I’m Crying Here

My friend told me she never cries. She simply didn’t feel sadness much and never had any real reason to cry.

Either she is lying or she is painfully un-self-aware. You can’t say, “boo,” to her without making her break-down. I’ve never seen someone cry so much as she does.

Except for me.

I cry all the time. Ten things that made me cry last week:

  1. Simone Biles
  2. Ruth 1:16
  3. A new book on home decorating
  4. Joe Strummer’s rendition of Bob Marley’s Redemption Song
  5. My husband and I got into an argument one morning and he came home from work early to be the first to apologize.
  6. A dear friend sent me a very sweet text
  7. A scene I wrote
  8. A Facebook Memory of a video of my son at a swim lesson when he was three
  9. A video about overcoming feelings of insignificance
  10. I felt lonely

Those are very specific examples that I can remember. There are also some general stuff that turns on the waterworks for me anytime, all the time. A note: to me crying is a spectrum, ranging from tearing up to total meltdown. Not everything reduces me to a shaking, leaking shell of a woman, but the following can be a challenge…

The Star Spangled Banner

I can’t sing it. When the world gasped and pointed at Gabby Douglas during her team’s medal ceremony because she didn’t belt out the words or place her hand over her heart, I almost cried for her. It would take everything I had not to ugly-cry while receiving an Olympic medal. I don’t know if I could even stand. Would it be un-patriotic for me to collapse in a snotty puddle while the national anthem played and men and women in military service saluted?

I always have to pretend the sun is in my eyes at the start of baseball games. I know, pathetic.

Whenever Anyone Else Cries

Please don’t cry in my presence. If you cry, I have to cry. I carry little packets of tissues wherever I go. If you start to cry, I’ll hand you a Kleenex and we will have a good cry together. I have cried with friends and strangers. Once, with a WWII POW when he told me how many of his buddies have passed during and since that war and how hard they fought and how proud they were to do it.

Books

Not many books make me cry, but when they do, roll up your pants legs. Here comes the flood. Year of Wonders: A Novel of the Plague and The Border of Paradise: A Novel both made me cry buckets, but there were others. My new decorating book, The Nesting Place: It Doesn’t Have to Be Perfect to Be Beautiful made me cry. My home doesn’t have to perfect to be beautiful?? Pass a tissue.

Music

This is a weird thing for even me to handle. Music makes me cry. It tickles my brain. Any kind of music will do it. I have to try not to cry. This can make me look a little looney in public. If I’m at home and the Yeah, Yeah, Yeah’s Fever To Tell makes me cry, then I’ll let it all out. Maybe my eyeballs need washing.

YouTube

So there’re a lot of social experiments where people are filmed doing the right thing. Like this one of an African man who receives a racist message on social media and asks strangers if they would interpret it for him. Or this one, where young people are asked to interview for a thankless job (the one their moms do). CRYING.

Yoga

I don’t know why. Maybe it’s all the breathing. I just pretend I put too much downward in my dog.

Movies

Of course. What am I? A monster?

 

Now, to be sure, all this boo-hoo-ing takes place between my normal emotions, like crying at normal things, general well-being and happiness, feelings of gratitude (when I remember I’m not homeless and, dear God, what they must cry about), love for my family and friends and laughing at funny things.

Humans are the only animals that can cry from feelings. Crying makes us feel better and it may help us to connect with others. I think that’s good, don’t you? Tears make us human.

Courtesy of Flickr, Machiel van Zanten
Courtesy of Flickr Creative Commons, Machiel van Zanten

Which makes me cry.

 

 

Satan is a Bad Influence

I feel like I need to start this post with the following declaration:

I have no skin in this game.

I’m Catholic.

I attended private Catholic school for a few years, but mostly I was enrolled in public schools. We didn’t have after school clubs for Catholics in public school. We had CCD at our church. CCD was like Sunday School for Protestants except more lectures and tests and less macaroni crafts and scripture bingo.

I don’t think there were enough non-Latino Catholics in my Texas Public School to form a club. It’d just be me and another kid, who, we’d soon come to figure out, was in the wrong room expecting a meeting of the Dungeons and Dragons Club. That’d explain the cloak.

Although, a cloak at a Catholic Students of Texas Public School meeting wouldn’t look too out of place. Not how I picture it, anyway.

By Arthur Hacker - The Athenaeum: Home - info - pic, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=24120196
By Arthur Hacker – The Athenaeum: Home – info – pic, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=24120196

At my public school, if you weren’t Baptist, you were a Satanist. KIDDING. But I did like to play up all the mysteries surrounding Catholicism.

Oh, yeah. We drink wine all the time. In church, after church. Hell, our priest would pass out cigarettes at our final prayer.

Oh my God! Fingers point at me. She admitted it! She totally admitted they get drunk at their church!

So, when there was an after school activity or some kind of retreat on the weekends, or perhaps, a ski trip on a spring break or two, hosted by the First Baptist Church of Texas, I’d be one of the first to sign up. Those kids were my friends and I wanted to hang with them and ski. I wanted to go to the movie nights and the parties. My church didn’t have a youth group that planned events like these. Or maybe they did and I couldn’t read enough Spanish to cobble together the details.

 

Come to Jesus

I also got a lot of attention. I was the Catholic girl who needed to be saved. Okay, so I’m being a little dramatic. Ninety-nine percent of the Baptist kids were just like me looking for fun and also getting to stay out a little later because it was a church event. And, also the skiing.

But there was always that one kid who pulled me aside at these things and asked me if I had truly accepted Jesus as my Lord and Savior.

“Um, sure.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
“Really??”
“YES.”
“When?”
“What?”
“When did you do it?”
“Accept the Lord?”
“Yes. When? How? What did you say? Because there’s something very specific I need to hear from you so that I can know, in your heart, you’re a Christian.”

I had to figure out what that specific thing was so I could get back to the pizza before all that was left was supreme (blech).

So, I had to learn the language and it didn’t take long to come up with a little speech. This little speech is called a testimony, in case you didn’t know. At these events, sometimes you were asked to give your testimony, so you had better have one ready unless you just loved supreme pizza. And water, because all the cokes would be gone by the time you’ve convinced your little Bible Buddy that you’re a Christian.

Now, there’s not a doubt in my mind where I stand, Jesus-wise. With a little luck, I’ll even die in a state of grace.

This is all part of growing up, folks. I’m not traumatized. I’m not a devil-worshipper. I’m still Catholic. I still loves the Lord.

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When did this all become a ridiculous battle? Do we not have other shit to worry about? Like World War III? Like, Donald Trump? Like, Hilary Clinton? Like how to retire? Like how to be a good neighbor? Like where to buy cute ski clothes on sale before the First Baptist Youth Group Spring Ski Trip?

There is actually an After School Satan Club. Google it. I’m not making it up.

Satan. Not satin. Because at first, I thought, “What a major yawn-fest. What 12-year old is interested in textiles? Although, I do like the idea of sending The Boy to some meetings and procuring us some satin pillow cases…nice.”

The Satan Club is a confrontational effort to infuse the children with, “logic,” and “reasoning,” because when you have a child in elementary school, that’s top of mind. Screw you, Tooth Fairy and Santa, because of all the logic and reasoning. Now go to work, child, and pick up your paycheck. Make sure you sign up for birth control coverage.

 

There’s Good News?

On the opposite side of this crazy coin, and pretty much what set the Satan Clubbers to thinking, is The Good News Club. If you take the First Baptist Church of Texas Youth Group and gave them some meth and a bunch of clocks and VCRs to take apart and put back together, then you’d have The Good News Club.

Now, I don’t know any of the following from personal experience. I get my information from reputable websites like afterschoolsatanclubdotcom and satanhatesthegoodnewsclubdotcom. So, I’ll pass what I’ve learned in my thirty minutes of research to you.

Instead of one Bible Buddy cornering you and asking you for your testimony before you may proceedeth to thine table of the pizza, you would have like the whole club blocking your entree. The crafts are collages of the End Times using mixed media of pasta and glitter glue. Scripture bingo is made entirely of Revelations and any passages related to the following: sin, blood, wrath, death, hell, sin, punishment and obedience.

Okay, I don’t mind punishment and obedience. I preach that one at home with my own hell references.

(Image via O'Dea at WikiCommons) Dammit! Did we miss it? Or is it next year?
(Image via O’Dea at WikiCommons)        Dammit! Did we miss Judgement Day? Or is it next year?

I’m just floored.

Look, clearly, I’m on the God side of this equation. I happily live under the belief He loves us all, even the Satan Club. But I can also see Him giving some major side-eye to The Good News Club.

Satan Clubbers? We expected that sort of behavior from you.

The Good News Club? Just stop before He turns the car around.

If The Boy waves a flyer at me and tells me the After School Satan Club is coming to his school, I’ll tell him to ignore them because they sound like a bunch of fun sponges. Unless they host a ski trip at spring break. Sure, they’ll poke all kinds of holes in our Easter Bunny story and they’ll explain how rainbows are only meteorological phenomenon, but how else will he get to ski Durango for under $150.00 a day?

You can’t.

Guns and Roses: A Gracious Guide To Southern Lifestyles

Are you on vacation? I hope so. I hope your current (or future) vacation is full of sun, fun, water, wine, interesting culture and new food.

I, myself, am in Texas helping out my mom as she recovers from surgery. It is July. It is hot. Incidentally, July is pronounced JU-ly in Texan…as in we don’t go up to the high school in JU-ly. We say, “the high school,” because normally there is only one in town. It may have 50,000 students with five satellite campuses and a football stadium that inspired Jerry Jones to build his own, but normally one high school.

I love it here. I’m proud to call myself a Texan. When I was younger, I poo-pooed all over being a Texan. Couldn’t wait to get out of this backwards dry spot and live somewhere, “cool.”

I mean, I got over myself and made a pretty good, “adult life,” in Texas. I even convinced my heat-hating Midwestern boyfriend (now husband) to move here and life here for us was good and sweaty.

Source: http://www.quickmeme.com
Source: http://www.quickmeme.com

Then we moved to the Northeast.

I like it there too.

But there’s no place like home.

Mother’s asleep (Vicodin) and I’m out on the porch. It’s windy, in that oven-hot, whoosh-y way it blows out of the south. Roofers are taking a well-deserved siesta under a neighbor’s shade tree across the street, feet propped up on a big red cooler, straw hats over their eyes. An anole lizard puffs out his rosy throat, looking for love from the back of the wicker chair closest to mine. Maybe he’s telling me this is his porch and I’m trespassing.

Who knows. I don’t speak lizard. Not very well, anyway.

Thanks to a rainy spring and early summer, the crackling, brown cover of this part of the world has yet to take over. We have soft, green grass in the yard and bright, pretty flowers in the beds and the pots. The Africanized bees and the wasps are not as angry as they could be and the fire ants can still find what they need underground. Watch for mosquitos carrying Zika and West Nile and you can sit outside quite a while before finding yourself devoured.

Outside of the cities, the life is quieter, the speech is slower, the BBQ tastes better and the radio sounds fantastic.

By bdunnette - http://www.flickr.com/photos/bdunnette/4760750460/, CC BY-SA 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=14167909
By bdunnette – http://www.flickr.com/photos/bdunnette/4760750460/, CC BY-SA 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=14167909

 

I’m not sure I ever remember actually seeing a gun rack in the back of a pick-up, but most people have a few guns. It’s not scary. They also grow roses and tomatoes, make wine and put up peppers.

When I was a little girl and visiting my grandmother in the country, we’d sit on the back stairs and hull peas and shuck corn. I took that time for granted. I’d give anything to only have to worry about getting through all those paper sacks of peas and corn before I could run off and play with my summer friends. You don’t have to travel to India to find your Zen. Just hull a bazillion peas on a sultry East Texas morning. You’ll find your center sure enough.

In spite of the caricature of the dumb, redneck Texan, education is highly valued, as well as having fine manners and loving your neighbor.

This explains a lot.
This explains a lot.

Just like the rest of America.

Now, I’m proud in Pennsylvania. We have Tastykake! Among other wonderful delicacies (oh, the french fries), sights and sounds.

What’s in your state?

How To Save A Life

You’ve probably heard this one before: an old man saw a boy flinging starfish from where they were stranded on the beach back into the ocean so they could live. The old man asked the boy why he was wasting his time because the beach was miles long and full of stranded starfish. What difference does it make for the boy to take the time to do it?

The boy looks at the starfish in his hand and replies, “It makes a difference to this one,” and throws it into the surf.

Know it?

YES YOU DO. Everyone knows this story.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA
FlickR Creative Commons by Andrewrendell

 

So, I read a lot of other writers’ blogs and from time to time, a topic comes that I read with great interest. The articles usually start along the lines of, “One question I get asked over and over again as a writer is why do I write?”

Something I need to say here is that no one has ever asked me that question. Mainly, I hear, “What do you write?” Or better yet, “Still?” Then I answer and my non-writerly friends’ eyes drift over to the buffet. I think I need to work on my, “elevator pitch.”

Anyhoo, the question of why writers write interests me because I think we should all ask ourselves why we pursue the things we do. We need a sense of purpose and urgency. Else, if we think no one is reading, watching or caring, we would stop.

That might be bad.

Yes, you must read my novel about a songwriter in love with two men who are best friends, one even married to her own best friend, or your life is in great peril. You’ve been warned.

What in God’s name are you talking about, Jen? And be quick about it, because they’re running out of shrimp on the buffet. I can see it from here.

 

A Show About Nothing

The year was 1996. One of the funniest Seinfeld episodes aired on a cool October evening. The episode was called, “A Difficult Patient.” Elaine saw her doctor for a rash on her arms. But while left alone in the examination room, she peeks at her chart and sees that she’s considered a difficult patient. The doctor returns to the exam room and chides Elaine for looking at her own chart. He fake erases the comment and dismisses her rash as nothing to worry about. Elaine obsesses. Decides she can’t see her doc anymore and goes for a second opinion. The new doc opens her file and shuts it quickly with an exhale. “Your rash doesn’t look serious,” he says as he writes something else on her chart and walks out.

Meanwhile, she scratches her way through the episode unrelieved and even ropes Kramer into stealing her chart so it won’t follow her around for the rest of her life.

Yeah, no. Kramer as Dr. Van Nostrum from The Hoffer-Mandale Clinic in Belgium, The Netherlands, doesn’t get her chart back.

Funny? As all get-out.
Life saving? Yes.
I don’t get it.
I’ll explain it to you.
Thank you.

 

Mammograms Can Be Funny

A woman in my life who is as close to me as as anyone can be was blowing off her mammogram. For, like years. Her doctor finally got firm with her and told her to stop avoiding her mammogram. She instantly thought of, “A Difficult Patient,” made a typical jokey Seinfeld reference, then made her appointment last month.

She’s having surgery this week because she has breast cancer.

Thank you, Seinfeld writer, Jennifer Crittenden. You just played a part in saving my mother’s life. I’m glad you didn’t stop.

For you, Gentle Mood Swinger, keep flinging starfish.

How To Peddle Porn on Pinterest Without Really Trying

On Friday The Thirteenth, I received an email from Pinterest at 1:18 in the AM. Pinterest removed one of my pins because it “went against,” their policies on sexually explicit or pornographic content.

I deleted it thinking it was a phishing attempt.

Click here to see more information, then call this phone number and have your credit card and bank account numbers available whilst we connect you to someone with an accent thick enough to hold a spoon upright.

 

Pinterest Worldwide HQ
Pinterest Worldwide HQ

But later when I tried to access my Pinterest account (I believe to find what might could be dinner later), I saw a similar message. This time, a warning was added:

Please review all of your pins and boards for sexually explicit images and remove them immediately.

I’m not sure what the worst is that can happen in this scenario. Pinterest suspension? Public ridicule? Jail time?

I fetched the original email from my email provider provided trash-can.

The deleted image was from my California board. Love California. Love everything about it. Want to be California when I grow up. I base stories there in little made up towns up and down the seaside, where no one pays taxes or sits in traffic for hours on end.

The Pinterest po-po gave me the link to the offensive pin. Like I’m going to fall for that and click on it! Double jeopardy much, PINTEREST??

I know my rights.

I can tell the link contains content about the most majestically (sic) trees in the world.

That’s how you know you’ve been punked by someone in a sweaty shirt in a sweaty internet cafe with a God Knows What language to English dictionary opened next to him, drinking shot after shot of some kind of shitty local moonshine, creating links from majestically (sic) trees to pine-on-pecan porn. “Bistore!” He shouts and then hits…PIN IT.

His mayhem is shared and I’m the one in trouble.

Innocent me sees an image of a tree and thinks, how nice, and pins it to my California board. Y’all, I don’t even remember doing this.

Now, after seeing the warning, I feel I can’t ignore it. I don’t even want to see what happens if I ignore it. I go through all the pins.

I have almost 2000 pins.

I was pretty diligent on the first ten, reviewing each image, then clicking to see where it lead. Then I got bored. On the last 1,900, I just scanned for the f-word.

I had more f-words in my pins than I care to admit. But now they are all deleted in accordance with the Pinterest Scriptures. I felt pretty clean and good about myself until I remembered some fitness stuff I’d pinned. So I looked at those more closely.

Many, many ass-shots. Women in panties or hot pants leaning over their kitchen counters and balcony railings, as one does. I got rid of those too.

 

Stop! In the Name of Love

I feel like the sheriff will knock on my door any minute with a, “mind if I poke around, ma’am?” and he will push open the door without waiting for my answer, clutching a copy of the state’s obscenity law.

“Excuse me,” I say, hitching up my yoga pants. “But I’m in the middle of a squat challenge.”

The sheriff peers over my shoulder at my laptop.

“I see that. You don’t mind if my deputy and I help a little filly with her work-out.”

Woo-Hoooo! He and his deputy tear off their breakaway brown, work trousers and fling their mirrored aviators across the room.

 

The Pinterest Blacklist

Obviously, I’m on some kind of list. Some kind of offensive pinners’ list. I should lay low until there’s turnover at Pinterest and the new people forget to check The List.

“What list?” Someone will ask.
“I dunno. We used to check The List every morning. I never knew why. The person in charge of it has retired.”
“It must not have been important. Pitch it.”

That’s right, Pinterest. We’ll just forget the whole thing. Shh. Sleepy time now.

Are You There Judy? It’s Me, Jen.

With summer almost upon us, I must prepare for the season by compiling my TBR list. I like to keep books in every room of my house, in each bag or purse, in the cars and next to most of my appliances. This way, if I ever have a moment where my eyes are not supposed to be on something else, like children or the stove, I can scan the immediate area for a book and squeeze off a scene or chapter before something else needs my attention. I get quite a lot of reading done this way.

Of course, nothing beats a long, leisurely read, but I only get those on birthdays and anniversaries. Any other day and I’m too laden with guilt to enjoy what I’m reading. If I wait until night, I’m lucky to get one cheek under the sheet before I’m dead to the world.

Shhh, I'm trying to sleep.
Shhh, I’m trying to sleep.

I asked my friends for suggestions for the TBR pile. Boy, there are some good ones:

All the Light We Cannot See

Bossypants

The Good Lord Bird

The Boys in the Boat: Nine Americans and Their Epic Quest for Gold at the 1936 Berlin Olympics

I just mailed this one to mom: The Midnight Assassin: Panic, Scandal, and the Hunt for America’s First Serial Killer

It looked so chilling I also sent along this blanket:

 

Brrr. My mom and I love anything about serial killers!

Then there’s this terrific list from Publishers Weekly.

I think the TBR mountain is coming along nicely.

One of my friends asked me what was my favorite summer read. That’s easy.

Look at the cover! A beach, waves, straw hats. Adirondack chairs! That’s how you know you have a summer read winner. Can’t go wrong with a cover of Adirondack chairs.

I have to read this book every summer. It’s about two friends who grow up together. One is from a wealthy family and one is from a working class family. IT’S SO GOOD. And chock full of WTF moments like when the girls discover their “power,” buzzing from between their legs or how Caitlin doesn’t bathe for an entire summer. Crazy. But it’s so good that you don’t even skip a beat to think about how weird that is until the end when your endorphins are pumping and you look up to focus on the wall across the room and then you think, “did Caitlin really just make out with the movie star renting down the street from her after he paid her for babysitting his kids while he took his movie star wife out to dinner?”

Yes. Yes, she did. Caitlin’s the rich one.

Judy Blume is my favorite all-time writer. From Super-Fudge to Wifey, I’ve read ’em all. I’ve learned a lot about life and, ahem, other things from reading her books. Forever immediately comes to mind.

Did you know that maxi pads used to come with little belts that you wore around your waist? That was way before my time. But, weird, right? Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret was all about it.

Sadly, Ms. Blume (my favorite all-time writer) is coming to my town and I didn’t hear about it until it was too late. All the tickets sold in hours. I wish she would bottle her writing mojo and send it to me as an apology for not personally reaching out to her number one fan (me) regarding her visit to my city.

Perhaps, I could find her hotel. This is a small city. There are only about half a dozen I’d need to steal a maid’s uniform for call. Then I would just simply camp out in the lobby and wait for her to come down. I know what she looks like because I have pictures of her wallpapered all over one wall of my office. I have even attached my face on  her body on some of them so it looks like we are one person. So cute. Try it. It’s one of my Pinterest Boards. Then we could have coffee together and talk like the old friends I think we are. If she doesn’t want to do that, then I’ll have coffee and talk to her through the top of the trunk of my car.

KIDDING.

Totally kidding. Would. Not. Do. That.

So…where were we?

Yes. Send me your reading suggestions. Thanks, that’d be great.

Milk, Milk, Lemonade

All I wanted to do was laundry. Mountains of it, because of a weekend getaway. A getaway with not much time for internetting or emailing or streaming. I was out of the loop, for like, two days.

My energy level lagged a little. I  had a vacation hangover, so I thought I would find some upbeat music to make the unpacking pass. Beyonce popped in my head. I think because she trended on Twitter and Facebook as I checked them after hours in the wilds of Southern Ohio. I also received several emails about her (not from her, so I deleted them). I wouldn’t say I was in the Beyhive, but I like her music and have been known to sing along to, “Survivor,” once or twice. Loudly.

So Spotify apologized for not having Lemonade yet but assured me they were working on it. I’d never seen a message like this before on Spotify. Usually, they are trying to get me to upgrade to a paid subscription (they don’t know how cheap I am). But considering I didn’t even know Lemonade existed, I wasn’t too disappointed.

 

Beyonce Is Dirty And Needs A Bath

Shuffle the Beyonce playlist? Don’t mind if I do.

I’m thinking, “Best Thing I Never Had,” or “Irreplaceable.” “Single Ladies,” would be nice.

I got, “Drunk In Love.”

Explicit version.

The Spotify explicit version.

Which sounds like the normal explicit version, except for a bonus Jay Z rap.

Did he just say he impregnated his bride’s mouth?? Why, yes he did.

He said a bunch of other things too, but I can’t put them in this post because my mother will read it. She may be the only one too, so I need to hold onto her.

After I picked myself up off the floor, I actually listened to the song.

It was dirty. No two ways about it. I mean, I already knew what it was about, but I didn’t know WHAT IT WAS ABOUT. Mostly, because I can’t understand it.

Surfboarding – Thought that was a coastal recreational pastime.

Cigar’s on ice? Use this ashtray, otherwise, the paper will get soggy and won’t stay lit properly.

Drinking watermelon…I love fruit based smoothies! Pass one here 🙂

A young friend of mine explained. Surfboarding and grinding on wood. Well, that’s about the actual act of lovemaking, Jen. Grow up.

Cigar’s on ice is a term for a sexually frustrated male human being. Obvs.

Drinking watermelon. Watermelon has seeds. THINK ABOUT IT. Semen??

 

I’m A Mayon

I’m no prude. Remember the Berlin song from the 80s? “Sex (I’m A)?

Please, please, please watch the video, and then come back.

That was dirty, but they spelled it out for us in the song lyrics. Then they provided some weird visual cues for us, in case we were still unclear.

We start, in the video, with entering a woman’s red lipsticked mouth and then we travel through a tunnel. There is a dude with make-up pawing a mannequin. Some hot kissing and hugging action reflected in a shattered mirror, 80s style.

Um, a big buffet? Lots of food and cutting of big roasts and that sort of thing. Oysters and grapes.

We end with Terri Nunn and the dude with the Revlon blush-on, bumping into each other at a party, both of them with their cigars on the ice. They clutch each other with delight because they are about to go SURFBOARDING.

Ah, THAT was music, kids! All dirty and filthy. A clearly stated message.

Frankly, Beyonce and Jay Z just confuse me.

UPDATE: Rumor is Jay Z may be getting his wood ground somewheres else. I hope they work it out because he does like to look at her fatty.

I Am Afraid to Fail And I Keep Writing

Notice there is no, “but,” in this post’s title. I’ve put myself on an attitude diet and reduced my, “but.” I’ve replaced it with pure, “and.”

I decided to try this diet after reading an article by Sarah Calendar on Writer Unboxed:

There is something empowering and freeing in using and in place of but, which I suppose makes sense. But is a word that limits someone or something. And is a word that increases someone or something. These conjunctions-junctions really do have important functions.

The idea that we are not solely one thing or another was a, “whoa,” moment for me.

Try it:

I’m an introvert and I like to entertain in my home.

I’m trying to traditionally publish and I know it’s hard.

I like to play the piano and I need to practice more.

I want to learn to play Redemption Song by Bob Marley on my guitar and I need to find the music.

My goals and motivation sharpen way the hell up when I do this. I even accidentally created the first step to accomplishing my goals in two of these examples.

 

Reading and Writing The, “And”

Do you like characters that are complicated, flakey and don’t always know what to do? I always have. Though we are in an age where authors are told readers want strong female characters. Yes. Certainly.

But (oops, my but gettin’ big).

I like characters that mess up because of who they are and not in spite of themselves. Now, I know, like you know, that some characters in some bestsellers are TSTL (too stupid to live). I won’t list them, but you feel free to in the comments. Hee.

But (again) what if you read about a songwriter who is divorced from a cheating husband and loves two men? Is such a conflict even possible?

What about a man who’s trying to save his marriage and loves his best friend’s fiancee?

Whaaaaat?

Would their conflicts resonate with you? Do you think you might feel all the betrayal and redemption these characters do? Could they possibly become more human to you? Would the promise of a character arc from, “I thought I was right,” to “Now, I know I’m right,” appeal to you?

Or would you find it boring?

Tony Soprano was a good provider to his family and he was a murderer.
Jack Bauer fought for justice and acted unethically.

Dana Scully is a skeptic and she searches for the truth.

These are characters that came to life for us. We may not agree or support all of their decisions but we will never forget them.

 

Become Instantly Fascinating

Think of people in your life and throughout history with personas that contrasted with their actions or their beliefs. Make statements about them that brings their humanity to the surface.

Then create statements for yourself and see where the, “and,” takes you. You are more than you think you are. You’re pretty fascinating, if you ask me.

While I’m afraid that I am wasting my time—the precious moments I’ve been given on this earth—by writing What The Heart Wants and I may fall in front of people whose opinions matter to me, I keep trying everyday to make it the best it can be because I am human—conflicted and flawed. I am afraid to fail and I keep writing.

Move Over, Goats

Normally, I can’t spot a trend until people are asking, “Jen, why are you still wearing/saying/dancing-like that?”

That’s why I’m so happy to finally be ahead of the curve. To be one of the first to see the Next Big Thing. Then when you see it too, you’ll remember this post on the Mood Swings. Sir Richard Branson didn’t see this coming. Elon Musk didn’t see this coming. Peter Cashmere didn’t see this coming. You won’t hear this from Lady Gaga. Or Rachel Zoe.

Only me.

So, I feel that goats are over.

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Put your hand-hoof down. It’s true.

I want to say one word to you. Just one word.

Raccoons.

They’re getting all the good memes lately:

 

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iFunny.com

Murder dog…trash panda. Ha. Too funny.

 

via GIPHY

Oh, come on! That’s damn cute right there.

I have nothing against goats. I have a dream that I will someday own one named Tulip and one named Buttercup.

Remember when you were a kid visiting the petting zoo? There was always a bunch of goats and one would follow you and try to eat your jacket until your mom came over to take your sleeve out of the goat’s mouth.

Raccoons are cute, but they will fight you.

Also, I can’t quite say goats have played all the way out. Goats of Anarchy has 214,000 followers on Instagram which is about 213,750 more than I have.

All I’m saying is I’m excited to see where this is going.

Team Goat? Team Raccoon?

 

Peter Benchley’s Jaws

I was about 8 years old when I read Jaws. I got it from my mother’s bookshelf. I’m not sure if I read it before or after my parents took my little sister and me to see it at the drive-in.

I judge my mother.

Anyhoo, it was the mid-70s and the cover of the book had a swimming naked lady above a giant shark with a gaping mouth full of shark-y teeth. Irresistible.

The 70s loved a scantily-clad or naked woman in peril.

 

Cover Art

They don’t make covers like that anymore. I felt the cold New England, Atlantic water even though I had never been there. The perspective of the size of the shark contrasted to little naked Chrissie (that’s the naked lady’s name!) made me think of a school bus mowing me down. I remember thinking, “how deep was this water to allow a school bus to turn into such a position and get up to speed to eat this naked lady?” I spent a lot of time looking at this cover.

Jaws-paperback

 

There’ve been many covers. This one is the first one:

 

This is the current one:

But mine was the best.

 

His First Novel a Blockbuster

Jaws is over 40-years old (like me). It was Peter Benchley’s first novel and he received an advance of $1000 for four chapters. Doubleday published the book in 1974. The movie, directed by Steven Spielberg, released a year later.

Google discussions about the book vs. the film and you’ll see many praising the movie above the book. But for me, the book was the best. I think the reason is that the first time I watched the movie, my eyes squeezed themselves shut under a blanket and my fingers poked themselves in my ears. So I guess I actually did not see or hear the movie until many years later.

With a little more separation from the action in the book, my mind filled in enough details to make it scary, but I could still look up and away from it.

Jaws (5530370622)

After becoming a conservationist, Benchley said that he regretted making the shark so menacing and portraying his shark as a mindless killing machine. To the late Mr. Benchley, I say, “You can chill. Sharks are pretty menacing outside of your book. Bears, both grizzly and polar, tigers and great white sharks–they all have the same I-will-eat-you-vibe. It’s not you. It’s them. All them. They brought it on themselves because of all the people they’ve eaten.”

Jaws is still news. The sequels are coming out on Blu-ray. I’m thinking backyard film fest this summer.

But the original is always the best and the original was the book. Did you know that Mrs. Chief Brody and Hooper had an affair? YES THEY DID IN THE BOOK. You won’t get adultery in the movie.

After you read the book, there’s a great list of 21 Random Facts About Jaws. This will get you re-excited about the classic movie and inspire your own film fest. Download my Party Book for more help.

You may be wondering what got me thinking about Jaws on a snowy April day. I had a parent/teacher conference and we talked about The Boy’s advanced reading level. His teacher cautioned me about finding books for him that were on his reading level but may be too mature for him.

I thought about Jaws.

Happy summer.

There’s a lot of great classic 70s movies from books. If you have any suggestions for me, I’d love to hear them.