ladies who operate from a ‘kick ass and have no fear’ mentality. Women who aren’t afraid to take risks to get what they want, need. Sometimes that meant the woman was an activist, sometimes it meant she risked her reputation, other times her life.

Those were the women I looked up to. Those women didn’t take no for an answer, didn’t let anything stop them from going after their true calling. They were, and are, about as bad-ass as I could imagine and take a lot of shit because of their spirit. But who says bad-ass is a bad thing?

Because, how does that quote go again? Oh yeah…

“Well-behaved women seldom make history.” 

– Laurel Thatcher Ulrich.

And really, who wants to be ‘well-behaved’ anyway?

Some of my earliest interest in how much a woman can do came from women who threw caution to the wind. Dove head first into their feisty soul and made zero apologies.

Joan of Arc, Rosa Parks, Harriet Tubman, Madonna, Emily Dickinson.

And, me? I’m here living a simple life, far outside the realm of extremes that my heroines faced in their lives and careers. I’m just a girl publishing some books in a time when girls are allowed to publish books, work for themselves. Because that’s my soul. My calling.

Every time I take on a new challenge and complete it, face a fear and conquer it, I hope to inch one step closer to bad-ass. In my own way.

I feel like I’ve come a long way from the girl who scribbled, incessantly, in a journal, never releasing a single word to the world. The girl who feared and let it stop her from taking work-life by the balls.

As of a few years ago I would shake at the thought of standing up in front of the women’s writers group I belong to and giving just a 30 second introduction. I was so afraid of public speaking, in fact, that it took me well over six months before I forced myself to stand up and talk at all.

Now I take the mic every time I'm there and have some interesting tid-bit of my writing life to share.

Am I still nervous? Hell yes. I always feel like a socially and professionally awkward mess because even when I prepare the words seem to vanish as soon as I rise. But I do it anyway because fear is just an emotion.

Then there was last week. My career took a new and exciting turn as I was interviewed for a podcast for the first time.

Radio. My voice. Many, many people potentially listening to what I had to say.

And I didn’t get advance copies of the questions.

Gulp.

But I sent her some items I definitely wanted to talk about and she worked off my author bio and books as a basis for her questions. Not only that but Pat was a master interviewer. Smooth, no awkward pausing, follow up comments, excellent questions.

It was like the half hour ended in a minute. At the end of it, I tried to remember everything I’d said. Because, you know I over-analyze. But as my mind went over my responses I had something happen that rarely happens to me.

I felt good about the interview.

Maybe it was running on pure adrenaline, perhaps it was my desire to lead my work into the consciousness of a larger market (finally), or a combination of both but I felt like I got all the points across and not in my usual Boston speed-speak.

It just felt, right.

When Pat sent me the link, not gonna lie, I waited a few days before I had the courage to listen. Matt said he wanted to check it out. Family had encouraged me beforehand. I knew they wanted to hear it too.

Still, I considered not sharing it at all.

But then I thought back to five years ago. Five years ago I was in the midst of putting finishing touches on Reckless Abandon. Five years ago I’d already self-published my first title and was getting ready to release my second.

I didn’t let my inner critic stop me that time.

So I wouldn’t let it stop me this time either.

I clicked on that link and, as I listened to myself, the same feeling I had after recording washed over me. It wasn’t rambling. It wasn’t incoherent. I actually sounded okay.

Again, though, questions arise. Did doing this podcast cure me of the fear of my recorded voice? No. Did it cure me of nerves? Hell no. But will I do something like this again?

Hells to the yes.

Just like those first two books I wrote so many years ago, this interview isn’t perfect but that doesn’t matter. It was fun, challenging, and super cool I got to talk about my work so a bunch of total strangers might discover a book they just have to read.

Liberating and scary all rolled into one 33:07 segment.

So, it’s true I’m not helping to free slaves, taking a stand against discrimination, setting new standards for females embracing their own sexuality, but to me, advancing my career in this way still feels pretty bad-ass.

If you’d like to listen, turn on your speakers and click:

Jenn Flynn-Shon Speaks Up about Writing and her Books

• • • • • • • • • • •
In addition to this drivel I also write books, both fiction and non-fiction.
Learn more on my author page.

I Resolve to Blah Blah Blah

Why is it that we look to the first day of a new calendar year to kick-start actually living our lives? But instead of looking forward to the promise of that new year, why do we spend hours looking back over the year we’re still living in to qualify the things we plan to do in the new year?

Resolutions are supposed to be about making changes while moving forward. Seems pretty impossible to do while facing the other way right?

It’s like we need to see what great times we had, or mistakes we made, and then we resolve to either fix or do more of that shit starting on January 1. But what’s the point right? I mean all we’re doing is looking at what we used to do; thinking about what could have been.

Not what is.

I’m guilty of doing it too. Especially this year.

But I truly think the people who “fail at resolutions” don’t really fail. They just weren’t facing the right direction.

So this upcoming year I’m facing the future, not the past.

I fully intend to take this year by the balls and make it my bitch.

Or something like that.

The definition of resolution in the case of New Year’s is “firmness of purpose or intent.”

But I’m not getting hung up in the meaning of the word, the definition as purported by millions, if not billions, of people worldwide.

Because as far as I’m concerned the calendar year isn’t really a crucial part of the plans I have, other than it being a gentle guide for the things I plan to do.

See, for me this upcoming year isn’t about resolving to do anything.

I will set goals.

Because goals challenge me. They make me try harder. They make me focus, get down to work, and then get down to celebrating when I achieve them.

And I don’t care if I achieve all of them within the tight restrictions of January 1 – December 31. I’m setting my goals and working to achieve them, so if they come to fruition this year then great! If not, that doesn’t mean I give up. It means I keep trying no matter what the date says.

As we all know goals can change mid-stream. They’re fluid, flexible and always evolving in order to get you to the best version of yourself you can dream up and go after.

New Year’s resolutions come with a built in pass/fail mechanism. You either do the thing or you don’t.

Bleh. How limiting is that?

I have four goals I want to tackle this year:

Release new books (yes, multiple).

Learn to cook (meals that aren’t boring).

Read more (books specifically).

Be more active (watching less and doing more).

Yup. That’s it.

Because if I can set out on a course to do all of those things then all the other stuff I might think about in terms of resolutions will just fall into place.

Eating healthy, exercising, getting my career on track, traveling, saving money, or anything else I could dream up that I’d love to change about myself, I’m simply striving to be a better version of me in 2015.

But I’m not going to consider the whole year a failure if I take 3 days off from writing or veg out in front of the television occasionally either.

I’ve always got the next day to get back on track. There’s no point in looking at a little misguided step as a fail. Like I said, facing backwards doesn’t help me achieve my goals.

So as my vacation comes to an end, and a brand new calendar year gets started, I’m looking forward to doing my best to achieve all the goals I’ve got laid out in front of me.

Have a safe and festive New Year everyone!

• • • • • • • • • • • STUFF & THINGS: A new window opens when you click to comment. Posts older than 3 days = automatic comment moderation. Obvious or outright spam will be deleted.

Model Example?

This morning I read an article posted by a woman who clearly has a very strong and negative opinion about getting the Victoria’s Secret swimsuit catalog*. The post was filled with images from the catalog and she tossed out numerous jabs at both the clothes and the women wearing them. After a couple paragraphs I started wondering the following:

Why is it okay for average Janes like us to say that models are too skinny, too tan, too sexy looking in their photographs but the moment someone comments on our weight, our skin tone, our facial expressions we get all up in their face like they just called the Pope an Atheist?

I can say with 100% certainly this statement is true – models are people with feelings and just as much ability to have them hurt by words tossed in their direction because the people who say them seem to think their life and career choices are somehow superior.

Let me say right now that I’m not jealous of supermodels, Victoria’s Secret models, catalogue models or models in general. In fact, I might even respect them more because I don’t have that talent. I take horrible pictures most of the time and I accept that. What I lack in visual appeal I make up for with my glorious, witty personality.

Or something like that.

Anyway, I’m not a model and I don’t know any models but I feel it’s my duty as a woman to put this out there as a rebuttal to the common misconceptions many people have about models: 

• Just because a woman is skinny doesn’t mean she doesn’t eat.
• Just because a photo appears in a magazine doesn’t mean it started out looking exactly how the finished product appears.
• Just because a woman is beautiful, sexy, can wear tiny little clothes and sell those clothes because of her look, it doesn’t mean she should be open to public ridicule for doing her job.

Sure there might be some models who have eating disorders or other issues but it isn’t just models who face these problems. Lawyers, school principals, stay at home moms could have the same body/food issues but no one seems to harass those people about their weaknesses in public.

I really started wondering why the public seems to think it’s alright to scorn someone else for having something they don’t have – money, love, a rockin’ body, sex appeal. Is it jealousy?

For me, the real issue is that I’m disappointed in myself for not getting off my lazy ass and working out, for not eating healthy enough to still have the tiny frame I used to have. My feelings and my body image have nothing to do with the woman who has somehow managed to find the time to do all that stuff.

It’s not her fault I’m overweight. It’s not her fault I have cellulite and it’s not her fault I can’t rock the swimsuit that she can (yet). It’s my fault.

Yup, I said it and I stand by my choice.

Bear in mind, I don’t harbor delusions of body where I think that if I work out all the time and stop eating I’ll suddenly grow 6+ inches in height and lose every curve or varicose vein on my body. Come on now, I’m not young and stupid (anymore). But if I stopped being lazy and started taking better care of myself I actually could rock this bathing suit:

Yes she’s beautiful, yes she sells sex through her eyes and body, and yes the scene around her is picturesque.

Now, here’s some other things to think about when you look at that picture:

► Most swimsuit photo shoots happen in winter. Yup. This woman is probably freezing her tight, tan ass off but do you see that in her face? No. Models have to rise above being totally uncomfortable in order to do their fucking job. And that ain’t easy.

► What if she’s got the flu but scheduled for a photo shoot they’re paying for her to be a part of? You think she gets a sick day? Uh, no not so much. At least, not if she wants to pay her mortgage.

► What if the only time they could book for a shoot is on her kid’s 5^th birthday? You think they’ll reschedule because she ordered up a bouncy castle? Try again.

► The chances that this woman just got 2 hours of sleep on a plane, spent 8 hours “frolicking” in ice cold water then got right back on a plane to travel 10 hours for another shoot where she has to be professional and upbeat (aka not cranky and tired) is pretty high. How much of a toll might that kind of schedule take on someone’s body?

► Speaking of body, models contort into positions no human should be able to pull off so you can see as much of the product as possible. Seriously, I dare you to get in front of a full-length mirror and try to get your body into the position in this photo. Then stay there for 4-8 hours with little time for a break.

► Oh, and don’t forget your face because getting in that position for that long is painful and you can’t let that show on your face or your photos will suck and you won’t get paid to do your job.

► Then, while you’re doing all that other stuff, don’t forget your light source must hit the right places on your face or again you’re going to look kind of weird.

► And weirdness might sell some stuff – see tortoise framed glasses, hipster music, books – but it doesn’t sell swimsuits. Sexy sells swimsuits.

So here’s my big overarching question:

As women, shouldn’t we be embracing of WHATEVER other women want to do for a living (you know, as long as it’s legal)? Are we seriously persecuting each other for being too sexy now? How fucked up of a female double-standard is that?

If I met whoever that gal is in the picture up there I’d give her a high five and thank her for taking care of herself. I’d thank her for getting her ass off her sofa, going out and using the thing she has to her best advantage to make a career for herself.

Remember how women used to not be able to do that? This woman should get a medal for doing what she loves AND getting paid for it.

And I’d thank her for pushing me to go that extra half mile on my stationary bike. Because, while I have ZERO delusions that I’d ever have the same body type or shape she has, I use the image as inspiration to better myself.

It’s hard enough for women out there so I see no reason for other women to shit all over each other just because we make choices to make the most of the gifts, skills and talents we have. Regardless of what those gifts, skills or talents happen to be.

Now, if you’ll excuse me I need to get back on my stationary bike to do my 5 miles this morning because I’m going to get back in shape for me so I can buy that bathing suit and love how I look in it.

Non-model flaws and all.

Image courtesy Victoria’s Secret

*Sorry I can’t seem to locate the link to this story. If you read it please feel free to share the link in the comments.

A new window opens when you click to comment. Also, I get lots of spam comments so if the post is older than 3 days, your comment will be moderated.

Don’t Forget the Bow in Your Hair

I came across an article in my local paper a couple days ago (meant to clip & scan it but forgot and now it’s in my outside recycle bin so, sorry, but I'm not fishing it out) that focused on how women weigh more these days because they don't do as much housework as compared to how much they did back in the late Sixties.

My gut reaction was that I was appalled someone would even begin to do this kind of a study. I mean it isn’t like men used to do the housework back then but they too were also much trimmer simply because the fast food, high fat crap diets and endless hours of sitting on one’s ass hasn’t yet filtered into the mainstream way of life and work. How dare this man put that kind of bullshit off on women!

But then I got to thinking, my house could really use a good solid cleaning. And I’m kind of lacking in cardio points this week. Maybe I should pull out the vacuum and go all Magda on my living room. Think Ethan Hawke in Gattaca only without the six pack abs. Well not yet, I haven’t cleaned this week.

And as a side note, whatever happened to Ethan Hawke? And how did I not recognize his amazing hotness until this very moment? I really need to watch Reality Bites in the next week or so. Damn.

But I digress.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not about to run a vacuum over my floors and expect to lose weight or tone my muscles or anything but when I think about the way I clean my house I can’t help but wonder just how many calories I actually do burn. Obviously cleaning isn’t a daily activity so it isn’t part of a solid workout plan but that raised another question for me – can any movement be considered part of a solid workout plan? And if I do enough moving in a day – cleaning, dancing, fifty random jumping jacks, power walking as I shop at the mall – does it count toward my calorie burn?

Last weekend Matt, my sister and I all headed to my mom’s place to celebrate her birthday and on Saturday night we had a couple drinks and a lot of laughs to some random tunes. Gloria Estefan, the Xanadu soundtrack, “Jesse’s Girl”, just to name a few. I haven’t been dancing in what feels like forever so, with the music playing, I simply got out of the chair on the sun porch and started doing some serious cardio dancing. For about a solid hour. And it felt great!

 

Let me tell you, I sure was sore the next day in my sides, thighs, hips & butt so I know I worked something. But then I got back home and it was back to my standard one hour a day workout. Do daily tasks. Sit on ass writing (read: play Angry Birds for hours). Eat dinner. Workout. Pretend I’m actually changing my lifestyle.

Realize I’ve been lying to myself.

If I want to get in shape, really get in shape, I need to get off my ass more. A lot more. Now I don’t plan to go and fool myself into thinking I have to join a gym and workout six hours a day on nautilus equipment to get where I want to be, but I sure can’t see myself achieving my goal of losing ten pounds before my friend’s wedding in April while I veg out on the sofa all night after my one hour workout.

It's time to get up and get moving.

Now if you’ll excuse me I need to go put my pretty pink bow in my hair and move said sofa because there are a shitload of dust bunnies underneath it and it’s apparently my job as a woman to make sure they’re cleaned up.

And I’m going to do it while I dance to some Eighties pop music.

Apparently I Must Have Vision

Because about 3 days after I wrote my post called If The Voice Existed for Writers what would we call it? I discovered that a brand new contest akin to The Voice (or American Idol as the case may be) is on, and geared toward Writers of fiction.

How much more can fate intervene before I finally take it seriously? A real reality contest for Writers? I mean, I have a story within the word requirements (2500-5000) that’s fiction. I’m ready to rock and roll! Holy crap, sign me up!

Well…hold on just a second Miss Quick-on-the-Draw; maybe read the rules first?

So I did. And here’s something I’m not very sure about:

“…You also grant us the right to edit the formatting and display of your Entry, and to create literary or any other types of effects in respect to your Entry without compensation or approval…”

 

Formatting and display edits I can certainly understand. The entries should all have similar structure and style in order to remain vanilla enough for the voting public to not adopt any sort of bias toward one story or another. But that bit about creating literary effects without approval? Yeah, what does that even mean?

Literary by definition means: pertaining to or of the nature of books and writings, especially those classed as literature

Now perhaps I’m just being paranoid here but to me this reads like the content could be altered without my prior approval. That’s not okay. Anyone in law care to weigh in on this?

I kept reading and couldn’t seem to find the words ‘Author will retain all rights to their work’ anywhere in the first three-quarters of the lengthy rules. Another thing that’s a bit unsettling to say the least. But I kept reading anyway. And then I came across this:

“13. GOVERNING LAW/DISPUTES. This Contest is governed by the laws of Curaçao. As a condition of participating in this Contest, you agree, to the extent permitted by law, that any and all disputes which cannot be resolved between the parties, and causes of action arising out of or in connection with this Contest, will be resolved individually, without resort to any form of class action, exclusively before a court located in Curaçao.”

 

Wait, what? Curaçao? Where the hell is that?

So I did a little digging and it turns out it is an island located off the coast of Venezuela and is a Netherland/Dutch nation. And Hofstra Law School has an entire course dedicated to the study of International Law in this nation.

Impressive. But equally unsettling.

I’m not entirely sure how comfortable I am entering a contest where the governing law over the subsequent use of my intellectual property is located in International waters. I would have a leg to stand on if the contest originated out of the United States because that’s where I’m from and where my copyright is held. But I know nothing about anything related to the laws in Curaçao and frankly I don’t want to have to earn a degree from Hofstra just to find out if I’d be protected should someone steal my work and make millions of dollars or defame my name, etc.

It does make me a little sad because I felt as if I almost dreamed this contest into life after pretty much asking for it to be hand delivered to my door. But you know how they say to be careful what you wish for? I never understood just why you should protect yourself from those wishes or why it's important to clarify the specifics of the wish in question until this very moment.

Hopefully this shows I’m smarter than I look and not that I blew a golden opportunity at fame and fortune ($5000 grand prize). But like I always say, I live with no regrets so unless my lawyer type friends weigh in and tell me I shouldn’t be afraid, I think this is one contest I’m letting pass by after all.

“As Soon as I Settle I Bet I’ll Be Able to Move On”

It probably will come as no shock to anyone who knows me to hear that I’m feeling restless right now. I just bought a house and started my career so of course I’m ready to get a move on and go try my hand at something new. But in the spirit of truth, that’s not even the issue this time. That’s not the real thing I’m struggling with in my head.

The real issue is that I know, this time, I’m not going to change a damn thing. I know that I’ve found a place I can be happy for a long while, as well as a career that I actually enjoy, for the first time in my life. Under former circumstances I’d be ready to bail right about this point because I’d have started to get bored. Disinterested with the predictable nature of everyday life.

When I get to the moment where I’ve taken it all in, absorbed as much as I can from the job/place/lesson at hand, I start feeling antsy. Anxious. Skittish. Ready to flee at a moment’s notice.

But not this time.

The feeling is a leftover; its cold and moldy like that last piece of meatloaf you forgot about, shoved to the back of the fridge. It used to be trapped somewhere in the back of my head convincing me I should stay the scared little girl who never accomplishes anything because she isn’t really worth enough to try. Broke, only moderately attractive, no big show-and-tell story to share with the drama-obsessed world. Kind of a middle of the road nobody if I’m being honest.

I was the one who didn’t finish college and never had a “real” job. The self-proclaimed slacker, lazy, procrastinator type who never seems to get what she wants because she’s too fucking scared to tell anyone what that is.

Always living in fear that I might get exactly what I want out of life if I just pursue it with reckless abandon because then where would I be? I’ve been “chasing the dream” for so long maybe I felt I couldn’t function without a dream. Maybe I felt if I got it then I wouldn’t have a need to continue on. There wouldn’t be any more dreams.

But of course we all know that’s complete bullshit.

So then why am I antsy if I’m comfortable with the discomfort of setting down some roots in these areas of my life?

Because it’s a new feeling. The feeling of knowing I could go back on my heels and haul-ass out of this whole writing life but wanting to stick it out is uncomfortable because of the newness. I’ve never done it before.

After close to forty years of programming myself to believe that I have to keep moving forward – where “forward” used to describe moving on – I’m not entirely sure how to handle moving forward while remaining satisfied with what I’m doing.

Scary? You bet. Necessary? More than I could explain.

The best advice would be to just keep doing it, of course. So I am. Every single day.

Instead of going out and starting in another dead-end job situation, or moving again, I’m doing other things to keep that freshness. Entering writing contests, getting up and speaking at my writer’s group, connecting with new people, giving interviews, asking people to review my book after they’ve read it. Essentially, going after what I want. Boom.

But most of all – asking for what I want, knowing that I deserve to have it, and then going out and getting it. Because life’s too short to stop talking altogether because I sit around worrying if I offended someone with something I said once. It’s too short to sit back and constantly observe what others are doing while never doing anything of any substance myself.

Life’s too short not to make it exactly what I want it to be.

I mean, hell, everyone else is doing it and they don’t give a damn if I approve so I think it’s high time to start living for me. Fuck em if they can’t appreciate that.

I owe it to Indie Authors everywhere to kick ass and take names (of Agents preferably, though with all these adverbs…). I owe it to Matt to do my best to get this thing off the ground after so much support these past couple years.

Most of all I owe it to myself because this twenty-five year dream got clouded with the needs and desires of everyone else coming before my own somewhere along the way. But this is my life and it’s time to clear that fog. Time to open my eyes and see my own life path. Time to take it.

Title of this post is a quote from a Fiona Apple lyric in “The Way things Are”

Bostonese for the Tourist

Sure I may live in the middle of nowhere now (yes that’s a joke) but at one time, for many years of my life, I grew in the city of Boston. We don’t get the distinction of being called “The City” as any New Yorker knows, but as any Townie knows, we’re “The” Town.

We’re so much “The” Town that we still call it Town if we grew up with Grandparents who were first generation.

No, Ma (Nomar!) I’m goin’ inta’ Town. Get Bobby ta help ya.

They’re a dying breed as more and more people flood The Town as newbies every year. And who could blame them? I mean, talk about per capita number of insanely great schools. But only the wicked hardy folk can make it through a wintah in Winter Hill if ya know what I mean. Yeah, I mean the literal season of winter. That shit is rough.

We’re the ones with the accent. I mean, too many famous people live in New York so there’s really no accent anymore. Right? I really have no clue if that’s true at all because I don’t live there now, nor have I ever lived there. Not to mention, nor do I ever plan to. Ugh, shudder, no. Way too much ‘overwhelming-ness of everything’ in Manhattan for me to handle. Even Boston was too much at times.

So last summer I guess you could say I put that “whole town in my reAH view” when Matt and I moved to Phoenix.

Yeah, I like metro Phoenix. You get all of the New York food, attitude, nightlife, fashion, sports (though the Coyotes are much more Boston in the loyalty style of the fan base and YES there is a fan base for hockey in the desert). But you don’t have to deal with any of the drama of the subways, smell of trash wafting to the sky, honking/ambulance sirens at all times, number of people crammed together in such a small space.

But not too many people came here from Boston. At least not that I’ve found just yet. I guess all us Irish think the sun will melt us or something. Well I haven’t fallen into a puddle of goo yet. Plus, I know it might be a big secret we transplant types aren’t supposed to reveal but my skin has never looked better and I’ve never felt healthier since I’ve lived here. Especially mentally. We get sky here. And sunshine. And just like the northeast we have 3 months of really extreme weather.

Only difference is we need cooling as opposed to heat. And the good news there is that cooling is way cheaper to pay for than heat. Plus there are pools to cool off in. Plus, there are lakes to cool off in too. And mountains. And the coast is only three hours away if you go to Mexico.

So anyway, because I’m one of very few Boston newbies in Phoenix of course I’m going to tell everyone how wicked pissa The Town is right? Because I want them to go and check it out if they haven’t already. See the sights, meet the Townies, eat the food, get a hug from Gramma on the way out the door. Oh & honey, grab her a beer on the way past the fridge before you go, would ya’?

You’re a doll.

Obstatunity Comes from Strategery: Part II

Back before we moved out here to Arizona I wrote a post on Matt's working situation which I just went back and re-read as I tried to decide if 'Obstatunity Comes from Strategery' could have a sequel.  As you brilliantly surmised from the title of the post, yes, yes it can.

Only this time it’s my freaking obstatunity.  And I'm planning to run with it.  But first, seeing as though you already know me and know the way it works around these parts, I'll give you the back story.

A year ago I started classes at Ashford University as most if not all of you know.  I Googled the school, read good things, did my research and all that stuff.  But I also did the same for the couple other Universities in question.  I'd been paying back student loans for a couple years from my 2 prior failed attempts at higher ed-u-ma-cation so if I was going to go back it needed to be the right thing.

When it came time to choose I went with a couple factors:
1) School needed full accreditation
2) School needed to have the program I was looking for (BA English)
3) School needed to be fairly well respected

There were 2 out of 3 with my old University that I'd had phenomenal success with - the Art Institute.  Sadly, the one thing it didn't offer was a BA in English.  I narrowed down and chose Ashford. 

For about the first 5 or so classes I was happy with my choice!  Some of the Instructors seemed invested, the course work was recoculously challenging and I actually felt as if my dollars were going to something worthy.  Not to mention Ashford used almost all of my AI classes as transfer credits for all my needed electives so I was already a junior level when I entered.  Right where I'd hoped to be after already investing far too many years in higher learning.

I dove in and studied my fucking ass off, I blew off plans with everyone in order to study, I popped at least 3 veins in my brain while completing the course work to maintain my 4.0 GPA.  And I did.  That accomplishment alone made me proud of myself, and it made me realize I was on the correct path in pursuing a Writing career.

Then suddenly last fall I started to notice that more and more Instructors started to care less and less - as evidenced by their blatant lack of response in class and outright disappearing acts.  I also noticed the course work was snore provoking.  As nice as it was for the first class to go from studying a literal 45 hour week down to 10, by the fourth I was getting frustrated.  But I only had a year to go until that degree was in my hot little hands.  I kept pushing the brick wall.  Kept talking myself into the fact I needed this degree, that I had to have it.

Then all this utter bullshit happened and I really started to question:
1) The need for the degree in the first place
2) The dedication level I'd really have if I stayed
3) The validity of the degree in question.

I was torn not only just on paying the non-existant bill but on staying at the school even if I did.  I had no clue what to do, I was at an impasse in my brain.

Then all of a sudden I realized (with a little help from a friend) that if I keep going to school the only thing I'm going to get is more debt, more popped veins and a degree from a shady University that I won't even really want to tell anyone about.

Instead, it would be far more worth my time to study at the University called the World, read, write, network and publish my fucking book, man.  I'm so far in the hole enough already that I can hardly see how to get out.  But then I feel like I caught sight of the first rung and it feels great.

Do I feel like a failure for withdrawing at the end of this class?  I did before but now I just feel like all the time I'll get back for myself will be better spent creating my own obstatunity - the one where I actually Write for a living, sell my writing, create contacts, network, whatever the hell other Writers do.

Obstatunity - Continuing my education by reading the shit I want to read.
Strategery   - Using that education to further my own career and pay back the exorbitant loan money I already owe without taking on even more debt.

I started getting serious about writing not too long ago and now I'm just looking at all of this as my glowing neon sign to get out and get on with my life.  I'm not getting any younger and a degree from Shady University will do nothing for me in the long run.

It’s not giving up, it’s changing my mind.  Because it’s time to evolve.

Garden of the Sun

School started up again last week.  Hooray.  Can you feel my enthusiasm?  Don’t get me wrong, I’m enjoying it in a broad sense and it’s definitely helping with my composition, thesis, outline, reading, etc.  What’s killing me about doing it is two fold – 1) that’s a pretty significant amount of extra debt I’m taking on there and 2) I don’t have time to work.

The thing is, every single novel I read has a little blurb in the back about the Author and all of them (yes, seriously all of them) say ‘so-and-so big semi-famous author person got their degree at this college you’ve never heard of before’.  I want a degree from a college no one has ever heard of so a whole bunch of people can read my book and skip right over the author blurb and never see it!

I have wanted, for a long time, to join the ranks of the college ed-u-ma-cated.  Don’t ask me why because I’m not really sure how to answer that.  All I know is that I want to be wicked smaht.  Because it isn’t like people ask an almost 40 year old where they went to school.  That kind of stuff just doesn’t come up in casual conversation anymore like it did when I was 26.

Because what people ask an almost 40 year old is ‘what do you do’.  And maybe the problem is I can’t seem to wrap my head around saying I’m a writer without something to back it up.  I haven’t accepted it yet.  I don’t have enough experience, or haven’t really gotten paid to do it so it just doesn’t count.  In my head I mean, you don’t have to tell me how it does count because the other side of me knows you’re completely right.

I practiced this past weekend in fact.  We went to see my sister and ended up at the local dive bar where she and her friends hang out sometimes.  A lovely gentleman from Italy, with a thick accent and the most fantastic brown leather shoes I’ve ever seen in my life simply posed the question ‘so what do you do?’

It surprised me actually that we’d met all these people all night and that was the first time someone even asked that question.  I said I was a writer.  Of novels.  But that I also wrote a blog.  Oh and I’m a painter too.

Like I had to throw in that last bit so it would sound like I make money and pay my bills or something.  As if being a writer isn’t a legitimate enough profession that I can just own it?

Apparently I couldn’t.

So I thought a lot about that incident.  I know that he probably doesn’t remember it happening, and no one else who was there has any recollection of my bumbling, stammering, attempt at trying to decide what it is I do for a living.  The conclusion I came to is that, in order to feel more like a writer, I have got to stop doing things that don’t at all relate to being a writer.

Which really won’t be easy to do considering I have a company, people who want to hire me to do faux and a whole bunch of teammates that rely on my other endeavors as my day job (if you will).

So then I thought about it some more.  If I’m going to stay in school, which I intend to do because that shiny, useless in the real world but important to me degree is only about a year and a half away, why can’t I just write part time and place a little focus on the other stuff part time as well?  Why beat myself up over not writing full time when I’m not going to be writing full time anyway because of school right? 

Right.

One of the big reasons Matt & I moved to the Valley of the Sun was to kick back and relax, to enjoy life, take in the beauty of the little things, and leave the hectic chaos of the northeast pace 3100 miles behind us.  If I get here and immediately start stressing out over old habits how can I accomplish that goal?  You’re right, I can’t.  So this past weekend, I made up my mind to pour a cup of coffee, go sit out in my patio chair and drink it all in.  Then I made a few mental shifts…

• I’m staying a part time student, not fast tracking to full time, because a year and a half is a perfectly reasonable amount of time to complete a degree without having a heart attack before it’s even in my hand. 
• I will give it my best effort but I’m not going so far above and beyond anymore that I may as well be the Instructor of the class. 
• I’m going to be happy with any grade I get as long as it’s above a 3.5 GPA; even if it isn’t the A I’m striving for no one is going to care so why should I? 
• I’m going to see the clock as having plenty of time, the sun as having plenty of hours to shine and my brain as having plenty of capacity to store it all. 
• If I start getting stressed I’ll do something different like write a blog post or workout.  Walking away is sometimes the best solution of all.
• I’ll do a few projects related to paint, take on some jobs painting (especially for existing clients and those people who I already discussed projects with!) and keep the company open, but I’m not actively pursuing it as a full time thing anymore.

And anytime someone asks I’m simply going to state ‘I’m a novelist’.

Because I am.

(As a side note, I started doing the iPod song title/blog post title thingie I mentioned the other day.  If you don’t know Emily Elbert, the gal behind the title today, I totally suggest getting out and checking her out, she’s pretty sensational!)

Getting Through It

I turn thirty eight in a couple months. To some of you that might not sound very old and in reality I agree with you, but I just keep thinking that at this age my mom had a fourteen and eleven year old.

(Good fracking Lord, I can not even begin to imagine what my life would be like if I had a teenager. I mean I’d most likely be on welfare seeing as though our apartment barely holds us and we pretty much just get by with necessities. Well, either welfare or I’d be dead of cancer by age 50 because of all the chemicals in the cheap crappy food I’d have to eat so my baby could have a chance at eating healthy…)

Regardless, when I went to my first prom my mom is in some of those pictures with me and is about the same age as I am now.

My twenty year high school reunion is coming up this fall and I just keep thinking ‘but I’m not old yet, right?’ I keep having to remind myself that middle age is just a big load of crap no matter what we read in my Psych class that age 35-65 is considered middle age.

Really, Psych books? Sixty five? I can’t peg any 130 year olds that’s for sure, but I have known quite a few seventy six year olds so that just reinforces my thoughts that its all a quick slide downhill from here for me. Sorry sixty five year olds, I’ll be catching up much sooner than I’m comfortable with, believe me.

As I look back over this first half of life I’ve led, there isn’t anything particularly earth shattering or grandiose that I’ve done. I was born, got picked on in grammar school, made new friends in junior high, had a steady boyfriend through high school, did sports, went to work, withdrew from college, moved in with a boy, ran a retail establishment, drank and danced way too many weekends away, moved out on my own, had a lot of sex, met & married Matt, renovated a 150 year old house, started a company, wrote a couple manuscripts, filed bankruptcy and skidded into today with a lot more gray hairs than I had twenty years ago.

My chest hurts just thinking about it all.

But not to worry, not having a heart attack, just a little heartache for how quickly life really does pass by I guess.

So as I look back over all of these times in my life there have been a vast number of people who have been there with me through certain things. But, I rarely asked for help dealing with stuff. I liked to just kind of live my life according to my own terms and requesting advice or accepting assistance from others meant I was living according to how they wanted me to live, not how I saw my own life going.

In the end, I guess, to answer today’s request for a photo -- a picture of the person who has gotten you through the most -- I have to go with, me.

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Catch up on anything you missed  30 Photos, 30 Days
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A New Adventure for this Hapless Writer

Or is it hopeless? Since I can not be sure of which I am -- just unfortunate or completely lost -- I have decided to throw caution to the wind and begin my journey of writing to make some money for the stuff I type all day. I say hooray! Hopefully everyone out there in the fun land of reading says the same. This is not an entirely new concept for me because I have been working on it behind the scenes for quite a while but now feels like the right time to share it with everyone.

Over the course of the past year or so I have been tracking down, and keeping track of, a bunch of sites where they hire freelance writers and/or allow us wordy types to post our stuff simply because we want to. How nice of them. While doing research, joining or attempting to land a paid gig (or fifty), I found there is a whole lot of conflicting information, scams and (thankfully) still some downright honest websites out there in cyberville.

Some of the sites I joined only allow the user a certain level of points or credits, to be applied towards bids for jobs, and require payment to fully join. I completely understand that sometimes the old adage “membership has its privileges” is in fact true but then that other saying comes out singing from the back of my mind. The one that goes “I ain’t got no dough”.

From what I have seen, there are definitely happy campers making money by bidding on and writing lots of stuff but it seems that those people are the only ones who ever get hired and if the proverbial “you” does not have a track record of being a good writer with payment history no one wants to hire you. Well, gee, that makes a whole bunch of sense. Can someone please explain how all those other people were given their first assignments then? I spent about six months reviewing and bidding on countless jobs but I refused to pay so I would be hired. Though they tell you it is unnecessary to do so. Right.

In the midst of these rejections, better known as the day to day life of every writer, I began posting articles up on a couple sites where there was no fee to join, but also no monetary potential. I did this mainly to garner experience writing in a less personal tone (non conversational, or as I like to call it the professional voice) so I would have a decent number of clippings to submit to who knows who when I miraculously went out and found the perfect job (read: someone recognized my verbal flexibility and decided to pay me to write this blog all day long so I did not have to worry about what tone of voice I had). That was going great until I started my second blog back in the fall of last year.

Those who know me understand that I refer to myself as the eco-police so it was only natural that any other blog I wrote was going to be about the environment. Wait, let me back up. First you should probably understand that last June I made my first pennies from writing. And when I say pennies, oh that is most definitely what they were. All 153 of them. Do not misunderstand however, I enjoyed every minute I wrote for The Organic Mechanic and I made amazing contacts of artists that I still keep in touch with to this day but it became clear at a point that it was time to branch out on my own. Thus, Green Leaf Reviewer was born.

Since I am a rather ambitious gal I envisioned myself writing GLR as a potential income stream as I fully intended to post daily. For the most part that has held true too and I have rather enjoyed doing the research to craft the 176 posts already up over there, the part where I live in my world of fantasy was that by placing one little miniscule Google Ads box on the page I would suddenly be paying my rent. OK, maybe my fantasy was not quite that extreme but I at least thought I could pay myself via groceries or dinner or whatnot here or there. Not so much. Yet.

We writers are resilient beasts who will stop at nothing until we get what we want so of course I am exploring alternative advertising options. In the meantime however I am going to enjoy making the connections to all those fabulous tree huggers. Just as soon as I stop smoking. Damn hypocrite. Ok maybe that is too harsh; perhaps I am just a walking contradiction. That sounds so much fluffier.

So for the last three to six months I have been enjoying the interactions between all the people I have come to chat with online be it here, at GLR or on various forums because it has allowed me to network something fierce. And as we all know, its all about who you know. Well it started occurring to me that who I know are an array of amazing people -- teachers, humorists, artists -- but the one thing they all have in common is they are writers (even the jewelry designers, who’s blogs I peruse to drool, had to write up their descriptions so if nothing else they are sure fluent in adjectives).

With refreshed inspiration, stemming mostly from this little exercise I have taken on here of posting once a day through the entire month of May, I set out to locate more writers’ forums. I was itching to discover spots where I could discuss this passion as well because to date I found plenty of places to yak about everything else that struck my fancy. I happened upon this cool place where not only can I join in discussion forums, but I can post my own articles and each will include links to my Google AdSense account, Amazon Associate account and just about any other click through advertising affiliation I have.

So far I have made zilch but I am not exactly discouraged, I mean I only joined two days ago and I do not post about sex, drugs or rock and roll so it will likely take some time. What I have found awesome however is I am actually a fairly decent article re-writer because I have taken a few of my GLR posts and gave them the professional, third person voice, and I am already getting great feedback on them! I will share in the near future a little widget to my profile but for now I am keeping the site a slight mystery as I truly want to feel out if it is going to be something that gets the job done for me. If not I guess I will just fall back on the blogging as a fun hobby and start pursuing that novel I keep meaning to write.

Its Blast Off Time

Since I started writing Green Leaf Reviewer about two weeks ago I have been questioning a lot of the things I do and how focused I really am on the environment. Not to say that the planet as a whole is not a priority for me because it definitely is -- I recycle, upcycle, drive a fuel efficient car, barely drive anywhere, turn lights and electronics off, yada, yada, yada -- but when it comes to taking care of me, I question if I have lost complete focus. One of the things I said in the welcome message over there is that the environment is everything around us so truthfully, that means my own body as well.

I have been inspired lately with all these great healthy recipes I have been reading about and this past week Matt had to have a tooth pulled.

How do those things relate some of you may wonder? Well fear not for in my ability to weave seemingly random and unrelated topics into one roller coaster ride of a blog post I would love to share it with you.

A couple weeks ago Matt had such a bad toothache that he actually sat in his chair one Friday night and cried from the pain. He had already made an appointment for the following Tuesday but I suggested to just go there in the morning instead and explain the situation so perhaps they could squeeze him in as an emergency appointment. Luckily they did and he came home with a temporary filling. He was feeling much better and booked an appointment for this past Thursday to have the wisdom tooth extracted.

He went in for a three o’clock appointment on Thursday and while he was having an impacted tooth yanked out I was briskly walking the bike path with my friend S, the twins and her Mom. We have decided to try to walk together at least once a week and knowing that I will finally be doing even a little exercise is a great feeling. Matt called to say he was done and drooling so I picked him up and we headed home where he could nap off his pint of blood loss and I could get some sewing done.

For the following few days he was allowed to eat only soft foods and since he was feeling a bit more energy, and a need for a walk himself, he headed down to the supermarket to pick up something edible that would help fill him up. Just as a quick reference point here my Grampa used to tell me I must have a hollow leg with the amount of food I could pack away without gaining any weight. Well if I had one hollow leg Matt surely has two so eating broth for three days was not going to cut it. I gave him a small list and he came home with blueberries, strawberries, raspberries, apples, vanilla flavored Carnation Instant Breakfast, milk and Cream of Wheat.

After making the pesto last week I had some leftover cilantro and was no longer nervous that my (very underutilized) blender was going to explode so I pulled it back out and decided to try my hand at some smoothies that might fill up Matt. I am a lover of fruits and veggies but have frequently said it would be beneficial to own a juicer because I am never going to be the person who just grabs for fruit to snack on but if I were to blend them all together and have a yummy drink well that I could do all day!

I took a handful of blueberries, raspberries, four strawberries, a third of a Macintosh apple, a few chopped sprigs of the cilantro, two packets of the vanilla Carnation instant breakfast and eight ounces of milk and blended it until it was pancake batter consistency. I hesitantly handed it over to him waiting to hear “blech!” but to my surprise he loved it! I loved it too but what we both really loved most was the way we felt about an hour after drinking it.

Those of you who know me are fully aware that I am a proponent of marijuana, but I will tell you something, never in all the years I smoked did I ever feel a high like that. It was like my brain and body were on this complete cloud of clarity; like a sugar high without the jitters. I had energy I could not burn off no matter how I tried and instantly began looking for the permanent placement for the blender on the counter because this was definitely going to happen again.

Today we had another for breakfast but this time I also added a bit of carrot, more apple and reduced the cilantro and strawberry (too many seeds). I can not even express how great I feel and how much I am looking forward to experimenting with alternate fruits and veggies to make this even healthier. Although I made this with cow milk it could easily be exchanged with soy and I am sure there are vegetarian/vegan alternative protein powders to add instead of the vanilla Carnation Instant Breakfast so I will begin my search for those.

Even though some situations may seem bad at the time they are happening, they can certainly prove to be great in the end. If it were not for Matt’s toothache and subsequent extraction I do not think that either of us would have gone walking or started eating healthier just yet. Timing is a wondrous thing.