What Do You Want To Do With Your Life?

Me. The day I helped Planned
Parenthood collect
signatures for a Patient Safety Zone

Awhile ago on Twitter, someone posted a quote that said something like:

Never place your goals in people. People can let you down. Set your goals so that you can accomplish them.

It's kind of stuck with me. That was the defining moment where I realized that I could be happy being alone. I could be happy never getting married, and becoming that crazy cat and dog lady who reeks of urine.

The other night I was taken to a friend's house. Because I'd had a few beers, my (somewhat) social filter had completely disappeared. I asked questions normal sane people don't ask. (Have you had an abortion? Oh, you have a kid? Why did you decide to have the kid? How old are you now? How old is the kiddo? etc) The primary one was, "What do you want to do with your life?"

Three people eluded to, "I want to find the one." I said okay, cool, but what else? And they stalled.

I'm bitter with the Disney mentality where your Prince will come, rescue you, and save the day. It's up to you to save yourself. Save the kingdom. Save or change the world. You do that. Not your prince.

So, what happens after you find the one? Do you just...snuggle? All the time?

No. People who don't establish themselves in the world don't make healthy relationships. You need to have YOU time, and your significant other needs to have SO time. You need to come together, share a life, be partners. But also be independent.

So, I'll ask this question again:

What do YOU want to do with your life?

The Fear of What If?

I just love books so much

I read a lot of books. It kind of comes with the writing territory. Some books are amazing (like If I Stay, Looking for Alaska, etc), and some are just okay.

But when I finish one of those great books; the ones where the characters haunt me, or the plot annoys me, or I wish I were friends with their friends, I struggle with The Fear of What If.

What if I can't ever write something this good? What if my story doesn't flow as well, if the characters never fully come to life, or if my ending doesn't conclude the way it should? What if...

my writing sucks?

Sometimes I recover quickly from these episodes. Sometimes, I hide my pen and computer for a few days saying, "Well, you should just quit while you're ahead and continue with your dead end job."

I may have a small book addiction...

But some days, I look at the books in my room. I sit among great authors like Alice Hoffman, and Kerry Cohen, and Jodi Picoult. I sit among the books I've loved, and thrown, and not cared about. Their presence brings me a sense of hope. When in doubt, I read an acknowledgement page. When I'm really, really, in doubt, ready to curl in the fetal position and cry, I look at the pictures of authors I've met.

They were like me once. They had blogs. They have tweets. They had hopes, and dreams, and they kept going. They already wrote their books. The great books that I'm jealous of are already out there. I need to write my book, with my words.

So, I open up my computer and stare at the cursor as it blinks back at me.

It's all part of the writing game. (You should keep going, too.)

School Bullying

On Wednesday November 7, 2012, I was invited to Ms. Varner's ASP class. I prepared for about two weeks, doing minor interviews with friends, doing research on my own life, and assembling a power point presentation. (Somehow, without being in college anymore, I forgot how much I love power point!)

Ms. Varner in her classroom

While the groundwork for the presentation had been laid, I still wasn't exactly sure what I was going to say to the class, how to really offer them that, Wow, this may have been life changing, moment. Finally, when my time came, I stood in front of the class and said, "My name is Lynne. Was anyone here for my last presentation?" A few hands shot into the air, and I smiled. I was suddenly among friends. "Well, that one focused a bit more on my home life. Today, I'm here to do a presentation on bullying."

Osteo-Biflex, Eeyore, and a chapter
from my memoir. The things
that helped me present :)

I talked a little bit about who I am now; how I take Osteo-Biflex, and how since I was like 13 years old, I've had my Eeyore in my bed, or at least in my room, every night.

From there, I told stories, about boys who'd been bullied and turned into bullies. I talked about my sister being called Buckie-the-beaver before she got braces.

I discussed with the girls what they consider bullying, whether or not they think it differs from the way males do it verses females. One girl raised her hand, and told the class about getting calls on the weekends from girls saying, "We're having so much fun at this sleepover, why aren't you here? Oh, that's right, because we didn't invite you!" She finished with, "I don't understand why they were so mean, I never did anything to them." Most of the class agreed that girls are more calculated when they bully, that they truly intend to hurt people, where-as they feel boys are more physical (shoving, pushing, tripping).

Then, I talked about who I was at their age. How my house was disgusting, how my mother was never home. I asked them if they would have been friends with me, because while I looked clean that day, I was probably a mess at their age.

Closer to the end, I read an except from my memoir, A Walk to the Ocean which had to be slightly censored and more PG appropriate (I will cover my feelings on censorship hopefully Wednesday). The segment was about being bullied in college by my roommates and co-workers, to the point I tried to kill myself. The line I finished on said, "When I got home, my roommates continued to ridicule me that night, and for the remainder of the summer," then I paused to allow them to digest what I'd read. "When you say mean and hurtful things to people, you never know what's going on in their home lives. Take a look around the room," (I had them sitting in a half arc so they could see me and each other), "you don't know what's going on, whether or not people are getting along with their parents, fighting with their siblings. You don't know if they're being hurt at home, or even if their parents are home. I grew up in a flea infested house, where maggots were growing in the back room, and my mother wasn't ever home." I paused again as the girls looked around at each other. Some heads bowed, some faces turned red. "I came to school because it was clean, because it was safe. You don't know what will push someone over the edge."

From there, I wrapped the presentation up, challenging the girls. I told them that this is middle school. I know they're not going to get along with everyone, or even like everyone. But, maybe, they can just say hi to someone they usually wouldn't. Maybe if they see someone sitting alone during lunch, they can sit with them.

After that, I went to go see my manager from UNE, and we chatted politics, and results from the election. When I returned to Claire's she had dinner waiting:

This looks like something out of a restaurant ad, no?

I was still smiling from the presentation. She asked for some follow up questions, and told me some that she would ask the following week.

A day or so later, I got a Facebook message from one of the girls in class. We've had a few exchanges since, but she was one of the girls who attended my last presentation. She thanked me for coming in, and also said, "My response to a question you asked is: I can honestly say I would be friends with you if we were the same age."

And for a time, I'm reminded, that this is what it's all about.

Happy Monday.

I Pee in the Shower

On October 16, 2012 one of my Life Goals had been accomplished. I was in attendance for a Post Secret event and got to meet the founder of the project.

Frank Warren (the founder of PS) has a theory that we all have secrets, and if we keep them secrets they become walls. But, if we're brave and we tell those secrets, it has the ability to turn those walls into bridges (his words, not mine).

One of the most common secrets he said he gets is "I pee in the shower." I'm not gonna lie, I pee in the shower. I feel like a) it's more environmentally friendly and b) it's a time saver and c) Haha, boys. I can pee standing up, too.

You just, you know, pee first, then lather, rinse, repeat.

Anyways, at the end of the event, Frank invites the attendees to go to the microphones and say something. It can be a secret, it can be a thanks for the project, whatever. And because a year ago last week, I found out I was pregnant, and suicide was a better option than having a child, I went up to the mic. I told my story, about writing "If I test positive I'm going to kill myself," and mailing it in, about having an abortion, chopping my hair off, changing my name, and moving 1,000 miles away.

Frank Warren! I got to shake his hand!

In that aspect, I did kill myself. But, I'm alive. Because I told my friends and my dog my secret, and they kept me alive when I couldn't breathe.

The last girl at the microphone was small, and adorable. She said something along the lines of, "You know, I've always been a goodie-two-shoes. And when I got stoned out of my mind, I realized I have the best friends in the entire world."

The audience cheered for her. I cheered for her. The fourteen year old version of me who believed that Harry Potter was demonic cried a little inside, but thankfully, her voice is getting smaller and smaller by the day.

On the way home, I called my mom. For the last year I've been hiding what happened, why I moved from North Carolina. And I told her. Then we hung up, and I exhaled. I assumed she'd tell me I was a huge disappointment, or that she was disowning me. Instead, less than five minutes later, my phone rang. It was her.

"Hello?" I asked.

"I just wanted to tell you that I still love you," she said.

I smiled. My relationship with my mother is a complicated one. I grew up hating her, moved to Maine to get away from her, and now we chat on a frequent basis. I didn't tell her I loved her back, I wanted to, but I couldn't. Instead, I said, "Thank you. Thank you a lot," and we hung up again.

So, for those of you who pee in the shower, who have holes in your doors from your parents trying to break in and beat you, for those of you who have cutting scars, or want to grow up to become the cat woman, I love you. Don't be afraid of your secrets. Own them, embrace them, share them, and exhale.

You're in good company here :)

Goals and Maple Syrup

Partner in Crime and his girlfriend

I quit drinking for a month and a half. I ran before work, after work, at a track, in the road. I sprained my foot, iced my shins, got shin splits, and blisters, and was tired, a lot. And all the hard work was for one day and one goal. October 7th, 2012, to be under 24 minutes.

Of course, as I got in my car, confident with my GPS...it stopped working. I had no idea how to get to the race, so I called my Partner in Crime and he gave me bulletproof directions. Soon, I met him and his girlfriend at the registration tent.

Though we talked and chatted, and Baxter got to meet other dogs, my nerves were in my stomach, very aware of the tuna sandwich I'd eaten on the drive over. My hands were shaking, it was hard to breathe. I'd had a knee surgery last year. My foot was sprained. But...

I'd trained a month for this race, and it was finally here.

And, it wasn't even raining.

After a warm up, and a hand off of Baxter to the Partner's girlfriend, we stood at the starting line. "If I beat you, you owe me ice cream," I told him.

He chuckled. "If you beat me, I'll buy you ice cream." Days before we'd both said we wanted to defeat the other. He'd been faster than me each time we'd run. I wanted to beat him. I also wanted ice cream.

Then suddenly, the line started moving. We were off. I manged to weave through the bodies first, but within the first two minutes I saw his green shirt pass me. "Son of a bi@#$!" I yelled, while people turned their heads.

 Us looking like thugs
before the race

By the first mile, my foot hurt. My knees ached. It's just a run, I started telling myself. You don't have to beat him. You don't have to prove anything. But I did. I had goals (both realistic and unrealistic). Not only that, but this time last year I was planning my suicide. This race, the fact that I was alive to run it, meant more to me than words can express.

So I talked myself out of slowing down...until I hit the hill.

Take it hard, your legs will have time to recover after. Only...it turned out, I lied to myself. Because right at the bottom of Mt. Everest, was the turn around point...and having to go back on the stupid hill. My legs did not get a break. They did not recover. Breathing was harder. I'd hit the wall. My mind started coming up with every reason why I should stop:

Goals don't matter, just run the race. It's just another run. Who is going to care if you ran a 5K in 25 minutes? At least you ran! 

My feet began taking walking-length strides. My speed slowed. I'd given up. Ahead of me I still saw the green shirt I'd been trying to pace myself with, but I didn't care as he moved farther and farther away from me. I couldn't care. I was in too much pain, I wanted to give up. I seriously considered walking. And then more hills came. Then I considered crying.

But I stayed in motion. The sissy-jog turned back into a somewhat faster jog/run.

And then I saw this:

The finish line

My legs stopped being tired. I threw my arms as if they were independent from my body, as though they were wings carrying me when my feet couldn't. Just as I crossed the finish line, I saw the time: 23:58.

No way. No way!!! I crossed the line smiling. Beaming. Welling with tears of pride rather than pain. I'd reached my goal. Though my Partner in Crime had finished nearly two minutes ahead of me, and though I didn't beat my sister's time, I'd done what I set out to do. And no one was happier than my biggest fan:

He was cheering :)

I was very excited.

After a few rounds of chili trying (and Baxter getting into my cup), and a dog trying to attack Baxter later, we decided to wait for the race results because the PIC was hoping he'd placed. They announced the chili winners first (it was a cook off), then the kid's fun run. Then the announcers separated the ages and began calling out the top three runners for male and female. When they got to the Women's 20-29 division (not 100% sure that that was the age bracket, don't hate), I didn't even flinch. Until they said, "In third place with a time of 26..."

 My eyes popped open. "Sarah, did they just say 26 minutes?"

"Yea," she answered.

"My time was in the 23's..."

Her eyes got big, too. "You placed!"

We did a mini jump while they announced the second place woman. Her time was also in the 26's. My eyes nearly fell out of my head. "Lynne! You got first!!"

Then over the loud speaker, I heard, "In first place with a time of 24:01, Lynne Schmidt." And I giggled (possibly allowed a joyous yelp). HOWEVER, you'll see the time said 24:01. Not quite accurate considering for the first few seconds the PIC and I had to stand still while the people moved in front of us (this is why I don't like un-chipped races). My watch says 23:57, so that's what I'm going with.

Either way, I went to the tent and received my batch of maple syrup and a medal, which I promptly put on Baxter.

"Purple is really his color," Sarah said. We all agreed.

Then, as predicted, the Partner in Crime also placed! The crowd went wild! (Okay, not really, but our small group did!)

We walked away victorious that lovely day in October, our heads held high. The people we loved with us (for the PIC his girlfriend, for me, my pup) to celebrate our achievement. And then I went home, ate a bag of popcorn and a dinner of oreos and napped for four hours.

Cue We are the Champions

And for those of you who say you can't reach your goals, this is living proof that sometimes without meaning to, you can exceed your goals, without even trying :) Keep your head up. Even if you're tired.

Cheers!

Redirection

My blog! My blog! **Hugs Computer** I've missed you. Also, I see I have two new followers. Hello there. Thanks for following :)

As is the story of my life, nothing comes without struggle. I have literally had to fight for every single thing; places to live, food, ginger ale, my job, my dog...my life. Last year, actually a year ago today (I believe) the fight for my life began. Now this year, the fight for Redirection begins. I'll explain this in a story called:

If you look up and toward the right
there's a dark blob.
That is the cat.

Once Upon a Time Baxter Treed My Roommate's Cat

Now, this can't be fully proven. But the first or second night at my new place, I let Baxter outside to go potty before we went back to the basement for the night. His ears perked up, a sure sign he saw something. Within seconds, he darted into the darkness, there was a loud crash (I thought he'd run into a tree, or taken down a tree). After screaming (quietly because everyone in the house was sleeping) he returned unscathed. I figured whatever he went after was unscathed, too.

In the morning, my roommate told me her cat was in the tree. And I don't mean ten feet off the ground, scared to come down. I mean thirty feet in the tree, meowing like she's dying. My only thought is Oh crap, that is totally Baxter's fault. But I smile and play sympathetic, because well...I don't want her to hate me the first week I'm here.

So night comes, the cat's still up there. Morning comes, she's still up there. I have the morning off, so I decide to take matters into my own hands because it's ridiculous that she's been up there so long and chances are, it's my fault. First failed attempt was trying to climb the tree. Well, the branches were small, and the tree I tried to climb was pretty much dead, so each time I put weight, the branches broke...and I have bruises.

After some time stairing upward, I call for reinforcements. Soon, my Partner in Crime arrives. (Turns out he lives down the street. Huge perk to the new place!) I show him the cat, and his jaw drops. Then he asks, "What's the plan?" I explain that I'm going to be like a contestant on Ninja Warrior and still shimmy the tree, but I need a leg up first.

Yes, I totally treed myself

We bring over a picnic table, and angle a slide. I try to shimmy it, and it wobbles. This plan fails, too.

At some point, I stand on the picnic table, and look at the broken branches. Some of them look like little grab-able hand holds. I'm small, but I have a decent amount of upper body strength. So, I jump off the table, and start climbing. I'm going strong until I do the thing you do not do when going high places.

I look down.

And Partner in Crime is very small. And the cat is still above me. "Well," he calls. "You're half way there."

My legs start to shake. My breathing comes in wisps. My heart starts pounding so hard I think it's moving my shirt. "I'm not sure I can go any higher."

"I figured."

I talk to the cat for a few minutes. I tell her I made it half way, it's her turn. She doesn't budge. I get Partner in Crime to take a picture because I blog and tweet about everything, then climb down, forgetting that I'd launched myself from the picnic table. Coming down would mean a small drop. But a small drop to a girl with knee injuries means death, and maybe some crying. But definitely crutches.

With Partner in Crime's guidance, I get as close to the ground as I can go. With my arms fully extended, and my legs dangling beneath me, I prepare to let go. Only...my hands don't release the small stubs I'm clutching. I dangle for all of ten seconds before panic sets in. "Help! Help! I'm stuck!" Meanwhile my head is saying, Then Lynn(e) goes splat. Then Lynn(e) sprains an ankle, ends up in surgery again. Then Lynn(e)...(enter worst case scenario.)

Like I weigh all of a clump of fur, Partner in Crime comes, wraps his arms around me, and sets me on the picnic table. I have more bruises.

The last plan

"Now what?" we ask. The cat hasn't moved. At all.

We resolve to our next plan, which is also ineffective. After, we leave the tires and the branch so if the kitty so desires she can climb down something that's less steep. We sit in the yard drinking iced water, and catching up about life, and he shows me pictures of Burton's new snowboard line. Then he leaves.

Later that night, the cat is rescued by the roommate's son and a ginormous ladder.

So what is the point of all of this? First of all, I wanted to tell you this story, because it's fun (and funny). Secondly, because sometimes we have these plans. We see them happen; climbing the tree, stuffing the cat in the backpack, and being on the stable ground. Everyone is happy. Everything goes according to plan.

Unfortunately, my plan for the next two years of my life fell through yesterday.

After I'd done my motivation speaking bit, I decided I wanted to enlist in Teach for America. It's a two year commitment to teach basically, in underfunded schools. It was the first time I'd felt passionate about something in a long, long time. I planned to move across the country, be a teacher, write after class, influence kids, help save lives.

But I checked my e-mail, and I wasn't chosen for a phone interview. And I sat at the computer in the library and cried. Then went to the pharmacy, and bought wine. Then went home, and drank an entire bottle and a half of wine, and cried for a couple more hours.

The question circling in my head continued as, What now?

Simply because this was my plan. This was my climbing the tree, stuffing the cat in the backpack, and being on the ground. (The tree being the application process, the cat in backpack being the actual teaching/writing, and being on the ground being selling novels and finishing up with a teaching degree and saving the world.) But sadly....that is no longer the plan.

So this morning I'm on to finding redirection. AWP is in Boston this year, so at least I'll be close for that (plus my family lives like an hour outside of Boston so housing fees won't suck). I've gotten some pretty heartbreaking rejection letters this week, too. But life changes. Plans change. Gotta shrug it off and keep going. I believe everything happens for a reason (and I've seen things like this happen and fall perfectly into place later). I guess this TFA thing was just me treeing myself trying to rescue a cat.

Last night, I shrugged via wine and cigarettes. Today, I went running with the Partner in Crime (horrible decision. Turns out I'm quitting drinking until the road race in October). I'm sitting in a library and writing this blog post to say that things change. Plans change. Don't fight it. Go with the flow, and find out where it's taking you. Chances are where you'll end up will be a fuck ton better than where you wanted to go.

Oh, and have a good weekend :)

The Kindness of Strangers

It's almost 10pm, and after a long day at work I'm finally driving home. It's pitch black outside, with the exception of my headlights cutting through the darkness. My gas light turned on about ten miles ago, and I have another ten to go til I reach the gas station. (And another 15 after that to get home.) I'm holding my breath, and sucking in my stomach in the hopes I can make my car forget its 120 pound passenger and will make it to refuel okay.

Well, we do.

I'm tired as I work unscrewing the gas cap, eyes shutting against the sudden burst of lights above me. All I want to do, is get home to my dog who's been home alone for 10 hours now. I want to curl up in a ball and sleep. I do the math in my head, and figure I should have about $10 left on my credit card (because I have $0 left in my bank account). I watch the numbers zoom by, and release the handle. $9.93, sufficient to get home and maybe to work tomorrow. From there, I don't know what I'll do, but I'll breathe for tonight.

I cap the can, dig my wallet out of my car, and enter the gas station to pay. When I had the cashier my card, he looks at me robotically and says, "Declined."

I stand there, heart sinking through the floor, breathing coming in quick gasps. Can they siphon out the gas if I can't pay for it? I shake my head. "Try running it again."

My sensor didn't look anything
like this, sadly :(

He does, same response. Now I can't breathe. The toll of work, the long drive, the lack of money hits me. What am I going to do? What am I going to do? I have to get home tonight, I have to get to work tomorrow. (Insert f-bombs now.)

"I don't know what you want me to do," I say, ice chunks breaking off inside me as I swallow the tears. There are about four people in line behind me, and I can't look at any of them. "I can leave you all of my contact information, I just checked my bank account today, it said I should have money. Literally, I drive by here every day on my drive to work, it's not like you won't see me again. I don't know what you want me to do." (Pretty sure I am shouting this.)

"You can leave something here, but if you're not back by the morning to pay, we'll call the cops," he says simply.

I go through the list of things in my car; my ID (nope, I get pulled over too much for that), my credit card (not sure they'll accept that as clearly there is no money, so technically, right now, it has no worth)...I have nothing. For a moment, I consider giving him my shoe, but it's my work shoe, and I need that, too.

I stand there shaking my head, struggling to breathe through the wisps of air I'm getting. My heart is a drum beat in my ear, louder than the stereo in my car. I storm out to my driver's seat, combating the tears that just want to burst out of my eyes, and pull out my phone. I call my credit card, and they tell me I have close to $15 pending, and an available balance of $3. It's better than nothing. I start digging through the bomb explosion of my car to find more change, because maybe, just maybe, I can find enough money (not likely).

There's a knock on my partially opened window. I look up, eyes red and swollen from the tears still trying to come out. There is a man (with glasses) I believe. Because I have automatic windows, I can't open the window any farther.

"I'm sorry it's mostly in change, but here is $10," he offers.

And a damn erupts inside me. Tears fall freely from my eyes. "I am so sorry," I say sobbing. "I thought I had more money than this, and I just...." I can't talk, the liquid strangles my words as the kind stranger puts his hands through the small crack and hands me gas money.

"Just get home safe, okay?"

I cry more before regaining composure and the ability to drive home.

This isn't the first time something like this has happened. There was another night a kind stranger put $5 in my tank. Two days ago, another stranger gave me $1 so I could buy the 3 liter of water (because I felt like I was dying). One of the women I follow on twitter has offered to send me money via pay pal because she knows I'm broke. I've never met her, but her kindness amazed me. There are a lot of horrible things going on in the world, but people like this give me hope. I can't wait until I have enough money to be the kind stranger to give handouts, but for right now, I'm the one with tear stains accepting them.

To those of you who are the kind strangers from time to time; thank you. With every bit of my being. (Baxter thanks you, too.)

Change of Perspective

It's pretty in the winter, too

Months ago, I tripped into the Winter Wonderland of Maine, and it saved my life. When I arrived, I was still crying on a pretty consistent basis, I barely knew anyone, and I had no money. At all.I was only able to relocate due to donation and loans from close friends and family members (this number easily passed $1000).

Upon my arrival, I was awkward, anxious, and uncomfortable, and froze 90% of the season, but it was better than being in sweltering southern heat. This Wednesday, I got the opportunity to hike the trails I spent all winter attending what I considered mountain therapy, and the view was amazing.

It hit me just recently that it's August. Close to the end of the month is what I consider the beginning of the end. I've already warned my managers at work that the next two-three months I may be an emotional mess because Hurricane Irene hit around that time last year, and then everything turned in to a shitstorm. The flashbacks have already started in the form of pumpkin spice lattes, Fall leaves, and certain songs that I have to change immediately. It doesn't help that my current WIP is rocking out in North Carolina, so I'm constantly re-triggering those memories, anyway. The simple truth is: the fact that I'm still standing blows me away. When a friend visited me recently, I expressed that half the time I feel like a cat that's been thrown in the water to test if it can swim.

Peter taking a sit break. Notice there is no shade?
My back is peeling...

"Well, you sure as hell can swim," my friend said.

And it's true. Whether I want it to be or not.

It's weird, because even though I've had some crazy neighbors and crazy roommates, in the last almost 12 months, I've felt more stable than I have in a long, long time. I've had most of the conversations with the people I've needed to, had a few relapses, but otherwise, I've been okay.

I've also written some kick-butt novels that are in the submission game, so maybe, hopefully something will develop with that. Without what happened in September and October, those novels would not exist.

So when Peter, a friend from the mountain, came to visit and said he wanted to go hike, I invited myself along. It's been a couple of days and my body is still recovering from the mileage, but during our water breaks, and sit breaks, it gave me time to breathe and reflect on life. First, my knees and hips felt like they were about to explode (kind of like a soda bottle that someone played soccer with then opened...only my knees hadn't opened yet). It was a constant reminder that even though I've changed my name, traces of the life I lived last year are still present.

The chair lift...with no snow

Peter would jump on certain rocks and tell me about some of the jumps on the trail, which I faintly remembered from the winter months. And while he stood there in the sun, and the trees were green with life, I could see the snow and the marks my snowboard made. Before I'd started as an instructor I'd been too terrified to try anything he spoke of. Now, I can't wait until it snows.

My hair was short then. It's long enough to be pulled into a ponytail now.

When we got to the top, I had that "We're here already?" feeling. It seemed to go so fast (though I was pressed for time). We sat on the chair lift, and I've never seen chair lifts without snow. It was breathtaking.

The hike down was substantially easier, just with an increased risk of tripping over a loose rock and falling to our death. (Okay, a little dramatic, but I did stumble quite a bit.) When we got to the bottom, I could feel the sunburn setting in (I refuse to wear sunscreen, even though I burn like a Ginger), but we went to the river, anyway.

The moral of all of this is that sometimes, all you really need in life is a change of perspective. Nothing ever stays the same. Snow melts, friendships and people change, you move from a basement into an appartment, you relocate. If you're like me, you chop your hair off, change your name, and fake-it-til-you-make-it.

Friend refused to take picture.
Yay auto-timer

One of the things I've learned through mental health is to give yourself things to get excited about. So I keep looking forward; to November and finding out if I got a position I've been waiting for since May. To December and snow. To going to Utah to visit my sister, or Michigan to visit my other sister. I never stop in September or October. It's straight from August to November, December, January...

And so this year, for the first time in...forever, I'm trying to look forward to October 19. It's my half birthday, but last year it held a little more significance. This year, I'm going to try to go camping, be around friends, celebrate life, and the trails and trials I've survived.

I've had countless people ask me recently why I don't get discouraged when I get rejection letters. Compared the the last year I've lived, having an agent say, "Sorry, this isn't for me" is the least of my worries. Especially because I'm keeping the faith that one agent will say, "Hey, let's chat. This rocks."

Friends constantly try to tell me that people don't change. Well, I'm living proof that they do. If you feel like you're crashing down hill, it's never too late to change everything about yourself and go to places you've only imaged. Even if it's the querying process, or the submission process, keep your feet firm, and push yourself to keep going. You'll be amazed what happens a year from now.

Happy Monday!

If It's Dead, Let It Die

Caution: This blog may be traumatic for some of you. This definitely has an 8/10 rating on the WTF scale.

Growing up wasn't easy in my house. Sometimes it was an adventure (like the time we went to Niagara Falls), but most times, it usually left scarring memories that would some day equate to yet another, more detailed, memoir. Or hours in therapy. Whichever.

One such instance took place at the Shepherd House. This is the only place I've ever truly called home, and we lived there from the time I was in kindergarten until the early parts of my eighth grade year. With that being said, I can't remember how old I was, I just know it had to have been before I was 14.

My mom had been gone a lot (staying at her boyfriend's house an hour away). Once, late at night, she burst into the house, frantic, throwing newspapers down on the kitchen table (where we ate dinner, mind you). Soon, she carried something grey and lifeless in, and laid it on the table.

"Oh God, oh shit!" she chanted. "Come on bunny!"

"Mom, what happened?" I asked, looking at the fluffy adorable thing sprawled sideways on the table.

Not a bunny.
But we do have a fascination with
dead things now...

"I hit the bunny with my car," she said as she proceeded to administer CPR to the lifeless rabbit. I'd like to blame my youthful ignorance, but as I stood there watching my mom pressing on the small creature, I imagined what it would be like to have a pet bunny (meanwhile, the day after this, we would discover our bird dead in its cage. Why? Oh, we forgot to feed it....for a couple of weeks).

The CPR went on for a few minutes until she dug a mirror out of her purse and held it to the bunny's pale pink nose to test if it was breathing. It wasn't.

Standing at the threshold of the kitchen and living room, I adjusted my position, and saw the underside of the bunny's face. It was streaked red, from its eye downward. Clearly it wouldn't be hopping off the table any time soon.

"Mom," I said, tears threatening to spill out at any second. "It's dead."

"What?" she said. "No, there's still hope!"

I pointed to the blood. "Look."

She flipped the bunny over and pools of blood were left on the newspaper. "Shit." At last she broke down and began crying. "I'm sorry, bunny."

I began to cry, too. The side of the face that wasn't leaking maroon was furry and adorable, and it was here, on my kitchen table, dead at my mother's hands. My sisters and I buried the bunny and the bird together in the animal graveyard to the right of the house.

So, what does this mean for writing?

Well, there's a point in a story or novel, where you just keep trying to give CPR to the dead lifeless sentence, chapter, whatever. You keep trying to breathe life into something that refuses to live. When that happens, you may need to adjust your perspective, it may already be dead and maybe, MAYBE you should bury it. If it's dead, let it die valiantly. (Though save a backup, you know, in case you can fit it in a future work.)

(I just hit 19,000 words with my WIP....In 11,000 I'll have to decide whether or not this novel, like that bunny, is already dead.)

Lessons from Living Alone

Packed the car super tight.

As of May 21, 2012, I am the proud renter of my very first apartment! It's a two floor, one bedroom place of amazing. It has a washer AND drier, and a dish washer. And the best part?

NO (CRAZY) ROOMMATES!!!!!!!!!!!! Except Baxter, of course. 

(And the drier is a huge perk. I've been without one since late November.)

So on this adventure, I've started learning some life lessons already. I'm here to impart some wisdom upon all of my lovely followers:

Considering I have nowhere else to put my clothes...
This isn't so bad

Life Lesson #1-Put everything that you can away the moment you move in, maybe even as you bring boxes in. The longer the mess stays...the longer the mess wants to stay.

Life Lesson #2-Wash your dishes before you move. I am currently rocking a sink full of dirtiness, and well, like Life Lesson 1...it's probably going to stay there for awhile. Even though I have a dishwasher, because I don't have money for the fancy liquid.

Life Lesson #3-Make a list of things you need. Prior to this, I've lived by myself for spurts, but usually the place had been fully furnished, or at least had most typical things. Usually the times I'd lived alone, I'd also lived with someone so I received left over toilet paper, dish soap, aluminum foil, etc as they moved out. Here, there is no microwave, no strainer for wet dishes, no light in the bedroom, no dressers. Also, no pizza pans...which out of everything may be the most problematic.

You can't even tell it's inflateable!

Life Lesson #4-Two fully inflated air-mattresses stacked on top of each other is a dream come true. I would have slept really well last night, but  didn't close the bedroom window, and it turns out the train goes by at midnight, and semi-trucks pass all night. Tonight, I'll be closing my window.

Life Lesson #5-With the two-fully inflated air-mattresses, make sure you have blankets that fit the bed. (Mine are currently in storage. Oops)

Life Lesson #6-If you spit on the floor, you're going to have to be the one to clean it (I learned this one today)

Life Lesson #7-It can get lonely, so make sure you have things to do. Coloring books, blogs, novels to edit, books to read, people to text and harass at all hours of the night, running shoes, a dog to play with when you're bored. Oh, and twitter. Need the twitter, always. Also, if you don't own a TV (yea, that's right, I'm old school) an iPod helps cure the quiet.

Life Lesson #8-If Wifi is not included, try to pirate it from your neighbors :)

Life Lesson #9-You can do anything now; walk around naked, towel walk, sleep naked, make stupid faces, have dance parties. There is no one to impress, no one to tell you to put clothes back on. It's rather liberating. (Don't worry guys, naked-ness freaks me out. Clothes stay on, though I am prone to wearing a sports bra for a shirt. Here, my sister won't yell at me :) )

Life Lesson #10-Make it yours. Does my bedroom really need a punching bag stand in it? Probably not, but is it there? You betcha. If you look in the second picture I posted, you can see my Board of Inspiration hanging up already. I also have a closet that's full of CDs. Another closet that's full of shoes--left side is active shoes (skate shoes, running shoes, Vibrams, etc), right side is dress shoes (including the hooker boots).

Overall, I'm stoked about this arrangement. I have to drive close to an hour every day to work, but for $400/month, I'm pretty excited.

Influencing The Youth

"Whenever You Knock Me Down, I Will Not Stay On The Ground"
~Justin Bieber (Yea, that's right, totally quoted him)

The Middle School

I was invited to a middle school yesterday to speak on the trials I've been through in my life, and it went in directions I was completely unprepared for. My friend, Claire invited me weeks ago, and two nights ago I finally had some time to more fully prepare for what I was going to say. Claire asked me point blank, "What's the number one thing you hope they remember after you see them?" I responded, "That they can survive anything."

So, I sat there thinking, what are things that keep me going? And I went to work; I removed some pictures from my Board of Inspiration, and added some things I've been meaning to add for awhile. I laid out my clothes the night before (jeans and a TWLOHA shirt after some people gave me suggestions on Twitter), packed my bag full of books I've been published in, and other things that inspire me (like my James Frey book), and went to sleep, giddy, excited, and partially terrified.

In the morning, I woke up, showered (amazingly), attempted to straighten my hair which was immediately destroyed once I walked out in the humidity, loaded up Baxter and drove an hour to Fryeburg. I called both of my sisters on the drive, and they both pushed me, told me that I'd be great, that my (our) message is something worthwhile.

I parked my car, arrived a little early, and looked at the school. It was huge, I didn't know anyone but Claire there. Then Patrick called me from Germany to wish me luck, and tell me I'd do great. The lyric from Vanessa Carlton starting going through my head, "I try to live up to the moment, and hope that I don't blow it," and headed into the school.

Board of Inspiration (It's much more
complete after the presentation)

I found the office, and checked in. There were kids talking about getting sent home for, "smoking dope, but I didn't do it," and for a brief second, I thought maybe, just maybe I am meant to be here. I talked to those kids about my eyebrow rings, my lip ring, and then went up to Claire's room.

We ate lunch (which is awesome, she's such a good cook!), and I wrote a phrase on the white board that I'd heard my entire life growing up, "You'll never amount to anything."

The kids started filtering in, buzzing with excitement which was infectious and terrifying. I was shaking from the moment I'd walked into the school, and now there were several girls sitting in front of me, hoping I'd say something worth while. Suddenly all those moments of overcoming anxiety, and volunteering to read Bingo cards, and practicing were coming into play. This was real life, I was about to talk to real people, who were here to listen to...me.

Claire introduced me as Lynne though she knows me as Stephanie, and I started talking, about my dad, the drunken night he'd lost custody. I talked about what my sisters and I have accomplished. I told them about cutting, my eating disorder, depression, my mother. I read them three pages from Character Defects, that I wrote based on a fight with my mother, and why I wrote it.

And then I told them about having hope, and being positive. I told them about my Board of Inspiration, to set goals, to give themselves something to look forward to. As I spoke, I tried to watch the audience, and there were girls tearing up or silently crying as I talked about what my parents did to me. When it was over, I was asked to go into the hall and speak with some girls in small groups.

Me and Claire (respectively)
Doin' our thing, trying to give
hope

I heard things in those groups that made me want to excuse myself and cry in the bathroom, with them, for them. People talk about censorship a lot in novels because they're afraid of what it'll do to the children. These young women in front of me went and are going through more than I, or you, can possibly imagine. I wanted to find their parents and violently shake them in the hopes that it'd knock some sense into them. I just can't understand how these girls could possibly be unloved, abused, or hurt. All I wanted to do was hug them, tell them that it'll be okay, and that I'm so, so sorry.

They were all so amazing, so honest, and so afraid of what they're going through. All I could do was tell them that it'll get better, that they can get through anything because by breathing, by being at school today, they're proving it.

When it was all said and done, they gave me hugs, thanked me, and asked to take pictures of me like I was someone or something worthwhile. One of the girls even wrote me a letter thanking me for helping her, and I started tearing up (it will end up on my Board soon).

I didn't do much, I just told them about me, and listened to them.

Some time later, I was at Claire's and checked my e-mail and there were already e-mails from some of the girls I didn't get to speak with, and their stories reaffirmed that I'm doing something right by sharing my life with them. I spent close to an hour composing a response to one, and then an hour chatting with one today who is an aspiring author.

The bottom line, is that some people ban books and censor things because they think it's terrible language, or too intense for their young minds to understand. The truth I witnessed yesterday was that these terrible intense things are daily life for a lot of our youth. It needs to change. Their voices need to be heard and understood.

To end this on a bit of a happy note; Claire sent me home some brownies and a lot of food. So I ate brownies for breakfast this morning, yay!

Also, we're planning do to a follow up with the girls soon, any suggestions what I should come back with?

Concussion

So there I was, in the middle of a lesson, teaching my student stuff when

WHAM

I dropped my heel edge and tumbled backward down the hill. My stomach ended in my throat, my teeth smashed together. My student stops, "Lynne! Are you okay?!"

I laugh, looking around for my hat and sunglasses that had flown off my face in the fall, "Yes. Do you know where....?"

"Under you," he says, with a look of worry still on his face.

The urge to vomit takes hold of my body, I tell myself it's from jarring my stomach. We finish the lesson, we high five, my head starts pounding. I go to line up to see if there's another lesson, there's not. Instead, there is a fresstyle training, so I grab a helmet (since I hadn't been wearing one before) and start learning to how to hit rails. I fall a few more times, I hurt a little bit more, I ignore it.

This morning, I get to work and my vision isn't quite...right. It kind of fades in and out, the way it doesn't when you've had three drinks too many and are going to black out at any second. I take a run on a green trail, hear rumor that maybe, just maybe I have a concussion.

At line up, I hide behind other instructors so I don't get picked. I sit in the locker room, munching on trail mix until my vision gets really blurred. I head down to patrol, and they confirm, it's a mild concussion. They give me the options:

1) Stay off snow for a couple of days. If I vomit tonight or tomorrow, if my headache and tummy ache don't dissipate by tomorrow, I MUST go to the hospital and get a cat scan.
2) They'll call an ambulance for me today, right now, and I go to the hospital for the scan.

I choose option 1, check in with my managers, fill out the paper work and head home. I've spent the rest of the day resting with Baxter.

Moral of this story is...this isn't my typical Monday post. The above text is the reason why. Sorry! Will recover soon! Real life gets in the way sometimes!

Stalling

So...let's be honest here....I still haven't started my NaNoWriMo project. I have ideas rolling around in my head, I have a semblance of a plot in there, but I haven't opened a word document in a long, long time. Why?

In the last month, my entire world has fallen apart. Then, I've had two surgeries (one was actually today). I'm recovering from both (no worries, they were quick, expecting a full recovery from both). I've traveled from North Carolina to Maine...about 1,000 miles. I had a job interview, put my car in a ditch...etc. I'm trying to find a place to live up there. I'm stressed out...which means...

A lot of vegitating on the couch and rediscovering the show 24 on my friend's Netflix. Also--I'm homeless in North Carolina...which is terrifying. None of this is conducive to wanting to take on a project of another novel. Will I write another? YES. Do I have time for it now? Maybe.

The goal is to start tomorrow. But I'm going to give myself some leeway. Why? Because this is real life and it's not as neat as I'd prefer it to be.

Sink Or Swim

So....life is messy. You let people in, you get hurt (cue sound tech for debbie downer music...now). It's a viscous cycle. But you have two choices when the world gets you down:

Sink

(In all fairness, this isn't a real sinking picture. This is a heartwarming picture, my good friend Jen is a wee bit of a crier. This day, I had thanked her for being a good friend while she was housing me in Seattle.)

Or Swim

This is Murdock, my friend Stephanie's dog. She lives in Florida. My dog....is not a water dog.

There are times when it's okay to grieve and to hurt, and to be sad. It's okay to cry, to punch things... It's normal and acceptable to just lay in bed.

This is my water fearing baby, Baxter :) Just for you J.A. :)

But, if you're able to weather the storm, whatever it may be, you'll have a better tomorrow.

Jen and I after having a fantastic day and getting ready for an even better night

Something I've learned is that as writers, we feel...quite a bit. I think we may feel more than most people in the world, and that's okay. Give yourself time to function, to heal...and then get back to venting; writing. Life is what teaches you your stories.

Keep your head up, for any of you who are having bad days. Take care of yourself. Things take time, healing takes time.