F.U. I Like Me

I’ve been netflixing this show and somewhere in the middle of Season 2 or the beginning of Season 3, the lead actress did so much stuff to her face, fillers, boxtox, and g** knows what else, that she couldn’t move her face; it was puffy and stiff, and all her beauty was GONE.

She could no longer portray emotion. In an effort to attempt to portray contempt or curiosity or affection (I have no idea what the hell she was trying to portray because her face was thick and frozen) she began moving her head in strange reptilian lifts and jerks.

I almost gave up watching the show.

I’m all for doing what makes YOU feel better. But not for what you think makes others like you more.

I’m assuming she did that to keep up with the status quo, compete with the younger actresses, with other actors, who knows.

On my visit to the dermatologist, the nurse said, “we can probably get some botox through your insurance.”

I said, “I don’t think I really need it.”

“Oh, really?” She spoke somewhere between condescension and disbelief. Maybe she’d never heard that particular line of confidence before.

As my grandma used to say – I worked hard for these damn wrinkles!

And, personally, I like to move my face. I want to raise an eyebrow when someone says something weird. I want to smile when I’m happy. And, mostly, I want to make funny faces with my grandson!

When the mini-photo-shoot for new headshots got too serious  – I got silly. And I liked it.

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For all the guys who tried to make me feel not good enough

and all the girls who gossip(ed) behind my back

and those people who don’t like themselves and try to make everyone else miserable

 

FUCK YOU

 

I LIKE ME!

*

New Year! New You? New Me – as in the website.  I won’t be writing about writing – I might sometimes  – but mostly I just want to write about joy. Expect some purpose, some passion, some joy.

 

Oh yeah – one of my books will be on sale this weekend. Not sure which one, I’ll keep you posted. In the meantime, try Grandma’s Last Secret or Harvey Levin Can’t Die

 

 

Where Chaos Reigns…

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I knew a writer who created drama whenever and wherever he could. His eyes would light up and he’d say, “stories, writers need to create drama for stories.”

However, he rarely ever got any writing done because he had so much drama and backlash from the things he’d do.

For me, I find that creating or being a party to drama and chaos extinguishes my creative flow.

Just the everydayness of life is enough for writers to gain enough insight and experience to write and create drama in their stories. They do not need to create it or go take an active part in it.

For me – I want to stay far, far away from anyone and anything that affects my serenity which will, in turn, dampen my creativity.

 

If You Give a Girl a Hammer…

She will want to build a life.

It rained at the beginning of school break. I discovered my window was leaking. It didn’t seem to need much, maybe new caulk.

When that was finished, I painted the sill. I discovered other parts of the room which needed a touch up.

Do you see where this is going?

I spent much of the break fixing, painting, home repairing, and cleaning out clutter.

I don’t consider this a distraction but another aspect of my being.

As writers,  we need to be vigilant about distractions, but we also need to feed the other parts of us which make us who we are.

Home repairs remind me I’m strong and self sufficient. The accomplishment feeds my brain much needed dopamine we don’t always receive from writing.

Home repairs remind me I’m capable and flexible. My writing schedule sometimes gets the better of me and I become all work and no play.

Home repairs are nostalgic. My father raised us to do for ourselves. And it got me pretty far.

Honoring all parts of ourselves is an investment to those who surround us as well as to our writing.

It makes us better humans and more invested writers.

Happy Monday!

 

 

 

 

 

New Year’s Eve’s Eve

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Why not to date a writer…

You may have heard this before –

1. If you anger a writer, you will die – in their story!

The good news is – you get to live to die another day

2. Any little tick you have, one of the characters will probably get.

You’ll probably never notice

3. Anything you say can and will be used … in a story.

If it’s good, anyway.

However –

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Consult the Psychic…

 

 

What people think they know…

main_main_paper-wasp-bug-bookWhen people read what you’ve written, sometimes they feel they have some sort of insight into you the rest of the world is not privy too.

It’s ironic. I spend half my time in class convincing my students that maybe a yellow bird or a green light means something more in literature. That the author might have planned it or perhaps it was unconscious, but that it might just be a way into the text, to understand the story or characters a little better than a simple reading might.

And… we can sometimes assume things about the author.

We know Fitzgerald disliked the hypocrisy he saw all around him and Trumbo was disgusted by the war, but can we say with any certainty that F.Scott had unrealized feelings based on the characters’ portrayals.mirror-mirror

Some people like to make guesses about me. They like to make what they feel are educated guesses about the person I am. Someone made a comment to me, recently, about one of the characters in my book, trying to guess which character was actually me.

Of course, we put ourselves into the characters, but rarely do we actually write ourselves. Sometimes, I let it go – let them wonder. Other times, I’m a little annoyed that someone makes an assumption because they read one story and based it on one of the hundred characters I’ve created.

We can’t let it get to us too much – once we send a story out into the world, we can’t control where it will end up or what people will think.

So… How do you….?

Since my book, How to Throw a Psychic a Surprise Party, came out, people have consistently asked me – so, how do you?

psycI’m not sure how to answer without giving away the themes appearing throughout the book of short stories, or to get long involved conversation about what we want to to see verses what we hope to see.

One of the basic constants in life is we are consistently surprised by things that have been right in front of our eyes. When whatever it is finally reveals itself, we are shocked and embarrassed that we didn’t know.

Some of our more dense friends will say – how could you not know? and other rude a-holes will actually claim to have known the whole time. mag

Life is like a magicians trick – he has all the cards in his hands, but one quick shuffle and presto – chango – the card is suddenly behind our ear, in his jacket – pocket, up his sleeve. How did it happen? How did he do that while we were looking right at him.

It’s a matter of keeping our attention elsewhere. We’re too close. Too busy. Distracted. There are signs, but they’re so easily explained away – and then, then… kind readers… it’s Pandora’s box of tragedy released on the human race. It’s what grows like weeds deep inside all of us.

Hope.

That is what the book is about.

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