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?

Be Realistic II

It looks like this week is Running Week for me. Sorry, sort of. The posts will stop soon. (Maybe :) ).

In April I blogged about someone telling me to "Be realistic" about getting published. I was angry, (irate actually) but I tucked it away, choked on a smile, and continued along like they hadn't just stabbed me in my special places (you know, the heart).

As I said on Monday, I'm training for a 5K road race, and honestly, I'm scared shitless. I haven't seriously run since college, and even then it wasn't as fast or as intense as I should have done it because I'd had knee surgery as I used that like a crutch, allowing myself to slow down rather than push myself.

Well now I'm another surgery in, even more scared and apprehensive, and trying to beat my Iron-Man like sister's time (or at least landing somewhere in the 19 minutes).

Notice she's in running gear?
She's hardcore.

So I'm here to say that some goals...aren't realistic. Deep down, we know these things. Maybe for me that goal would be realistic if I stopped telling myself it's okay to slow down, but I'm sure you're aware, I like to nap. Slowing down is kind of like taking a nap while running.

But just because your goals may not be realistic does NOT mean that you shouldn't set unrealistic goals. I believe it was PitBull who said it best, "How you gonna tell me the sky's the limit, when there's f*&kers on the moon?" 

It's fun to shoot high. Owl City also tells me, "Reality is a lovely place, but I wouldn't want to live there."

So my SUPER UNREALISTIC GOAL for the road race less than a month away: Finish a 5K somewhere in the 19 minute range. (It can be as fast as 19:00 or as slow as 19:59, and I'd pee my pants with happiness.)

But just so I don't get crushed, my REALISTIC GOAL for the 5K is 21-23 minutes.

I think people should always have two goals. The one that says there are f@#kers on the moon, and why not keep aiming higher? And the one that keeps your feet on planet earth, and planet This is probably seriously what I'm capable of. 

So, what are your goals?

Things That Stop You

In a follow up to my previous blog, and in concert with the fact I seriously like to make lists for blog posts, here's another one.

It turns out I'm masochistic. Who knew? Okay, okay, I've known since I was in sixth grade...but really. Those of us who write set ourselves up for rejection, tears, and straight up heart break. So it only makes sense that I'd be a runner, too. Why? Because it hurts, because you run through pain, finish races sometimes crying (or if you were me in high school, with your lip bleeding because that's how you redirected pain...). But because I like pain, I run, and I write, and I submit, and compete, and...cry.

But that doesn't mean it's easy...ever.

Let's see.

The Top 5 Things That Stop You (From Being Epic)

5) Time

It's easy to forget to run. You wake up, make breakfast, (consider showering..) go to work, work an eight hour shift (eight and a half because you have to clock out for lunch if you're anything like me), drive 10-20 minutes home, do laundry, feed the dog (or the kids if you have them), feed yourself. By that point, maybe your knees hurt from standing. Maybe your back hurts from sitting. Running fades somewhere into the background. Plus, it's dark outside. Horror movies start this way. That mailbox sure looks cute and innocent in the daylight, but at night? That mailbox hosts demons, and ghosts, and OH MY GOSH WHAT WAS THAT? DID SOMETHING JUST MOVE? 

You literally have to go out of your way to run. You literally have to put time in, and make it a priority. Something else (like, oh...writing) gets cut out when you spend a half hour on the road.

4) Running Trails

At the old place, I lived in an awesome running area. If you went right out of the apartment complex, about a half mile later there were trails. If you went left, and left again, there was this place called Evan's Notch, which was beside a river. Very scenic. If you just went left, you cross a bridge, and run. Then, you could go straight, more bridges, more roads. It was full of options.

Where I live now, I can go right, which has a small road that usually eats up about five minutes of the run and has a LARGE and LENGTHY hill, and then a straight road. 

I can go left, which has a smaller hill (as you end), and I recently discovered a magical trail. But still, it's the same two roads over, and over, and over. Ever listen to a song on repeat? Ever just need to...stop listening to it?

3) The Lone Ranger

Running, like writing, is a solitary sport. Sure you can be on the track and field team, or the cross country team, but in the end YOUR times depend on YOU. Which means that if you're not part of a running club, or a team, you have to push yourself. You have to give yourself a reason to run. 

Half the time you won't be as fast as you'd like. Most of the time there is something better to do (see napping above). It's hard being your own motivation. 

2) It Hurts

Knee pain, hip pain, cramps, shin splits, twisted ankles, stress fractures, toenails that fall off... Talk to any runner and you'll hear an endless list of ailments that we run through. When I ran in high school after my first knee surgery, I made a deal with my body; If my knees made it through the race, I'd ice them later. Literally as I crossed the finish line, they gave out, and I couldn't get up. Teammates, sisters, or the boy I loved had to help me up and act as a leaning post until I could walk again.
A good run is considered a day where the pain is minimal, if not absent...but even still if we're not hydrated well enough, if we didn't eat enough...it hurts, and it hurts a lot. And we'll keep going.

1) Yourself

Let's face it, we all want to come in first place. Personally, I want to be fast enough to beat my sister again, who when she'd popped out her first kiddo, and while she was preggers with the second managed to run in the 19 minutes. (She is Iron Man.)

But I am Lynn(e). I've had two knee surgeries. I have hip problems. Sometimes my heart messes up. 

There's a point where you run, and you run, and you think, Why am I doing this? There's a point where your brain will think, You know, three miles is pretty far. Let's just...do one. Or none. You know, let's nap. Screw running. 

And naps? Well, they rock. But the biggest obsticle is the block in your head that tells your you're not good enough so why bother trying.

Good runners fight that, waving a middle finger in the air saying, I don't care what you think Negative Nancy in my brain. I'm going to run because I love it, and I want to, and because it makes me feel good.

Most of this can tie into writing. We have to section time to write, and things (like children, husbands, wives, dogs, running) gets neglected. The Running Trails can be considered writing block, where you have to just step out, and find something new, some fresh material before you can start up again. We all know writing is a solitary game (hopefully most of you aren't Emily Dickinson-ing it up). And the rejections hurt. The death, and pain, and injuries of our characters hurt. Memoirs tend to hurt even more than that.

And we all try to sabotage ourselves, our works by saying that we aren't good enough.

So just as I told you to go Pick a Puppy, today's message is to Keep Running. Push through the pain, the self defeat. Find time. Keep going.

The finish line may only be a 5K away.

I Hate Running

The Crim Race in Michigan. Circa 2009, I think
As a sophomore in high school, I ran the 10 mile race
This day was a 5K

I've been a runner all my life. That's not to say I haven't taken hiatuses from it, but somehow, my running shoes magically jump back on my feet, and I'm off again.

Last November, I had my most recent knee surgery. Recovering from a train wreck of life, I had my first experience with percocet (and got knocked out for nearly 24-hours after being sent home from work), walked on crutches, fought with Baxter, and learned to walk...

again.

Two weeks later, I was on a snowboard, terrified to fall because if I did it meant the end of the season. And the end of the season meant the end of money. The end of money meant nowhere to live, nothing to eat, and massive amounts of panic. 

As suggested by "My most recent knee surgery", it wasn't my first. It was my second knee surgery (different knee this time). The winter of my junior year (high school) I'd gone snowboarding, trying to keep up with college boys, and at the bottom of the chair lift, I fell. Hard. When I tried to get up right away, my knee buckled. Oh my Gosh, I can't walk, I thought. But they called my name, and I bit my teeth together and continued along like my knee wasn't screaming at me.

That night, my roommate had to take off my pants and my socks because I couldn't bend my leg, which had swelled to the size of a soccer ball. The following day, I switched stances and continued snowboarding (not my smartest decision). Two months later, when I finally went to the doctor, she told me she wasn't sure if I'd be able to run again. I sat in the dark office and cried.

Though my knee got tired a lot faster, I played soccer, did my dance recital, and a day or two later, I had an arthroscopic (holy crap, I spelled that right the first time!) surgery. The doctor discovered I had massive amounts of scar tissue, something that was turning in-and-out, and a partially torn ACL. She removed the scar tissue, fixed the thing that was turning inside out, and left the ACL saying, "If you tear it the rest of the way, we'll do another surgery, but it should be able to function like a normal knee."

Look! I'm running!

I had a check up with the doctor soon after, and asked, "When can I run again?"

She said, "When you can walk without a limp, you can start JOGGING again. When you can JOG without a limp, you can start running again."

I took that to mean that I was healthy enough. Once I got rid of the crutches, and started hobbling around, I waited another couple of days. The limp was minimal, but I went to the high school track, and stood there, the lines painted on the black rubber like surface staring back at me.

I set my watch with every intention of running a mile. And then I took my first step. Now, imagine slamming your finger in the door. Now amplify the pain by about fifty, and put that pressure and pain right below your kneecap. I literally screamed out loud. I took another step, the pain lessened. I took another, and there it was again.

Years later, if I step wrong (even while walking), I still get that pain. I still yelp. (At least now I can kind of anticipate it.)

So now, nearly a year after my most recent surgery, with copious amounts of pain, Icy Hot, Burt's Bees Muscle Mend, Max Freeze, and OsteoBi-Flex, I've taken up running again. Not just "Oh, I'm gonna go run a mile or two," but "Oh, I have a road race October 7, 2012, and I'm training for it with my Partner in Crime."

It hurts, every single time, but I'm doing it. I'm doing it to give myself something to look forward to (because I HATE October), to prove that not only am I recovered, but my body is, too. And so, each time I run, as I start cursing under my breath and saying, "I hate running," I'm going to keep pushing on. Because that October 7th due date is less than a month away. 

It's crazy how quickly people launch into motion...

 And dangit, I want to get a good time!

Things I Learned From Middle School

And you thought I was kidding.
I have knee and hip issues, at the age of 24 :)

The last three Wednesdays have changed my life. For those of you who don't know, I'd been invited to a Middle School to speak about the trails in my life, and talk about the fact that I'm still standing. I'm not on drugs (instead, I'm on Osteo-Biflex and Vitamin C), I'm not contracting STDs, a whore, and for the most part, I like myself...most of the time.

While I was there, I met some incredible young ladies. Week 2, I proposed a Board of Inspiration because it is one of the things that goes with me EVERYWHERE. My sister, years ago, laid the groundwork, moved and left the board behind with quotes that said, "We inherited a broken future, so we're building a better one," and "Change is Good," and "You can't lose." I took it over, and started adding my own pictures where hers had been.

Nearly every day I find something I'd like to put on it (and actually today I posted some new things I found during the move into the new place).

I told the students to put things that make them happy; quotes, pictures, etc. Things that when they're sad, they can look at and know they're loved, and the life is worth living. That was it. From there, the teacher and I let them get their papers, tape, and scissors. I walked around the room a bit and saw quotes, and TWLOHA, and many other things. My heart lifted.

Week 3 was this last week, and they did presentations. I was blown away by each girl, not only just because they were volunteers (I hate public speaking and getting in front of crowds, it makes me anxious).

With that said, here are some things I learned from or because of these young, amazing, women:

1) YOLO (You Only Live Once)-I'd never heard this saying before. The first week, several of the girls were throwing it around. The second week, many were putting it on their boards. Most were still saying it. They told me it stands for You Only Live Once, and I kind of like it. (Now, I hear myself saying it in my head, which means it's only a matter of time before I say it out loud...ugh. :) )

2) Wise Beyond Years-There were some girls who were putting (what I considered) questionable things on their boards. I wanted to ask why they were putting these pictures, pictures that broke my heart, on their boards, but left it alone and waited for the presentation. One of the girls talked about one such picture, and fully explained why it was there. I literally teared up while she spoke. She is in 8th grade, and wise beyond her years. I am glad that I didn't suggest not having it there, because she was right, and I was wrong.

My more-so updated board
There is a blank spot on the lower
left for a picture of the students.
The letter near the bottom is from one :)

3) Strength-After the first week, I sat with many of the girls who broke down and told me horrifying stories of their lives at home. Lives that are too close to what I've been through. Yet, they're still in school. They're still pushing. I was humbled by the girls who felt safe enough to cry in front of me. All of them had a story, whether they wanted to be an author, or they just wanted someone to love them.

4) Life Has Changed Since My Day-When I was in Middle School or High School, we passed notes. They chat on Facebook or gmail now. I can feel the generational gap already.

5) Bravery-During one of the presentations, a girl looked at the audience after explaining a picture and said, "I'm not sure any of you know this...but you do now." When I was younger, it was incredibly difficult for me to talk to peers about what I was going through. These girls started to own what they've been through, started being brave and talking about it. It's part of life. They shouldn't be ashamed.

6) I Can Make Teacher Approved Handouts!- The first week, I talked a lot about suicide, depression, and cutting. When I was done, the girls asked me how I continue to keep going, and I gave a short answer, 'Set goals, give yourself something to look forward to...' etc. I had two weeks after to consider what I'd said, and made my first ever hand out. It consisted of 10 coping mechanisms (happy mechanisms?) that I employ on a daily basis. I hope it will actually help some of them.

7) I Can Make Permission Slips!-I made permission slips to make a video on YouTube for TWLOHA. At the school there are a lot of legal rules with using the girls' images, videos, etc. I had to get my slips approved by the principal. I felt like such a big kid. (Video is not made yet, will have it up when it is).

8) Love, Hope, and Inspiration-When I left the second week, there was a swarm of kids in the hallway. One of the girls took me by the arm, screamed, "Get out of the way, Lynne's coming through!" and it was probably better than walking down a red carpet. When I returned Wednesday, one of the girls came up to me in the hall and asked, "Can I have a hug?" (I didn't know if I was allowed to hug students, weird sexual harassment cases and all.) When I checked my e-mail later that night, I had e-mails from some of the girls telling me that I was an inspiration to them.

9) Never Stop Pushing-I cannot stress this enough. There is always a choice; keep going or give up. My choice because of meeting these girls has been taken away. There is no giving up, I want to show these girls that they can do anything they want to, no matter the circumstances they've been through.

10) Each Story Is Important. No explanation needed.

Set An Example

"You Can't Kill Yourself....You Have Twitter Followers Now"
~Claire

I haven't blogged in a week because I've been digesting what's happened. Last Wednesday, I was invited to a Middle School to talk to students about my life and offer hope that they can overcome child abuse, eating disorders, depression...etc. I talked with a lot of students, had my heart broken, and I walked away thinking that I'd done some good.

My stuff, in a somewhat neat stack

I returned to the basement that night, after being so excited about the difference I was making, and found that several of the girls had already friended me on Facebook, followed me on Twitter, e-mailed me...I returned the e-mails, pitched my author page on Facebook to them, and went to sleep happy. I was making a difference.

Thursday, I woke up, in the basement. I was cold, cranky, and not wanting to move. The happiness faded. I looked around the area and my stuff was surrounding me like a prison cell. I got off the couch, and my back and leg hurt because of the way Baxter was sleeping on me. I did an interview with one of the girls as an author, things I've learned, advice to give to aspiring young authors (still the whole Don't Give Up! business)...But something started eating at me. I went to the post office, ran other errands, and got gas. At the pump, someone from the Advertiser Democrat interviewed me, so I'm in the paper today for an opinion column.

But the more I evaluated my life, the more I started feeling like a hypocrite.

Friday, I went to work. My knees hurt, I got frustrated with small things, and thought, Who am I kidding? Who am I to be talking to girls about having hope? I live in a f#$ing basement! I get paid a little above minimum wage, with a college degree. I have bills that I can barely pay...

Then the thought hit me; I have a college degree. I can do anything I want. 


Bone crushing fear took hold of my heart, I can't fail. 

It is no longer an option for me.

If I'm depressed, if something bad happens, I cannot kill myself now. Why? Because I met these incredible girls who look(ed) up to me. If I relapse, all this hope that I've been spewing will be complete bullshit to them. Keeping myself alive, keeping me going now is the only choice I have. (That whole Practice What You Preach Business.)

More of my crap. I need to downsize.

I can't mess up, can't turn to drugs, or liquor, and homelessness. All of those things are failures. Now, because I said I'd come speak to a middle school, I have to do something with my life.

This is a lot to live up to.

Last week, I received rejection letters, I didn't get the job at the vet clinic I'd applied to. I am still broke, frustrated with life, living in my friend's basement, and constantly on the cusp of giving up.

But, I don't, and I haven't, because now, I can't.

Since these epiphanies, my sister has mentioned Teach for America, as well as supporting me no matter what. I'm considering applying, but I don't know what will happen between then and now. After speaking with these girls, I do know that I want to do something that can actually affect people and start creating change and hope. (Yes, writing novels can do that, but I'm not published yet, so until I am, I need a back up plan!)

Yesterday, I went back to the school and had the girls start their own Boards of Inspiration. The idea is that this board will have happy things, things that when they're sad, will help them get through the hard times; uplifting or funny quotes, pictures, inspiring words. I walked around the room, and saw several of them were putting TWLOHA pictures on their boards, and my heart flew (I wore their shirt to speak on the first day. Yesterday, I wore a Boycott BP shirt :) ).

A lot of the girls seemed really happy to see me, and I felt blessed to be back.

When I left, I went to Claire's, dropped off some food, and then went to my UNE manager's house. It was his 18th wedding anniversary, and they fed me lobster. His wife asked why I was asked to speak at the school, and I told her about my hospitalization, my eating disorder, my depression. She looked at me point blank and said, 'You had an eating disorder?' and I answered,  'Yes. Your husband was one of the people to help pull me out of it.'

When I left, they told me that they were proud of me, and if I need any help getting a place to live financially, they'd help me, no questions asked.

So here's what I've come to conclude. I'm not full of bullshit. I struggle with depression, anxiety, and an eating disorder every day of my life. Each night that I fall asleep without hurting myself is a victory. Each morning I wake up, is another day to influence people, to be a role model. I have scars on my leg, and wrist, but I try every day to push through. I won't tell them that life will be easy, because I, and most people know that THAT is a lie. Instead, I'll tell them that they can get through anything, because they can, and I am living proof of that.

Yay for being happy!

Thus, I've decided that I'm sick of living life the way I've been, it's time to start making changes. I moved to Maine to find happiness, and at Sunday River, I found it. Now, it's time to start making a difference. It's time to start being someone that truly deserves to be looked up to. I told Claire last night that while these girls may think I made a difference in their lives, they've completely changed mine.

First things first, find a place to live.

Breaking Points

Last August I went to Seattle to attend PNWA, and it was one of the highlights of my life. Every day at the conference was amazing, my friend who housed me, rocked.

Daylight in Seattle...no rain, just sun

But the second morning there, Jen walked me to the bus stop and asked if I'd be okay getting home that night because she would be at a friend's function. "Yep!" I said with full confidence, "I'll be fine!" (Famous last words, right?)

The panels were great, and dinner was yummy, but a full day of sessions started wearing on me, and I felt the way I do when I stay up writing til 3am and just need to sleep. Right now. I texted Jen to tell her I was on my way home and walked out of the keynote speaker I'd been waiting for.

When I got off the bus, it was about 9pm. It was dark. When I'd walked here this morning, it was bright enough to merit sunglasses. Now in the darkness, nothing looked familiar, and so I had to trust my instincts. (For those of you who don't know me, my instincts are wrong, 99% of the time....thus begins our story.)

I took a left, and started walking on what I thought was a somewhat familiar bike path. Jen said she was still with some friends, and I told her I thought I knew where I was going. Then came a fork in the path. I didn't recognize it at all. I looked left, didn't recognize the walk. I looked right, and nothing looked right, either. I started walking anyway.

Then my phone beeped to tell me my battery was dying. Time was rapidly becoming a factor. I needed to get home, now.

It gets so dark there!

I walked, and walked. Each step caused my one strap messenger bag to weigh more and more. I constantly transferred the bag from one shoulder to the other in the hopes I'd even out the back pain, but it didn't work.  It was the first time I asked myself, Why the hell did I buy so many books today?

I continued on the path. Everything was looking more and more foreign. I started questioning if I'd even gotten off at the correct bus stop. I called Jen when I reached a sign that mentioned some sort of a park. "I don't recognize that name at all," she told me. A sinking feeling took hold, but I refused to cry.  I can do this, I just have to keep walking.

She suggested getting off the path and walking on the road so I could at least read road signs. My battery light flashed at me, time was running out. "I'll try to start looking for you," she said, and gave up going to her friend's function because I was an idiot and bad with directions.

The high heels I'd been wearing
(Don't worry, I was wearing
dress clothes for the conference)

I got off the bike path and onto the road, and called Patrick who was in California at the time. Whenever I've been in a jam, or gotten lost before, he'd always bailed me out. He said he'd map quest me some directions, and there was a ray of hope.

I took off my high heels and we found a cross intersection. My heels now felt like a pummeled pumpkin, but I continued on after he told me which way to go.  Low and behold, the next street sign matched up to what he was seeing. He'd found me!

It was so dark outside and lamposts were few and far between. The neighborhood looked like I was going to get jumped at any time. Because I'm a writer, I imagined every worst case scenario possible, but reassured myself that it would make for a good memoir.

"I don't get it," Patrick said. "The road you're looking for should be right there."

"There's just what looks like an elementary school!" I cried into the phone. Just as Jen's phone number flashed across my screen, my phone gave one last valiant vibration and went black. I was cut off from the world.

Now, completely alone, and walking in the wrong direction, I checked my watch. It was 11:30pm, I'd been walking for 2.5 hours. I was lost, cranky, tired, and sore. My arthritic knees hated me and begged to stop moving. They were ready to give out at any moment, and so walking was rapidly becoming a factor now. I wanted to cuddle Baxter, to be home, to be at Jen's and drink some soy milk. Instead, I continued walking the same stupid streets I'd passed sixteen other times.

I passed an older looking man, dressed completely in black in this ghetto neighborhood, and asked, "Do you know where (name a street) is?" He pointed in the direction I'd just come from, "Are you walking honey?" Me, "Yes." "It's about ten blocks that way. About two miles...." he looked apologetic, and I wanted to scream.

Please no, I prayed. Please just let me be home. 

Jen, my lovely host, and wonderful friend

Instead, when the man was out of sight, I sat on the curb and cried. I stopped caring if I was going to get raped or murdered. I didn't care if I got shot. I was lost, Jen would never be able to find me. And the worst part was that I was going to miss the rest of the conference.

I'd reached the breaking point.

Out of some run down driveway, a small pure white cat emerged and crawled onto my lap. It wasn't Baxter, but I still spoke to it anyway. "Hello little friend," I sobbed. "I'm so lost, and I don't know where I am, and I hate this stupid city and buses." I whined to the cat for a long while while my aching feet and knees rested. Finally, I told my small friend I had to leave, and that I couldn't take it home, and resumed walking, taking sketchy streets with bars on windows, and found an open door.

Still hysterical, I stumbled in and rambled, "I'm lost, and I don't know where I'm going, and my phone died..."

The man behind the counter looked at me, and said, "Ma'am, I can't understand you. Take a seat, calm down, and we'll try to help you."

I sat in a seat, and cried more. An old man who smelled like he hadn't showered for the last few years sat beside me and asked, "You lost little girl?" and I cried harder and nodded my head. When the tears started to subside and I could breathe again, I looked around me. The man appeared to be missing some teeth and I wasn't sure that you could even consider what he was wearing to be clothing anymore. Meanwhile I was in a new dress I'd bought the day I'd arrived, and my new shoes. I'd even gotten ambitious and put make up on, which was now probably smeared all over my face.

To my right was what resembled a soup kitchen or pantry, at least the way they look on TV shows. To the left were stairs and empty chairs.

I'm in a shelter, I concluded.

Finally, I approached the desk, and explained the situation. They asked me if I knew of anywhere, and I didn't. Did I know Jen's phone number? No, and my phone was dead. Was I alone and on foot? Yes. Did you know it's not safe for a girl to be lost around here? I had a feeling, which has been solidified, thank you.

It took me a solid five minutes before I could even remember the name of the road where Jen lived. They informed me that I was on the other side of town, and the bus stop where I'd been dropped off at has a split where the roads all match each other. I should have crossed the road to get on the other bike path.

Just as I'd started to cry again, one of the men offered to give me a ride. Because I was still in the mindset of not caring whether or not I died, I took a risk and got in his small car.

Soon enough, I got to Jen's found the spare key, and went in. I dug out my phone charger, and called her to tell her to come home, I was safe. It was now after midnight. I called Patrick, who had left me several worried voicemails, and let him know I was alive.

When Jen came into the apartment, we both burst into tears and hugged. "I'm so glad you're safe!" she told me.

Eventually, I was reunited with my little man :)

So, why am I telling this story?

Because, this kind of thing happens to me a lot. That moment where you reach the breaking point and have to live in a friend's basement because you got fucked over on your living situation, or getting lost in Seattle, on foot, with no cell phone.

Submissions are a lot like this. Query letters, partial requests. All of those things are like this. We get rejected. We all reach the point where we sit on the curb and cry, and are completely ready to get shot in the face and die. (A little dramatic, but you know what I mean :) ). But then there's a little white kitten who crawls into our laps and whispers, Keep writing, keep editing, keep going. And so we get up, brush ourselves off, and stumble into something we never knew existed.

I believe that things work out. I also believe that things can get hard beyond belief. But if you reach your breaking point, keep pushing. You may still make it home.

Pushing

During the concussion, I've had a lot of time to think. (This is only day three, and I'm feeling a lot better, if you were wondering.)

When I was 16, I smashed my knee in pretty bad. I remember falling, getting back up, and riding the rest of the night. When I got off the hill and went inside my knee was the size of a soccer ball. My roommate had to help change my pants, and take off my socks. In the morning (because I'm an idiot), she also had to redress me. I went out that day and continued riding.

Two months later, I tried to run...made it less then 400 meters, and had to stop. I went in, told my mom to take me to the doctor. Her response, "I was just waiting for you to tell me when." In another month or so, I got my first surgery. It was found that:

*I had more scar tissue than any other patient

*I had a partially torn ACL

But I continued snowboarding. And after this concussion, I'll continue to snowboard. Why?

Because I love it. Because falling is a part of the sport, and you have to get back up, and keep going.

This picture is me getting ready to hit a jump. Yay!

Writing is a lot like that. We're all healthy and happy and nervous when we start submitting, right? And then we get rejected.

And rejected.

And rejected.

And at some point it starts to feel like a concussion, or like we can't walk all that well anymore. Maybe we need a trip to the doctor (revising your story/query/synopsis), maybe we just need to prop our legs, our head, up (take a break), or maybe we need to get a brace that we wear for a bit (know that you have something written, but start a new project and go back later).

Bottom line: PUSH through all of this. Rejection, like a concussion, hurts. But if you love it, if you love your characters and think they deserve to be heard, keep pushing, keep editing, don't give up. Get back on your board (or your computer) and keep going.

All injuries heal, and some day, you'll be rocking your way down the mountain.

Practice Makes Perfect (Overcoming Anxiety)

If you're new to the blog, I'm going to direct you to these following posts to gain some background:

*Overcoming Anxiety    *Reading Out Loud      

As you'll see, I have a lot of anxiety. I'm constantly afraid of stepping wrong, saying something stupid, and then when I have an energy drink I all but freak out. (I should maybe consider stopping that, but it just tastes so good!)

New situations terrify me. I hate when I leave a job, because it means I'll have to get a new one, get re-trained, be ignorant for about a week until I get into the flow. I hate it...I like knowing what I'm doing, I like being good at everything I do. Any time I'm out of my element, I'm shaky, it's hard to breathe...and I want Baxter (who I may or may not be trying to train as an anxiety dog).

So just recently, I moved from the Outer Banks of North Carolina, to the mountains of Maine. The move itself was making me anxious: will I have enough money? will we have a place to stay? will Baxter be okay? etc. It was relentless, but I kept pushing through it and kept going. And things worked out:

We got a house:

Yesterday, I had orientation in a room that looks like this:

If you've ever been to a conference, you'll recognize the set up.

So...I walk in eating some oreos. I drink too much coffee and start having a bit of an anxiety attack. The woman running orientation asks for four volunteers, and I find myself walking up. The entire time I was shaking, my heart was pounding so loud, I could barely hear her when she told me to read things out loud, but the bottom line is that it was practice. Maybe someday I'll host a panel, maybe even be in a panel. Maybe someday, I'll get to read my novel to a crowd the way I read stories at an open mic night.

When I finally got to sit down, I tried regaining my breath, but it took some time. But I'm proud of myself. Why? Because I did it. I pushed myself out of my comfort zone for about twenty minutes, in front of a bunch of people I didn't know. It's something I try to work on, pretty frequently.

As writer's we're going to be nervous, all the time. Querying agents, landing editors, getting our books published. And then the book tour, talking to fans, attending conferences...I'm preparing for this, all the time. Are you?

And as of tomorrow, I'm diving into being a snowboarding instructor. It's completely new to me. I don't know anyone, I'm not even sure my knee is ready for it, but this morning, I was able to kneel down for the first time since surgery. It was awesome. Painful, but awesome. It gave me the ray of hope I'd been looking for.

So, I'm going to keep pushing through, keep pushing the boundaries of my comfort zone, all the time. And every once in awhile, I'll stop..

This is the view just down the street from us :)

and be reminded that even with anxiety, this is a really good life :)

Banned Books Week: September 24-October 1

I'm not really a person for rules and regulations, or being told what to do. I don't like that one of my three jobs requires that I to wear my hair down to hide my eyebrow rings and then stud my lip ring. I also don't appreciate being told that I can't wear an actual RING for my lip at another place of employment. I try to veer away from jobs that mandate "No visible tattoos" (mine is easily covered by my watch, but it still bothers me) or that I have to "Look clean" (What does that even mean, anyway? What ever happened to no shower Fridays?). It makes me feel like they're forcing me be someone I'm not..It makes me unGodly uneasy. 


I like being able to make decisions for myself, be able to look the way I want to, do the things I want to. I don't think people should fit into certain molds that society creates, I don't like capital punishment or speed limits....I don't like things being off limits. It just kind of bugs me. One of the big ones that gets to me is banned books.


As Banned Books Week continues in full swing, I was kind of starting to wonder: 


Do you ever find the list, and read books off of it just to feel rebellious?


I did (maybe still do :) ). 


As a teen, I felt some form of vindication when I'd read the list and come find that a book that I'd loved was there, on the damn list. After that vindication, I'd feel anger. Overwhelming anger; who are these people trying to keep these amazing books out of kid's hands? More importantly, the question I kept falling back to was WHY? Why on earth are these pages so offensive to people that they wouldn't want them supplied in libraries, in schools? 


To this day, I still don't really understand why people ban books, or burn them. (Okay, some exceptions....like...you know, hate literature. I'd burn that quick.) But books, wonderful, character evolving books. Sure, at the start of the story, they can be racist, and there may be awful words....but what if at the end, the character learns that people really are equal, that hate doesn't solve anything? Why would we keep this from kids? Why would we keep these lessons from PEOPLE? Even if the character doesn't arc well enough to learn their lesson, as a parent, teacher, person...why not engage with the person reading the book;


Did you like it?
Why?
Do you agree with the way this character thinks?
Why?


Dig deep, give advice. Books give a great platform for launching conversations. Every time I see someone with a book, I ask what they're reading, if they like it, what it's about, if they're on GoodReads..etc. (It might just be because I'm a huge nerd....) 


But what if these stories help save someone? Why would we keep this hidden away?


Anyway, I pulled up the lists for the 90s HERE and the 00s HERE. Here are some of the books that either I've read or currently own and will read some day:

90s:
I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, by Maya Angelou
The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, by Mark Twain
Of Mice and Men, by John Steinbeck
The Giver, by Lois Lowry
My Brother Sam is Dead, by James Lincoln Collier and Christopher Collier
Goosebumps (series), by R.L. Stine
Go Ask Alice, by Anonymous (My teacher, Mrs. Watchorn totally made me write up a permission slip for my mom to sign so I could read this book so she could have a clean conscious. It is an amazing book...)
Julie of the Wolves, by Jean Craighead George
Fallen Angels, by Walter Dean Myers
The Outsiders, by S.E. Hinton
To Kill a Mockingbird, by Harper Lee
Slaughterhouse-Five, by Kurt Vonnegut (Side note, may have almost cried the day I found out he died. I loved this man)
The Face on the Milk Carton, by Caroline Cooney
Where’s Waldo?, by Martin Hanford
The Drowning of Stephen Jones, by Bette Greene


00s (Without the titles mentioned above)
His Dark Materials (series), by Philip Pullman 
Snow Falling on Cedars, by David Guterson 
One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, by Ken Kesey
The Kite Runner, by Khaled Hosseini 
Summer of My German Soldier, by Bette Green 
Speak, by Laurie Halse Anderson
The Lovely Bones, by Alice Sebold 
Cut, by Patricia McCormick 
Grendel, by John Gardner


Moral of the story is, I love books...Like I love them. When I get published, I'd like to some day make it on the banned books list, because I will then I feel like it'd cause me to write more, and more. I'd be on a stupid list with a lot of other amazing authors and best yet, PEOPLE. 


So, to those of you who read what's banned:


Keep reading strong.

Advice And Empowerment

A few years ago, I found myself in bed with Nicholas Sparks' Three Weeks With My Brother. At the time in my life, I was a sophomore in college at my aunt's house for Thanksgiving or Christmas break. I hadn't actively finished a novel, I'd had a poem or two published in my university's literary magazine...but I didn't consider myself a writer and at the time, I wasn't trying to write as my university didn't offer any creative writing courses...I just wrote when the bug hit me.

There are a couple of things I learned from his book, and I'd actually recommend reading it if you haven't. As a writer, though, the biggest thing I learned was to:

FINISH YOUR NOVEL

Sparks wrote about his first experience writing a novel, and how it was grueling, and hard, and at some point you want to just quit because what's the point?...He admitted that when he finished it was complete shit. He, NICHOLAS FRIGGIN SPARKS, knew it was shit.

But that's not what mattered.

What mattered was the fact he was able to write a friggin novel. And if you're able to sit there, shell out a novel, even a crappy one...maybe you can shell out another, and another, and eventually find an agent, find a publisher, and start getting yourself out there. Or, even if you're taking the self publishing route, you still need a FINISHED product to be able to put out in the world.

After I read his book, I finished Confessions of an Immortal Heart...crappily. To this day it still needs editing and it's been solidly done for a few years now. I finished a novel that ended up being about 76,000 words. On days when I need a good laugh, I go back to the very first draft, because it's so poorly written there's nothing else to do. On days when I doubt my ability as a writer, I pull it up, and look at the page count because I did this, I accomplished this. If that's not enough, I pull up Igniting a Firestarter, or Character Defects, because I've written three novels. I have a very high word count...and if I start reading what I've written, I'll find lines that I really like, or the editor in me will come out and strengthen what is on the page. And then I know...I'm a writer.

I've written three novels because I finished one. If I hadn't finished one...I'd be living on a beach...with nothing to show for it...(Don't get me wrong, I'm still living on a beach :) )

Moral of the story is: Push through, work hard, and finish. Especially if this is your first novel, finish it. Once you have the confidence that you can finish.....

(I'm gonna be corny here, are you ready?)

...YOU CAN DO ANYTHING.