A Trip to the Georgia Renaissance Faire with Fae, Arndor, and Geri

Introductions Are in Order

So, a couple of Sundays ago, I was was preparing to go the Georgia Renaissance Festival, an event I have attended since the mid-1980s (yes, I'm really that old), and heard a knock on my front door. I was surprised to discover some family members who are technically fictional waiting there. They wanted to go to faire with me.

Fae, my Fictional Daughter

Fae stepped through the door first. Fae is my fictional daughter who is a surgeon and is now married to a young squire. She informed me that that she and the squire, Arndor, were on a sort of holiday after their recent marriage (actually, this marriage happened back in the fall. I did not get to attend. Serious timey-wimey problems.). They had heard of this faire I attended in the spring, and wanted to tag along. I worried since this was their first time in this time period, but then I saw that Geri was with them, and figured they could handle it, especially if he could.

Some of you remember Geri from previous posts. He is my fictional son, and has visited me several times. He has even been known to attempt playing on the Internet. Behind them was Arndor, my fictional son-in-law. I like him---a lot. He's  been very good to my children.  

Geri, my Fictional Son

Going to Faire

So, anyway, we went to faire. The first obstacle was the car. Geri and Arndor were certain that my red PT Cruiser was a demon of some sort. Fae was less afraid, but still did not like the idea of riding in such a thing. I had to show them that it was not alive and had no desire to take them to the underworld or kill them. There is, however, a scratch on the back of my car where Geri tried to hit it with his axe. :(

Fae was excited because she got to dress up a bit more than when she is home. She wore a corset (which she loves) and dressed herself up a bit. 

We made it to faire safely and without incident (although Geri and Arndor spent a lot of time yelling and waving weapons out my windows at the other cars. Thank goodness no cops saw us). We then parked and made it to the gate without incident. When we got in, I took some photos to mark their appearance at the faire. 

Marriage in the 11th century is an odd thing. This is not a marriage of love, necessarily, but more a marriage of political expedience. What I learned watching these two, however is that sometimes, political expedience can lead to something more. Arndor is devoted to Fae, and Fae would gladly stand by his side and fight with him. It's an extraordinary kind of thing, really.  

As the day progressed, this fact kept cropping up in their conversations and in how they acted with one another. 

After photos, the young couple, and Geri were ready to explore the fair and all it had to offer to us. We met Leonardo da Vinci (got hugs from him---made my day), and looked at many crafts and met several friends. 

The day was sunny but cool, which made them feel at home because Ottland is usually coolish (at least from what they've told me). 

Soon, the men were hungry, but because it was a faire day, Fae was not obligated to cook (cooking is actually something she loves to do, and is, according to the men, she is quite accomplished at this task0. I suggested my favorite dining experience at faire, the Peacock Tea Room. It was there that they had tea for the first time, as well as assorted cheeses, fruits, and breads. 

They all warmed to the place really quickly, which was a bit of surprise to me. I wasn't sure that the men would care for the place, but I think all it took was a little smile from Fae and some tea, and they became comfortable. Fae even relaxed and took her head covering off for a bit. It was a warmer than their home, and I'm sure she was getting hot. Arndor and Fae spent a good part of lunch teasing one another, and Fae was particularly excited because she could actually read the menu. She's only recently learned to read, so it was a treat. The were also a unsure about the forks at first, and decided they were weapons of war! 

Geri managed to see many, many beautiful women this day, however, the fact than none of them spoke his language made it difficult to for him to get to know anyone. Still he seemed to enjoy himself at the tea room. He also discovered that he loved tea. He loved it so much that he filled his drinking horn with the stuff and carried it around with him the rest of the afternoon.

After lunch the group sort of goofed around and looked at pretty things (Fae likes pretty things). We came upon a hat shop at one point, and things got a little crazy. I have to wonder what was in that tea...

Soon, it was time for us to leave, and we were all tired, but sad to do so. We had a lovely time at the faire. I was also sad to see this group of travelers go back to Ottenby, and hope they come to the present again soon. 

Easing into My Summer Vacation

End of Term

I finally, finally made it to the end of the spring semester, posted my grades early, and kicked back, hoping to focus on writing (particularly writing the novel that Melissa and I are continuing to work on). So far, I've learned some things, but haven't gotten a huge amount of writing done. 

What I've Learned Thus Far

1. Writing at the house is hard. No one means to distract me. No one means to make me feel closed in. I know this, and yet, I find myself being frustrated because I have no place to sit and feel like I have my own space right now. This is mostly because we live in a small 1960s ranch home with five people. We are pretty much on top of one another at all times. There is no retreating to my den or hiding in my "living space" (my way of getting around using the term bedroom). I can close my door, and it doesn't matter because there will be a knock on the door within a few minutes and questions about my well-being. I know none of this should matter. I should be enough of an adult to muscle through this, and maybe, eventually, I will. So far, in the last three days, I've managed to write, all total, about 3000 words. I'll get into a groove, be in the forest with my characters, and then...Mom walks through the scene telling me about someone I don't even know and their back problems. You can go ahead and tell me just how bad of a child I am at this point.

2. It is easier to work on anything else except what I want to work on. So. Many. Distractions. A friend messages me on Facebook which leads to a twenty minute discussion on creeds. My son texts me begging to be released early from school. I have a new class I begin teaching in three weeks and I discover that I need to do a major overhaul of the material I've been given. My knitting calls me from its basket by my bed. The sunshine calls me outside to read.

All I want is to write. When I do manage to get going on a chapter, my brain is screaming about all the other stuff I need to do.

3. I need a routine. I managed to get a routine during Spring Break (some of you recall that glorious time). This routine has been lost. I still have a routine, but it is mostly like what I've been doing. Get up. Wake up my son (who is graduating from high school very soon). Make his lunch. Eat breakfast. Either leave the house or attempt to work there in spite of everything.

4. Sometimes, people don't get what it is you're doing. It is a funny thing. My family is a family of creatives. We do all sorts of artistic things. We paint. We make furniture. We sew and bake. We make knives and do leatherwork. We write and make music. Still, there are times when I don't think and don't really get the creative work that others in the house do. We understand our own creative things, but not the creative work or space needed by others in the house. 

I often times wish I had a shed or a wing of the house or that the basement was a finished basement instead of a storage space worthy of Warehouse 13 status (the kids are convinced that there is a portal to Narnia AND a portal to the underworld down there). I wish there was space where Mom could have a sewing room and Dad could have a shop away from the house (the fumes. man. The fumes!) and Stuart could do leather work and Gina could paint and I...I could close the door and write for three or four hours a day. We live so close to one another that sometimes I think it's hard for us to understand that we need that space and time from one another.

What Then? What Should I Do?

What I'm learning is that I have to make a way for my writing to happen even if the only writing I do for the day is write a blog post. I write so I don't doubt myself. I write because it is the only way for me. Will I finish that latest chapter? Probably. In time. Will I get to that script I promised Thomas two weeks ago? Definitely. Do I have to complete all of it right now in the moment. No.

Maybe this is what runners and bicyclist learn as they run and bike. Maybe this is what "Just do it" really means. I just write. The rest will work itself out. Each project will come as it comes (even with a deadline). Even if I have to write in my house. Even if I have to drive to Hiram and sit in a slightly busy Starbucks for the next two weeks. I need the writer's life too much to sit back and let it go. This is my endurance test, and I plan to pass it.

Thanks for letting me ramble today. I promise my next post will be pure fun. Promise. It will even have pictures (some of you know what is going up next, but don't tell). 

"Life's Too Short to Waste Time"

A Confession or Two

There are a few things I want to confess as we begin this post. First, I originally promised myself that I would not post stuff about my dating life. I didn't want to use this forum to whine and moan over being single. I've been single for a long time now. I'm ok about that for the most part. Wait, rephrase, I can live with being single for the most part. Ok may be too strong a word. The point is, I didn't want to make this blog something that all you millions of readers look at and say, "Oh, Jess is flailing around about how she's single and and lonely again." Anyway, now I'm about to break that original promise. I would have continued my silence in this matter, but the story I'm going to share is just too funny. 

Secondly, I confess to having joined a dating website, OKCupid  last week. I did this because a couple of people mentioned it as some place where they'd met some pretty cool guys who weren't axe murderers or head cases. This is a big deal to me because I'm sort of terrified of online dating services. I have this overwhelming feeling that I'm going to be the user who draws the axe murderer who has been hiding on the site for years under the name "sweetgeorgiaboy" and who has been waiting for someone just like me to add to his list of women hidden beneath his staircase at home. Anyway, I like OkCupid because I can talk to people without having to pay a fee (there is nothing more frustrating than joining a dating website that is supposed to be free and then discovering to communicate with prospective dates, you have to pay a fee. Why should I have to pay a fee to talk to a stranger?)

"hello I'm bobby care to talk"

This evening, I got a message from this guy calling himself "bobby." He wrote a quick note, "hello I'm bobby care to talk".  Now, in all fairness, I generally am not motivated to talk to people who can't do basic grammar, but I figured he was using a phone and maybe he was a bit shy. So I messaged him back and told him that I'd talk to him. The conversation was a bit stilted at first. I'd write fluid answers worthy of a writer, and he'd write single sentence answers written as though Captain Caveman were behind the keyboard. 

First he was curious about my size (I reference this as one of the first things people usually notice about me): "What do you mean people notice your size?" he asked. This was interesting to me because (1) it was the first time he actually used punctuation in his writing and (2) it immediately made me nervous (I struggled with mentioning my size in the first place, but decided that honesty was in order. I'm now questioning my sanity in this decision). 

He admitted to liking women under 5'3". I asked him, "Why do you prefer women under 5'3"? There isn't a huge population of us around." Of course, in my head, I'm immediately thinking of all the reasons some guy (who is 6'3") really likes women my size. Now, before all of my beautiful over 6 ft guy friends who read this come crashing in and defending your love for us smallish girls, let me remind you that I love you and know that that many of you have wonderful, loving, sweet, and understandable reasons why you think we are awesome. We are perfectly awesome. Still, when I read that, I heard Jim Kirk in my head raising all systems to yellow alert. (I'll bet Jim Kirk likes small women too...wait...he likes all women...nevermind). I think it was the specificity of his comment. I immediately thought to myself that he must like us because he felt like he had more power over a small woman. 

His response: "Idk maybe I find taller women intimidating" (back to no punctuation).

The man is 6'3" and finds women taller than 5'3" intimidating?! Really? Really?! Has this man never been with a woman smaller than 5'3"? Has he never faced the wrath of an angry under-five-foot? Does he think smaller women are easier to control?

God help this poor man.

At this point I probably should have just said something over the top mean and blocked him, but I had time to kill before Grimm, and I was bored, so I kept the conversation going. 

He wants to know what I'm looking for on okcupid, which is pretty much like asking "What's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?" By now, I've read his profile, and he, like most of the guys on the site are looking for a "woman who is affectionate, honest, and has a loving heart." Let's focus on being honest here because, hey, that's what he's looking for, right?!

I said up front that I wasn't looking for anything serious. 

Soon, however, it became obvious that my definition of "serious" and his definition of "serious" were miles away from one another (damned connotation). 

He jumps to "I'm going to be honest, I'm misunderstood a lot. [could be your run-on sentences, m'dear] What I'm looking for is an loving honest open mate" 

I'm learning that "loving honest open mate" usually means "I want to sleep with you as soon as possible. Hope you understand and don't care about building a real relationship."

He goes on: "When ever I describe what I'm looking for in a relationship and I get to the part about the physical part of a relationship, women somehow get the impression that its all I'm interested in" 

I asked him to explain misunderstood, and then observed that it sounded like he was looking for a wife. I then gently explained that I was not interested in getting married. 

Sidebar [not said to 'bobby']: Now when I say I'm not interested in getting married, let me make it perfectly clear at this point that marriage is not something I don't think about. Being married again could be good. It might even be the best thing ever. Who knows? What I do know [and this is what I said to him] is if I married again, it would only be if the guy was someone who totally knocked me off my feet, took my breath away, and was absolutely someone who I wanted to be with the rest of my life. I'm not saying that I want a perfect man. There are no perfect people (chose that word purposefully). David Tennant is married anyway (joking, joking--David, if you're reading this [doubtful], I wish you and your beautiful bride all the best). Anyway, I'm not looking for the perfect man or mate or whatever. I just want to be happy and my mate to be happy.End of sidebar

It's then we see where his being "misunderstood" begins. He replies, "Okay number one I am not looking for a wife a lot of women are uncomfortable with a live in long term relationship but that's what I'm seeking to start out with" 

Uh. What?! Let's rewind this a minute... "that's what I'm seeking to start out with"

I know. This is the place where I should have stopped the conversation. It's obvious that he is a man who in search of something very different than what I can offer him. Instead, I took upon myself to clarify why women my age (but I meant  women with any sense at all) misunderstand what he wants. I explained that most women my age are cautious at best and aren't going to just move in with a guy they've just met. He, however, continued the discussion with reasoning that a physical relationship is important or the two people involved are just friends.

Friendship is usually where good relationships start, bud. Just saying. He then told me that "life's too short to waste time."

After that, it became clear, as my friend Thomas later observed, that "bobby" was thinking he was a lion and I was a wildebeest on the arid plains of okcupid. What he didn't count on is me turning him down and making him justify himself for me. I had to tell him twice more that I wasn't the girl he was looking for [he failed the nerd test I planted in that statement too...he didn't laugh at my Jedi mindtrick joke...]. He told me he was sad to see me leave the conversation as I was an "exciting and challenging woman." It's good to know I can evoke those feelings with guys. 

He did say that he'd have liked to take me to dinner and have face-to-face time. He felt that most women cut off that part too early and there was no way to figure out if we had chemistry. It's sad that he doesn't get that he's killing himself right in front of women who might date him if he'd dial it back from eleven. 

"Life's Too Short to Waste Time"

I am in my mid-forties. I totally get how some people get this attitude of not wanting to waste time growing into a relationship, physical or otherwise. It's hard to be alone. It's hard to wait and be patient to grow into a relationship or to find one at all. One of the things he kept pushing in the conversation was that moving in was a perfect solution because (a) it meant everyone was in one place, so no dashing between houses and (b) if the relationship didn't work, no harm, foul, or legal ties.

As Amanda observed, this guy must have been burned badly.

I have to flip this around a bit though. Life is  too short to waste time and jump into living with someone you only barely know only to have to leave the situation in a few months. Life is too short not to want to take your time and end up with something better that will be long term.

Interesting AND Educational

So I told Amanda that while this conversation was disturbing, it was interesting (he kept me engaged for an entire hour) and educational. I felt like I learned a few important things here:

• My word definitions are sometimes different from others. Clarity is important, particularly when discussing relationships. "Serious" to you may not be reflective of "serious" to your conversation partner. Ask questions and be clear. 

• I know more what I want than I first thought, and I'm able to express those wants pretty clearly, even if the conversant in question doesn't want to acknowledge those desires.

•  If I guy says he's looking for a loving open relationship, he's probably looking for something sexual. That's ok, but not if that's not what you want, that's ok too.

I'm not sure if I'm going to continue this "little experiment." Who knows? It might be fun to have one "OkCupid" post a week here, just for the comic value. Life's too short to waste time not laughing about this stuff. 

Striking a Balance

I want to apologize for dropping off the planet for the last week or so. Last Monday, I reluctantly returned to work (land of the whining and desperate student), and quickly found myself turning energies toward things like dealing with students and other matters. Then Gina called me Tuesday night, and we began talking about how much she loved some of my writing (it means a great deal when your children value your writing or creative activities). She pushed me to pull out a play I wrote in grad school for a playwright class. It was a one-act play and she'd pretty much watched me as I developed and pushed out a version of the play back in 2009 (at least, I'm pretty sure it was 2009...still not sure about that). I spent the evening finding the play on one of my old flash drives, putting it on my laptop and on my Google drive and Dropbox, and then going back over the play because it was a long time since I'd visited with these characters. I was shocked at how well the play read after all this time. 

In all honesty, I always am surprised by my writing. I'm not sure why. I know I am a competent (maybe even talented) writer, but I still read my work and am not sure how that person who is representing on the page (or screen) is the same person I see in the mirror every day. It's a mystery. Still, the play was strong---until the last page. 

The ending was missing!

I freaked out. I texted Amanda. I probably would not have freaked out so much if I hadn't decided to enter the play in a contest where the deadline was less than a week away (the deadline was today). I remembered the ending I'd originally written for the piece. I also remembered that the readers in the class gave it mixed reviews. The general consensus was that it didn't work. At the time, I was frustrated. It was a perfect ending to me at the time. I was attempting to avoid something that would be too sentimental. I guess the consensus is what made me leave the piece so long. Maybe that's why the ending was missing too. I vaguely remember trying to rework the end, and getting frustrated and deleting it. 

Then I had an idea. I would let a few friends read the play, get comments, and while that was going on, I'd think on how to reconstruct the ending. I sent it to Amanda and Thomas, my game master, who was a real comfort when I first started freaking out about the ending. Then another friend popped up and asked to read as well (by then I'd posted an "OMG" sort of status on my Facebook account), so I sent Terry the Preacherman a link as well. I also added Gina to the Dropbox link because I figured since she'd prompted this madness, she should get to read my work too. 

I got several kind comments and one "Do it," from Gina. Thursday rolled around and I still had no ending. On top of this, I was EXHAUSTED!

Let me explain something at this point. I am not a nocturnal person. I never have been. This has curtailed much of my ability to become a party girl or to have many late night adventures (ok, that's not completely true, but it's pretty true). If I'm awake till midnight or beyond, there's usually a good reason---like my brain can't sleep, or, like last Wednesday night, I am gaming (BTW great game and a shout out to my fellow members of the Order of the Wednesday Knights). Last week, I had two nights of not going to bed till well after midnight. Tuesday night I was awake because my brain had started going strong after I found the play on the flash drive. I couldn't sleep. By Thursday night, I'm not really sure how I was functional. In spite of this, I managed to bounce ideas around with Thomas (you will get credit for this, I promise, man. Please don't kill Mezzy. Remember you love her.), and the ending scene was born. I say born. It was more like it sizzled right out of me in an amount of time I'm not sure I can even measure. It was totally different than the original ending. 

It made me cry. 

I never, ever cry over my own work. 

I passed around the completed version of the play for comments and help. I was not about to send something that didn't work to a contest where $600 was on the line. People were kind and helpful, and I am thankful for their help. Saturday morning, I sent it on its way. Now I wait. 

This post, however, is about striking a balance, right?

I find that I have a hard time striking balance, especially when my creative energy goes all over the place. This is why I spend some weeks knitting like there is no tomorrow, and then bounce over and work like a madwoman on my novel, and then work on this blog and post several times in a week, and enter contests, and tweet. I bounce a lot because I am engaged by several things. I am always impressed by people who keep an almost daily blog. I did it myself for a few years with Cult of the Invisible Woman (seems like a lifetime ago). It's difficult to manage being consistent that way when your brain goes a lot of different directions. 

And no, I do not have ADHD. I'm just interested in lots of different things and fill my life with those things.

I've worked for years to balance out everything, and have come to the general feeling that balance is not possible. Maybe that's okay. Just do things as you come to them and as you feel them, and as long as there is no deadline, you're fine. I've found that if I approach my life that way, I'm a lot happier and less stressed. I do have certain things I do at certain times, do not get me wrong. I am on a schedule of sorts. I grade at certain times and accomplish things on time (note me getting the play into the contest before the deadline). Still, I am working on not letting my many possibilities for creative activity overwhelm me. I'm just doing it. 

Maybe that's the key to everything. 

My Very Special Spring Break: Day Two

Invitation

A few weeks ago, Kathy asked me if I wanted to take a trip to Berry College during Spring Break. We have a mutual friend, Mark, who teaches literature there, and he had extended an invitation through her to come up and sit in class and then tour campus. I had no real plans, so I said yes. Even though I'm a Georgia native, I'd never been to Berry and thought it would be fun. 

Beautiful Berry College

For those of you who are unfamiliar with Berry College, it is located in Rome, Georgia, which is north of where I live. My only real connection to the college at all were via other people. My friend, Ed, attended and graduated from the college in the eighties. I once worked with a woman who was related to Martha Berry, founder of the school,and wore that relation as a badge of honor. Finally, Mark, who teaches there. 

Visitation

I have a love for college campuses. They are a place of comfort and home for me. If I could live on a campus (not my work campus...it's comfortable but not liveable), I would do so. Berry is everything I would want in a home college. 

As Kathy and I arrived, after an hour or so on the highway, I was struck by the rural, pastoral feel of the place. The long front drive lead us past fences where cows grazed and huge trees and green...lots and lots of green. 

We found our way to Mark's class...late. I found myself entering his classroom the way I used to enter classrooms when I was late. I was quiet, respectful, and made every attempt to slip in the back and not be seen. As the lecture and discussion proceded, I was reminded how much I lived for literary discussion, and how much I missed it. 

Then we visited his office, and then we wandered onto campus. 

When I say this place is full of magic, I mean this in the most serious way. There is so much beauty on this campus (it's the largest campus in the world...I mean, wow, right?). 

Chapel Window

Berry has the feel of what I imagine an English college would feel like. I think that's what Martha Berry must have had in mind when she dreamed the college and the campus and it shows. 

I found myself wanting to have an office that looked out over the campus. I'd open the window, which would look out over the green and the beautiful pools in front of the ancient looking buildings. I would write daily, teach daily, and then walk to my house on campus and have supper and maybe entertain friends. I could do this life. 


The paths beneath our feet were stone, and not smooth at all. It was very charming. I began taking pictures, mostly because some of the buildings reminded my of the city the novel I'm working on is partly set in. I snapped pictures for Melissa, sending them to her immediately with "OMG" and comments telling her what I was seeing through my fictional filter. 


We visited several chapels, and also the what is known as the Mountain Campus, which is 

Mill on Mountain Campus

three miles up a mountain. There is yet another chapel, and a pond. There is also so a mill that was built by students. It actually functions, and is used to grind corn once a year now. 

What struck me was the sense of peace and belonging I had there. The campus embraced me or I embraced it and I felt no sense of urgency, no pressure, not anything like that.

Instead, I felt energized. Maybe it was the sun or the spring warmth or the walking in nature. All I know is that when we drove away, I felt a sort of contentment. A contentment of having been there, and a contentment in being me in myself. The writer was happy and the woman was happy. 

We ended our visit gazing through borrowed binoculars at an eagle's nest, waiting to see one or both of the adult inhabitants rise from caring for their young. We were surrounded by people who had been there pretty much all day. They had picnics and camp chairs and cameras with high powered lenses, and they were waiting. I think they have something right here. They were happy and chatting about the eagles. There was no complaining. It was a party...over something natural.

Coming Home

The entire day was so worth it. I'm glad I decided to say yes and I'm glad I followed through and went. As we made our way back to 75 and to the world of Metro-Atlanta, I came to the conclusion that I need these sorts of adventures, especially since I'm in the process of transitioning from childhood mom to adult mom. It's moments like this that help me figure out and redefine myself. Maybe we all need to find those trips and those places and those people who can help us when we have to make transitions and relearn our way around ourselves. 

First Official Day of My Very Special Spring Break

Finally...Well, Not Exactly

After a long semester mixed with stress and bordom (yes, you can have both), I have made it to the ever-longed for, always highly anticipated Spring Break. This means that I am allowed to sleep until 7:30 in the morning instead of the customary 6 am that I normally faced with Monday through Friday. I choose the word "allowed" with intent, as my mother (superhero codename "Sleep and Eat Nazi') actually knocked on my bedroom door this morning and said rather loudly, "Breakfast is ready." 

As Dave Barry is wont to say, "I am not making this up." 

Now, in fact, I was already awake thinking of my day, reading Amanda's latest message on my phone with a David Tennant article and pictures (we are both HUGE fortysomething fangirls)--I was looking at the pictures, of course, and feeling a bit secure right there in my bed. 

Of course, my mother had been up since probably around 4:30 this morning. 

It would be really easy to get really frustrated with mom because of her desire to raise the entire household no later than 8 am. I work hard, pay bills, and sometimes, I just want to luxuriate in my own bed with no time constraints. I also want someone to bring me coffee and danish whilst I luxuriate in my own bed. 

Stop laughing, Amanda. I can hear it all the way over here. 

One morning, it dawned on my why my mother wakes us up no later than 8 am.

She's bored and hungry and lonely. 

Now most logical people would enjoy this pre-family time. They would make coffee, have a cup or two, read the paper, have some breakfast on their own, and be done with it. My mother, however, does not work this way. She reads the paper (if it doesn't come on time, it's a whole new drama--her day is in shambles by the time I'm up) and messes around in the kitchen some. Then she makes breakfast, usually while I'm up at 6 attempting to make Stuart's lunch for school. 

 I try to not complain much. She makes us a real breakfast every morning. Every morning. She likes having us all at the table even if all we do is sort of grunt while she rambles on about the weather and what she read in the newspaper before we were awake and what she thinks we should do during the day ahead. It's a nice thought, and I respect this choice of hers. Really. 

Just not on the first official day of my very special Spring Break. 

Spring Break: The Dream

Spring Break would be a lot different if I didn't live with the "Sleep and Eat Nazi." I would probably still be in bed writing this instead of on my couch fully dressed. Stuart would still be in bed,but he'd be snoring (yes, son, you DO snore. Don't kid yourself. I have video evidence.). Best case scenario, I'd have someone to bring me coffee and danish in bed. I'm not sure who that someone would be. It would be really nice though, and since this is MY dream, there would be someone (to be named later) to bring me coffee and danish in bed. 

My window would open onto a small patio where I could see the ocean and smell the salt air. This patio would have a hammock and a papasan chair. I might decide to get up out of my bed and drink my coffee and eat my danish on the patio while still wearing my pajamas. I'd read, take in the soft sun of the rising morning, and generally take my time. 

Maybe that someone would bring me more coffee. Yeah. That'd be nice. 

I'd work on the ever growing novel that is currently stored in my now slightly outdated MacBook (2009, late spring. Still runs like a top). 

No one would knock on my door, bellowing, "Breakfast is ready." No one would care how long I stayed in my pyjamas or that "things have to get done." 

Spring Break: Reality

Those of you who know me, know that I love my mother. She is the bomb. No one makes cakes, pies, and bread like my mom. No one sews like my mom. No one can love me the way mom loves me. No one is like my mom. I have this dream of a different Spring Break only because I just want to do things differently. I know some of my millions of readers will want to post, "Oh, you shouldn't whine about your mom. One day you won't have her around."

I know this. Believe me. I remind myself of this every time I want to snark or throw something at my bedroom door when she wakes me at 7:30 with "Breakfast is ready."

Still. It's Spring Break. I just want to meander into it if that's ok. 

A Prank a Writer Should Never Pull on Those Who Love Her

What Not to Say When Pranking on Facebook

So about two hours ago, this is what I posted as my Facebook status:

I turned in my resignation this morning and will commence Operation First Novel immediately. This is a huge step for me, but my patron (who will remain unnamed at this time) has assured me that I need to take this step. This patron has also provided me with my own house and has paid off all of my bills. Thank you all for your support in this endeavor.

At the time, I thought it was pretty outlandish and funny. Looking back, I probably should have said "Sugar Daddy" instead of "Patron" because (1) the term would have been exceptionally out of character for me and (2) at least one person would have gotten a huge laugh out of me using the term since it is his theory that when I say "Patron," I mean "Sugar Daddy." Even using the term "Patron," I thought that most people would read and respond as my dear friend, Jennifer, did by saying, "Sure you did." 

Now please (especially those of you who responded differently), do not think that I believe that my friends are not smart. I have exceptional friends. Surprisingly, however, people responded in a very different way that caused me to rethink this whole idea (or at least the prank part of the idea...the rest is still pretty cool). 

How My Friends Responded

1. "Awesome! I am so excited for you!"

2. "And what a great day to make a fresh start!"

3. "Wow! I need a patron like that!"

I sat in the parking lot of Firehouse Sub on Powder Springs Street and watched my phone blow up with well-wishes and greetings. As the comments started piling up, I began to feel sort of bad. This wasn't people just being naive. No. These people really want me to do well, and thought I'd finally found that person, that one person who would help me do what it took to climb to my dream. My friend, Crystal, called me on it, and reminded me that while it was a day for pranks, maybe this one was a bit too close to people's hearts. 

What was meant to be a moment where my friends giggle and roll their eyes, turned into a moment of "Oh God. These people...they believe in my little dream."

I was stunned.

How I Responded

So I posted a new status:

Ok, folks. I know that some of you are buying into the Patron/writer post I made earlier. 

It's not real. It's an April Fool's Joke. I wish it could be real (and yes, [add friend's name here]...I know...Patron is really a Sugar Daddy...I know), but for now, I'm still teaching, still living with Mom and Dad, and still writing when I have spare moments. Still, your kind encouragement and responses have been very cool to read. 

Please don't hate me. ♥

I wanted to say so much more. I wanted to tell everyone that their words help me know how much I need to do this project. Their love helps me continue to believe when I have nothing left inside of me and stare at a blank screen trying to nudge the novel forward. I want them to understand that as much as we writers like to pretend that writing is a solitary act, if we are honest, we have to admit that for our writing to transcend, it has to be supported and encouraged by people who are honest and honestly love the artist and his or her work (by honest and honestly, I mean that the people are supportive but truthful when a work is really awful as well being kind when a work has merit or is really amazing). I also wanted to tell them that those moments when they say simple words like "I'm going to pray that this happens," really mean a great deal because I know that when certain friends say this, they will do as they say. 

Emotional Crowd Surfing

Amanda Palmer (who is such the stuff...you should read her blog...amazing woman) talked in her TED talk last month about how she loves crowd surfing. She puts herself in the hands of complete strangers and trusts that they will not drop her or hurt her. It's really cool.

I know most of my friends in real life on Facebook (not all of them, but most of them), so this is not exactly the same, but the principle is the same. When people extend that sort of love and support over my success (and my failures or weakness...I post about both or all), it feels like I'm crowd surfing. The kind comments and prayers, the moments spent in private messaging, the laughter and the condolences lift me up and let me know that I'm not silly in my belief that my creative endeavors are important. All of this reminds me to believe and trust and work harder and try again and again.

I don't write to please my friends or anyone but myself. Let me say that. My creative energy does not depend on praise. My creative energy does, however, thrive on positive support and input and lots of love. 

So all of you who commented on my posts---THANK YOU! I may still be living with my parents and teaching by day and writing in the margins, and I may never get that Sugar Daddy Patron( ;-p , Jon), but I feel the love. That's pretty cool. 

The Successful Woman in the 21st Century

Morning Reading

It's Saturday morning, and it's not uncommon for me to surf through Facebook and Twitter and other places in search of things that are interesting to read. Before computers, I would have lounged in my jammies (which I still do) and read the newspaper and watched tv news. I still do those things, but much more of my reading is Internet based now. 

But I digress. 

I was twittering along and stumbled on an article from The Globe and Mail by Margaret Wente about Sheryl Sandberg's new book, Lean In (Ms. Sandberg is Facebook's COO). Ms Sandberg gives advice on how to be a successful woman. She says all the usual mishmash of being assertive, ignoring your guilt, mastering your fear, so it's not really that groundbreaking to me. Ms. Wente suggests that women instead of leaning in, lean back. 

Lean In/Lean Back? WTH?

As I read, I found myself thinking, "What is this leaning in and leaning out all about anyway?" When I think of leaning in, I think of paying attention or maybe leaning in for a kiss. Maybe I'm just too basic for all this technical talk about success. We'll just say that what Ms. Sandberg's "Lean In" means is paying attention (I doubt she supports kissing as a step to success even if it is a very good activity to participate in). If we are paying attention, we are giving ourselves a chance to succeed. Ok. I can buy that. I teach my students that. In my classes, if you want to succeed, you pay attention or lean in. 

Ms. Wente uses the term "Lean Back," but doesn't really define what that means. She seems to be linking the term with the idea that women who have heavy duty degrees (obviously they've been leaning in) and high powered jobs are choosing to stay home after having kids. To me, "lean back" seems to mean that these people are paying attention differently, or are maybe relaxing and stepping back from what they thought they might do to attain success. 

How is Success Defined Anyhow?

I'm not really comfortable with lean in or lean out. I see both as being success. A successful woman is a woman who has come to terms with herself and her life and does it to the best of her ability. "It" could be being the COO of an international firm. "It" could be being the COO of your household. "It" could be any number of things.

Something I've known for a while is that how women define themselves is really different than how men define themselves. Women define through relationships and men through their work. I haven't read Ms. Sandberg's book (I have heard some interviews and read some articles), but it seems like she's attempting to refit the female mindset about success. Leaning in sounds an awful lot like she's telling us to man up. Define our success by our ability to master the workplace and lead the charge. Now, I'm all for women in powerful positions. The glass ceiling needs to be be destroyed. I'm just not sure that's the step for me. 

I am a successful English instructor at a technical college close by. I am not an administrator, and probably never will be. I am not politic enough to make that work. I could "lean in" and make that happen and be high powered and, by Sandberg's definition, successful. It's not what I want though. What I want is to write and teach (I want to teach literature---that would be great success for me). Does that make me less successful than my bosses (who are all female, btw)? I don't think so. My students don't think so either. 

I could have "leaned back" when I had kids, but I really didn't have that option. I had to have a career because I had to pay for my kids to have things like clothes and education and food. My mother leaned back in the mid 60s when my brother and I were born. She has worked in this house for forty-six years, and pretty much leaned back as much as she was able. It worked for her. She is successful--as successful as I am. She has managed to raise me and my brother and has helped me raise my own two kids.

Telling Me How to Succeed

I'm not sure I am comfortable with anyone telling me the path to success. I've found that success is a personal choice and a personal matter. There are some basics that everyone should know about success:

1. Success comes from you. No one can gift you with it. 

2. Certain activities feed success. Certain activities feed failure. Learn which do what in your life.

3. Measure yourself against no one. 

4. Ask for help. 

5. Accept constructive criticism.

6. Know yourself and learn from your mistakes. 

Over the last year, I watched my best friend change her life completely after working for many years in the same position. She quit her job. She was physically ill. She was mentally crushed. A year later, she is becoming physically sound and mentally strong. She's doing what she wants to do. She's finding her inner strength. She is more successful than she has been for a long time. There's no high powered position involved, but that doesn't matter. She's finding herself and her power and it lies outside any job or career or anything like that. There was no leaning in. There was, however, some breaking out. 

I'm not sure we should measure ourselves or others by what they do or don't do professionally or at home. Our measure of success boils down to how happy we are in our lives. I'm successful, not because I'm a teacher, but because I've found those things that make me hum inside. Amanda is successful, not because she works on computers or pushes to to three jobs in one, but because she has found her creative self again and is learning to love herself. 

So who is the successful woman in the 21st century? Whoever the hell she chooses to be! And she doesn't have to lean in or out. She just has to be herself. 

Kites, Convertables, and Time with Friends

Flying High:

Paul (my brother) flew a Spongebob kite.
Took a great picture too. 

My friend, Bryan, does something every March that is just beyond cool. He hosts an event called "Airtime." This is an event that brings us all to Swift-Cantrell Park in Kennesaw, Georgia where we can bring our own kites or use one of the $1.00 kites that Bryan brings along with him to share with the kids at the park. The idea is to get as many kites in the air as possible, but, more importantly, to also have fun. 

This year, Bryan hosted two Saturdays of Airtime, and yesterday was the last day. I was on the fence about going initially. A lot was going on at the House of Nettles. Paul and his daughter were in town from Texas. It was the first time we'd seen either of them since Christmas (online does not count), and I wasn't sure what they'd want to do. Luckily, two things were on the side of going-- (1) the weather was super [upper sixties] (2) they were interested in going. We all hopped into the Mustang convertible Paul had rented for the weekend, and with the wind in our hair, we headed to Kennesaw. 

It has been years since I'd flown a kite, but after a little nudging in the right direction, I had a $1 Spiderman (Amazing Spiderman that is) kite riding the air current and avoiding the kite-eating tree. Paul put a Spongebob kite up, while my niece put up a Darth Vader kite and my son, Stuart, flew a second Spiderman kit. I looked around after a few minutes and saw something that was cool. All of us were smiling. It didn't matter that Darth Vader decided to break away and fly without my niece's guidance. It didn't matter that Stuart's kite was bent strangely (it still flew). It didn't matter that my kite often hit the ground before getting back up. The sky was crystal blue and the sun was warmer than it's been in months. 

As I flew and guided my kite, I was struck by how the kite could be taken up by powerful updrafts that I couldn't see, and then dropped hard when those winds stopped. The kite dropped out of the sky many times, but if I took time to pull the string back to me and reset the kite in the wind, the wind would lift it back up and soon it'd  be flying high again.

I was also struck at how zen this activity was for me. I didn't have to do or be anything in that moment. The wind did all the work for me if I just allowed it to. I could have stayed out there all day.

Little Mustang Convertible:

Yesterday was the perfect day for riding in a convertible. The wind was not that chilly and the sun was warm. Riding in the car was a real treat. It's been a long time since I've gotten the chance to ride in a Mustang convertible. I had momentary flashbacks to high school and riding in Ed's Mustang convertible. We'd stuff as many people into that car as possible, including one in the trunk. It is amazing that we never had any accidents or were pulled over.

Something that didn't occur to me as we rode in the sun and the wind and I took in the warmth of early spring, is that I was entering spring after a long, cold winter, which I spent primarily indoors. Usually, I get one sunburn a year, and that's not till April. My skin is not of the pale white variety, like many of my Celtic friends and cousins. I tan easily and get darker as the spring and summer progresses. When we got home, I looked in the mirror, and saw that my annual sunburn had come early. It hurts, but I wouldn't trade what we did for the world. 

Beer with Friends:

My brother and niece left yesterday afternoon, and my son decided to go hang with friends. It was St. Patrick's Day Eve, and my co-workers, Frank and Ashley, asked me to go have a drink with them last night. I'm not a party girl. Not by a long shot. Going out on St. Paddy's weekend isn't my usual idea of fun, but I love Frank and Ashley and Ashley's man, Kenneth, so I agreed to go. If you have a chance to go to Meehan's in Vinings, Georgia, do so. 

It was very crowded last night, and we weren't sure we'd stay, but then Ashley found a table outside, and we were set for the evening. Just as with the kites, I was struck by the simplicity of the act of our gathering. We ate and drank (I think I might have had a bit too much) and talked. Ashley told us that Kenneth had said that he wanted to hang out with her friends (he lives out of town---their relationship is one of the few long-distance relationships I've seen work well). She told him that her only friends were her co-workers. I find that particularly moving. I feel pretty honored that she counts me as a friend, mostly because Ashley is a particularly driven person and she's twenty years younger than me.

So, Your Point?

Yesterday was about friends. I am surrounded by amazing people who make me laugh and cry and think. My inner dialogue often tries to convince me that I am alone or that I can't connect with other people very well. It likes to tell me that I'm awkward and people don't like me. That I'm an acquired taste.

This weekend has been filled with laughter and people I love. My life is more than full of people who, apparently, have acquired the taste of being with me. Knowing that should be enough for anyone. I need to hold on to the zen of the kite and the warmth of sun and the embrace of friends who are there for me, even late at night when I feel sad or lonely.

Y'all have a great week. 

Speaking vs. Writing or Why I Sometimes Have to Write Instead of Speak

“Writing feels safer somehow. I can catch myself before I say the wrong thing.” ― Hillary Frank

Social Anxiety:

I have to admit something that some of you may be shocked over. I have a social anxiety. Sometimes, it's hard for me to say what I want to say or to speak at al. It's not a speech impediment. It's more a fear that the wrong words will come out or that I will say something that will make everyone uncomfortable, especially myself. I hate feeling awkward, mostly because that's how I've felt for most of my life. I also have problems speaking in front of groups or being comfortable around people I don't know very well. Parties can be nightmarish for me. I have been known to go to parties and then hide in the kitchen the entire evening because, well, I was overwhelmed and worried that I'd say or do something that someone would reveal to be unacceptable. 

Those of you who know me, know that I fake my way through this anxiety. I wasn't always able to do that, but have worked hard to push my anxiety to the back. For the most part, I'm good at it. I am now able to go to gatherings and actually be able to share my ideas with confidence, for the most part. I can even talk in front of groups (another part of the anxiety that caused me endless grief in school). 

Sometimes, however, I still find that I can't find the words to say what I need or want to say to someone. The more intensely I feel about something, the more I want to go shut myself down. 

Speaking:

I do have times when I speak (of course---otherwise I'd be a hermit. A really bad hermit because I don't like to be alone.) In fact, I speak probably way more than I should. For a long time, I believed that I was not very articulate and only parrot what others tell me. Someone in my life actually told me that. I'm now convinced that he did that because I was intimidating when I did participate in conversations, and had no idea that I was. I just talked. One thing that I've learned over the years is that if someone takes you off at the soul and downplays your personal power long enough, that act will cause a great deal of doubt on your part. I can blame this person for being nasty, and he was. I also see how I allowed this to happen.

I stopped speaking much in groups because I was too anxious that I was just a parrot and no one cared about my ideas anyway. There were people in my church who told me that they didn't realize that I could talk so much. It took years and lots of personal pushing to make myself speak out. When I did, ideas poured out. I questioned everything. 

Now, I tend to be pretty straightforward, which makes some people a little uncomfortable. I don't like that they are uncomfortable, but I have to be straightforward or I don't say anything at all (sometimes that happens). I work hard to be straightforward, but sometimes that old anxiety creeps back in and I'm silent. I get anxious over strong emotion. 

Writing:

One thing that has helped me with social anxiety is the Internet. I find it ironic that so many people think that the Internet and social media has caused people to disconnect. The Internet is how I began to find my voice and learn how to use it in a more confident manner. It helped me learn how to deal with people who are hurtful and how to think before I said hurtful things (sometimes I still fail in this regard, but it's a journey, right?). It allowed me to feel unafraid of saying things that I might otherwise hide or hold back on saying to a friend or someone I cared for. 

When I'm nervous about speaking certain ideas or feelings, I write instead of speak. Like the quotation above observes, "Writing is safer..." I can make sure I'm saying exactly what is in my head. If I speak, there's a huge possibility that I will not express my feelings as well as if the words are on the screen or on paper. If I take the time to write my feelings down and craft my phrases and shape my sentences in a way that reflects my inner voice, that means I want my reader to understand exactly what I want to say and that what I'm writing/thinking/wanting to say is supremely important to me. I write in these moments because I value that person and friendship enough that I don't want spoken words to get in the way of true intent.

I can control my words, and just like the quotation points out, "I can catch myself before I say the wrong thing." I do this because I don't like to have people staring at me like I'm crazy. I've had that going on most of my life, and while I'm used to it, I don't like it. 

Soooo...if I send you an e-mail or private message you or text you or write to you on a napkin at a bar, it isn't because I don't want to look at you or see your face or have a moment one-on-one. It also isn't me being a child. It's me finding a way to say all I want to say to you in a way that I can be sure you totally understand the feelings I'm sharing with you. It's me fighting that social anxiety until I can get past the strong emotional charge and I can talk calmly and rationally with you. I just don't want to speak the wrong words.

Honesty

Lately, I've been working a lot on different aspects of my own life and inner self. It seems to be the mission I have for 2013. I know some people make resolutions at the beginning of the year, and while that seems to work sometime, resolutions quickly become more like cages for me. Maybe I demand too much of myself, or have constrictive approaches to the situation. At any rate, I no longer make resolutions. Instead, I spend some time thinking about things I need or want and begin a search for how to make those things happen. Last year, I wanted to find ways to relax and to learn how to socialize more. After a little inner study and a little Internet study, I found that I wanted to knit to relax. I also began to talk to my friends, and ended up socializing and becoming part of a small church group at a huge church in Atlanta. With that mission completed or ongoing, I decided to find out what my mission was for 2013.

This year, after talking to several friends who have rounded some significant creative and personal corners, I began thinking about my own creative and personal life. I knew I needed to do things somewhat differently than I'd been doing them. My writing life had stagnated. I've talked about my writing and fear before in this blog, and at the beginning of the year, I felt ashamed of myself because I was not writing. I told a friend that I was a "lazy writer," and he said something to me that was simple, but resonated. He told me I wasn't lazy just busy, which is true. He also encouraged me to keep at it and also to start a blog again. I've had friends say this to me before, but this time, it seemed to register as something I should take as a mission. So far, I've stepped up this part of my mission for 2013 (as illustrated with this blog and all of you millions of readers). I've begun to talk to other people who are writers and are getting published consistently. While this part of the mission is far from over, I feel like I'm getting out there and making that change I've been afraid to make to this point in my life.

For those of you who want to get some encouragement and meet some pretty cool writers, get on Twitter. I kid you not. I started tweeting after going to Dragon*Con in 2011. I stopped for a while, and then went back, mostly because I'd already followed a few sci-fi/fantasy authors, and realized that they were a vast, untapped (in my world) resource for learning about getting published and about things like self-publishing. There is something very good about seeing others struggling with getting words on the page some days and then having days of remarkable success. 

"Honesty Is Such a Lonely Word:"

Another part of my 2013 mission is to reconsider how I deal with people and activities in my life as well as what I do with that inner dialogue, which goes on no matter how much I sometimes wish it were otherwise. I got to thinking about this after my trip to Fort Mountain and spending some time with IK, King of the Trolls. IK struggles with a lot of the same issues creatively and personally that I do, so our conversations are usually pretty cool. He has come to a place where he can approach a lot of things in his life with a sort of positive energy that has helped him grow and become strong. After talking to him and working with him on a project recently, I learned that his change has come from how he interacts with himself and others. I began thinking about how I interacted with myself and with those around me, and knew there were things I could change as well. 

I am not my biggest fan. This comes from years of being warned of pride and arrogance. Tooting my own horn made me feel as though I was pushing myself or my work on people. I even become nervous around other people who say nice things about me or my work. I have had to learn to not deflect kind words and just say thank you. Inversely, I have also had to learn not to bait others into saying nice things about me. I want those nice words to be said without my having to ask, "Did you like that story?" or make excuses about how it wasn't just right (because you know when you do that, no person is going to back away from saying, "Oh, don't worry. It was just awesome."). [Never make excuses about your writing. Ever. You can joke about your grammar, and you can even discuss why you think something works, but never make excuses.] One thing I'm working on is telling myself that I am awesome, which is different than arrogance. Arrogance would be telling myself that I am more awesome than all of you. My level of awesome should not depend on another's lack of awesome. I've started telling myself that I am awesome and I look awesome and my work is awesome. Doing this has helped me trust myself and my judgement a lot more, which has allowed me to do something else that I struggle with a lot.

I struggle with honesty. 

Now, I don't mean to say that I lie or am a chronic liar. Not at all. Except, that sometimes I omit certain truths in order to make my way through certain situations. It's what we all do on a daily basis to survive. I even lie to myself to help myself feel better. I won't tell people things sometimes because, well, I don't want them to think less of me or walk away from me because I'm not as awesome as they might think I am. 

Billy Joel's song (you can hear it above) says, "Honesty is such a lonely word." I find that to be mostly true. When you are honest, really honest, you are stripping down everything you put up to protect yourself. Lies, half-truth, quarter-truths---they are usually barriers to what you fear. Honesty is when you walk out from behind the castle walls with nothing on but a pretty floral bonnet, and if you push it, you probably need to drop the pretty floral bonnet too.

Honesty is lonely because it means you are bare and everyone (or who ever you bare yourself to) is staring at you. 

Sometimes it's just easier to keep your truth to yourself and spare yourself the imagined pain.

"Honesty Is Hardly Ever Heard:"

I often worry that people really don't want to hear your honesty either. The act of honest speaking scares them as much as it scares me. Maybe it's because when I reveal my own truth, that truth pushes them to also be truthful, which means they also have to drop their  own pretty floral bonnet. Sometimes, if you hear the truth, it is painful because it shows that you haven't hid your painfully ugly issues as well as you thought. It's easier (so we tell ourselves) to hide from those things you fear.

Notice how fear and dishonesty work together. 

I think fear and dishonesty twist because people say unkind things in the name of truth and honesty. I'm guilty of that. We mistake making unkind observations for honesty and truth. Honesty, at least as I've come to see it, should not be used as weaponry. I feel guilty for the times I have used it as such.

Jesus said something to the effect of "the truth shall set you free." I argue that the truth wielded as a sword to lop off the heads of those who make you angry is not exactly what He had in mind. 

When honesty becomes weaponry, it will not be heard as it should be heard. It will propagate fear, which will make people less likely to be honest. 

As a side note, I found a study done by, Honest Tea last summer. Apparently, I'm not the only one struggling with honesty. Go take a look and see how your city ranks in the Index. 

"Mostly What I Need from You:"

I've been working on being more open and honest, which means I'm working on fighting my fear as well. Writing this blog is part of this mission. That doesn't mean I'm going to tell all on these pages. I have people in my life who are probably relieved at this moment. What it means is that I will tell you more about how I struggle with everything. I'm not asking for pity or pats on the head or expecting you to tell me that I'm awesome and all will be well. 

I just need to be open. 

I'm also working on this in my relationships. This probably means that I will have friends who get surprised by me on occasion (although if you've known me long enough, not much should surprise you at this point). What I'm finding is by being bare with my friends, I'm allowing them to see me as me, and they love me (unless you all are lying to me) despite all my many flaws (once again, no one better make comments that indicate that you are patting me on my head---I'm not fishing for compliments here).

Mostly what I need from you (all of you, my beloved million readers) is for you to respond and be as open. I guess what I'm saying is that I need open dialogue, and I feel I need to be  less afraid about what is going on in my mind and in my heart.

Let's see how my mission goes...