Write with TLC

I arranged my poems for a third book of poetry at the same time I created the two books I published last Autumn, and I hated the arrangement. I found ways to avoid thinking about it, working on it, even acknowledging it existed. Love in Silhouette: Poems and Reflections in Silhouette: Poems , the first two books of poetry I arranged spoke to me, but the third one felt like leftovers. No one loves leftovers. That's why they tend to linger in the refrigerator until weforce ourselves to eat them so as to not be wasteful or just throw them away because they're spoiled. Okay, someone is sure to say "What about chili? It's always better the second day." I will concede the point by being cliche. Chili is the exception that proves the rule. But as a general rule, leftovers aren't something we look forward to. The longer I thought about that book of poetry, the more I realized I couldn't publish leftovers. I went back to the beginning and started looking throu

Time alone is not something to celebrate.... Putting in the time doesn't equate to quality of life or happiness. Time is simply time, the passing of seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years, decade, centuries... I've only recently come to realize this. I've always, like most people, celebrated making it through another whatever, but making it through isn't much to celebrate in most instances. Time matters, but only if it is productive. Productive means different things given different situations. What I consider productive for my writing career isn't the same thing I consider productive for my relationships. I've been thinking about time a lot lately. I've dedicated a lot of time to a lot of things that haven't necessarily been productive for the goals I've set, but they've kept me busy and given me a way to avoid things I didn't want to face. There are a lot of demands on the time we have, but time spent is not necessarily t

So you think when you call me a bitch, I'm going to curl up and cry for forgiveness? Yeah, right. Think again! As far back as I can remember I've been proud to be called a bitch. I realized early on that most of the time, this "insult" is hurled to make a woman back down when she stands up for herself or otherwise exhibits her strength and/or independence. I felt this way well before someone sent me one of those email chain jokes in the 1990s that defined bitch as a Babe In Total Control of Herself though I did love that email because it fit so well with what I already believed. There is something to that if you think about it. Women who are considered bitches are usually strong, independent, and outspoken. They are often successful or at the very least confident in their achievements. So I've never been one to shrink away from the label though that probably lead to me hearing it that much more often. I'm not encouraging people to lob the word at others by m

When I read Johanna Garth's blog post,  What Do Writers Want?, and realized she was talking about her fear of failure, I was struck once again by how I fear success as much as, if not more than, I fear failure. I simply don't consider failure an option for the most part as long as I know I've given the best I've got to give. I commented on Johanna's page, but my comment didn't post for some reason. Perhaps that glitch was the universe telling me to pursue the idea formulating for my own blog post, so here it is. I blogged earlier this year about embracing my own strength, Good Little Girls, Don't Let Anyone Steal Your Strength , and the fear of success goes right along with what I said then. Actually, in a way, that article addresses my fear of success. I guess I didn't quite get the message because a reminder arrived this week. (You may recall I recently wrote about the little nudges the universe sends us...) I'm not exactly sure where my fear

Two years ago, I wrote about my annual bad day . I hoped it would fade into the background. This year marks twenty-two years since the event that changed who I was forever. And, my annual bad day looms in front of me once again. This year I tried to pretend it wasn't approaching, but I failed. Even when I try to forget, my body reminds me. In the days preceding my annual bad day, my skin grows more sensitive, my muscles tense, sleep is elusive and then all-consuming, my brain replays images in my dreams, and my focus suffers. Emotionally, I become more sensitive. I feel things more intensely. My feelings are hurt more easily. I become a bit melancholy. I struggle to not feel overwhelmed by the sense of betrayal, or at least the memories of the sense of betrayal. It all floods back, and I am filled with anger, sadness, and even regret even though I know I am well over blaming myself for someone else's actions. Meditation, yoga, and focusing on gratitude fail to give me com

There are times in life when we have to face hard truths. These are truths about what we first see as something outside ourselves. Then realize it's something we've played a hand in. (Yes, for those of you wondering, this is the post I've been struggling to write.) Recently, I wrote a post about getting nudges to keep going as I wrote draft after draft of this post - all discarded. Then I read a blog post about doing what one loves by Steven Cox. Shortly after that, I was inspired to write my own post about doing what one loves  and then to go read one I wrote last year, also inspired by Steve, about surrounding one's self with incredible people . It was my incredible people post that got me back on track. As I read through it, I teared up. See, I'd been trying to write about how people I considered (still consider) incredible had let me down recently. It's not that I want to hurt these people or draw attention to them. It's that I want to encourage peop

I've talked several times about the importance and benefits of focusing on doing what one loves. As a writer, I am lucky I get to spend my days playing with words. I love writing. I love playing with words. I love creating works that affect people's lives. Recently, I read a blog post, Make a Shift - Spend More Time on Things You Love , by Steven Cox about doing what one loves. Steve includes a really cool visual representation on his page that shows how most of our lives are lived and how we should strive to live our lives focusing on doing the things we love. Go ahead and take a look, just don't forget to come back. (Some of you may remember me mentioning Steve last year in a blog post, Embracing the Incredible .) As someone who spends my day doing what I love, I sometimes forget how disheartening it can feel to spend one's day focused on things one hates. I have occasional moments in life like this. Cleaning house, particularly toilets, doing the taxes, and filin

All day yesterday I wrote, erased, rewrote, erased, and rewrote a blog post. I couldn't find the right words to say what I need to say. After about the third draft, I opened an email from a friend that offered a sentiment that I needed to hear. As I read it and my response formulated in my head, I knew I couldn't give that response to my friend. It would be a lie, so I wrote the truth. As I stared at the truth in a single, short paragraph, I wondered if I could really share that truth with the world yet writing it directly to my friend in a private setting did help me solidify what I truly felt. So I returned to working on the blog post. There is something in this I need to express. I wrote a poem about it last week and two yesterday. I focused on the blog post. I wrote and wrote and wrote. I erased and erased and erased. The words just wouldn't come together. Finally, at around one o'clock this morning, I gave up. Well, technically, I decided to take a break, sleep