Take My Life, Please! (No, really…take it!)

Yeah, I'm alive!

noreply@blogger.com (Marie D. Jones) — Thu, 16 May 2024 19:56:00 +0000

You ever stop and look at how much time has passed from one point in your life to where you are now and gasp for breath? It's almost suffocating to realize years can go by and in your brain, you think it's only been six months.

Clearly this is the case when it comes to blogging. I know I've discussed how I often forget to blog in the past, but now that I am over the age of 60, my brain lies to me and tells me I just blogged a few months ago, when, in fact, it's been years.

Getting older sucks.

My whole life, since I was a toddler, has been about expressing myself with words, and sadly as I get older, the words often fail me. Or there is major disconnect between the ideas in my head and what makes it to the page. Oh, it's even worse when I am talking. There is not just disconnect, but complete shut-down where the words get backed up behind an invisible, and completely clogged, mental drain and what comes out of my mouth is a lot of "hurrrrr durrrrrr hurrrrr."

Just wait and see. You'll be older one day and you'll remember this when you are saying, "Hurrrdeeedurrr" to someone who just asked you your name.

I am now caretaking for my mom, who has dementia, and my brain is not what it used to be. Caretaking means being on high levels of cortisol almost 24/7 - you are always in fight or flight mode and rarely can you relax long enough to sleep, let alone write. There are constant interruptions, doctor visits, phone calls, saying things over and over again and dealing with a loved one who really is fast becoming just a shell of who they used to be. There is also the facing of mortality that comes with caretaking, and realizing one day you will be on the receiving end.

I was not made for caretaking. I have little patience. I took great care raising a son alone who had a disability and I was there and beyond for him and will always be, but now having to do the same for a parent is exhausting. It's truly exhausting.

Still, I have to write. I have to find time to tell stories or convey things I've learned because that is not what I do, it's who I AM. It just takes me a lot longer now and I can't work on five things at once. Working on one is all I can handle for now. As long as I just keep putting the words to the page.

So, if I forget to blog, forgive me. I am here and I still have a lot to say and write about. I hope to be doing so until the day my brain says, "Hurrrrduurrrrrrrrrrr, enough already!" Then I shall retire to Sanibel Island and look for sea shells for the rest of my days.

GROWING OR DYING

noreply@blogger.com (Marie D. Jones) — Mon, 19 Sep 2022 17:16:00 +0000

I was reading a blog from Tony Robbins where he said we are either growing or dying. I guess in a sense we are doing both. Our bodies are dying, since the moment of birth. But in the in-between time from our birth to our death, we really can choose to grow or "die while alive."

Growth can be hard, even painful. When you get older, you just feel so tired of it all. Been there, done that, too damn tired to do it again. But if this keeps being your life motto, you soon find yourself dealing with depression and a loss of meaning and purpose to your life.

You're never too old to grow, or too tired, either. It might feel that way temporarily, so rest. But don't make resting state your default state, because that will lead to regrets later, when you look back and realize you did indeed have plenty of time and energy left to find new purpose, resurrect old dreams or create new ones, and give of yourself.

Growing as we die may sound paradoxical, but we can do both. We can continue to expand ourselves even as our bodies go toward an end point none of us can escape. It's what we do up until that end point that matters and as long as we are breathing, there's time and energy to spare.

noreply@blogger.com (Marie D. Jones) — Fri, 04 Feb 2022 15:39:00 +0000

Because I write full-time, I find it hard to blog. I find it hard to remember to blog. My brain is so filled up with words and ideas and research. It finally occurred to me that maybe I was writing too many non-fiction books. I mean, people would ask about one of my earlier books and I couldn't remember one factoid or thing I had written about! I've stopped doing much radio because I have to go back and read what I wrote years ago.

Me thinks my brain is too full. I have a couple more non-fiction titles under contract and then I think it's time to return to the creativity of the right brain. I am writing more fiction, screenplays, novellas and it makes me so happy. I've rediscovered my passion for writing and telling stories, a passion that began when I was old enough to talk and got teased by my beloved Poppy for taking any ordinary situation in life, such as a trip to buy shoes, and spinning an elaborate story out of it. When my Poppy said that to me, he was recognizing what I came here to do...tell stories.

I will write non-fiction in the future if the spirit moves me, or if I get an offer I cannot refuse! But I long to return to the days when I could look at something ordinary, and see something deeper...enough to spin a story out of it. My Poppy knew me even before I knew myself.

i am still here!!!!!

noreply@blogger.com (Marie D. Jones) — Sat, 24 Jul 2021 21:47:00 +0000

I write for a living and often forget to blog. I know, my bad. So much has happened since my last blog, including a hospitalization for my heart, several new books, a shared world series I created called BLACK MARIAH debuted with writers from all over the world, and I am now writing under a pen name for Kindle Vella, J. Madison Ree. I have to stories on Vella, SPACE COWBOYS, and THE HYBRID KING.

I sold a screenplay for a romantic comedy that should be going into production soon, wrote and produced my second short film, optioned two big TV projects, and put out one of my most important non-fiction books ever, DISINFORMATION AND YOU: IDENTIFY PROPAGANDA AND MANIPULATION.

I am also writing and editing for Soulmaker Press and working on a ton of fabulous and important life-changing books for them. They are wonderful. My screenwriting partner Denise A. Agnew and I are pitching our scripts and writing our newest horror story, MONSTROSITY. Having a blast doing it, too.

So a lot is happening and I am usually glued to my office chair writing and editing and writing some more. I thank everyone who has supported me all this time and hope you continue to do so. I will try not to forget to blog as much. My brain can only take so much, and calendars don't seem to help!!!

Visit my website at www.mariedjones.com and sign up for my email newsletter so you can keep up on things and win free books, too!!!

noreply@blogger.com (Marie D. Jones) — Thu, 19 Nov 2020 23:16:00 +0000

Writers are lucky creatures. We can work from home, or from anywhere else in the world, so things like pandemics don't affect us much. Nor do shutdowns. We tend to be isolated creatures, too. But we do need some personal contact with other creatures, and one of the best ways to do that is to embark on projects that involve other writers, or to make an indie film.

I have the distinct pleasure of being involved with several "teams" of writers and film folks, so I get the joys of collaboration even in times of staying in your own house when possible. We can zoom, meet for lunch, and still keep things going, with a few tweaks here and there. Creativity and the urge to tell stories and share information never stops. So it's all about adapting.

Even if you have a more "normal" job or career, what are some ways you can adapt to working at home more? Seeing people over Zoom if you can't meet in the conference room? Working with partners or teams so you don't have to feel so alone?

I can do my job from a deserted island (if it has internet connection, that is) or in the middle of a busy city, and I realize how blessed I am. Look for ways to adapt to the current situations to make them work for you. All it takes a little resourcefulness and creativity.

Focusing on Goals During Global Upheaval

noreply@blogger.com (Marie D. Jones) — Wed, 23 Sep 2020 23:10:00 +0000

It's hard enough to focus attention needed to achieve goals when things are going rather peacefully in the world around us. External and environmental events have a way of sneaking up on us and causing a lot of underlying anxiety that leads to lack of motivation, a "so what" attitude, a feeling of futility of effort, and a general malaise that doesn't leave a lot of energy for goals.

Yet this is actually the time to dig in and go for those personal goals. No matter what is going on in the world, we have the power to tune it out and put our focus where we need it so that we can better our own lives. Too much worrying and concern over what's going on "out there" means time is passing and opportunities are fading into the distance. Here's the thing. You can't really control what happens in the world, but you can control what happens in YOUR world.

The time is going to pass anyway. It's a shame to see so many people engaging in political attacks, arguments, debates, and generally stressing out over the opinions and actions of others, when they can be putting that same focus, that same passion and energy, into achieving something or doing something productive. Then, when things calm down "out there," you'll hear many of these same people lamenting how they wished they would have taken better advantage of that time. Sorry, it's gone now.

The world will continue to turn and things will happen that will cause a great deal of anxiety. Turn off the news. You'll find out what is happening, trust me. Get off social media and channel that energy into doing the things you've been putting off, the things you've always wanted to do. Act now, or you will one day wake up and things outside of you will be back to normal, but you'll be filled with the regret of not having taken action when you could have.

Focus! Put your attention on what you want, not what you don't want. This is how you change your life, and eventually, this is how you change the lives of others, by example.

noreply@blogger.com (Marie D. Jones) — Tue, 15 Sep 2020 15:50:00 +0000

Sometimes writers forget to blog. I have been so busy living life and writing that I forgot I even had a blog! This is why having a schedule and business plan can be so effective for writers. We tend to overwhelm ourselves with deadlines and jobs and pitching and starting new projects, it becomes easy to let something slip, then realize it's been years since we revisited it.

My bad! I am putting on my calendars "blog something, dummy!" to remind me that I have this awesome opportunity to reach out and talk to more people when I do. Hey, maybe one person reads this, maybe nobody does. But I figure the NSA tracks everything we do online, so maybe they'll enjoy knowing what I have to say!

My next blog will be a giant-ass catch-up of everything I've done since my last one, which was uh...four years ago!

Until next time!

MY FIRST JOB AS A WRITER-PRODUCER, AND IT'S AN EPIC ONE!

noreply@blogger.com (Marie D. Jones) — Tue, 19 Jan 2016 15:18:00 +0000

So, a couple of weeks ago I posted on Facebook about a huge project I had just signed contracts for officially, and today we are going out with the following press release. Suffice it to say, I am excited, anxious, energized, wired, and every possible wild emotion in between that I have been given the absolute privilege to tell this story, the story of one of the most iconic brands in history, and the evolution of one woman who experienced being a part of a family dynasty that is the MAYBELLINE empire. Here we go!

Contact:
Italia Gandolfo – GH Literary Management
Italia@ghliterary.com

PRESS RELEASE

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

Writer-Producer Options Maybelline Cosmetics Dynasty Story

SAN DIEGO, CA/JAN. 19, 2015 – Writer-Producer Marie D. Jones (Where’s Lucy? Productions) has optioned the rights to the story behind the Maybelline cosmetics empire from Sharrie Williams, great-niece of Maybelline founder Tom Lyle Williams; based upon her personal experiences, her father’s journals (William Preston Williams), and her extensive collection of family documents.

Writer-Producer Jones is developing a television series, working title “Out of the Ashes: The Story of the Maybelline Empire and the Family Behind It,” which is already garnering interest from networks. The series covers the history of the family dynasty, from the founding of the company in a rural Kentucky kitchen in 1915 to its continued status today as a billion dollar brand icon, focusing on Williams’ coming of age and personal experiences growing up amidst power, fame, and fortune.

Jones stated, “Open the drawer of the average woman and you’ll see Maybelline products. But few people know the incredible, tumultuous and, at times, shocking, story of the family behind the iconic brand; a dynasty spanning four generations. It is the intimate story of a young woman growing up surrounded by the recognizable trappings of wealth and power, and with the challenges and losses she endures, finds herself literally rising from the ashes to become her own person. But it’s also the epic historical journey of a singular idea born from a simple Kentucky dream that became a legend—a brand that continues to stand the test of time.”

Italia Gandolfo, CEO of GH Literary Management, brokered the deal.

Why Stuff Like "Star Wars" and "The Walking Dead" Makes Me Cry

noreply@blogger.com (Marie D. Jones) — Mon, 21 Dec 2015 22:14:00 +0000

Between October's season finale to THE WALKING DEAD and the current hype and craze of STAR WARS, I've been experiencing a strange state of emotion. I think it has to do with being a writer. I see trailers and cry my eyes out, but not for the same reasons as most people. Most people, you see, are crying because of the sheer magnitude of joy they feel over their favorite movies, TV shows, novel series, etc...They cry because they are so happy to be a part of the glorious nature of entertainment, where millions of hearts can be touched and moved by a single project that began in the mind and heart and imagination of...a writer. Or at least someone who had an idea and got it on "paper" and into reality.

So, yeah, I cry at the drop of a movie or TV show trailer, or at the announcement of a new novel by a fave writer, for those reasons, but also because AS A WRITER, I can FEEL the powerful joy of what the creator/s must be feeling to see one of their "babies" stand before the eyes of the world and be adored. I cry and get all choked up for them, because I know what it feels like, or at least I WANT TO KNOW WHAT IT FEELS LIKE to have a story of mine one day influence and affect so many people, change and touch so many minds and hearts and spirits. I long for that day, and that is what drives everything I do. That, and wanting to leave such a legacy for my son, and show him he can do likewise, with whatever he chooses to create.

Imagine being the creator/s of something like THE WALKING DEAD. Yeah, I know their names, but just bear with me. Imagine in the beginning doing all the hard work alone world-building and creating characters that no one might ever see or give two shits about. Then imagine one day having the most watched show in cable television history, and having fans practically jump off bridges because some character may or may not be dead! Imagine creating something of the magnitude of STAR WARS...whether you're directing or writing or acting...just being INVOLVED in something that will change the spirits of so many people...Being able to say that you had something to do with a piece of pop culture history so epic it has stood the test of generations. Being able to say, "I did that. THAT came out of my imagination..."

Every creative person wants that for one of their babies, maybe more, whether they admit it or not. I admit it. I see nothing wrong in that. I have no idea if any of my stories will ever achieve such a profound position in storytelling history as the HARRY POTTER novels...I have no idea if anything I do really matters much at all. But the dream is that it does, and it will and it must and it keeps me and a zillion other writers and dreamers writing and dreaming. Because SOMEDAY, we want, I WANT, people to see the trailer for my movie and cry for the sheer joy of excitement and anticipation of it. And I WANT to one day create characters that people fall rabidly in love with, or hate with, as the case may be.

I cry because I feel the power of creativity from both the perspective of a fan, and a creator. I can't NOT cry.

Where's the Kleenex?

Can't Stop, Won't Stop: The Curse of the Writer's Brain

noreply@blogger.com (Marie D. Jones) — Tue, 24 Nov 2015 00:22:00 +0000

My brain never stops. Ever. Not to sleep regular hours. Not to enjoy normal holidays. Not even to take vacations that other people take and post about on social networking all smiling and happy and thought-free.

My brain doesn't take vacations. It hasn't since early childhood, when I realized I was going to grow up to be a story-teller, because that was all I ever seemed to be doing. Whether I was telling them to other people, or to myself, or to my invisible friends (who were real, just invisible), I was telling stories. Whatever was going on in my environment became a story. Whatever I was thinking or feeling or experiencing became a story.

Things have not changed. Sometimes I try to write and my brain freezes up, probably because it's tired and sick of all the coffee I drink to try to stimulate it. I think it freezes up, too, because it has too many ideas and they all clog the line trying to get front and center. Because they all want and need to be heard and acknowledged and explored in some detail, even the ones that don't deserve to be.

I know many creative people who have the same problem with their brains. Artists, musicians, directors, advertising agency folks, illustrators, you name it...we all suffer the same fate. I ask many of them if they ever take a day off. They laugh. I laugh. We have a good laugh and get back to work getting our thoughts and ideas OUT of our brains and onto whatever canvas we've chosen to express ourselves.

I want my brain to take a week off here and there, but it doesn't listen to me, and by now, I have run out of ways to try to convince it that some downtime will make it come up with better ideas. It snorts and chortles and goes on doing what it wants, because my brain has a mind of its own. I don't even try much any more.

The thing is, I can't fight who I am and how I'm built. I've tried. People say, "Take some downtime. Stop overthinking. Set it aside for later. Rest." I look at them and shake my head, because I know it isn't worth getting into a big argument over. They have no idea what it's like when my brain is telling me to ignore those people. Flip them the bird. Tell them I have important work to do and ideas to mull over.

I have negotiated a bit of middle ground, though. My brain allows me to get around three to four hours of sleep a night. Now and then, it allows me even more, but that is rare and I don't push it. I take what I can get, you know? Sometimes it lets me watch a whole television show or movie without interrupting me with ideas as to how I could do it better. That's always pleasant. In return, I let my brain run its mouth off and try my best to keep track of the ideas it spews out like waste from a drain pipe. Yuck. Now there's an image for you. But that's the image my brain wanted to give me. I've gotten used to it.

I hope my readers will, too.

Know When To Hold 'Em, and When To Fold 'Em: The Power of Personal Ultimatums

noreply@blogger.com (Marie D. Jones) — Sun, 16 Aug 2015 15:40:00 +0000

When pursuing a dream, especially one as crazy as being a full time writer, there comes a time when you wonder if you are chasing your own damn tail. The idea of giving up may cross your mind often during your career, especially the lean days when nothing seems to be working on the surface. That is normal. But there will be that ONE time when you really don't think you can keep on going another day, let alone another year, without seeing some return on your investments. Investments of time, talent, energy, hope and passion.

You lay awake at night going over and over your entire career, even your life, wondering which decisions got you here and what you could have done different. I'd say this works for relationships, too. When did things get derailed? Why are so many others so much farther along, happier, richer, more successful? Am I just so out of touch with reality I keep pursuing a pipe dream, or do I really have talent? Am I messing up my kid, my marriage, my health, and my body?

It happens to all of us. But then you wake up the next morning and feel that urge to keep going, and the cycle repeats itself over and over. You might even have so many things in the mix, that you tell yourself "Something will break if I just hold on a little longer." You might even tell yourself that for years, waiting for that "break." Now and then, that break comes in the guise of an illness or massive financial distress that, once overcome, re-empowers you to go for your dream life. Or that break might never come. And you might watch your dreams go up in smoke, or down in flames, whichever visual you prefer.

But there is another way to keep hope alive, and keep moving forward with a newfound fierceness, without having to come down with a terrible illness, or lose your marriage, or your mind. Give yourself an ultimatum. Just as you might give a lagging lover an ultimatum to take your relationship to the next level or be gone, you have to do the same with your dreams. Just as you would give someone you hired to work on your home an ultimatum to finish the job by the time they promised or not get paid, you have to do the same with yourself and your goals.

This ultimatum has to be BIG, and it has to be BOLD and it has to be IMPORTANT...or like a self-imposed deadline, you might just ignore it or let it keep slipping away. This ultimatum should be written down, and it should be general enough to encompass your main goal, yet specific enough to give you the momentum build you need. You can have several ultimatums for each area of your life, or one that is the most critical to you at the time.

Some ultimatums for writers might be:

If I don't get a publisher for this book in eight months, I will self publish.
If I cannot get 5,000 followers on my FB author page by December, I will devote the next three months to marketing alone.
If I cannot get an agent in one year, I will contact publishers myself.
If I do not see increased sales and better reviews on my book within six months, I will pull it offline and revise with a new cover.
If I am not making this amount from my writing by next June, I'll get a part time job.

Life ultimatums are more general:

If I don't lose ten pounds by my son's wedding on my own, I will join a gym and go three times a week.
If I don't find a date on my own in a year, I will join a dating website.
If I cannot earn my desired income by next February at my current job, I will seek employment elsewhere.
If I go one month without a drink, I'll take myself to a spa.
If my back pain is not gone by next month, I'll talk to my doctor about surgery.
If I don't run three times this week, I'll join that running group at the beach.

Again, we give others ultimatums all the time, whether we do it consciously or subconsciously. If he doesn't marry me in four years, he is out. If she cannot stop doing drugs on her own, we will have an intervention. If my boss keeps screwing me over, I will quit in March. If my spouse abuses me again, I'll file for divorce. Or we don't bother giving them at all, and continue living a life that belongs to someone else, feeling miserable and disempowered because we cannot make anything happen, or stick to something, or stand up for ourselves. Ugh.

But the most important ones, no matter how big or small, are the ones we give ourselves in regards to our own behaviors, actions and goals. The best ultimatums don't ask that you completely give up and throw in the towel if something doesn't happen in a certain way or time frame, although if that is what you feel is right, go for it. They simply provide you with a specific reaction you commit to having to a specific action. A tangible next step. They are goals coupled with subtle pushes, or even threats if that works better for you! If I don't get a raise in six months, I will quit this shitty job! But be ready to quit that shitty job, or your ultimatums will no longer hold power.

And that is the key. YOU MUST FOLLOW THROUGH. Because if you don't, you will render yourself and your ability to push forward powerless. When you cannot keep a promise to yourself, and really, isn't that what an ultimatum is, than what hope is there of achieving a dream anyway? Stay tough, stay focused, and follow through.

So before you go and fold 'em, maybe hold 'em a little bit longer. Give yourself an ultimatum or two. Trust me, I did this and it lights a real hot fire under your ass. You will find your motivation refueled, and your hope and determination renewed, just by treating your life as though it's important enough to set deadlines and then make and take appropriate actions to get there.

And should you fail? You can either fold 'em, or re-assess any progress and formulate a new ultimatum.

Timing Is Everything! Why Your Whole Life Matters

noreply@blogger.com (Marie D. Jones) — Sat, 11 Jul 2015 17:02:00 +0000

I appear to be in the midst of a major career shift with my writing, and one of the natural things that happens is to question the past. Did I wait too long to make this shift? Am I doing the right thing at the right time? Did I waste time not doing this a decade ago? Does my past in any way benefit this shift?

Whether it's a career shift, a change of relationship status, a big move or a goal of achieving health after a long period of lousy living, those questions pop up and make us wish we would have moved or acted sooner. Regret can haunt us like nothing else can. Regret can keep us immobilized, trapped in the idea that we shouldn't even be THINKING of making major changes at this point in our lives for all sorts of reasons (those are called "excuses"). Regret can keep us stuck in places we should have moved from before, but hey, the truth is...WE WEREN'T QUITE READY YET. Think back to a time when you really wanted to do something, but it felt forced and you had to push so much to make it happen, it was exhausting. Then think about a time when it all fell into place naturally, without you having to force the issue. Timing is everything (but you still do the prep work to be ready when the time is right!).

The past can serve us in all kinds of powerful and positive ways if we realize that everything we did got us here, to this point, and this decision, and this sense of READINESS. In my case, my past as a writer could indeed be a huge jumping point and foundation for the new direction I was forging. It actually took my literary manager, Italia Gandolfo, to get that through my head, because I was SURE all the years I had wasted not starting this transition sooner were, well, a waste. They weren't. They were a part of a brilliant and important career that I could now leverage into something new, something even bigger and something that really dovetailed my true passions and goals into the perfect place to be. For me. NOW!

There are things that we want that can only happen when they happen. There are dreams that will take detours and morph into new dreams and there are goals we will suddenly drop along the way and find ourselves picking up new ones we never imagined we would. There are situations that will work out JUST the way we planned, but mostly a lot of them that will work out quite differently. The thing is...IT ALL WORKS TOGETHER TO GET US READY.

Ready to move. Ready to jump. Ready to dive. Think about it. You cannot dive into a pool without a place to dive FROM. That place is the entirety of your past work, your past relationships, your past choices and it is THE perfect place to dive in and get started on something grand and awesome.

I knew all this. I always know. WE always know. But often it takes someone telling us at the right time for us to finally GET IT and embrace it. I've noticed this happening to me a lot lately. People saying things to me that are profound, that I'd heard a million times before. But I hadn't then been ready to really hear it. The timing wasn't right.

Timing is everything, and so is the time we spent doing what we did, in order to set us up perfectly for what is to come. No regrets.

Swimming Through Molasses

noreply@blogger.com (Marie D. Jones) — Mon, 18 May 2015 22:19:00 +0000

I've often thought that being a writer compares to a marathon swim through the thickest molasses money can buy. One day the news is good and excitement fills the air, and the next day the dreams are shot down in the flames of rejection. One day you think the deal is in the bag, and the next day you find out that the dealmaker folded and went out of business. One day you are posting all over Facebook about a new project, and the next day you are told to put that project on the back burner because the market hates the concept.

It's hard.

And it doesn't get any easier even after you've successfully published fifteen books! The marathon continues, and the molasses are as thick as ever. It's a miracle every writer doesn't up and quit the race. But many don't, and won't, no matter how much disappointment, rejection and frustration they experience, because writing is what they were meant to do and they just don't know how to do anything else. Or they DO know, but can't find it in their hearts to do so. Swimming through molasses becomes preferable to a life lived otherwise, even though it might be an easier life with a lot less painful, sometimes brutal rejection.

Over the decades I've been writing, and selling, and not selling, I've learned that patience is both a virtue and a vice. I've learned that while you have little to no control over what happens "out there" once you are done with your work, you still need to stay in control. I've learned that each day will bring either joyful excitement, heartbreaking depression, or, at the very least, a lot of waiting and hearing nothing but crickets. I've learned that in order to be a writer, I've had to adapt to all these things, and more, and in the end be okay with all of it. I'm not always okay with it, but that's what they make wine for.

At some point, you get to stop swimming and take a nice, long breather. If you are lucky, you might even get to crawl out of the molasses for awhile and swim through something a lot lighter and more forgiving, like lemonade or chocolate milk. But each and every time you begin a new project, that threat is there, that promise of jumping back into the stickiness again, with all its possible excitement and acceptance, depression and rejection, disappointment and frustration and waiting and waiting and waiting.

The sooner you learn to like molasses, the better.

Out of Control!

noreply@blogger.com (Marie D. Jones) — Mon, 16 Feb 2015 23:15:00 +0000

Personal shifts happen all the time in life, especially to those who are open to growth and evolution. People who are not happy staying stuck in the same rut or shit pile. People who are ok going outside the comfort zone no matter how much it hurts, feels weird, disorients, frightens or confuses.

I am undergoing this amazingly terrifying, yet awe-filled shift right now because of a huge choice I made a few weeks ago, and it's all about control. Or lack of it, as the case may be. You see, I used to be God in my life. I used to want, no, NEED, to control every aspect, every situation, and every person who came into my life in order to get my imagined needs and desires met, even the needs and desires that once met, weren't really what I needed or desired. I had to be in charge, on top of things, governing and supervising, running the show and directing the movie of what life should look like inside my head, even when my heart and soul weren't quite in agreement with the script.

Control freak much? Yeah…except there was no joy in it, and certainly no peace in it, and after a long, long time, I just got so sick and tired, so I gave up. But not in the giving up kind of way that means throwing in the towel and sucking my thumb in a corner because I cannot handle life anymore. More in the I don't give a flying two bit fuck anymore about who does what and why and what it all means, because it isn't making me happy or healthy or wealthy or wise to keep worrying about what everyone else is up to and the reasons behind it all. I gave up in a sort of "let it go" kind of way and went all Frozen on life's ass. I finally realized that not giving a shit was the equivalent of surrendering, relaxing and caring more for myself, and therefore, being more of a cool person than some angry, resentful, annoyed bitch who was always looking for a way to make something happen. Giving up can be so amazingly freeing.

Because in reality, I have absolutely NO CONTROL over people, and even many of life's situations. I am not supposed to have control. I have control over ME and my responses and reactions, my actions and words and abilities, my movements and choices and decisions. Life often supplies us with ample opportunities, and some we can take by the throat and choke the hell out of for every bit of success and happiness they can provide…others we cannot touch, because they exist outside our realm of force or influence. Serenity, as the famous prayer says, comes from knowing the difference and what to do about it. It also comes from having a little trust now and then in the natural order and flow of things.

So after all the years of my life spent trying to force, push, pull, shape, twist, mold and pry a situation or a person into what I thought was right for my own goals and needs, I came to understand that I would never be at peace and truly a self-powered individual if I continued this exhausting and frustrating behavior. I came to understand that we can be in the lives of others, and have them in ours, and have healthy boundaries and interactions, without having to make them into my own little Mini-Mes and Yes People. Some people aren't meant to be just as we want them to. Some are meant to mirror us, challenge us, push our buttons, show us our dirty laundry and even undermine us, all as a means for our growth and expansion. And as for situations? Sure, some I can control…and plenty I cannot. Some I have little control over, some I need to just surrender completely. It's hard to tell the difference, but that is the gift of discernment, integrity and self-worth…guess I need to work on that stuff more!

It's none of my business what others think, say, feel, want or do…and it's out of my control. And to tell you the truth, that is a good thing…no, a great thing. Because it's hard enough to live my life within the confines of my own boundaries than to cross into those of others and try to live their lives. It wastes my energy, and my time, and rarely do I get the end result I thought I so certainly needed out of it. What a bust deal! One life is more than enough of a joyful pain in the ass…I don't need yours, too!

I am NOT IN control! But because of that revelation…I am more than ever in control of ME, and my life is now my own and not a collective mess of influences I never wanted in the first place, beliefs that never resonated with my soul, and ideas that were never mine to begin with.

I welcome people and situations into my life all the time (I let them exit, too!). I just no longer welcome controlling who, what, where, why and how. I don't need to be God and Overlord of the Universe. It's too tiring and tedious, to be honest, and I kind of suck at it, from the visible results I've seen in my life. There is a lot to be said for being out of control!

The Unbearable Darkness of Being…Creative

noreply@blogger.com (Marie D. Jones) — Thu, 22 Jan 2015 02:21:00 +0000

People talk about creativity like it's a good thing. And it is…most of the time. But there is a very dark side to being creative and having an imagination that doesn't stop churning and turning ideas out like a giant ice cream maker with no off switch. That dark side is a constant pull towards a black hole where, once beyond the event horizon, you become something entirely different than when you were initially standing on the edge. That dark side is total obsession with ideas and stories, lack of sleep, living a large chunk of your life disconnected from outer reality while you create inner worlds, having people wonder if you are "slow" because your mind is always dancing in black shadows or soaring through clouds…and the overwhelming sense of being utterly and completely alone when doing so.

I have a ton of writer friends and creative types in my life, so I am sure they know what this dark pull is and have felt it themselves many times. I am sure they have stood at the edge and given themselves to the gravitational gulp of forces beyond their control. I don't have to preach to the choir… It's the people in my life that don't do something that is primarily focused on the creation and execution of ideas that may not get it. No matter how much good I have in my life, I live with a voracious emptiness that threatens to swallow me whole if I don't constantly feed it…with ideas and stories and research and theories and facts and stuff I've learned and now want to share with the world. The bitch is insatiable and I live with it daily.

Creativity is a wonderful thing, but we have to admit this darker side exists, and then find a way to fully embrace it, accept it and just plain absorb it as a part of who we are and what we do. I will never be a calm, peaceful person so long as characters and concepts rampage about in my mind. I will never want to take life slowly when the end of the world could come about at any time in my imagination. I will never hesitate or be shy about asking for and going for what I want when my dreams demand I step up and grab the brass ring or consume me alive. It's not a way of life most people have the fortitude and inner courage for, not to mention the balls...and many times neither do I.

But creativity chooses us and chooses to express through us, whether we want it to or not, and for those of us who do this for a living (and the whole feast or famine thing is another study in the duality of dark and light, good and evil!), well, as the song once said, "The girl can't help it."

I am a friendly, generous, loving, caring, optimistic and humorous person. But fail to see the dark side and you fail to see the part of me that drives my reality, inside and out. I walk on the edge of black holes every day, and sometimes it's all I can to to not fall in forever, never to be heard from again. The thing that keeps me sane is that same duality I just referenced. Just as I love the coming together, I love the being torn apart.

Overwhelm vs. Underwhelm

noreply@blogger.com (Marie D. Jones) — Thu, 15 Jan 2015 18:19:00 +0000

I have been challenged by some feisty, troublemaking writer friends to resurrect my blog, and I couldn't think of a better topic to start the new year off with than the challenge of taking on too much. So, a long, long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away…wait a second, that sounds familiar…I realized that what worked for me as a writer was far different than what I was being told SHOULD work for me as a writer. Let me explain. All the classes and books and conferences I had taken over the years, since I began seriously pursuing writing as a teenager, suggested very strongly that I become disciplined and write a certain amount of words each and every day…and that I work on one project at a time through to completion, to avoid brain and creativity burn-out. This was hammered into my head over and over again. WORD COUNT. PAGE GOALS. DISCIPLINE. ONE AT A TIME.

NOT!

It quickly became evident that this was not for me. Since childhood, when I began writing stories, I knew that the whole "one thing at a time" just wasn't going to cut it. At least not with me. My brain was filled with ideas and stories and characters and subjects I wanted to learn and write about. Nor was the idea that I should write a set amount of words each day. I just couldn't do it and make it feel natural. I felt embarrassed and awkward talking to other writers, especially writing teachers, who pushed the whole "5 pages a day" on me…because for me, it felt unnatural for my own tendencies. It took me a couple of decades to feel comfortable in my own writing skin, despite their admonitions.

What works for me is writing at least two things at once, preferably not the same genre or age group, or even format. Maybe a novel and a script. Or a non-fiction book and a novel. A middle grade story and an adult sci fi tale. You get the picture. Sometimes I have three things going at once. I love it!!! It gets my blood boiling and my passions raging and it stokes the creative fires.

What works for me is having tons of deadlines hanging over my head because I perform so much better under pressure. What works for me is writing in fits and starts, doing a ton of writing in my head before I ever put a word down on paper, and going days without writing anything, only to bang out half a book the following week. IT WORKS FOR ME. I SHALL NO LONGER QUESTION IT!

I am widely published, with tons of writing credits under my belt in non-fiction, screenwriting, short stories, essays, reviews, gift books, magazine articles and now fiction. I THINK IT WORKS FOR ME JUST FINE. So the next time someone chastises me for being overwhelmed, I will simply tell them it works for me. I like overwhelm.

It's the underwhelm that gets me into trouble.

Find your patterns, your rhythms, your methods and your modes and stick to them. The most important thing is getting the stuff on paper, no matter how you do it.

Hey, I blogged!!!!!

The Seed of Hope in Despair

noreply@blogger.com (Marie D. Jones) — Tue, 25 Feb 2014 04:36:00 +0000

One of the themes I've been most driven to explore is despair. Oh, I've felt it…and recently, too, caring for a child that is chronically ill and feeling like a failure as a parent, struggling to live my dreams against ALL odds…trying to fight the doubts and fears that plague any of us when we step out of our comfort zone…losing people we care about, and love…Failure can make you feel despair. Fear can. Hopelessness can. Loneliness…Loss. Loss of SELF most of all.

But one thing I've realized is that there is an incredible POWER to despair…a reconstructive power that begins when realization dawns that you have hit ROCK BOTTOM emotionally, maybe even physically…and have absolutely nowhere else to go but up. Yes, you can choose to stay down, lay down, even die. But most of us won't do that, because even in the deepest, darkest moments, we have an inherent urge to survive…and a capacity to see and feel joy even when we have nothing left. Even when we are empty.

I think there is an amazing force behind despair and emptiness…a cleanliness to your life and a clarity that did not exist when you were filled with anything, even good things. Feeling empty is an impetus point for going out into the world and bravely choosing what to now fill yourself with. Despair is an end point at which you finally can turn onto a different path, a different road with a different outcome, because you've been to hell down that one road and you won't go back for anything.

I have always wanted to write about despair, and I think in some small way, all of my fictional works, even my screenplays, have featured an element of being lost, of being despairing, of being empty and having one's back fully flattened against the wall of life. My stories, and my characters, always involve coming away from that wall stronger, with a fighting spirit that overpowers all fear and doubt and lack of courage. Even the more humorous or lighthearted fare has involved a character feeling lost, alone, empty of hope…shoved against a flat surface, told that this was indeed the end of the road, and then pushing off that flat surface with newfound "pissed off-ness" and a refusal to take any more crap from anyone.

Life is filled with both joy and despair…and mostly it's filled with in-between stuff that comes nowhere close to either extreme. But I fully believe that it's the extremes that fuel us and shape who we are…and drive us forward into the abyss of becoming.

Despair may feel like the most unempowering place to be. But to me, it is where all the power in the universe is suddenly placed at our feet…reverent to us...

Identity Shift Ahead!

noreply@blogger.com (Marie D. Jones) — Fri, 12 Apr 2013 15:27:00 +0000

Wow, so within the next year and a half, my longtime dream of being a novelist will come true. I am currenly working on a number of projects, from children's to YA, that will be released over the next 18 months and it has really got me thinking about how we identify ourselves to the world…and to ourselves.

I've always been "a writer," having been published since my teens, and yes, paid for it. But over the last twelve years, I've focused on non-fiction, oh, writing a few scripts here and there, but mainly putting out a steady stream of non-fiction books. I began to view myself, and be viewed by others, as a "non-fiction author" who does a ton of research and writes books about everything from the paranoramal to science to metaphysics and all points in between. Someone who does a lot of radio interviews, speaks at events and writes articles for magazines about…well…non-fiction.

So now I find myself feeling a little shaky and off center, but in a great way, because the doors that are opening are doors I've wanted to open for a long, long time. But my identity…will I now view myself as a "fiction author" and "storyteller?" Will others change their view of who I am and what I do?

I guess in the end I am just as I have always been…"a writer." I am expanding my reach now and moving into a format that I may not yet be known for in terms of my public persona. I just hope that readers accept me for who I am, and who I am becoming.

I know I do.

3 GATES OF THE DEAD by Jonathan Ryan

noreply@blogger.com (Marie D. Jones) — Sun, 17 Mar 2013 19:01:00 +0000

Hey, I have a friend and colleague named Jonathan Ryan who is releasing a book in October.
It's called 3 GATES OF THE DEAD and promises to be a real thrill ride!

Here's a synopsis:

Conflicted with his faith in God and the hypocrisy of the church, Aidan Schaeffer, a young assistant pastor, is in a constant state of spiritual turmoil. When Aidan learns that his ex-fiancée is the first victim in a string of ritualistic killings, he finds himself catapulted into an even deeper fight. Tormented by demonic threats and haunted by spirits, Aidan throws himself into investigating Amanda’s death; all the while supernatural forces have begun to attack the people around him. The more questions he asks, the more he is drawn into the world of a mysterious Anglican priest, a paranormal investigation group and a rogue female detective investigating the murders. As the gruesome rituals escalate, ancient hidden secrets and an evil long buried threaten to rip apart Aidan’s world.

The book will be available in both digital and print format from Premier Digital Publishing and will be available at all book outlets, or visit http://www.premierdigitalpublishing.com.

Jonathan is an amazing talent and I am excited for his book launch!!!

Don't Tread On Me…And I Won't Tread On You

noreply@blogger.com (Marie D. Jones) — Wed, 16 Jan 2013 00:09:00 +0000

Like a lot of women, I often have a problem with people taking advantage of my kindness, generosity and caring, even with my ability to get things done fast. That seems the case with so many of my female friends, and hey, I’m not just saying it’s the OTHER gender that takes advantage...because women take advantage of other women, too. Even their friends and family. It happens to everyone at some time.

So I thought about why this is the case. Why do so many people think it’s perfectly OK to behave like this, and are these people even aware they are doing it? My conclusion is, they don’t know. They are not aware. Perhaps it’s how they were raised, to believe they were entitled to others doing everything for them. Perhaps they are just lazy and arrogant and believe they shouldn’t HAVE to work hard when there are others around to do it for them.

But perhaps...just perhaps...taking advantage of another person masks a very deep-seated fear of inadequacy and insecurity in one’s own abilities to do things, to be successful, to go for it. Hey, if someone else can go for it FOR you, why bother? But if you want to become a strong, self-sufficient person with a solid identity and the ability to pursue your own life vision and make your dreams and goals come true...you cannot do it through another person. Because in the end, it will be THERE vision that manifested, their hard work that is rewarded, their goals that are achieved, and once again you will be able to tell yourself you could have done it all if

a) you had more time

b) you had more money

c) you had more energy

d) you were older, younger, prettier, hotter, sexier...

e) yadda yadda yadda

I’ve taken advantage of others, yep. I admit it. We all do. It’s a human thang, you know? But I’ve had to really ask myself lately WHY. Was it because I wasn’t aware I was doing it? Hell no, the twist in my gut told me I was doing something wrong. Was it because I couldn’t do for myself what I thought the other person could do for me? Hell yes, because I let me own fears and self-doubts constantly sabotage any efforts to do it myself (so hard to admit!). Was it because I was lazy? Oh, maybe sometimes, sure. Was it because I was scared shitless to try it on my own because...

I MIGHT FAIL?????

Hell to the yes. And when I got real and admitted that truth, I realized that other people could never make my life better, or make my dreams come true, or solve my problems for me. I also realized that people take advantage of me because I allow them to. And by putting up new boundaries and standing up for myself and realizing I am worth being respected and cared about, I hope it doesn't happen much anymore. I hope I never take advantage of anyone else either. I will do my best to try to avoid being at the giving end as well as the receiving end.

Do unto others comes to mind.

To Time Travel…or Not To Time Travel (THAT is the question…)

noreply@blogger.com (Marie D. Jones) — Thu, 29 Nov 2012 00:05:00 +0000

Everyone wants to find a device that can send him or her back to the past or into the future. Everyone wants to go back in time and either fix something, relive something, or take a whole different approach altogether; or jet into some future period of time to see if everything they DIDN’T fix, relive or re-approach works out ok.

It’s natural for humans to want to control time. We seek to control our space, why not the passage of time? Yet what few people contemplate when they fantasize about time travel are those pesky paradoxes and ethical questions, such as: if you went back and fixed the past, might you somehow be breaking the future? Or how about this one: If you make a tiny change to your own past, how are you affecting the pasts, presents and even futures of everyone you came in contact with, because, let’s face it, we are all tied into the same fabric of existence. We are all links in the chain of cause and effect. So change your cause, and you may be changing the causes, and thus, the effects, of so many other lives.

What gives you the right?

Imagine a whole new branch of law...time travel law. A whole new field of ethical studies...time travel ethics. People suing others in court for changing their present, altering their future, all without their consent. It could happen, should we somehow master the technological and scientific aspects of time travel, and find a way to breach the limitations of light speed and bypass the existing laws of physics that keep us grounded in the present. At least as of now.

Time travel is within our grasp, albeit theoretically at this point. But with the exponential increase of knowledge and progress, it’s only a matter of, pun intended, time before we figure out how to get from here to there...or maybe from now to then. Experiments with particle physics at the Large Hadron Collider at CERN, outside of Geneva, Switzerland, may lead to proof of particles that can outpace light speed, or proof of wormholes that can act as shortcuts through space/time and get us from Point A to Point B, even if Point B is in the past, or the future. Meanwhile, the world of quantum physics is constantly pushing the outside of the envelope of our understanding of the bizarre nature of the most fundamental energy and form, and how perhaps at this level, we have already achieved time travel, albeit minutely.

Regardless of when we finally master moving through time physically, we still have to face the fact of those paradoxes that ask if we can, indeed, go back in time, kill our Grandfather, and still exist to write about it in the present. Or whether we can alter the future without it also “reaching back” in time to alter the present, and the past... Hell, it’s almost like pulling on tiny threads in a patchwork quilt, and wondering if the whole damn thing will unravel, despite your best intentions to only get rid of that pesky thread.

The ethical question of whether or not any of us, individually or collectively, has the right to alter and mess with the chronological order of things, will no doubt be debated even once we have achieved physical escape velocity, whether by Tardis or by tube, via black hole or wormhole or rip in the fabric of space/time...Who will decide what can be changed in terms of history, and what is not to be messed with? Who will determine the extent of our alterations and warn those who may be affected by our desires to fix what we alone deem broken, or what we alone regret?

It just doesn’t cross too many minds, this question of “do we or don’t we,” probably because we all know we will, if we can. That’s the human spirit, for good or for bad. If we have the opportunity, even knowing the risks, we’ll go for it.

Perhaps the most successful Fortune 500 companies of the future will be led by lawyers devoted to time travel cases. Imagine the Law Office of Delorean and Tardis.

It could happen.

Read my latest book with Larry Flaxman, THIS BOOK IS FROM THE FUTURE: A JOURNEY THROUGH PORTALS, RELATIVITY, WORMHOLES AND OTHER ADVENTURES IN TIME TRAVEL – out now!

Boxes, Bars and Chains

noreply@blogger.com (Marie D. Jones) — Sun, 16 Sep 2012 03:10:00 +0000

“Boxes, Bars & Chains”

Life lessons often have a way of sneaking up on you. When you least expect it, you experience one of those flashes of insight, one of those big, bold, life-altering “ah-ha’s” that you absolutely HATE to see coming, DESPISE when you’re in the midst of it, but are oh, so GRATEFUL for when you’ve learned from it and seen the light. I recently had one of those “ah-ha’s.” I learned that it isn’t very comfortable in the comfort zone; that I don’t feel very safe having a safety net; that nobody can

guarantee a guarantee and that a sure thing is never really for sure. I also learned that I actually prefer

life this way!

I found myself over the last few months doing something people in recovery programs refer to as “isolating.” Others refer to it as “cocooning.” Basically, it’s holing up in your nice, comfortable little world and rarely venturing out into the sun. I didn’t really do it on purpose, but I did find that when you work at home, as I have been for the past ten years, it’s very easy to get used to being alone. I soon found that I wanted nothing more than to just be left alone, to stay inside, at home, where it was safe and nothing out of the ordinary was asked of me.

At first, this way of life felt very safe and cozy. Rarely did I feel the need to take a risk or step outside of my comfortable little bubble. I could wake up each morning pretty certain I would be able to face the day with the least amount of energy or concern. But after a few weeks of this, I started to notice a growing sense of low-grade anxiety bubbling up inside, and before I knew it, I was spending most evenings in a complete state of utter agitation, wondering why my life wasn’t progressing and why nothing was happening.

I was stagnating; trapped in the cage I had set up for myself. What had first seemed such a safe and comforting way to live was making me sick, and crazy and highly irritable. I realized that there really is no comfort in the comfort zone. What happens when we cocoon and not allow ourselves to break free from our self-imposed boxes, bars and chains and spread our glorious wings is this: little things start to look big and intimidating; trivial events take on gigantic and stressful proportions. New ideas seem too frightening to even consider. Even having lunch with a friend becomes something to stress out about.

We start to lose faith in our abilities and talents. We stop saying “ I can” and start thinking “I can’t.” We don’t try anything new, we don’t dare. We avoid new people and experiences at all costs. Basically, we start believing our own bad press.

Yet we don’t really feel good, or happy, and we sure don’t feel productive. Half of us wants to continue to stay inside and play it safe. The other half wants to get out there and take a leap off a cliff and dive into life head on. It feels like there’s a Civil War going on inside our bodies; or like two teams of picnickers are playing tug-of-war with our innards.

As Anthony Robbins, the great motivational speaker, always says, we finally get to the point where the pain of what we are doing is greater than the pleasure. That’s when we need to do the following three things to help us break out of our boxes, bars and chains.

1) Become aware of each moment. Living in the present gets us off autopilot and back into the driver’s seat of our own lives. We spend way too much time regretting the past and dreading the future. No wonder life intimidates us into hibernation.

2) Take a small risk every day. Do this to rebuild confidence. It can be something as small as inviting a friend out to a new restaurant, driving a different route to work, or saying hello to a total stranger. Just do something, every day.

3) Be authentic. Be yourself. We sometimes cocoon ourselves out of fear that others will see us and not like whom we are, so we hide our glory, our beauty. We are all unique and we deprive others of our specialness by hiding our light under a bushel. Remember the butterfly and the snowflake; no two are exactly alike. Take back your power!

The next time you feel like you’re cocooning, isolating and backing away from your own life, try these three things. Get quiet, right where you are, and become aware of the moment. Think up a small and fun risk you can take every day to prove to yourself that you really are capable. Be who you are, not who anyone else wants you to be. And then vow to live from that Truth. Try them for a week and see if you don’t feel your inner confidence and energy growing stronger and stronger. The more you do it, the easier it becomes to step out into even bigger challenges and greater accomplishments.

Before you know it, you are once again an active force in your world, out there doing the things that bring you joy, success and a feeling of fulfillment. More important, you’ve learned to expand your comfort zone to anywhere you are. That’s the ultimate freedom, and the great lesson, that comes when you learn to break through those self-made boxes, bars and chains and feel comfortable in the skin you’re in.

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Evil Doll Phobia!!!

noreply@blogger.com (Marie D. Jones) — Fri, 17 Aug 2012 03:43:00 +0000

Who knows better how to torture you than your sister? She knows what you like, what you dislike, what you fear most. As a small child, I had an overactive imagination and a curious fascination for all things frightful, like monster movies, scary stories and “The Twilight Zone.” But the one thing I feared most was my older sister Angella’s prized possession, her beautiful “Simone” doll. I was sure Simone was pure evil, with her long silvery hair and perfect features, and that cold, hard stare that followed me around the bedroom my sister and I shared. And Gella, as we called her, loved to take advantage of my doll phobia at any chance she got. Whenever I would annoy my older sister, or get in her way, or behave like little sisters often do, Gella would simply smile a knowing smile and remind me that Simone was watching me, so I’d better behave!

Evil Simone reminded me of that doll in that “Twilight Zone” episode, the one named “Talking Tina” that was determined to kill Telly Savalas. And no matter how hard Telly tried, he couldn’t get rid of that doll. He even tried to burn it, crush it, chop it up, but the doll lived on, and in the end, it was Telly who suffered the consequences. So whenever Gella really wanted to put me in my place, she would sneer and repeat the line from that Twilight Zone episode, “My name is Talking Tina, and I’m going to kill you!” This so terrified me that I often resorted to turning Simone’s head around to face the wall so the doll couldn’t watch me as I slept at night!

Gella loved to watch me squirm in fear as she recounted all the ways Simone would punish me if I didn’t submit to my older sister’s wishes and whims. Often, I would be so terrified, I would secretly lock Simone in the clothes closet. The next morning, Gella would chide me about how angry Simone was for being locked up all night, and how the doll planned to get revenge. I would be so afraid of Simone’s wrath, I would get down on my knees and beg the doll for forgiveness and lavish it with praise. All the while, Gella smiled in the background, knowing she had me, her goofy little sister, under her thumb. She loved to make me scared, it gave her a feeling of such power!

But the great day of equalization came when my sister and I both received a special gift from our grandparents: two paintings of scruffy children with big, round eyes… the kind that followed you everywhere and seemed to plead for attention. Both of us girls hated those awful, intrusive pictures, which our mom had promptly hung on our bedroom wall. Now, Gella also knew what it felt like to live in fear of ever-watchful eyes, and together, we plotted to destroy the paintings, turning them towards the wall and locking them in the closet when we thought our mom wouldn’t notice.

Eventually, we both outgrew our silly little girl fears, although the last time we saw those paintings in the attic of our grandparents’ home (somehow the paintings had made their way back to their original owners!), neither one of us could hide our displeasure. To this day, I am still fascinated with all things scary, even if they do give me nightmares. But there is one thing I refuse to have in my home. Dolls. Thank God my only child turned out to be a boy!

And as for my older sister, Gella, she still loves to remind me that Simone is still out there somewhere waiting, watching, plotting my demise, and that I’d better behave… or else!

Where Death and Life Meet

noreply@blogger.com (Marie D. Jones) — Tue, 14 Aug 2012 03:47:00 +0000

Amidst the constant noisy hub of activity that is Burbank, California, also known as the Media Capital of the World, is a place of pure peace. A place where one can go to reflect and meditate and feel the joy of being alive. It’s not a church, or a quiet corner café, or even a Zen center or metaphysical bookstore. It’s a cemetery. A vast, landscaped memorial park nestled in the rolling Hollywood Hills.

I first discovered Forest Lawn Memorial Park as most people do, as a tourist anxious to see the burial spots of the rich and famous. My husband at the time and I lived close by and could even see the beautiful park-like grounds from our upper-story apartment window, but we were reluctant to go there at first. After all, how many people spend their free time at a graveyard! And yet, when we did first venture to visit, we were surprised to see hundreds of others just like us, cameras in tow, wearing their morbid curiosity on their shirt sleeves as they walked the peaceful lanes and strolled over the grassy hills dotted with the heavy gray stones of the known and the unknown, looking for names of stars and celebrities.

More than just a high-priced burial place for the financially well-off, there are many touristy things to see at a place like Forest Lawn, such as old restored churches, Southwestern museum exhibits and plenty of gorgeous statues and historical monuments. But the real attraction is the graves – each marker telling a brief but loving story of a life lived out. Once you get the celebrity grave hunting out of your system, you settle into a slow pace of perusing the less flashy markers, and you begin to notice something. That even the smallest lived life, even the most obscure existence, even the least celebrated amongst us, touches the lives of others like a silken web that connects us all.

As anyone who has ever visited Forest Lawn, or any beautiful cemetery grounds, will tell you, something strange begins to happen once you’ve been there a while. Something transforming and wondrous. Something that changes your whole perspective on death – and life. For as you walk the Courts of Remembrance, as you stroll along Morning Glory Lane, bending over to read the inscriptions of love, hope, dreams and memories, you begin to feel an incredible sense of peace. Suddenly, the vast landscape of death and mourning becomes quite different in the quiet stillness of your own contemplation. Slow and sweet, like a soft rain the realization comes. That there is no death here, only bones and ash and the remains of a physical body that started from and returned to rich, dark earth. That life is in the spirit, the love, and the memories. That although all these people had died, their lives and legacies live on in the hearts and minds of those who come to visit. Family, friends, loved ones. Even strangers like me who just wanted to see Liberace’s lavish crypt or the place where Bette Davis lay forever a silent star, and yet found myself more changed, more transformed by those names that few would recognize.

This awareness, this “opened up” feeling of connectedness, is what makes places like Forest Lawn so special. I imagine any beautifully landscaped cemetery, surrounded by nature, would produce just such a rapturous experience. For when we are made to look, really look, at our fears and anxieties about death and what lies beyond, we sometimes find a most surprising thing. That there are no endings, only new beginnings on an infinite journey. These are the lessons that can only be learned in the quiet stillness of a sacred place. These are the lessons that can only be absorbed when surrounded by tranquility, immersed in inner peace.

I visited Forest Lawn many times after that, often alone, and I had several experiences one could describe as “ecstatic” as I walked the lanes that circled the hills and sat in meditation before a beautiful statue of Christ in the Courts of Remembrance. And each time my spirit soared, even amidst all the reminders of death, at the certainty I felt that life is eternal. That the spirit cannot die. That love lives on.

These people, not one of whom I ever knew personally, were all a part of me. Some invisible strand connected us, some intangible, but altogether real common thread that wove us together like a massive and beautiful quilt, throbbing with love and fear and change and joy and pain and everything it means to be alive. I felt sure of that, and I feel sure of that today, as I sit in my new home in the natural and inspiring beauty of northern San Diego county, far from the rolling hills of Forest Lawn Memorial Park and the people whose names I read in silence and sent a silent prayer to. Far from the warm breeze as it whispers through the grave markers and mausoleums. Far from the flashy crypts of celebrated stars, and the simple head stones of stars equally bright, equally loved, just not as well known. So far, and yet somehow still so connected…

…like a silken web.

“I shall endeavor to build Forest Lawn as different, as unlike other cemeteries as sunshine is unlike darkness, as eternal life is unlike death.” Dr. Hubert Eaton, Founder

You Can Go Home Again…Sort Of

noreply@blogger.com (Marie D. Jones) — Sun, 12 Aug 2012 03:41:00 +0000

My house is gone. Not by fire, flood, or act of God. The house I grew up in as a child, where I lived and laughed and learned, the house where magic danced down every hall and angels breathed through every window... is gone. In its place, a bigger, roomier, more modern version - a two-story lumbering giant that all the neighbors say just doesn’t fit in. With the help of Google Street View, I can see that new house, and it just feels wrong, it feels off. That was where MY house once stood. That was MY yard...

Did the new owners realize that in the process of tearing down the house of my childhood, they were also tearing down my heart? Their only thought was to provide more room for their own growing family, and they had every right to do so, you see, for I have not lived in that house for over 30 years. Not by choice, but by necessity was I forced to leave that place in the summer of 1974. My father, a geophysicist, had been offered a lucrative job on the West Coast. My mother, whose own family had vacated the right coast for the left years before, seconded the upheaval, and Mayflower loaded what was left of my growing years into a truck and we hauled the tow west.

I fought the move tooth and nail, not wanting to leave those years full of luscious summers, thunderstorms and fireflies, flashlight tag and sledding down the neighbor’s hilly backyard, fireworks and carnivals and 7:00pm siren commemorative of a more dangerous time. Men walked on the moon, women marched in the streets, Woodstock rocked only a few miles to the North, and the Beatles played on Ed Sullivan -all in that house.

Tromping through the woods behind that house I tracked animal markings, and, with my Field Guide to Birds in one hand and a pair of cheap binoculars in the other, I identified thrushes and larks and robins and wrens. The results of these and many other scientific explorations led me to such rich rewards: feathers and shells of every size and shape, a jarful of fossils I dug up, with the help of the neighborhood kids, found beneath our swingset after my scientist father casually remarked “We were all underwater once.”

When I wasn’t outside in nature, I was inside reading and writing and learning, devouring books on every subject as I sat on my bed near the window, listening to crickets hum in the woods. I became a spy in that house, sneaking from room to room with my binoculars, peeking out windows at unsuspecting neighbors. I saw the lady next door in her bra, the man up the street in his bloomers, and the fat lady across the way fall off her kitchen table while unceremoniously swatting at a fly with a broom handle.

My favorite target was the older boy next door, who would foolishly study at his desk by his window, which just happened to overlook my own. I fancied myself so slick, a femme Bond, if you will, and if any of the neighbors ever caught on, they never showed. Besides, I was just a kid, and kids do all kinds of crazy, wonderful things. It’s only when they grow up they stop having so much fun.

I heard my first rock and roll in that house, read my first Nancy Drew novel, and watched as my body changed from thin and boyish to just a bit more round. My mother enchanted us with fanciful stories in that house, told as we all sat upon the “magic carpet” by the kitchen doorway. My father traveled the world on research trips, returning each time with tales of intrigue and wonderful coins from the Four Corners that I kept safe in a ceramic crocodile bank.

I made friends, real and imaginary, in that house. The imaginary ones included an alligator in a top hat named Peenafurt Franklin, and a cadre of triangle shaped “heater men” that chased me when the furnace kicked in. I dreamed of being an astronaut, jockey, lady cop, president, super spy, scientist, Olympic runner and Broadway actress in that house. All the time I was writing, and it was in that house my big dream took hold. I became a writer.

Since I moved away, back in 1974, coming first to L.A., then San Diego, I’ve been back to that old neighborhood a few times, always feeling that resurgence of awe and magic. Even without the huge maple in the front yard, even without the hedgerow and the bushes and flower garden, even without all the outer trappings I had known and loved, it was still the same house and just seeing it gave me chills of sweet joy.

But when my mom called to tell me the terrible news awhile back, that an old neighbor had called her earlier and filled her in on the deconstruction of my house and the rising of a new one in its place, it was as though I had just been told a family member had died. It was gone. Really gone. Not just changed, not just different.

Gone.

My last trip back I had gotten strep throat and couldn’t even hold my head up long enough to see my house as we took our ride down memory lane. I had vowed to go back again soon, maybe even get up the courage to ask the new owners if I could peek inside for “one last look.” But that trip never happened. I got caught up, in work, life, paying the bills.

Perhaps it wasn’t just that house I was missing, but the dreams and hopes and possibilities left behind. I guess when we loaded up that Mayflower truck, we forgot to pack one thing - my childhood spirit, so bold and free and unafraid to live.

And now it’s too late. Too late to ever go back and knock on that door and walk through those rooms again. Rooms where I felt so warm, so alive, so at home. Rooms where I came to know who I was.

I cried when my mom told me. For three straight hours. Then I did the only thing I know how to do when faced with life - I wrote. And in my grief and mourning, for far more than just a lost house, serendipity whispered. They say you can’t go home again, but I beg to differ. You never really leave. It’s always there, that voice, deep inside, calling you to come back home, however quiet and stifled it might be from years of running to safety and away from the risk of our dreams.

The land can cast a spell... houses do that, too. It may be too late for me to ever walk those hallowed halls, but it’s not too late to fulfill the dreams I came to believe were my own, in that house. Because in my grieving of childhood’s end, I realized this. That the magical house of my youth isn’t really gone at all...

It lies within.