in addition to the flowers, may brings many things to our conscious' surface...

may day, may the fourth be with you (for star wars geeks such as myself), cinco de mayo, mother's day, v-e day, armed forces day and memorial day, of course... and then there are the more unusual designations of lumpy rug day (the third), no socks day (the eighth), lost sock memorial day (the ninth) (apparently we need two days for honoring socks), clean up your room day (also the ninth), limerick day (the twelfth), frog jumping day (the thirteenth) and dance like a chicken day (the fourteenth).

there's weeks dedicated to nurses and police and emergency medical services. it's a month dedicated to foster care, barbecue, bicycles, hamburgers, blood pressure and salad... among other things. according to this site and the ever-reliable wikipedia.

it's also mental health awareness month.

i question the need for such a thing. of course, my mental health isn't the soundest. anxiety and depression association of america made a list of facts and statistics regarding the most common types of mental disorders.

i've been seeing this therapist, and i love her. she is amazing. but she can only do much to help me. she can only offer so much counsel... can only hear so much of my story... can only contribute so much to an attempt at recovery.

if i'm not willing to make the effort... to do the homework she's assigned, tasks that are not difficult things, yall... read a pamphlet. walk for twenty minutes one day a week... write little notes to myself of positive affirmations... recognize when my thoughts are tanking and change their course... if i'm too reluctant or too disinterested in doing the work... then what good does visiting with her do? i'm wasting her time. i'm wasting mine.

i've told her the ugliest stuff... things i've never told anyone... and she still thinks i'm awesome, which i love. but my thoughts have been circling around the knowledge that i'm not learning from my mistakes. that i'm still making the wrong choices, even though i know better.

my brain is categorizing all the ways my mind is damaged. wikipedia's got a comprehensive list of all the mental disorders, and i'm sure were i to read the symptoms of each, i could say i'm plagued by the majority of them. the mental anguish from which i suffer could be caused by a genetic predisposition. it could be because i incurred trauma during birth, resulting in that mild case of cerebral palsy which has necessitated a handful of medical procedures and treatments and disrupted, to a minimal degree, my brain's ability to command my thoughts and actions.

but i honestly believe the bulk of it is that i've spent too much time by myself... from the time i was to eight to now. i never really learned how to interact with others. i never learned how to get out of my head... because that was the only place i had to go in my childhood and adolescence, and whenever i try to venture out of it, i'm awkward and clumsy, and so like the hermit, i scurry back inside.

what i want to say... what i really, really want to say is we're all a little bit crazy in our own ways. and dedicating a month to recognizing the crazy in hopes that the recognition could inspire others to care... designating a month to all the ways a person can be classified as crazy... how does that help a person cope? because i promise you, the last thing i need to be doing is looking at information about histrionic, narcissistic and dependent personality disorders.

the last thing i want ANYONE doing is finding ways to label someone. part of the reason my mind is what it is is because too many people labeled me too many things in my childhood, and so often. i can't peel them off. they're tattooes.

sometimes i think i'm a lot less messed up than i feel like i am (like when i am visiting with her or spending time with my friends). and others, i feel like i'm too messed up to be a part of this world (like today). but i also think everybody has days where they might feel like that, even if it's just for a second. EVERYBODY.

i'm not trying to sound like i'm belittling the importance of this. i swear i'm not. there are most assuredly people in need of the help specialists can provide. it's just that i'd rather focus on the flowers and the fun. because ultimately, that's how you cope with this shit. thinking about it doesn't do any good. distracting me with things like frog jumping and dancing like a chicken... laughter really is the best medicine, yall. that and the good times friends can provide... like when you're celebrating may the fourth be with you and cinco de mayo. just be good to each other, dammit. i feel like if we were to do that, if we focused on the GOOD in people rather than in what makes them BAD, the world would be a much better place.

someone who's good for me

i should be getting in the shower right now. should've done that half an hour ago, actually because this thing i'm going to starts in sixty-three minutes, and i've to wear a damned dress and heels and paint my face, and it takes me about twice as long as it does other girls to mess with that shit. the things we do to make ourselves pretty...

i should be getting in the shower, but i gave blood this morning, and i think the loss of some of the stuff flowing through my veins paired with all the damned rain we've gotten this week added to the fact that i was listening to prince's let's go crazy, when doves cry and purple rain... pile all that onto my already depressed shoulders and... 

there's good news. i probably should've started with that. two of my poems, the second and the third in this here post, were selected for publication in montgomery college's swirl: literature and arts journal. i think it comes out next month. those poems, they are the best things i've ever written, in my oh, so humble opinion, and i love that someone else has thought enough of them to ink them on paper. 

they are also the saddest things i've written. it gives me pleasure to know that i've taken something hideous--the death of my brother and the death of the only romantic relationship that's ever mattered to me--and made something beautiful of them. it pleases me that i could pull those words from me. it pleases me that the writing of them was so incredibly effortless. it pleases me that maybe more of the world might think them beautiful.

it pains me to know that i've written such beautiful things about two men to whom i've been horribly unkind. it's never occurred to me before... until today... that maybe my use of these tragedies is vanity on my part, still... too proud to have loved my brother when he needed me to, i have to make it sound like i loved him immensely... and i did for most of my life, but not when he needed me to.

and the other? he was a scientist of sorts--an electrical engineer. and i loved that i, the artistic one, could capture the attention of someone so much more intellectual. oh my god, that man was clever. and he had the most beautiful, green eyes. seriously. they were stunning. i've not seen such beauty since. i loved the sound of his voice. i loved how when he held me, i didn't hurt. i loved that when i was with him i was the best possible version of myself. i was in love with him. but i could not love him. because you don't shatter things when you love someone. you don't think of yourself. and all i could think of was how much i loved who i was when i was with him. i should've been thinking of him. but i couldn't. and now that's all i do. everyday, i am reminded of him. and it's been more than a decade since i lost him. since my hands, shaking from the fear of losing him and oblivious to just how fragile his opinion of me was, clutched too tightly what i felt and broke it. that coldplay album, a rush of blood to the head, every time i hear green eyes and the scientist and warning sign, i'm thrown back into the month after i'd lost him. next to my brother's passing, that is the worst period of my life. it trumps the decade of ugliness i experienced as an adolescent. and yall, that decade was fucking hideous.

he told me later that i should find someone who's good for me.

i've been trying. i swear to god i have.

but the ones i find are the ones who think it's okay to fight with me about my family or cut a date short because they've to meet a "friend" or unload all of their own family drama onto the dinner table while on a first date. they're the ones who only want me around to suit their purposes and meet their needs. 

and i'm probably getting what i deserve, come to think of it, for having been so selfish and careless with that one man. 

i think i'm going to have to read these poems in front of an audience at montgomery college one day in the coming weeks. i've been practicing. and i can read the one about my brother well enough. but the other.. when i say those words aloud, i sink just as i had on that night i'd been lying with him. i sink, still, because i'm trying and failing to find the good.

random quarter: the q&a edition-april

one. what are you a geek about? film.

two. what do you crave? at present? fried shrimp.

three. what was the last bad movie you watched? how to be single.

four. in three words describe your love life? pathetic. nonexistent. disappointing.

five. what question makes you anxious? why isn't this finished yet?

six. you have no patience for explaining technology to my parents.

seven. what expression do you overuse? you know what i mean?

eight. how much time do you spend commuting? thirty minutes total.

nine. you woke up at nine a.m.

ten. what was your last credit card purchase? nyquil and dr. pepper.

eleven. camping or hotel? hotel.

twelve. are you able to tell when you've had enough? yep.

thirteen. do you have any new friends? yep.

fourteen. are you happy with your choices today? meh.

fifteen. what is your biggest dream? the twins' happiness and well-being.

sixteen. you want new denim comforter.

seventeen. write down the name of someone you had a good conversation with recently. greg davis.

eighteen. what makes you feel wonderful? a good night's sleep.

nineteen. one word for today? catch-up.

twenty. what's the most valuable thing you own? antique icebox my great-uncle restored.

twenty-one. what famous living person would you want to meet for drinks? ricky gervais.

twenty-two. who do you count on? you mean whom. my parents.

twenty-three. who is the last call in your missed call list? my parents.

twenty-four. what's the most honest thing you've said today? she's a bitch. :]

twenty-five. how do you feel about your body? meh.

fifty flicks before fifty

erin is on a quest to watch fifty films before her fiftieth birthday.

fuck. i laughed when i typed fiftieth. like hahah... you're gonna be old then. and then i remembered... my birthday's before hers. it's not so funny, anymore...

anyway. she asked me to make a list of fifty films i feel are worthy of the attention. i know she's seen at least one i would recommend, dedication, so for yall, i say if you've not seen that movie yet, you should totally do so. it's about a children's author and his illustrator, and it starts in a porn theater. good stuff -- wholly and completely irreverent and wonderfully original. also amy sedaris has a cameo.

anyway. fifty... and i'm omitting things like the lord of the rings, the notebook, star wars, schindler's list, shawshank redemption, silence of the lambs and when harry met sally because honestly... who hasn't seen those? if it's you, ESPECIALLY YOU, ERIN, well... then... that's just lame as shit, and you should WATCH THOSE, dammit.

about time

apollo thirteen

a beautiful mind
burnt

charlotte gray

cinderella man

the client

the count of monte cristo

creation

dead poets society

donnie brasco

eternal sunshine of the spotless mind

the family stone
a few good men

(five hundred) days of summer

for love of the game

fried green tomatoes

gangster squad
the great raid

good will hunting

the help
the hundred foot journey

incendies

invincible

life as a house

lone survivor

memoirs of a geisha

miracle

mr. magorium's wonder emporium

murder in the first

the painted veil

people like us

philadelphia

playing by heart

pump up the volume

a river runs through it

saving private ryan

seabiscuit

the secret life of walter mitty

serenity

sixty-one

sleepers

spy game

star trek

steel magnolias

a time to kill

tombstone

the way way back

we are marshall
you're not you

so... my challenge to you, dear readers, is to make me a list of films to watch before i reach that damned milestone. what's your must-see movie list made of?

fifty questions

one. what are you wearing? black, v-neck, short-sleeved, knee-length, cotton night shirt with, in white letters, i don't like morning people. or people in the morning.
two. ever been in love? yep, but not with anyone who was in love with me.
three. ever had a terrible breakup? yep.
four. how tall are you? five foot seven.
five. how much do you weigh? the last time i stepped on the scale, it read one eighty. i'd guess it's a few pounds past that now. i am a F A T A S S.
six. any tattoos? nope.
seven. any piercings? one in each ear.
eight. favorite show? the west wing.
nine. favorite band? van halen, just because i've loved them longest.
ten. something you miss? being held.
eleven. favorite song? u2's with or without you, just because i've loved it longest.
twelve. how old are you? forty-three.
thirteen. zodiac sign? aries.
fourteen. quality you look for in a partner? kindness.
fifteen. favorite quote? i think we live our lives so afraid to be seen as weak that we die perhaps without ever having been seen at all (james spader as alan shore in boston legal).
sixteen. favorite actor? johnny depp.
seventeen. favorite color? green.
eighteen. loud music or soft? loud.
nineteen. where do you go when you’re sad? the backroads.
twenty. how long does it take you to shower? twenty minutes.

one. how long does it take you to get ready in the morning? thirty minutes.
two. ever been in a physical fight? yep.
three. turn on? thoughtfulness.
four. turn off? selfishness.
five. fears? this picky post will tell you about almost all of them.
six. last thing that made you cry? stupid boys.
seven. last time you said you loved someone? about an hour ago.
eight. last book you read? cover to cover? carry on by rainbow rowell.
nine. the book you’re currently reading? nothing at the moment.
thirty. last show you watched? kprc news two houston.

one. last person you talked to? mom.
two. the relationship between you and the person you last texted? gentleman i'd interviewed for an article about some art students and the pods they're painting for the woodlands waterway arts festival.
three. favorite food? chicken spaghetti.
four. place you want to visit? monterrey, california.
five. last place you were? a friend's house.
six. do you have a crush? nope.
seven. last time you kissed someone? romantically? at approximately nine a.m. sunday, march twenty-second, twenty-fifteen. platonically? i can't recall.
eight. last time you were insulted? at approximately eight fifteen a.m. monday, march twenty-eighth, twenty-sixteen.
nine. favorite flavor of sweet? chocolate.
forty. what instruments do you play? the vocal chords.

one. favorite piece of jewelry? london blue topaz ring.
two. last sport you played? i can't recall.
three. last song you sang? big head todd and the monster's broken-hearted savior.
four. favorite chat up line? i'm sorry, what? favorite chat up line? howdy?
five. have you ever used it? sure.
six. favorite film? star wars: episode v-empire strikes back.
seven. favorite time of day? dusk.
eight. favorite candy? hershey's milk chocolate with/out almonds
nine. favorite soda? dr. pepper.
fifty. who should answer these questions next? erin, you're up.

i found these questions on daisy in the willows (though i had to add a few because she didn't actually post fifty of them) because of this view from the third floor post.

tales from the dating world

so i'm on this stupid dating website, right? every six weeks or so, i rewrite my profile, mostly because i'm a bored perfectionist. i fork over the funds each year, and nothing ever really comes of it, and that's probably my fault, but i'm starting to think that it's more that dating websites are redonkulus (kind of like that word... only i like the word... it's kind of fun to say). sometimes i write just enough. you have to have two hundred characters, and so once it was:

I work for a weekly community newspaper as a reporter and editorial assistant, writing about upcoming events in the area and raising awareness for organizations that and individuals who do great deeds.

(side note: why do i always type individuals like invididuals? EVERY time.)

i can't remember how it was before what's to follow, but it wasn't that up there.

i don't get a lot of reaction from guys on this site. that could be because i'm forty-three. it could be because i've never been married (because, hey, never walking down the aisle with someone is so much worse than having done so and then broken the vows you'd made). it could be that i don't have kids and don't want any. whatever.

it could be that i have trouble saying what it is i want.

it could be because they're douchebags. :]

in the month of february, i got one email. i got frustrated and so i wrote this:

Can we talk for a minute? I keep rewriting this thing because I'm not saying it right. All my life I've tried to be what people wanted me to be -- the laid-back, go-with-the-flow, happy-go-lucky gal. I'm not that person. I'm a writer. My job is to figure out where the flow is going and what's getting it there. I'm not meant to stand on some stage, reading the lines. I'm the one in the corner booth of some pub, writing the script, and I'm damned good at what I do.

Trouble is when you're sitting in a corner booth in some pub with paper and a pen or a laptop and your only company's the character(s) you've created, when you're not the laid-back, go-with-the-flow, happy-go-lucky gal, when you're inherently shy, it's hard to get people to see you. My eyes are small and dark, and they're usually scrutinizing the surroundings because observing things is what writers do. I'm so much more content to sit back and watch the camaraderie going on around me than I would be were I to engage in it. I'm not the life of the party, but then I don't want to be. That's not my role. I'm supposed to tell the story about the party, and I can't do that if I'm in it. My smile is amazing, but I don't share it with everyone. Yes, I'm serious, but I also possess a surprising wit. I am gifted when it comes to writing dialogue, but I'm shit when it comes to talking to men I find attractive. So that's why I'm here.

I'm a hopeless romantic. I love love. I love reading and writing about it. I love thinking someday I'll get to know about it. Because that's the thing... I've never had a love story. Once, I met a guy on St. Patrick's Day, and I was sure that was gonna be it -- that was my story. It wasn't. So I gave up and settled for more casual affairs. I tried to write a simpler, less exciting tale for myself, but that one's ended more tragically than any other, save one. So now, I'm more hopeless than romantic, and that's not at all what I want.

I have no game, but then, I don't want to. I'm not some chess piece, and neither are you. I'm not looking for some man to put a ring on my finger -- I don't even like diamonds. Having said that, I don't want just any guy. I want a relationship with some semblance of substance. I'm not looking to hook up with someone just to have someone around for nocturnal lighting purposes. I am brilliant -- I can light the night perfectly fine by myself. But... my heart is heavy, and I am weary. I don't need you to take the weight. I can carry it. But I would love it if you would walk with me.

i published it and took a shower. and when i got out, i saw that i'd gotten four emails from three different guys -- one of the emails was a comment on a photo about how my smile is amazing.

that was a month ago. i wish i could tell you i'm still talking to the three, but alas i am not. i can tell you i did go on my first date in a year. with a guy who was five foot four and thrice divorced -- a former pentecostal and seventh day adventist with four biological children and six step-children. he cut our date short because he had to go meet a "friend". whatever.

random quarter: the q&a edition-march

i haven't done one of these in seven months. my friend tina, god rest her soul, she did love these posts. (i think she liked'm better when i was rambling, and i'll get back to that... eventually.) she would've missed them. she would've been so glad to be reading one today. i'm kind of glad to be writing one. (also i'm procrastinating mucking out my room for a w-two or transcribing notes from a recorded interview.)

so... in case yall need the reminder... the questions are from a book, q and a a day: three hundred sixty-five questions, five years, eighteen hundred twenty-five answers.the following questions are from, ahem, september. i've put a limit on the responses to five words or less.

one. teacher or student. student.

two. is your home/apartment clean? home? yes. room/car? no.

three. where have you found evidence of a higher power? everywhere. seek. ye shall find.

four. what was the last online video clip you watched? sad ben affleck video.

five. what's the newest thing you're wearing today? reading glasses.

six. who are you jealous of? strong, beautiful, affable, funny women.

seven. what comes to mind when you think of fear? drowning in rapids.

eight. what advice would you give to a second-grader? do your homework.

nine. who can help you? myself, if i let me.

ten. who are the most important people in your life? mom, dad, joph, bambam, shazam.

eleven. what would you want to study at school? photography or film.

twelve. what's your favorite snack food? hershey's milk chocolate with/out almonds.

thirteen. a decision you made today? choosing this post over responsibility.

fourteen. when was the last time you went dancing? summer cruise. eighteen years ago.

fifteen. do you plan, or are you flying by the seat of your pants? flying. planning frustrates and disappoints.

sixteen. do you handle rejection well? no.

seventeen. how hungry are you right now? not. need dr. pepper, though.

eighteen. bad news: sugar-coated or straight up? straight up.

nineteen. how do you get out of a rut? slowly.

twenty. where do you see yourself in five years? same place. different job, maybe.

twenty-one. this is utterly confounding: men. always and forever.

twenty-two. what's your favorite television show? west wing. always and forever.

twenty-three. write down a quote for today. be gentle with yourself (ehrmann).

twenty-four. write down a chronic but minor problem. depression. minor? compared to others'.

twenty-five. where do you think your road is going? heaven, i hope.

and the hits just keep on coming

i have gotten through the worst of this month, though i have to tell you, it's been more a challenge this year than usual. i've seen a lot of three-twelve in my day-to-day activities in the past couple of weeks, and before yall say, you're just noticing it more because of the time of year, please know there is never a time i don't notice that number. i've written about this before. but whatever... i'm doing it again.

three. twelve. march twelfth -- the day my brother died. i can tell you where i was for every hour of that day. i can tell you where i was when he died, where i was when my parents were notified, where i was when they'd told me. i can picture that moment -- especially that one -- with painful, awful clarity. i wrote a poem about it. it's probably the best thing i've ever written. i can't tell you how grateful i am that i could take something so hideous and make it into something worthy.

i can tell you my younger brother was vacationing with his then wife and their friends when my parents called him, and when they'd called him another time during his brief stay there, he hadn't wanted to take the call because he was in the exact same spot as he'd been when they'd told him of jon's death.

i'm not noticing it more because of the time of year. every time i notice it, i think it's his way of saying hello. of somehow finding a way to be present in my life. 

it happened just today, for example, when i'd bought my king-sized hershey's milk chocolate bar and my twelve-ounce can of dr. pepper. and the clerk rings it up and says three twelve. 

there was a time i used to freeze at that. i'm getting better.

you could say the depressed gal is choosing depression. whatever. i'm grieving, dammit... still. i'm grieving because goddamn i miss that man. because right now the thing i need most is his laughter and even the memory of it is gone. i can't recall it anymore. i'm grieving because i still can't fucking figure out why god stole him away from us and has kept me here to wallow in this bullshit. me who seems to be so unnecessary...

someone asked me the other day how i'm doing... how'm i doing? i fucking hate life right now. that's how i'm doing. i hate that i can't be the beautiful one, the light one, the good one. i hate that there's this gaping hole in my world, and i can't fill it. i hate that i crawl into an empty bed at night and have to bunch the pillows about me so as to have some semblance of being held. i hate that i have to, have always had to provide my own damned comfort. i hate that others who have an impact on my family dynamic can continually find new ways to hurt us, that it's being done out of the purest spite and malice... that there are more ways to cause death than just taking a life. someone can change a name, too, and in so doing, a tree dies. i know that's vague. i can't be more direct about it. just... there's been enough death in this house... i don't think i can stomach anymore... and yet... the possibility of it swirls about me in the murky abyss of my conscience, clouded by ursula's cruelty... a real-life version of that heinous bitch from the little mermaid. 

i hate life right now, but more i hate how powerless i feel to change the things that matter most to me. that i can't say what i'd most like to say. that doing so would only evoke more ugliness, that the ursula from my world is eager for just that sort of thing. and how much i don't give a rat's ass to change the things i can.

that serenity prayer? i know that thing well. it was beer that killed my brother. i have his chip somewhere. i'd rather have him. those words though... they mean nothing to me. and it hurts my heart to write that, because i'm a writer. words are not empty things to me. but those... they are nothing. this life... it's not a whole lot more than that. 

color analysis

a few weeks ago, i had the pleasure of interviewing a professor at the university of texas at san antonio.

that same institution to which i'd run in the months following the demise of a relationship with the only man who's ever really mattered to me (he mattered too much, which terrified me, and i didn't matter enough, which i knew... and so the thing was doomed to fail) and the cessation of my employment at borders (turns out i'd had the sense to jump ship before the thing sank) and the months prior to the death of my older brother.

to this day, i want to weep with the gratitude that i had that place to turn--i made wonderful friends there, and i learned from some of the most incredible professors i've had the privilege to know. i'd not been blessed to know barker--not until the other day. she'd been invited to speak at the small college here in town, to read her poetry. i'd been tasked with writing an article advancing the event. i sent her questions; she sent me answers.

i'd never read her work until a few weeks ago. she'd written a poem called color analysis. here are some excerpts that resonated with me:

Swatches of fabric held to my face

I am a “Summer,” am told

I mustn’t wear winter, clear, sharp

colors of gems: rubies, sapphires, emeralds

Nothing too strong, definite

I am semi-precious: amethyst, aquamarine, colors

of sky. I am probably an air sign

Think of breezes, says my color counselor

I am told to have nothing to do

with the press of bright yellow, liquid greens

that rush the landscape in April and May.

Autumn would overwhelm me. 

To what season, then, am I linked

apparently forever, floating

rootless on pale air? Am I simply

to sway here on wisps of gray

pale cloud, a little gasp of pink

i read this, and the whole time i thought... i am a winter.

i am winter
who longs for summer, for the warmth

the heat and the light

the brightness, the airiness, the softness
of the pinks and the pale yellows
the sweetness of baby blue

the joy and the fun and the peaceful easy
the long and lazy sunny day

i am winter clothed in sapphire

i am cold and stark and barren

frigid and chilling and dark

i am winded. i am crisp and sharp

bold and brutal, bleak and depressing

i am howling and blustering, wounded

and haunted. ruby red from the rage

and the weeping. i am bitter and broken

emerald green from the envy

i cannot for the life of me fathom

how anyone could want to be winter

the journalist and the novelist: two writers talking

the woodlands college park high school will host the montgomery county teen book festival feb. 27. in the past couple of days, i've corresponded with a few of the authors featured at the event. the one with whom i most enjoyed communicating is kathleen baldwin, author of a school for unusual girls, the highway came waltzing, diary of a teenage fairy godmother, lady fiasco, mistaken kiss and cut from the same cloth. here i have for you my questions and her beautiful responses:

when did you discover an interest in writing, and how difficult, or easy if that’s the case, has it been for you to pursue that interest?

As far back as I can remember I’ve enjoyed telling stories and writing poems. Early on my mother and my teachers were convinced I would be a writer. On the other hand, I thought I would grow up to be a heart surgeon. Looks like they won the bet. It’s a good thing, too, because I love writing. In some respects, I still get to work on people’s hearts – just not with a scalpel.

Twenty years ago, I sold a few nonfiction articles and poems, but my real love was short story. Unfortunately, the short story market was dwindling by the time I started submitting. But I kept trying and garnered a tall stack of rejection notices. Later, the humor of Georgette Heyer and Jane Austen drew me to writing full length novels and that’s when I met with some publishing success. My very first Regency romance novel was published by Kensington’s Zebra Books and voted best traditional regency by Cataromance readers.

what do you feel is your greatest honor or achievement, and why?

I am over the moon excited about being chosen for the 2016 Spirit of Texas Middle School Reading Program. The reason is: I absolutely adore talking with young readers and writers. Kids who like to read are incredibly fun to interact with – the astute and quirky questions they come up with amaze me.  Every time I get to visit a school I come home inspired to write more.

what do you love most about writing? what keeps you doing it?

Writing itself is a joy for me. I love developing characters, weaving them into a story and blending in themes that are important to me. I like integrating tongue-in-cheek humor in my books. Humor helps me deal with difficulties in life, and that’s one theme that drifts through everything I write.

Reader letters keep me going, too. It seems like every week I get one or two very emotional letters from readers, readers who are struggling with tough problems in life. They take the time to write me and tell me about how one of my books lifted their spirits for a few hours. If I can do that for a fellow human being I’ll keep doing this the rest of my life. 

what’s been the biggest challenge?

I am a highly visual/experiential writer, which takes and enormous amount of time. This can be challenging when on a deadline. Sometimes it takes me days to visualize a scene before I can write it. Then, I go back in and rework it over and over again until it aligns with my vision.

My second biggest challenge is your next question. 

how do you balance your work as a writer with the other roles, whatever those may be, you play in life?

Like most people, I have difficulty balancing life. I’m married to a man I adore, we have four wonderful kids and I like to spend time with them. Writing could absorb my entire life if I let it, and sometimes it does. There’s a huge danger in that, the danger of writing from an empty place. Living life balanced is essential for a writer, taking time to play – and for me that means getting out in nature – taking time to reflect, spending time with God, family and friends, helping those in need, taking long walks, exploring new places, all these things gives me the depth perspective I need to write full rich stories.

who are some authors you revere? what stories do you hold close to your heart—what i mean by that is… i am in love with rainbow rowell’s eleanor and park and landline, vanessa diffenbaugh’s the language of flowers, audrey niffenegger’s the time traveler’s wife, john green’s the fault in our stars, ellen shanman’s right before your eyes, dickens’ our mutual friend, rowling’s harry potter series and several of nora roberts’ novels. i go to these stories when i have lost faith in my craft, in love, in life… when my internal landscape is at its darkest. i have read some of these stories dozens of times and others only once or twice. i aspire to write as beautifully as these authors do. maybe someday i will achieve that goal, maybe not. regardless, these stories bring me much joy. what stories do that for you?

I loved Eleanor and Park, too! and Time Traveler’s Wife and Fault in Our Stars. Right now, I’m hooked on Marissa Meyer’s Lunar Chronicles – it’s almost living inside an anime. I’m blown away by how she weaves multiple story lines together. That’s extremely difficult to do.

I grew up reading Dickens, Alcott, Daphne du Maurier, and Twain. They’re my literary heroes. Mom didn’t allow a TV in our house when my brothers and I were little. Instead, she read to us at night, all those great old classics: Oliver Twist, Little Women, not to mention Heidi, Black Beauty and The Amazing Miss Polifax (I think that’s when I fell in love with spy stories).

In college I read C.S. Lewis, Frank Herbert and Tolkien for pleasure. However, I studied and fell in love the great humorists, in particular O’Henry, Wodehouse and Oscar Wilde. You can see why Jane Austen and Georgette Heyer later became inspirations for my own work.

who's your favorite character in your work; in the whole of the literary realm?

That’s like asking me to choose a favorite from among my children. Can’t do it. But I have a really big crush on Lord Wyatt in A School for Unusual Girls.

I still love Heidi. She became my best friend when I was five, and I still love her.

coincidence... and the six ounces or so

today would've been a good day. it would've been. the weather in texas is glorious right now, which is a rare thing in february. i'm caught up at work. as in... not only did i turn in all the calendars i create each week, but also two of the three stories i'm to write for the upcoming edition. two of three because the folks i'm interviewing for the third failed to provide me with responses to the questions i'd posed them by the time i'd requested, which means come monday morning, i'll have to nag them, and that's not something i enjoy doing. but yall, usually i'm turning stories in on tuesday morning; that i got two of them turned into today is also a rare thing.

it should've been a good day. i know by others' standards it would be. one in five children go hungry... so far this year, two-hundred forty have lost their lives on the texas roads... there are children battling horrible things like osteosarcoma, and when i think of them, i think of john green's the fault in our stars, of gus who loses a leg and is fine for a while, of some line in that book where the narrator, hazel, says something about how that particular cancer takes a limb, and then if it likes you, takes the rest, and it takes gus... it could very well take the little girl i'd interviewed not so long ago, could be a tease and let her live ten years, could be a sneaky bastard and hide and then all of the sudden be everywhere at once. it could. i've met her mother. i've met her father. i've been to their house... there are people dying every second of the day.

one of my friends from high school... her mother died yesterday. there's a visitation on valentine's day. a day meant for love... for her it will be one of leaving, of loss.

last night, i put a picture of some ranunculus on her facebook wall because i couldn't give her the real thing, and i thought she needed the light and the love. ironically, she'd just finished ordering the flowers for the service right around the time i'd posted it.

i've no right to say it's not been a good day. none whatsoever.

but i'm going to say it anyway.

tonight i went to the come to the garden event at the woodlands united methodist church. i sat in the second row near the center and watched while a woman i'd interviewed a week or so before talked about her experiences with divine dreams and things, talked of how she'd dreamed of having five children to learn she can't have any because her body won't let her. she's made do. she's somehow found some sort of peace. or at least she seems to have done so. and it occurred to me tonight that maybe i'm not meant to know love... not that kind. it occurred to me that perhaps i need to let that dream die. it's been forty-two years, after all. almost forty-three.

i can do this life by myself. i can. i've endured decades of emotional and mental abuse. i've buried a brother. i've stood by the other while his family fell apart and his so-called friends fell away. i've traveled overseas by myself. i've moved from one apartment to another... one city to another by myself. i. can. do. this.

that list of reasons i have for living? the one i failed to mention, the only one that's truly kept me going is that i've had hope that i could know love, if i just wait. i just have to wait.

the woman i'd interviewed... i'd told her about the experience i'd had two days after my brother's death, of how i'd been coming home from running some errands, of how i'd taken the long way because i needed some time to myself, of how i'd all the sudden heard his voice like he was sitting right next to me:

you can do anything you wanna do, jenny.

i know that, you dolt. that's not the problem.

well, what do you wanna do?

the only thing i've ever known that i wanted for myself was to get married and make babies.

you will.

how do you know that?

because i'll find you someone.

and i believed him. i believed he could. i was twenty-nine and grieving and in the throes of some pretty significant inner turmoil before he'd departed this world, and his death, of course, compounded all that. but i believed him.

i don't wanna make babies anymore. but i do wanna know love.

and the men i've known... they've not been good to me. but i've had hope, despite this. i've prayed. i've clung to the dream even though i've known it's foolish to do so.

but tonight, i kept thinking, you should really let this go. it's time. it's time.

so i went to baker's street to see a friend who works as a bartender there. she's battled cancer. twice. she's spunky as hell, and i needed to see the smiling face of a strong woman... only it's been some time since i've been, and she's not there anymore.

and here's the coincidence...

the spot of bar i'd managed to snag was a patch near where my younger brother stood. my younger brother who's engaged, whom i learned tonight will be getting married--for the second time--in ten days. my younger brother who's there with some of his friends--those who have stuck by him--for his bachelor party.

i'd meant to have one drink. three ounces of liquor on ice: vodka, bailey's and kahlua. one drink, the first i've had this year.

i had two. the second didn't sit well with me. so i walked to the movie theater and watched how to be single.

and it's all about how you have to relish the moments... you have to be able to enjoy that time... those seconds when it's just you.

yeah. i don't have a problem doing that. i've been places. i've seen things. i've stood on the side of a very big hill in wales and marveled at the countryside. i've stood on the shores of the carribean, the atlantic and the pacific and reveled in the glory of the sun on the sea. i've driven the backroads at sunset and hiked in the mountainsides. i've sat in my father's chair in the living room and read and watched as the sun sunk below the black of the pines in the pale blue sky. i've known that kind of glory, thanks. i'm good. i know how to appreciate it. i have no trouble doing so.

a man has told me of how i'm beautiful twice in my life. twice. two different men. and both times they were drunk. the first time i didn't realize it was because he was trying to get in my pants. i'd never heard it before. it was so pretty. the second time, i didn't care why he'd said it. both times, when they'd said it, i'd believed them. foolish girl that i am. foolish because i keep wanting someone to send me some ranunculus. and not just anyone. someone special to me. but that never happens. foolish because i keep thinking a man could care. because i keep wanting one to do so.

one of the things the woman had discussed tonight was that coincidences... maybe that's god talking. if that's so, i'd really like to know what he's trying to say. of course, even if i could tell, i'm not sure i'd believe him.

how do i let go of a dream when it's kept me alive?

allergens and irritants and the plague they've caused

just a heads up... this post ain't pretty.

there's a thing called contact dermatitis. and i guess if you don't treat it quickly enough, it can create another problem called a staph infection.

it's like a combination of a thousand ants marching across my body paired with a game of whack-a-mole. i get little patches of nastiness, and they itch like the dickens. and then... they go away, and a new one crops up somewhere else.

i don't like it. i don't like it one bit. what's worse is the amount of time it's taken me to learn that the dermatitis thing is the issue, which can be caused by allergens and irritants and such.

flashback to february of last year, the week before valentine's day and the douchebag i was dating.

prior to this, i'd had a handful of encounters with guys, but--pardon the baseball analogy--none crossed home plate. none of them had been able to soften me up enough to get it done. but that guy could.

and the next day, some lovely marks showed up on my face. i couldn't figure out what the hell they were. i knew they weren't zits because i never get zits. i'd had a well-woman exam weeks before which came back clean.

i changed skin care products and invested in some seabreeze and some cortizone ten, but all that did was zilch, of course.

april: gynecologist for another well-woman exam and std testing, the results of which i never received. the gyno said they were zits.

may: general practitioner said they weren't zits and prescribed acyclovir, which freaked me the hell out because that's what's used to treat herpes. this caused me to plummet into what's been some pretty nasty depression. i sought a second opinion from the general practitioner who'd been treating me since i was a child but had retired. he didn't seem to think much of the blisters and called in a prescription for a cream. every time i thought, okay, i can handle this... more spots would appear on my body. more spots that seemed to completely disregard the pills but would respond to the cream.

july: i learned of all of the wonderful services offered by an organization called pregnancy assistance center north, which is a blessing, yall. that business is pretty damned phenomenal. the women at that facility are the best example of godsends i've ever seen. ever. EVER. i got tested for three diseases, the results of which were all negative. it was recommended i visit another clinic and get two other tests done for syphilis and herpes, and both of those tests came back negative, too. thank, christ. i'd truly begun to think that i was going to have to tell my parents i'd made a horrible, horrible choice with godawful consequences.

months go by... more spots. some of them change from pink to purple and increase in size, similar to that of a mole.

they are ugly. they sometimes itch. and it's usually worse right before my cycle begins. i started thinking that perhaps it had something to do with hormonal changes in my body, like i was approaching that stage of pre-menopause or something. that the arrival of this is just coincidental to the interactions i'd had with that man.

january. yesterday. sometime around three a.m. i awoke because my body was itching horribly on my legs and arms. i figured it's cause it's been a little over a week since i'd changed my sheets--i'm lazy, okay? i showered and slathered lotion and calamine and cortizone cream pretty much everywhere. it'd worked in the past. it wasn't working at this point.

so i go back to the clinic i'd gone to in july and regale the physician's assistant with the plight from the past year and get that diagnosis. eleven... almost twelve months later. such an ordeal. all because i was allergic to that irritating jackass.

. . .

clinic again today (friday). apparently i'm also allergic to sulpha. so i'm to cease taking the antibiotic for the staph infection. and the woman with whom i spoke said it's not the guy... it's something in the house that's causing the irritation, and the guy is just a coincidental thing.

i wish these people would make up their damned minds. it's the guy... it's not the guy... it's the guy... it's not the guy. how the hell am i ever to close this despicable chapter if i can't get a resolute conclusion?

i think... therefore i'm single

yesterday was the wonder twins' seventh birthday. SEVEN. how the hell did that happen? why, WHY can't they stay little for a little while longer? gah.

i had two errands to run before the party (which was at little beakers in oak ridge north, which is pretty danged nifty, yall... you local folks should totally check them out): snag two papers to send to some folks and pick up some shampoo. real exciting stuff, i know. but first, i needed food. so i headed for market street to potbelly's for a skinny turkey (i'd meant to get a strawberry banana smoothie but got sidetracked).

sidetracked because i snuck through zulee's first. i love that place. i got distracted by the quotes wall. and the books, five of which caught my eye enough that i forked over some fifty bucks to take them home. but the thing that really made an impression was a little black and white foam coaster at cashwrap: i think, therefore i'm single.

i bought that, too, because at first i was amused. god forbid a woman have more brain power than a man. and my brain is pretty danged powerful, yall.

but the more i've thought about it, the more troubled i am by the thing.

because THAT'S the damned problem. it's not that i'm smart. it's that i have to think and think and think and think... i think so much and so hard and so often about a thing... can't see anything but that thing. can't care about anything but that thing. i worry over whether i should've said this or shouldn't've said that--more the latter than the former, of course, because i never know the right things to say.

it's fucking exhausting, and there's a stretch of months that exhaustion tends to whammy me: from thanksgiving to my birthday... the end of november to the end of march.

ten more weeks 'til my birthday. ten more weeks of valentine's crap followed by my brother's death day and my birthday and the calendar--thank god--goes easy on me again.

the only saving grace for this torturous stretch is football. it'd be nice to have a guy to watch the games with--i've never been involved with a guy during this time of year, save for that jackass i'd dated last spring who couldn't even be bothered to TEXT me happy birthday--but i can't shut my brain up long enough to get one to think of me in that way.

one of those quotes on the wall was positive attracts positive. yes, i know. i'm positive i've got a lot to offer. i'm positive i'm worth knowing.

i'm positive i don't know how to market myself so the many gifts i possess can be seen in the best light. i'm positive that the majority of my experiences with men have been negative, and that part of the blame for that falls on me. i'm positive being in a relationship with a guy terrifies the ever-living hell out of me.

i want to be distracted.

i want--so much--for a guy to say to me i'm not going to let you fuck this up.

the fall film challenge recap

one. any set in new york city. the intern. i wish they'd cast someone other than anne hathaway. normally i don't mind her. but you can't pair her with someone like robert de niro. and the dude who played her husband? he basically ruined this movie for me.

three. any that features a child as the main character. stand by me. so good. SO, SO good. best movie on my list. easily. i don't know that i'd watch it again, though. i feel like once is enough.

four. any disney film. brave. i dozed off a lot in this one--not so much that i was oblivious to the plot and all, but... ugh. the only thing i liked were the triplet's scenes.

ten. any mentioned in denim in the oscars: a look at jeans in cinema. erin brockovich. i liked this one a LOT (except for aaron eckhart. pansy). i'd watch it again.

eleven. a film about a knight. gladiator. man, i miss richard harris on the screen. that man had mad skills. connie nielsen's pretty good here, too. the rest of it, though... meh. not russell crowe's best work. and i definitely did not care for the story.

twelve. a love story. the duff. it's cute. completely unbelievable, of course. i liked the main characters quite a bit, though. i love mae whitman, and the boy's nice looking... for a boy. i ended up buying this one.

thirteen. a movie about something miraculous. cinderella. so bad. SO SO bad. richard madden was too pretty... and not anything like i imagine prince charming being. no. just... no. cate blanchett wasn't quite awful enough. helena bonham carter wasn't quite magical enough (and usually, i LOVE her).

fourteen. a film starring an actor/actress with the same first name as yours. alexander and the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. meh. i have no strong feelings about this one. didn't love it, didn't loathe it. won't watch it again.

eighteen. any film with a score of ninety percent or greater on rotten tomatoes. how to train your dragon two. cute. i LOVE, LOVE, LOVE toothless. i liked the first movie better, but this one was alright. i'd watch it again.

nineteen. a film about a superhero. avengers: age of ultron. meh. not nearly as good as the first. parts of it were alright. it's not one i'd make an effort to see again, but if i came across on one of the television's movie channels, i might watch it again. it's got some nice eyecandy.

twenty-two. a film about a personal victory. big eyes. i'm glad i watched it. but i'm over amy adams, and while christoph waltz typically owns despicable and loathsome, he doesn't quite do so here--though there surely are moments of utter nastiness. it's not a film i'd want to see again.

twenty-four. any set in a country you would most like to visit. woman in gold. i'm glad i watched this one, too. i can't say the cast does a remarkable job of telling the story--even helen mirren--but they do well enough. i liked it. i'd watch it again.

twenty-five. a film set in a zoo. fierce creatures. kevin kline's got skills, too, yall. i forget. it's a pretty funny movie. complete nonsense, of course, but i knew that going in. my older brother loved movies like this. i'm sorry i couldn't watch it with him. i don't know that i'd watch this again.

so...that's my list. as for the challenge's collective results, check this out:

andrea: fifty! finished original list thursday, october fifteenth; finished bonus list monday, november second.

christina: fifty! finished original list friday, october second; finished bonus list tuesday, november third.

christopher: fifty! finished original list tuesday, october thirteenth; finished bonus list thursday, november twenty-ninth.

michael: forty-five. finished original list monday, september twenty-eighth.

karen: forty-two. finished original list thursday, november fifth.

stephanie: thirty-six. finished original list friday, september twenty-fifth.

cherie: twenty-five. finished original list monday, november thirtieth.