Stuff

Windows Are Rolled Down...Finally

2013-05-03T18:15:00.001-04:00

Lately, I find myself tapping my toe impatiently as the minutes tick down ever so slowly toward the 4 o'clock hour each afternoon. It seems I can only think of one thing, and that is getting into my car, cranking up the stereo and rolling down the windows.

I love spring.

It means windows down in the car, and windows up in the house. The air conditioning and the furnace are both unnecessary. Spring holds promise and hope. Sure, some of those promises won't be kept, such as mine to diligently work in the yard. I swear this is the year I get stuff done! A few weeks remain before it's too hot to wear sleeves, which means I still have time to tone those arms. Will I? Probably not...but then again, maybe I will. It is warm enough to sit on our porches and decks, but not quite yet time to swim. I love sleeping with the smell of the lilacs outside perfuming my dreamland with a scent no store-bought candle could ever truly mimic.

I love this season because it is the true beginning of the year. Flowers are born, our grass wakes up, we see the sun as we drive to work. Warm rain washes the ice off our toes and the salt off our cars. It is the perfectly designated time for things to blossom and grow.

Best of all, this new warmth dissipates the chill from my recent frigid mood. It's put the bounce back in my step, and the hope back in my heart. Maybe all anybody ever really needs is a little sunshine...and having a few good friends by your side doesn't hurt a bit.

Learning As We Go

2013-04-18T16:48:00.000-04:00

Last night, I happened upon the following quote while I was wasting time on Pinterest:

"It hurt because it mattered." ~John Green

The words struck me in their simplicity and honesty; and hit me like a punch to the throat. I'm having a rough time lately. Not to worry, it's nothing monumental, or even definable. I'm still getting out of bed in the morning. I continue to smile and laugh and socialize. I'm just not quite as chipper as I would like to be, and I'm having a hard time figuring out why. I am putting a lot of pressure on myself and spending a lot of time in my own head; sometimes that is a lonely place in which to get lost. It has recently occurred to me that I often feel guilty for over-dramatizing some situations. My feelings are your typical girl feelings, with layers. I find that I might read into certain things differently than the opposing parties. At times it's out of desperation for human contact, and at others it's good old fashioned hope. Hope that this time it's going to be different. More often than not, I'm left feeling foolish and disappointed, but I try so very hard to dissuade myself from dwelling on it. Then, I punish myself if I do dwell on it.

A never-ending cycle. A never-ending story.

Maybe I don't subscribe to the healthiest of methods when dealing with stuff. I've discovered that perhaps allowing myself to feel as if I've been quite literally stabbed in my heart, or back, is necessary in order to continue through life. Simply trying to ignore or forget something rarely produces long-term satisfaction.

I invest my faith into lost causes all too often. When someone has let you down repeatedly, time and time again for years or even decades; it is very safe to say that the next time he comes sniffing around, he's going to disappoint you again, no matter how sweet and vibrant a color the new candy coating may be. One day it just clicks, as he is walking away. Even if it is pitch dark, it is as bright as day and you finally see it; he doesn't give a crap. You've said it before, and deep down you've always known it; but there is another level somewhere between flesh and fantasy that continues to hold onto a hopeless kind of hope. When you finally reach clarity you're at your lowest low, and it's a relief, but as painful as a death at the same time. It hurts...because it mattered. It hurts all the more, because it only mattered to you.

I try to remain as positive as possible, but there comes a time when a person just can't take any more disappointment. At what point is it acceptable to let go of our faith and replace it with caution? Either way, I eventually just feel like a fool.

I think, when we hold our own self-worth at a lower standard than necessary, we find it difficult to understand that we deserve better. I know myself well enough to take comfort in the knowledge that when push comes to shove, I can fully recognize my limits and my tolerances. There is a reason nothing has worked for me in certain areas of my life yet. It is because I do know what I really want, and I'm not going to settle for less. Hindsight is my favorite thing, because once you've traveled away from the hurt, you can see just how beneficial it truly was.

Extra Cheese, Please

2013-04-16T17:03:00.000-04:00

A few weeks ago, I arrived home from work to find the new swimsuit top I had ordered the previous week waiting for me on my porch swing. I tried it on, fully expecting it to look exactly the same on me as it did on the display mannequin.

It didn't.

Deep down, I knew it wouldn't. Lately I've been gaining weight like it's my job. I have absolutely no control over my hands as they're shoveling food into my mouth. I only comfortably fit into two of the almost fifteen pairs of jeans I own. I know what it takes to stop the madness, but it's like some unseen force takes over my brain by the end of everyday. I go into some kind of a trance and when I come to I'm surrounded by empty food packaging. Clearly something weird is going on with me. I can't quite place my finger on it, but I have a few good ideas; and binge eating peanut butter m&m's is taking me in the opposite direction of where I need to go.

I know that confidence shines through in your personality, I've read it in enough fashion magazines; but I don't think I've ever been confident where my appearance is concerned. Even in high school (and it pains me to admit this) I thought I was fat. I wasn't, by the way...not even a little bit; not even when one of the boys in my class started calling me "fat." I was a really pretty girl with a healthy body who felt physically inferior to others. I wish every single day that I could go back and talk some sense into myself.

Now, I'm not going to blame anything but my own lack of self-discipline for where I am today. I was on a great path not too long ago and I veered off of it in a very big way. I do not handle stress well, and in such cases I often turn to food. At the end of the day, I just want to be healthy. I want to choose healthy foods and prepare them in a healthful way and look forward to going to the gym or for a run every evening. I will always crave that cheesy, greasy pizza, though. If I ever lose all this weight and men actually begin to find me attractive, I'll always question whether or not they would have ever been interested in me if I looked like I do now. Perhaps that is one of the big factors holding me back, perhaps I'm making yet another excuse for my lack of advancement...or perhaps I'm not giving the male species enough credit.

Either way, I think it's clear that I have quite a bit of work yet to do on myself. Isn't it funny that once we think we have all the answers, we find we were wrong all along?

This summer, I'll wear my new swimsuit top that will either be too tight, or fit just right. It will never look the same as it does on the mannequin, but I don't think my pool companions mind all that much. I have a suspicion that the opinions of others have never really bothered me as much as my opinion of myself anyway. I'm pretty sure I don't look good naked to a great many people, but if I could look at myself in the mirror and actually believe I do...well isn't that the most important thing anyway? There is so much more to a person than their physical appearance, but we have to give others a chance to see it instead of hiding behind very tall walls that are impossible to climb over. I've recently discovered that my attempt to break down my own walls has only reinforced their strength. Where I'm from, that's not considered progress.

Of course, we are all a work-in-progress, but the work is so much more enjoyable if you can feel happy to be doing it. There exists no acceptable excuse to feel bad about yourself if you're making an honest attempt to improve everyday; and if you do feel good about yourself, never let anyone else change that.

Actions and Meanings

2013-02-07T20:55:00.000-05:00

There comes a time in life, when you know how to act in public, and in private. You know when you can be silly, and when you can be crass, and when to be respectful. You know those closest to you better than you could ever imagine. One day it just clicks. I know who I can go to for what problems. If I need to vent and complain for hours it's one person. If I need someone to be nonsensical with in an effort to put that problem on a shelf and get back to it later it is another. I'm grateful for this diversity. I know I don't express it nearly enough, and I know I selfishly do not reciprocate the courtesy extended to me time and time again, but I am grateful...every single day.

I hope that counts for something.

I am having an absolutely wretched time lately. I'm just going to be completely honest about that from the start. I have found myself having to make a conscious effort to wipe the scowl off my face in public. Yes, it is probably only winter doldrums coupled with the stress of financial recovery from lack of work during the holidays. It is frustration with the chapter that has me stuck dead in my tracks, and wondering if I'm just a hack at this whole writing thing. It is facing another birthday single, and another Valentine's day in which I have to pretend I don't give a crap that I won't be getting flowers. Sounds silly, but as I've said before...I'm a girl who thinks girl things. Many words that come out of my mouth which make me appear as if certain things don't bother me, are most likely a defense mechanism. Though, from this point on, I would prefer if everyone continued to go about their lives as if I didn't just admit this most humiliating of secrets. I feel like I've spent the past fifteen or so years with my arms straight out in front of me to block anybody and anything from getting too close. Even my efforts toward opening up are presented with a very thick filter.

I want to be stronger than I am. I want to be more naturally talented than I am. I want to be a better person than I am. How nice it would be to become jaded on command...it is frustrating to feel things you're not in the mood to feel. It is maddening to not be able to control emotions in favor of logic. My brain is going a mile a minute and frankly, it's starting to have a very negative effect on me.

I've been lying awake at night because each time I close my eyes, I have a nightmare. I'm exhausted and not even the fancy eye cream in my medicine cabinet can disguise my pale skin and puffy eyes. So, you know, on top of everything else I feel ugly. It's just so hard to relax when everything on your plate seems as though it was needed yesterday. To top it all off, you feel like you've traveled a thousand miles in reverse when you discover even your fat pants are too tight.

I honestly don't know what to do, or even the point of this blog. I just know that often if I need to get something off my chest, I write about it, even if it's not all that important. I also know this will pass. My downer periods thankfully don't last long anymore...I am surrounded by entirely too many fun people to remain low for too long. Today, the sun is shining. It's a day to celebrate my sister's birthday, even if she's several states away and I won't actually get to see her. It's also Fermented Grape Juice Thursday with some of my nearest and dearest.

See, I'm feeling better already.

Goodbye Neverland

2013-01-08T17:49:00.000-05:00

It has recently occurred to me, that I may lack a certain level of maturity in various aspects of my life. At age 32 (33 in a few weeks) I have come to realize it is no longer acceptable to use the excuse "I don't have a shovel," after it snows and my visitors are forced to hop through my footprints in order to get safely to my front door because I was unable to neatly shovel (and salt) the walk. It is also not acceptable to use the same excuse when situations call for rakes, brooms, and mowers. I've never owned a clothes iron, nor an ironing board. I throw my wrinkly clothes in the dryer, hang them up in the steamy bathroom, or buy clothes that don't wrinkle...or, due to lack of forethought and planning, sometimes I just wear them wrinkled.

I have a feeling it may be time to grow up...just a bit. I'm officially declaring it my ultimate goal for the year. It is time to accept the fact that I'm not a little girl anymore. I am in my thirties. It's time to stop waking up (almost) every Sunday morning with a hangover. It's time to stop making excuses for things like not doing my dishes, and laundry, and saving money. Chips and Salsa alone is not an acceptable dinner, even if I am trying to lose weight (or "get healthy" as I so non-committally refer to it).

The time has come to start cooking real meals, and planning ahead; and not considering leftover money from my paycheck "beer money." I realize I should be nicer to some and a little less nice to others. I can't keep whining and waiting for people to do things for me. While I've managed independence in many areas of my existence, there are still a few in which I am still lacking...and they mostly have to do with the area outside my home (my home that I actually own, like an adult, and therefore should care for as a homeowning adult would). It's time to clean out the gutters and start pulling weeds with regularity...and not waiting for the rain to water my flowers (if I ever get around to planting any).

I no longer drive the first car I ever bought, which was a perfectly suitable vehicle for a teenager. I drive a Buick now. A grown-up car that should set the pace for the third decade of my life (while blasting The Eagles, Bruce Springsteen and Ray Lamontagne as I drive down the road, of course). I must throw away the collection of beer bottle caps and wine corks...unless I'm saving them to use in a Pinterest craft. I have to stop being afraid to make chicken, and start changing lightbulbs when they burn out (seriously, I've been doing laundry in the dark for months). My calendar should be updated everyday, by me; not only by Joanna when she comes over and changes it for me. I must pay closer attention to my credit score; and I have realized that it is beginning to become imperative that I start saving for retirement. I also feel that maybe I should start recycling or something...or at least start considering it an option.

It's not that I am afraid to grow up, or that I don't necessarily want to...I just haven't gotten around to it. Kind of how I haven't gotten around to buying a shovel, or new light bulbs for my basement. It really is important to stop and look around at everything we're missing while we're rushing to the next stage in life. If we're not careful, we may not notice that we've allowed important things to pass right by us.

Now you may still see me with purple hair on occasion...some things I'm just not ready to give up. I intend to always get together with my friends to drink beer, and laugh, and be silly. I'll never deny myself the right to go out and have a good time. I am single and childless...what else am I going to do? Sit at home and knit? I don't even know how to knit. If I'm going to be an old maid; I want to do it with a smile on my face, a drink in my hand, and money in my savings account.

"All children, except one, grow up." ~J.M. Barrie

Lucky Number 13

2012-12-31T16:49:00.001-05:00

Well, 2012 didn't show us the end of the world, but if you'll recall, last year I resolved to take my writing to the next level.

Mission accomplished.

In a year full of so many highs and lows I have to say my book rides right at the top of everything. I have been talking about writing a book since I was in elementary school. I didn't exactly plan it. I have started hundreds over the years. The difference with "Wiener Brain" is that it was the right one; I kept coming back to add more. It didn't take long for me to figure out that it was "the one."

Of course, that shouldn't diminish the other great things that happened this year. I became an auntie once again when my niece Ruby was born. She lives entirely too far away, but it just makes the times I get to see her that much more precious. My dear friend returned from Afghanistan, safe and sound. My nephew turned 1, and has proceeded to amaze me with everything he does. I think the bond I share with all my closest friends strengthened this year, as well. Not only did I gain a niece, but also a brother, Justin.

A trip to Virginia, Wisconsin, a cabin in the woods, and a Springsteen show put 2012 down in the books as one of my most traveled years.

With the ups must come the downs. You can't have one without the other...otherwise how would you know you're happy? This year I saw two friends dealing with great loss. One lost a great man, and one lost a terrible man. Loss is loss, however; the jolt is the same whether it be a revered grandfather, or a philandering husband. You still have to adjust to their absence. You still have to learn a new way of living.

I was very saddened to learn of the passing of my dear friend's grandfather. I knew him myself and he was the kind of person you love immediately upon meeting. I know she and her entire family have struggled tremendously since losing him and if I could take away their pain, I would do it in a heartbeat. After he passed, my mom made a comment about men named "George" being the best dads and grandpas. I couldn't agree with her more.

On the other hand, and in regards to another friend, I was happy to see the philandering husband exit the picture. I'm more than happy to support her as she adjusts; and she is more like herself than she has been since she married the jerk. I think she's grateful he's gone, too. I would imagine it's difficult to be so driven toward accomplishing your goals when you have such a worthless loser bringing you down all the time.

I believe, for my friends, that 2013 is going to be their year.

I look forward to seeing what '13 has to bring for me. While I didn't exactly achieve all my goals for 2012, I think I made great progress toward them. I think my main goal for next year would be to remember to stop and look around once in awhile. I feel as though the past 12 months flew by in a blur. I have to allow myself to breathe and focus on what is most important. Also, my writing; I hope to do much more of it. I hope to improve and expand my reach. Last year I wrote a book...who knows what I'll do this year.

Happy New Year to all my readers. Be safe but be sure to also have fun!

Duckie

2012-12-18T10:39:00.000-05:00

A couple weeks ago, I had a bad day. It began unpleasantly and I just knew I was in for it. I guess it all started when I couldn't find the jeans I planned to wear. I was yelling profanities at the top shelf of my closet. I was convinced it was hiding them in order to make me late for work. I envisioned Father Time standing outside my bedroom window cackling at my misfortune. The vibes I was giving off caused my dog and cat to vacate the room. I found the jeans. They were neatly folded on top of my dresser; right where I left them the night before.

Already my day was not looking promising.

Once I left the house, with three new bruises forming on various parts of my body, a watering eye from jabbing myself in the eye with my mascara wand, and a tingling in the general vicinity of my sciatic nerve; I just wanted to crawl back into bed.

I did manage to leave early enough to stop and drop something off to someone, though. If you know me at all, you know I hit snooze about seven times each morning. I rarely leave my house before the last possible minute which will enable me to arrive at work in time to clock in at exactly 8 o'clock on the dot. A morning person, I certainly am not. I began holding onto the slightest hope that at some point, my bad day would turn good.

Then I got to work, and it was all fine. I dropped all the papers I picked up at the time clock, but that's actually nothing different from any other day, I lack quite a bit of grace and poise, and I drop things and fall down a lot...it's just who I am. Once I sat down with a nice hot cup of coffee (that I managed to not spill on me or drink before it had cooled to a drinkable temperature, thus burning my tongue) I noticed that my new manicure had chipped at some point in the morning. While irksome, it wasn't anything to get upset about. It's not even comparable to a pair of misplaced jeans.

I made some irrational declaration around lunchtime that I needed to go to Burger King. You see, nobody NEEDS Burger King. Nobody. Especially me. So, feeling guilty, I decided to just run to the truck stop down the road and get a small snack and bottle of water. Plus, I needed to put gas in my car.

Of course, when I drove up to the pumps, I saw little red cards in all the card-reading slots. The next day the pumps were gone as they're doing some work down there. Either way, I couldn't get gas, and I needed gas. Fuming, I got back into my car and merged onto the interstate toward...you guessed it; Burger King. Once there, I paid ten cents more for gas than I would have at the New Lisbon Truck stop. I also got a chicken sandwich that made me regret not putting my Zantac in my purse that morning.

As I drove back to work, yelling at cars and shouting obscenities at the radio I found an overwhelming sense of foolishness coming over me. Just as quickly as it started, it melted away. With my face burning from embarrassment as I exited the interstate, I reminded myself that having to drive a few extra miles for gas isn't the end of the world...in fact, it's not even that much of an inconvenience. I reminded myself that even my worst days would be considered good days for some.

Once I returned to work, I felt almost serene. Sure, the rest of my workday was chaotic and I got stuck behind a slow-moving fuel truck on my way home; but I just turned up my radio and sang along with the music...and I enjoyed the ride.

"When you think things are bad,

When you feel sour and blue,

When you start to get mad...

You should do what I do...

Just tell yourself, Duckie,

You're really quite lucky!

Some people are much more...

Oh, ever so much more...

Oh, muchly much-much more

unlucky than you!"

~Dr. Seuss

Exposed...Sort Of

2012-12-13T08:10:00.000-05:00

If right now were five years ago, the reason for my lack of blog posts as of late would have been laziness. Today, however, the reason is quite the opposite. I am SWAMPED!!!! I am writing two books, working on an anthology of this blog, and I even recently wrote a couple articles for the amazing Jessica at little Indiana. I also have a day job, friends and family in my life, and a home (including 2 pets) to tend. It's been a big year and I have you all to thank. The overwhelming encouragement and kind words from my readers is a large contributor to the fact that I've gained the confidence to take my writing elsewhere. I'm the happiest girl in the world right now and it's all thanks to you!

I thought an amusing way to tell you all how much I appreciate everything you've done for me would be to tell you a few things about me that remain largely unknown. Sure, you are aware I dip my oreos in water, have an actual fear of milk and a propensity toward eating chocolate frosting right out of the can with a spoon while watching bad rom-coms. So why not bring to light a few deep dark things I've always kept just to myself?

I have a "more is more" mentality. When the back of the shampoo, conditioner, mousse or gel container says "dime-sized dallop", I fill my palm with the stuff. It never says how many dimes, after all. Same goes for dish soap, and fabric softener. I fill the little ball up halfway, not to the line. Dish soap gets a healthy drizzle around the entirety of the sink. If the recommended amount works, double or triple the recommended amount has to work better. Nothing anybody says can convince me otherwise. I've made it this far thinking this way, and I'm not likely to change my direction anytime soon. I also subscribe to the notion that nothing can ever have too much cheese or too much chocolate. Scented candles burn in every room. I do not remove one accessory before leaving the house, as classicly recommended by Coco Chanel. The more sparkly things on my ears and around my neck to distract from my disgusting body, the better.

I know I never want to get married, and if I do I'll elope, but that hasn't stopped me from planning my wedding thousands of times. I can spend hours on BHLDN picking out my dress, accessories, shoes, bridesmaids dresses, decor and everything else. Just in case, my sisters know where to find my engagement ring if there actually does happen to be a lucky fella out there (Hint: it's not a diamond). I also have the names of the children I don't intend to have picked out, just in case. Clearly I'm proof that no matter how much a girl is unlike a girl...she's still a girl.

I have bad days, everybody does. However on even the most hopeless and frustrating of them all, I cannot fall asleep at night without thanking God for everything I have. I started doing this during Lent back when I was in Jr. High, and I never quit. I also intend to do it every single night until I no longer can. I do not participate in religious discussions very often. I was raised with the understanding that my faith is personal to me, and if I choose I can keep it to myself. I am content in my relationship with God, and this is the only time you're likely to witness me discussing it publicly. This little ritual, however, is a very important ingredient in the big old bowl of Lindsey. It's like that pinch of salt in a batch of chocolate chip cookies. The small, unlikely thing that ends up making all the difference.

I'll now take this opportunity to apologize for the fact that these revelations aren't exactly earth-shattering. I think I opened a vein for you people over a year ago and you more-or-less know everything there is to know already. Basically, you know enough to know that I'm not that exciting. I don't really have any secrets. What you see is what you get, and I'm grateful that seems to be enough for the lot of you. I'm confident-yet-insecure. I have days during which I feel insignificant and invisible. On others, I feel as though I'm under a microscope. On the days I'm most unhappy, I find myself almost breathless at how happy I am deep deep down. I am always looking for ways to improve and evolve while still remaining Lindsey at my very core.

So, from all of us here at "Stuff" (which is just me) I want to wish everyone a very Merry Christmas. I hope you can all find something this season that doesn't come from a store that makes you happier than you ever thought you could be.

A Not Very Scary Story

2012-10-05T10:26:00.001-04:00

A couple months ago, someone sent me the link to a writing contest. It was free to enter (sign me up!) and the winner would be published in a Harper Teen anthology. The requirements were as follows: between 2000 and 4000 words; the story must take place at night or in the dark; it must be classified as YA fiction. The genre is not my strong suit, but when I was the age to read YA fiction, I read a lot of R.L. Stine and Christopher Pike books; so I decided to be nostalgic. Clearly I'm out of touch with teenagers (maybe I'm stuck in middle-grade mode while I work on the sequel to Wiener Brain) because I did not win the contest, but I did find out just in time to allow my submission to be my last hop post. I'll admit it is amateur and campy...let's call it kitschy...I like that word.

Crying

The June bugs pelt the screen door as Rani and Hank sway on the porch swing to the sound of the crickets. Their lips are locked and their bodies are entwined in the pale yellow glow of the porch light. Summer has yet to reach its peak as far as heat goes, and the nights still carry the slightest chill. Rani pulls away, her lips swollen and red, drunk with lust and happiness. She's known Hank for as long as she can remember, but it wasn't until he asked her to prom this past spring that she ever considered him more than just her buddy. She likes the dazed look in his eyes after they've been making out. The way his hair sticks up in every which way after she's been running her hands through it makes her stomach hurt, in a good way. In the fall, they'll both be seniors and then they're planning to go to the same college. They've been planning to go to the same school since they were freshmen; back when they were just good buddies.

Rani nestles her head against Hank's chest and snuggles into the crook of his arm. She sighs with contentment as he places a sweet chaste kiss on top of her head just as the swing starts to vibrate. They both ignore her phone beckoning from the arm in favor of remaining embraced. Rani senses the shift in the atmosphere, though. Feeling the tension in Hank's previously relaxed frame, she takes a deep breath in an attempt to relieve her own uncomfortable awareness. They both know the phone's vibrations could indicate yet another message from him.

Conrad was not pleased when Rani ended their relationship; and he's devoted his life to making it very clear for the past eight months. His inability to accept this has plagued her relationship with Hank from the very beginning. Luckily, Hank is very understanding. Plus, he knew what he was getting himself into before he ever asked her out. He makes dealing with the constant calls and texts and random knocks at her door almost tolerable. She's changed her number three times, to no avail. They're in high school after all, if one person has somebody's phone number, anybody can get it. When she reaches her breaking point, Hank is always there to smooth her hair back and tell her he'll never let anybody hurt her. She believes him. She feels safest when he's near.

Rani didn't date Conrad very long. He took her to the Homecoming dance in the fall of their Junior year. She had always had a crush on him and was completely floored that he asked her out. Her mother took her shopping for a new dress and when he came to pick her up, he brought a pretty wrist corsage that matched perfectly. During the dance he came across as kind of odd, but she overlooked it. He was the hottest guy in school, and he wanted her. When he wouldn't let her leave his side to talk to her friends at the dance, she felt the slightest flutter of alarm, but pushed it away. She reasoned that he liked her so much he wanted her all to himself. She convinced herself that there was something kind of romantic about it and managed to have a great time. He called the next day and they ended up going on three more dates. Each time Rani picked up on something uncomfortably possessive about him. He criticized her clothing and hair. If she didn't answer her phone when he called he accused her of seeing someone else. The relationship ultimately ended when he confronted her at her locker for walking from class with Hank. He screamed in her face and chucked her Geometry book down the hallway. Suddenly, he was no longer the hottest guy in school. The thought of him made her stomach turn.

She soon learned that Conrad couldn't handle being dumped. The remainder of the fall, and throughout the winter, he lurked in her shadow. She never felt alone or at ease. She quit participating in extracurricular activities and stopped hanging out with her friends. His incessant text messages and phone calls ranged from overly sweet to threatening. She parked in the teacher's parking lot at school and went straight home as soon as the bell rang each afternoon. Once, for two weeks straight, she would find a bouquet of roses waiting for her. Her parents worried about her safety, but they also worried for her mental state. One day, they sat her down and told her living in fear was no way to live. They contacted the police, and the school, and Conrad's parents; but that seemed to only encourage him. He started waiting for her at her locker after each class and leaving notes with pencil drawings of her taped to it. In one of them she had a halo and angel wings. That one made her particularly uneasy. She eventually started carrying all of her books in her backpack in order to avoid her locker entirely. Finally, one day, she arrived home from school to find, not another bouquet of roses from Conrad; but Hank, sitting on the porch swing waiting for her. She let him in the house and as his cheeks turned flame red, he asked her to be his prom date. She couldn't seem to resist his cute lopsided grin, and accepted without hesitation.

Since that day, she's felt safe enveloped in Hank's embrace. At first she was afraid to be seen with him at school for fear that Conrad would retaliate, but he remained relatively silent for awhile. The phone calls and text messages almost stopped. The sickeningly sweet aroma of roses no longer met her as she walked up the steps to the porch...until a week ago. Something has triggered Conrad once again, and though she won't admit it aloud, she would prefer to be inside the house right now with the doors locked.

The phone quits vibrating, and Rani tries to resist the urge to check the missed call. She knows it is likely him, but it could also be her mom and dad. They are spending the night out of town for their anniversary and she doesn't want to worry them. She hesitantly reaches for the phone and Hank squeezes her hand reassuringly. He is so understanding, her big strong protector. Rani doesn't know if she could be as wonderful as he is if the tables were turned. She hits the button to check her missed calls and feels bad when she discovers the call was from them. She dials back immediately and assures her safety. She doesn't tell them that Hank plans to spend the night, as she can't bear the thought of staying alone; especially after promising her parents she was no longer afraid of Conrad. She feels guilty lying to them, but she knows they would never allow him to stay if she were to ask. To her surprise however, they are calling with a change of plans. They tell her that they have arranged for her to stay at Hank's house overnight in lieu of staying in the house alone. Thought, Rani suspects their intent was to arrange for parental supervision while they were out of town.

The knot in her stomach begins to ease as she bids "goodnight" to her mom and dad. She wishes them a happy anniversary and tells them she loves them. After relaying to Hank their new plans for he evening, he simply chuckles and fixes his face into an overdramatic pout. "They're never going to let us sleep in a bed together." Rani laughs and stands, pulling Hank to his feet with her. He wraps her in a big bear hug that makes her squeal. "Come on, we should pack my pajamas and lock up the house. If we don't get to your house soon, your parents will think we're having wild sex."

Their easy laughter rings through the dark and quiet night as they enter the house, the screen door slams with finality, and Rani instinctively locks it behind them. Inside the house is dark. Rani realizes that she and Hank have been outside on the swing since it was daylight and she never turned on the interior lights when darkness fell. Her stomach gives her a momentary warning flutter of panic, but she squelches it. She calmly turns on the lamp by the couch and flicks switches as she makes her way to the back of the house to check that she had, in fact, locked the back door that afternoon. She knows she did, and she knows she checked it about fifteen times before Hank came over. She's not sure where he went, though she's sure he is upstairs packing her overnight bag. She smiles at the thoughtfulness of her sweet boyfriend. She genuinely can't get enough of the guy. He's a dream come true. Her mother says it's just the way young love is and it doesn't always last, but Rani can tell her parents love him just as much as she does.

As she enters the kitchen and approaches the back door, that old familiar sense of dread creeps through her scalp. Like tiny little needle pricks all over her head. She tries to shake it off, especially after confirming the back door is closed and locked, just as she left it. As she turns to go find Hank, a breeze brushes over her arm, and she notices the small pane of glass missing from the door. It is big enough for someone to stick their hand through and turn the lock to enter. It is right then she knows he's in the house. She can feel him looking at her. Just as this realization hits, as if it were scripted, the house goes dark. A small sliver of light cuts through the carpet of the living room from the street light outside, but other than that, she can't see a thing. Her entire body goes cold as she suddenly remembers Hank. "Hank!" She is screaming and sprinting toward the stairs. She is almost there before she feels pain exploding through the back of her skull. She watches the carpet creeping closer and closer to her, as if in slow motion, before she lands face first on the floor, and everything goes black.

Rani wakes in her bedroom. Staring at the ceiling, she can smell the candle she keeps on her nightstand. Even when it's not lit the overpowering fragrance of lavender permeates the entire room. She can also smell Conrad's cologne. He's in the room with her, but she can't see him. The room is pitch dark, despite the dim glow of the bathroom light down the hall. As she attempts to sit up she finds that she's somehow bound to the bed. Pain shoots through her head and her stomach roils. She can't see anything and wonders where he is. She wonders where Hank is. "Oh God, please let him be okay." It comes out as a soft and pleading whisper. This plea is returned with a sinister chuckle from the corner of the room. She can't see his face, but she knows it's him. He's sitting in the white rocking chair her grandmother gave her for her tenth birthday. She imagines her beloved teddy bear, Oscar, being smushed under his weight. He wouldn't think to move him first. He would have just sat right down on top of him. Rani groans in pain as Conrad begins to speak, "Hank is no longer a problem, Rani. If you had just given me a chance. If you hadn't loved him more than me, maybe he'd still be alive."

Pain sears through her chest, and she knows it is her heart literally breaking in two. She resists the urge to cry out in agony, because she knows that is what he wants her to do. This is all her fault. He's gone because of her. It takes everything in her power to remain calm and fight through the tears burning like fire in her eyes. Part of her wants to give in and get it over with. There is no way Conrad will let her out of here alive anyway. Then there is the other part of her that is determined to live. She decides she won't just try; she will succeed, for Hank. If they weren't cloaked in darkness, Conrad would be able to see her boiling rage, and she wishes he could. Her heart pounds out of her chest, in unison with her throbbing head. Rani works to slow her breathing before she speaks; to suppress the sobs vibrating in her throat, begging to escape. "Please, Con, untie me. Let's talk about this. I am sorry I hurt you, but you were scaring me. Girls don't fall in love with boys when they scare them. Maybe we can talk about this and work something out."

He sneers back at her, "It's too late Rani. That big oaf in the hallway took you away. Did you think I wouldn't notice the way you look at him? He stole you away from me, and now that he's gone, you'll always love him. You'll never bring yourself to love me, because I'll always be the one who took him from you. How does it feel, Rani? How does it feel when someone takes away something you love?"
Rani fights back a wave of nausea. Hank had come upstairs to pack her bag for her. He was doing something sweet and thoughtful, and Conrad killed him in the hallway. She wonders how long he had been there in the house, waiting. He had to have been watching them on the front porch. Watching them kiss and snuggle. He probably saw them tense when the phone rang. As a shudder of revulsion goes through her body, she becomes even more determined to live through this. She tries to figure out a way to free herself. She casually runs her fingers along the sides of the bed and finds that he has bound her wrists and ankles with rope and tied each one to the bed posts. They are pulled taut but the rope around her right wrist feels looser than the other one. She begins to work her hand out of it without drawing attention to what she is doing. To distract her captor, she begins to speak. "You're never going to get away with this. You know that don't you?" She can feel her hand slipping from its bondage. The rope is rough and burning her hand, but she keeps her voice steady. "Everyone knows you're obsessed with me. They'll all know when they find both Hank and me dead that you are the one who did it." All but her knuckles and fingers are free. She says a little prayer that he doesn't notice. The room seems so dark, but she isn't sure how much of her is illuminated by the bathroom light. She wishes she could see his eyes.

The rocking chair creaks, and Rani freezes. She relaxes her right arm and holds her breath, but he never approaches her. The room is silent for what seems like an hour, but is likely only a minute or so; and then she hears it. He is crying. She can't bring herself to feel anything but disgust. "Conrad, you're sick. You need help. Please just let me go and we'll call the police. You won't go to jail. They'll send you to a hospital and make sure you get better." She is pleading with him now, pleading for her life. Her aim is to make him cry harder, so that he'll take his attention off of her long enough to make it possible for her to defend herself. She dares to lift her head and discovers that her eyes have adjusted to the dark, and she can see him quite well. No details, but the outline of his body sitting in her chair is very distinct. She sees that his head has lolled forward and his shoulders are heaving through the gurgling sobs. This is her chance. She has one shot, or she's dead. Working the rest of her hand out of the rope, she grabs the large fragrant candle from her nightstand and heaves the heavy jar in his direction. The pain shoots through her body but she ignores it as she aims right for his head. The sickening sound it makes when it hits him causes her heart to leap into her throat. She hears a thud, and prays it is his body hitting the floor. In survival mode, she begins to claw at her restraints. He was in a hurry when he bound her and the knots aren't tied properly. She is able to get her other wrist free rather quickly, and sets to work on her ankles. She doesn't hear any movement or noises coming from the direction of Conrad. He must be out cold. Her dark and fleeting hope is that she's killed him, but her guilt at that hope overrides, and she pushes the thought away as she begins working on untying the knots around her ankles.

Working as quickly as she is capable, Rani frees her feet just as she hears the front door crashing in. In her desperation, she didn't notice the flashing red and blue lights filling the dark house. It now looks like a rave is going on in the living room. Not caring how they've come to be there, Rani scrambles off the bed and rushes into the hallway screaming. "Help, Help Hank!!!" The police are rushing up the stairs when the leader of the pack looks at her expectantly. She simply points in the direction of her bedroom and watches them funnel into her prison. She spins around, searching for her boyfriend; but the hallway is empty. The only thing out of place is a dark stain on the creamy carpet. Panic, and then relief, flows through her; giving her a surge of adrenaline. He might still be alive. "Hank! We have to find Hank!" Rani grabs the arm of a police officer exiting her bedroom. He looks at her grimly and begins to speak, but she interrupts him. "We have to find Hank!" She screams in his face and he looks confused. He reaches out and places a hand on her back as he attempts to lead her toward the stairs. "Miss, you don't want to go in there." Rani doesn't understand and holds firm. They should have Conrad in handcuffs right now. She wants to see them lead him out of her home. She wants to be certain he is gone. "You don't understand. He killed Hank....well he said he killed Hank. He said he was in the hallway but he's not. We have to find him, he could still be alive!"

A fleeting look crosses the officer's face. Rani can't quite place it. Is it pity? "Where's Conrad? Ask him, he'll tell you. He sure seemed pretty proud of himself when he told me." The officer puts his arm around Rani's shoulders and continues leading her down the stairs. Once they are in the living room, he motions for her to sit down on the sofa. "Miss, a Mr. Hank Ford called and alerted us to the goings on here. His throat had been cut, but not deep enough to fully sever the artery." Hope soars through Rani, Hank is alive. He saved her life. "He's okay? Conrad didn't kill him? Is he outside?" The officer looks uncomfortable, as if he doesn't want to tell her something. "Unfortunately, he had also been stabbed multiple times. I'm sorry, but he didn't make it."

The elusive sobs which had been forced down during her altercation with Conrad finally break free with a guttural roar. The officer, visibly uncomfortable, pulls a hanky from his pocket and hands it to her. He pats her shoulder and lets her cry for awhile. She is grateful he doesn't try to ask her any questions; grateful she is being given a chance to mourn. Hank is dead because of her. The devastating reality of it hits her like a heavyweight champ. She knows she'll never forgive herself. She can't imagine this pain ever going away. After awhile, she realizes nobody has come down from upstairs. "What happened to Conrad?"

The officer swallows loudly. Rani feels bad for him. This is a quiet town. Something like this has never happened as long as she's been alive. "He, uh, didn't make it either."

She feels relief, and guilt for feeling relief. Then, something occurs to her. "Did I...kill him?"
The officer smiles as reassuringly as he seemingly can under the circumstances. He pats her hand, trying to be as comforting as he is allowed to be; but instead of comfort she feels numb and distant from her own body. "No, it appears he was already deceased before you, I'm assuming, threw the candle at his head. He slashed his own throat, and presumably bled out on the rocking chair before it ever made contact."

Rani feels sick. She realizes the crying she thought she heard was Conrad dying in her rocking chair sitting on top of her beloved teddy bear. The officer starts talking to her again, but she is having a hard time processing what he is saying. Something about her parents being on their way and Hank's parents being contacted. Her heart breaks once again for them. Like her, Hank was an only child, his parents will be devastated. She feels like a zombie as the officers lead her from the home she's always known; a place that will never again feel the same. She is in a state of numbness when her grandmother arrives. She wraps her arms around Rani and helps her into the car. She hears someone saying something about a hospital, and recalls she was hit in the head and should probably be checked out to make sure she doesn't have a concussion. Rani is in a daze, everything her grandmother says on the ride to the hospital goes in one ear and out the other. She feels cold and alone and empty. She wishes Hank hadn't been there. If she had been alone, Con would have killed her and Hank would be safe.

After being released from the emergency room with no discernible injuries, aside from a headache and a broken heart; the police inform her grandmother that their questions for Rani can wait for the following day. She'll spend the night at her grandmother's house, her home away from home for as long as she can remember. Tucked beneath the white quilt with little pink rosebuds scattered throughout, she wonders if she'll ever feel normal again. She certainly can't go home anytime soon, not that she would want to. The doctor gave her something to help her relax and sleep, and she prays that sleep comes without dreams. While she waits for the pills to do their job, she imagines Hank is beside her. She is wrapped safely in his big comforting arms and he is peppering her temple with tiny kisses. She was right to always feel safe with him. In the end, he saved her life, at the cost of his own.

Starting tomorrow she intends to never take another day for granted. She'll never let his sacrifice have been in vain. Before she drifts off to dreamland, she reaches up and switches on the bedside lamp, and then switches it off again, bathing the room in darkness. Closing her eyes, she decides she's also never going to take another night for granted.

Chicken

2012-10-04T16:39:00.000-04:00

Visit Red Tash and the rest of the hop entries HERE!

I believe I have mentioned before that Halloween is one of my favorite holidays. Fall is one of my favorite seasons. Hagerstown is one of my favorite towns. I have informed you of the rather morbid fascination we had with scary stories and cemeteries while we were growing up on West Northmarket Street. Sure, it might sound a bit odd, but we got a kick out of scaring the crap out of one another. The library held endless tales of cursed prom dresses and ghosts wandering past cemeteries looking for a ride "home". We even made up some of our own, such as the guy with the glowing yellow eyes that had taken up residence in our local park.

Even as a teenager, swinging all alone out there with my best friend; I kept my eyes peeled for the monster we were convinced was a deranged killer. We were certain of this, because of the pile of clothes, burned out campfire and empty liquor bottles we found one summer afternoon. Nothing ever came forward to refute our claims, so the man with the yellow eyes became our own personal Jason Voorhees.

I remember as a kid not sleeping much during the entire month of October. While I loved scary stories, they took on a life of their own after the sky grew dark (which happened very early back in those days). I remember being in bed, night after night, terrified by one strange noise or another. The knocking of a branch outside the house was a murderer (usually Michael Myers...but also occasionally the guy from Candyman) trying to get inside and kill us all. My mind became a big fan of playing tricks on me...it seemed to get a kick out of making my eyeballs shake and my mouth go dry.

As much as these tales frightened me, I kept coming back for more. I couldn't get enough of the macabre, and to this day, I'll still choose a show about the haunted south over anything else on television during a chilly fall afternoon. I haven't yet fully convinced myself that the boogeyman doesn't exist. Just like Santa Claus, he lives on in our hearts, even after his sister chops his head off.

I hope I never lose that sense of fear and excitement in my life. Should it ever happen, it will surely be a sad day, for I will have lost something that reminds me, on its very surface, of how precious life is.

Happy Halloween and Happy October to my readers, new and old, Also, don't forget that Christmas is drawing near and you can purchase my novel, Wiener Brain HERE! It would make a great gift for kids and nostalgic adults alike!

An Overdramatic and Only Vaguely Accurate Account of My Weekend In The Woods

2012-10-02T17:08:00.000-04:00

The GPS said, "turn right onto Bushy Road." I knew it wasn't the same way we traveled the first time we went to the cabin a year ago, but it was beginning to get dark and my traveling companion had chosen "quickest route". There were four of us in the car and we were headed to Metamora, Indiana to spend the weekend with some of our closest girlfriends. The four of us all worked that day, which accounted for our late departure. Everyone was already there waiting for us, and we were anxious to finally arrive. Therefore, "quickest route" seemed like a great idea. The little car turned right onto Bushy Road and the atmosphere in the vehicle electrified. We would be there soon.

As we drove down the seemingly innocent road, it began to curve; first gradually, and then very sharply. We were suddenly plunged into darkness as the path narrowed considerably and twisted with a sinister regularity. The thick forest on either side became almost suffocating. I'm not entirely certain, but a few times I actually saw branches reach out in an attempt to snatch our vehicle right off the road. I cautioned our driver to be wary of the way the pavement drops off, as one slip into the ditch might mean a lost tire, and then most likely the four of us running through the woods trying to escape a leather-faced man wielding a chainsaw. We've all seen the movies. This was prime material for the beginning of a horror movie. The opening scene in which nobody survives and it sets everything up for the rest of the movie. In that moment, we were Drew Barrymore in Scream...and it was a terrifying feeling.

After what seemed like three hours, but was actually maybe five or ten minutes, we reached the main road. Still reeling from our experience, we struggled to catch our breaths and relaxed a little. We were pleased that we found the cabin with considerably more ease than we had the previous year. The very long lane, not unlike Bushy Road, was frighteningly ominous. Finally, we saw the lights of our weekend sanctuary, glowing warmly amidst the cold and bleak darkness. We pulled into the parking area as our welcome party cheered our arrival from the balcony. We arrived and in one piece, and I had never needed a beer more desperately in my life.

Laughter and hilarity ensued until we all decided to turn in for the night. Being one of the last to arrive, I ended up on the top bunk in the loft area. My view was beautiful, but slightly creepy. The full moon lit up the otherwise pitch dark cabin with an eerie bluish tinge. I heard an unsettling clanging noise and my heart started thumping out of my chest so violently I could almost hear it. It was then I felt it, that dreadful urge which required me to stealthily climb down from my bunk and feel my way to the bathroom. Once there, I couldn't find the light switch, so I did my business blindly and felt my way back to the top bunk, where I let escape a few grunts and groans as I hoisted myself back up the ladder. Having forgotten about the evil pots and pans monster, I drifted into a restless sleep until I was awakened by the smells and sounds of breakfast below me. Upon inquiry, I discovered that the psychotic-but-indiscreet murderer was only a wayward ceiling fan.

That afternoon, as we played games and enjoyed the beautiful weather on the spacious deck of our cabin, we found ourselves under attack by mutant killer bees. We tried to ignore them, and when that proved impossible, we tried swatting them away. However, it only angered them and provoked more violent attacks. As I sat in my lawn chair sipping my drink, I raised a hand to slap one of the insects away, when a broom came down hard and killed the little bugger. I looked up to see my aunt, broom in hand, a determined set to her mouth, "I'm in the mood to kill," she said. I knew then we were safe from the horrors of being stung by such a creature; and I slept that night knowing that we were in no danger, because my aunt was in the mood to kill. Furthermore, unless I misinterpreted her intentions earlier in the day, I was pretty sure her mood was meant as a reassurance of protection; and not a threat to our general well-being.

When I awoke the next morning to the sounds and smells of breakfast once again, I knew I was right to trust my own instinct. Our last full day passed easily and pleasantly, until that night. While I was...um...indisposed, I heard my own mother say, "Let's take a walk!" Even more shocking, were the emphatic affirmations of her "great" idea. I busted out of the bathroom and exclaimed, "Taking a walk out here in the dark is just asking to be hacked to bits by a deranged killer!" They all laughed at me and prepared for their excursion, which included finding a candle to light their way; because despite everything we had packed for the weekend, a flashlight was not among any of it. For good measure, I executed a crude holographic will...just in case...and off they went. I waited for them on the deck, straining my ears to detect any shrieks or screams; and I would be lying if I said I didn't hear any. Just as I was preparing to gather the remaining occupants of the cabin to head off in search of them, they returned. Some of them were covered in wax, and some in dirt, but they were in one piece; and for that I was grateful.

As we drove away the following morning; down the long path, past the abandoned gold mine, and finally past Bushy Road, I found myself already feeling nostalgic. I now eagerly await our return next year. I love the fall season, especially in Indiana. It holds the perfect spooky air, without all that pesky danger.

I Probably Think This Blog Is About Me

2012-09-10T10:52:00.000-04:00

Everyday we have shoved in our faces tools which serve to make us feel as inadequate as possible. Commercials, the news, the internet, magazines; even more confusing are the messages mixed within imploring us to love ourselves for who we are, unaltered. What are people to think? The vanity of society is completley over-the-top and ridiculous. People are becoming robots in their quests to conform to the overly-specific standards of society. We've become a strictly visual world in which personality and intelligence don't really matter all that much. It seems as if everything is geared toward shoving humankind in the direction of weak-mindedness and pliability.

We are not entitled to a tomorrow, yet we choose to waste valuable time; time in which we should be living and loving and appreciating all life has to offer; ignoring all the untapped resources at our fingertips just for the sake of vanity. If you think about it that way, isn't it all just a little disgusting?

I'm not excluding myself from this pool, of course. I buy fancy creams for my face and I'm very particular about my clothing. I covet my Coach purse and long for the day I can afford one of those fancy flat screen televisions and a new laptop. Right now, I'm growing out my hair, which a couple months ago was a super edgy pixie cut, and I'm going insane. I don't feel pretty with it in this "in-between" stage. If that's not vanity, I don't know what is.

The truth is that we all know true beauty is on the inside, every single one of us. The problem is taking the time and making the effort to find it. It's so much easier to look at the outer shell and say, "Yeah, that. I want that." We're all shallow in one way or another. I love fashion, and hair, and men with beards. I wake up every morning saying to myself, "try not to eat today, because if you don't lose weight, nobody is ever going to love you." It feels ludicrous to even type, but I'm only being honest, and I'm willing to bet everyone has something that makes them feel inadequate compared to all other people.

There really isn't a correct answer to behavior for this sort of thing. Some of us are simply more vain than others. I see it in the showing off of monetary possessions in an effort to gain acceptance from people we don't even know. Those people aren't wrong, they're just lacking in confidence. I'm not delusional about my appearance or my lack of monetary wealth, but I'm not going to stop covering my gray roots and slathering my face with anti-aging cream every night. I'm probably always going to feel irrationally unattractive in regards to my weight. I'm only now starting to gain confidence in my writing and it has been my passion for as long as I can remember.

What I can say, at least about myself, is that I fully understand I'll always be a little vain, a little pretentious and a little self-conscious. These characteristics are the things that make me who I am, no matter how maddening it can be at times for myself and others. In light of that, I suppose it wouldn't do much good to be unaccepting of the shortcomings of others either. Of course, that doesn't necessarily mean I'll always heed the suggestion of that realization.

It seems we're all expected to live up to very specific standards when all anyone really needs to do in life is be confident, work hard, and be nice...but not too nice. Instead we're being encouraged to take shortcuts which empty our bank accounts and rarely serve to fulfill us in the way that truly working hard and earning something should. As I said before, I don't feel there exists any true answer to this conundrum, just as there exists no 100% correct political party. The expectations of society drive me to improve myself, but the ridiculousness of them keep me grounded and aware that I should never stray too far from the person I truly am.

Fear

2012-09-06T17:19:00.000-04:00

The very first post I wrote for "Stuff" highlighted the concept of fear (for that post click here!). At the time it was as simple as convincing myself to kill huge (tiny) spider, instead of calling my dad to drive over and kill it for me. I shared my terror at publishing a couple paragraphs of mindless blathering for the public to read, just because I was afraid people would hate the things I had to say. I've learned since then, that once you conquer a fear, more of them seem to crop up, and then tend to be bigger than the ones you've already overcome.

For example, instead of coming home from dinner with friends to find a giant (little) spider blocking your doorway (minding its own business nowhere near the door handle), you come home to find an opossum in your kitchen.

Yes, an opossum...but that's a story for another time (when I finally reach the point of finding the whole experience as funny as everybody else does).

When I first posted "Killing the Spider", I was so far away from even beginning to write a book, I would have never imagined that almost a year later I'd have one published. Not only that, but people would want to buy it, and read it, and ask for me to sign it (I seriously find myself almost giddy when someone asks me to sign their copy of "Wiener Brain"). The day I submitted the finalized manuscript, I was a nervous wreck. I was terrified I was making a huge mistake. What if nobody bought it? I wouldn't be out any money, but I'd have failed at the one thing in which I've always dreamed of succeeding. What if people bought it, but hated it? I envisioned myself walking down the streets of my town and being pelted with teal and pink books while people screamed at me for their money back (overdramatic?).

The point I'm trying to make, is that fear will only hold you back from living a fulfilling life. It's really really hard to face the things that scare you the most. Oftentimes, you'll find that you were afraid for nothing at all. I didn't want to go back down to my basement after I shut the opossum in there. Even after he was trapped and removed from the premises, I would start shaking and having a panic attack every time I had to go downstairs to do laundry. I had another perfectly logical (overdramatic) vision of a family of opossums attacking me from behind as I leaned over to get a load of towels from the dryer. The fact remains, however, that you have to wash your clothes, and your bedding, and your towels. Otherwise, people won't want to be around you, because you'll smell bad.

Doing something that scares the crap out of you is one hell of a great feeling. Victory feels good. I still have many fears to conquer, but I have time. I learn from each one. I recently wrote about my fear of letting someone special into my life, and how I'm not particularly interest in finding anyone at the moment. I know it's fear keeping me from desiring companionship. Fear of letting someone in so they can hurt me. So that one is still going to take a little time as it's not only fear holding me back, but lack of faith. We're all a work in progress, I guess.

Tomorrow morning, I face an entirely new experience which scares me to death. A classroom of elementary school children.

Wish me luck!

Sound Construction

2012-08-23T09:58:00.000-04:00

One day, quite awhile ago, I said to myself "What is wrong with me?" Of course at the time I was in a delicate mental state as I had just been stood up. I'm no stranger to rejection. Then again, who is? I don't know anybody who has gotten anywhere in life by having doors opened for them everywhere they go. Sometimes we have to open them on our own, and sometimes they get slammed in our face. Over the years, I've gotten used to the feeling, and I can honestly say I have developed a better attitude about it lately. I know that I'm being done a favor by the universe. I'll never have to make a difficult decision in regards to that person. The Band-Aid has been ripped off so-to-speak. That person has said, quite loudly in their silence, "You're not even worth an explanation."

They're wrong though, I am worth an explanation; at the very least. Wash hands. Move on to the next thing. Still sometimes, when caught off guard, as irrational a notion as it may seem; I can't help but wonder, "What is wrong with me?"

As miserable as obvious rejection makes me feel, I can recognize it when it's happening. Sometimes, I feel it before it even occurs. Occasionally, when I'm feeling ballsy (and maybe after a few drinks), I'll send out a text to test the waters. I know though, deep down; it's all for naught.

I'm not going to sit here and tell you I don't mope around feeling sorry for myself at times. I'm a 32 year old single woman. I've never been married. I haven't had a boyfriend since high school, and I can't say I've ever truly been in love. 90% of the times I tell a person I'm happy being single I'm telling the truth...okay maybe more like 75% of the time. After all, It's natural to want someone. Our bodies, and brains...and hearts, are designed for it.

Needless to say, I keep my barriers up. They're not coming down. I've basically adopted the mentality that anyone willing to break them down will be worth serious consideration. I've seen friends in relationships wherein they feel obligated to suppress their true selves. They did this because their significant other was unwilling to believe in them, or too selfish and insecure to let them live their own fulfilling lives. I don't want to be stuck. I don't want to feel the way I have allowed others to make me feel in the past. I have learned from their misfortune, though I would have rather experienced it myself if it meant taking their pain away.

I have a tendency to latch onto the slightest inclination of interest. Not surprising, since I'm a passionate person, as most writers are. I don't wish to kill that hopefulness, but it has become quite a task to suppress the wound left by the ultimate realization of hopelessness.

So, in answer to my question: Nothing. I have nothing wrong with me. I merely have yet to find what is right...and at the moment, I'm not much interested in looking.

I'm Baaaaaack!!!!

2012-08-22T19:40:00.000-04:00

I'm going to admit, since I finished writing "Wiener Brain" (available now on Amazon!), I have had the hardest time writing anything else. What was my problem? Writing is my passion. My one true love. Why couldn't I write? Why didn't I want to write?

I don't know.

However, I woke up this morning out of my funk. I felt the creativity coursing through my veins once again. I felt the desire and the want.

I have missed it.

I was depressed. I felt like a one-trick pony. Other times I felt like a hack, a fluke. I wondered, "Is this all I have to offer?"

Turns out it's not.

I have more to say and a lot to get off my chest. I've been doing the "bottling up my feelings" thing lately. It makes me feel wretched. I'm done with it. Moreover, I have missed "Stuff", and I have missed her readers. I can only hope her readers have missed her as well.

Fall is coming, and I can only hope it gets here faster than the winter is coming on Game of Thrones (*Nerd Joke!).

Now, I'm off to finish this short story that has been giving me fits for three weeks. Wish me luck! I'm taking a vacation from my social life until I'm finished with it.

I'm Laughin' At Clouds

2012-07-17T16:58:00.000-04:00

Upon looking through my past few posts, it seems I have either been bitching about something or shamelessly plugging my book (for sale HERE!!) as of late. So, how about some lighter fare for a change?

A friend called me yesterday afternoon in regards to a movie he thought I would enjoy; knowing, as many do, that I'm a big Wes Anderson fan (Moonrise Kingdom for those of you wondering). After we hung up, I began to think about all the movies I love so dearly.

I then began to contemplate my favorite movies of all time.

After which, I decided to narrow them down to my "Top 5 Favorite Movies Of All Time".

This sort of thing is always drawn-out for me. I take it entirely too seriously, because for me, there are so many factors to consider. It means nothing to anyone but me, yet I want to be thorough. I want it to be my truth.

So, here you go; a day later: my top 5 favorite movies of all time...in very particular order:

5. Meet Me In St. Louis - When I was a little girl, I wanted to grow up to either marry Johnny Castle, Don Lockwood...or John Truitt...the ultimate boy next door. Those of you who have followed my blog for awhile probably already know how much I love musicals. I was raised on them. I've said many times that the hard times wouldn't be so hard if they had a song and dance to go along with them. Also, I'm pretty sure it's a federal crime to not love Judy Garland. I have seen this movie no less than 300 times and I cry each time grandfather gets his old suit out of mothballs so he can take Esther to their last dance in St. Louis; and when he twirls her behind the Christmas tree only for John to be the one twirling her back out. It's about home. It's loving the place you live.

4. Giant - One day, many years ago, I discovered that I share a birthday with James Dean. Of course, I felt the need to get to know more about this iconic man from Indiana who only made three movies in his short lifetime. I watched all three of those movies, and I walked away unable to shake the feeling that I felt while watching "Giant". I love a good epic movie anyway. In fact, this very movie is the one that nudged Gone With The Wind out of my "Top 5". As I've grown older, I've grown to love Reata more than Tara. To respect Leslie more than Scarlett. Just don't make me choose between Bick and Rhett. That I could never do. It's about family, evolution, love, respect and acceptance. Epic indeed.

3. The Royal Tenenbaums - I'm a big Wes Anderson fan. That being said, it wasn't hard to choose my favorite Anderson flick. Maybe it's Alec Baldwin's voice. Maybe it's Richie's beard. Or maybe it's the house on Archer Avenue. Heck, maybe it's even Pagoda's pink pants. Whatever it is, I will always go to this movie when I need a little quirk, and Baldwin's soothing, slightly monotone voice.

2. Arthur - Now let's get something clear. I am referring to the "Arthur" starring Dudley Moore, Liza Minelli and John Gielgud. In no way is this blurb, in any way, endorsing the disrespectful piece of crap that came out last year. I haven't even watched that one. I won't watch that one. Poor Dudley and Sir John must be tired of rolling over in their graves by now. Okay, now that I've finished my rant, I'll get to why I love this movie. It's the perfect comedy. It's hilarious without trying too hard. It's timeless with lines that I repeat on a daily basis. It's about a spoiled rich drunk with a penchant for hookers. What's not to love? Yes, I hate Perry's wife, and you should too.

And now...

~Drumroll~

1. Singin' In The Rain - I never get sick of this movie. Ever. Period. I love Don Lockwood. I love Kathy Seldon. I love Cosmo. I even love Lena. The songs get stuck in my head for days. The dancing makes me feel joyful. Gene Kelley makes me swoon. I could talk about plot and dialogue and direction and whatnot; but ultimately, that isn't what makes a movie timeless. It isn't what makes each person in the world have a different favorite movie. Yes, this is an excellently produced movie for its time, but I don't care about that. I care about the look on Gene's face when he sings, "Come on with the rain, I've a smile on my face". It simply makes me happy, and isn't that what entertainment is supposed to do? Who wants to watch a movie that makes them feel like sticking their head in an oven?

Okay, so those are my top 5, now I want to hear yours. Comment here, e-mail me, or post on the "Lindsey Stuffel, Author" page on Facebook (click, HERE!). This is my first official "Participation Blog". So don't let me down, kids! I want to know what movies you love and why you love them. If you just want to give me one, that's fine. Leave me your top 5, or even your top 6. Not sure where I'm going to go from here, but I'm sure I'll figure it out.

Thanks in advance!

Grouch

2012-07-16T12:33:00.001-04:00

I often find myself aghast at how disappointing humankind can be. People seem to be coming out in droves lately in an effort to remind us. Between the liars and the thieves and the jerks, I went to bed last night practically vibrating with anger. I performed my nightly ritual: wash face, moisturize, let Twink outside one last time and crawl into bed. After that, I arranged my pillows in the perfect configuration (yet still managed to wake up with my back screaming in pain) and say my "Thanks". My thanks for the day; for my loved ones; and for those I couldn't bring myself to love for all the money in the world.

Once all that was finished, I remained awake; stewing. Why do people treat one another the way they do? Why do people think they're more deserving of things they haven't worked for than those actually in possession of the things they have worked for? Why can't people grow up and stop looking for the greener grass, when they already have more than they deserve?

Humanity is in a sad state. Extreme oversensitivity battles blatant disrespect everyday. People are either afraid to open their mouths, or they open them entirely too much with uninformed opinions that only serve to puff up those who have to make an issue of every word a person utters. We're locking our doors in what are supposed to be small, quiet, peaceful towns and can't take our eyes off our belongings for a second. This isn't the world that raised me. It's disappointing to know it is the world in which my niece and nephew will grow up.

What happened to taking responsiblity for our actions? Why has it become so perfectly acceptable to offer up an excuse for our own shortcomings instead of standing up and admitting we've done something wrong? It seems people are clamoring to be the next great victim instead of putting forth the effort to be the hero. Leaving your family for someone else isn't respectable. Walking up to people and punching them for no good reason doesn't make you tough. Stealing someone's purse doesn't make you rich.

After my rage over the thieves and the liars and the cheaters and the scum who have been screwing with the people I love for the past few weeks; I pause to ponder. I remind myself that everything ebbs and flows. When the storm hits, the mess gets cleaned up. When someone breaks your heart, it will mend, as long as you let it. When you suddenly find yourself without, you adjust. As humans, we're designed to be resilient, and it's up to us as individuals to exercise that resilience when things get rough.

The bad stuff will go away, but the good stuff usually sticks around. You may have to look at it in a different light, but it's always there.

Time To Shop!

2012-06-29T12:54:00.001-04:00

I've never claimed to be a patient person. If I have, I was most certainly fooling myself into thinking so. Last week, or the week before, my sister posted a link on my Facebook wall. It was information regarding "Create Space" which is a self-publishing offshoot of Amazon. I clicked the link earlier this week and started reading about it. Before I knew it, I was creating a new cover and formatting my manuscript to submit.

As I said, I've never been one to enjoy sitting around and waiting for something to happen.

So there you have it, "Wiener Brain", my first novel, is now available to purchase through Create Space (click here) for $7.00. You'll get a nice shiny paperback copy upon ordering. If electronic readers are more your speed, the digital version (click here) can be downloaded through Amazon for just $5.50. I'm not going to make much money, but I wanted to keep the price down in an effort to sell more copies. Basically, I just want people to read it. Plus, this way, I can write a sequel anytime I want. I may have even started an outline for said sequel this week...

Any and all purchases of my book, in whatever format you choose, are wholeheartedly appreciated. If you have read it already and don't have a need to purchase it, leaving a review on Amazon would be greatly appreciated.

Thanks again, everybody for your support and encouragement. Now go out and get your copy of "Wiener Brain" today!

Still A Work-In-Progress

2012-06-14T09:46:00.001-04:00

My entire life, I have struggled with thinking positively. I have the desire to go there, but I also have the fear. It is in my head that if I should raise my hopes about something, I'm bound to end up disappointed. This line of thinking has me going into nearly all situations hoping for the best, but expecting the worst. It's almost as if I am afraid that envisioning the best outcome will jinx me and I'll be doomed to live the remainder of my days a lonely loser. It's a conundrum, and I have no clue as to the correct path I should take. It's also kind of ridiculous to make the simple act of having a positive attitude so complicated.

Let me also mention, that no matter what attitude I have going into something, the feeling is always the same when it doesn't work out. It's always the same when it does work out. So, I don't really know why I allow this to consume so much of my time. Maybe I'm crazy...nuts...insane.

Some of you may recall a couple months ago, when I mentioned that I was writing a book. Well, I finished that book. I formatted it into a manuscript and did extensive research as to the best way to get published. I went down several avenues, exploring all my options, and chose to begin by trying to see if I could find an agent to represent me. I figured, reaching as high as I possibly could and working my way down was the best way to go.

In the beginning, the logical side of me knew that just getting published would be a longshot, let alone finding an agent on my first try. I knew to be prepared for a long line of rejection. At the same time, I secretly thought I would be the exception. My attitude was positive, to a fault. I truly thought I would get picked up right away, I had that much confidence in my book. So, while I was publicly expecting rejection, I was privately expecting to blow up overnight as the next Judy Blume.

Needless to say, that first "Thank you for your submission, but it's just not what we're looking for right now", was like the punch of a heavyweight champion right to my heart.

So were the next four.

Instead of letting that destroy me, I began to look for what was broken. It would have broken me a few years ago; but then, a few years ago I would have never even tried to send anything out to be published. I've started going through my manuscript and finding that I seem to be a really big fan of commas, and other random punctuation. I've also reminded myself of what I said when I first started writing; which was that my main goal is to finish writing the book. If just one person enjoys what I've written, it will be a bonus. If it actually gets published it will be more than I could ever want. I have accomplished my original goal. I've discovered I am great at putting the cart before the horse. Then again, there is nothing wrong with being ambitious. The only problem with being too confident is becoming too arrogant to admit something needs to be fixed.

I'm not giving up until I have exhausted every avenue. I haven't loved everything I've ever written, but I love "Wiener Brain". I'm proud of it, and I'm thankful to those who have given me such positive feedback on it and if that is all I ever get, it's more than enough. I have a tendency to become overwhelmed with trying to prove something. I don't want people to know if I'm sad, so I fake it, and it eventually all bubbles to the surface until I can't sleep, or I want to sleep too much. The best way to get rid of something on your mind is to take it off.

So there you have it. I try to be positive, but sometimes it's impossible; and still sometimes, being too positive can be very disappointing. I'm trying to work on being realistic, while still going after the things I want.

Are You There, Judy? It's Me, Lindsey

2012-06-06T15:59:00.000-04:00

Beginning with the first time I read "Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing" all the way to my second pass through "Summer Sisters", Judy Blume has been a constant in my life. I have always looked to Judy (and my mother, of course) to walk me through the big stuff. She has always managed to explain it to me in a way I can most effectively relate. She showed me that having a little sister (or two) isn't all that bad; and neither is having your first period. My first time had long passed by the time I met Katherine and Michael, but reading about them did manage to bring back a sweet and hurried memory. It also released some of the guilt I felt for moving on in my own similar situation. Vix had "The Power" to show me how to grow into a mature woman, and to learn from mistakes in an effort to make the right decisions down the road.

Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing resonated with me in a way that resonates with any older sibling who resents their younger (and often cuter) sister or brother from time to time. We find a way to convince ourselves that mom and dad love them more than they love us. No matter how many times our parents try to tell us otherwise, we believe they are just saying what they have to say; as if loving each of your children equally is mandated by both Federal law and God himself. Then something happens, and you find yourself imagining your life without this smaller and cuter version of you. You then realize you would never want to live without them. Simply put, the book is about true love. It is about having someone who drives you absolutely insane; someone you have considered giving away to the next person walking down the street; and accepting that they are never leaving. Not only that, but you would never want them to leave. You live with their tendencies toward being annoying and infuriating; not just because you have to, but because you want to.

When I first watched "The Movie" in school, I was effectively terrified. I walked out of the "girls only" classroom fully ready to turn in my female card. I wanted no part of THAT. The mere concept of having to deal with such a disgusting and uncomfortable thing once a month was revolting. My fear was constant until I read Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret. It's acutally a book about a girl's struggle with religious conflict having been born to one Christian parent and one Jewish parent. Having two Catholic parents myself, this never presented as a personal or social problem for me. Therefore, Margaret's introduction to puberty is what remained with me beyond the last page; when my stomach-churning anticipation upon becoming a woman became somewhat tolerable. Imagine my surprise, though, when she described her pretty pink belt. I don't care how pink it might have been, "The Movie" never said anything about enduring this "curse" with a medieval torture device around my waist. I approached my mother in a panic, and she quickly soothed me with stories of advancements in adhesives over the previous twenty-plus years. I was relieved to have the clinical nature brought on by "The Movie" warmed with flowery descriptives on "becoming a woman". Margaret became my hero and Judy Blume, my idol.

My love for Martha's Vineyard, and my sadness at the fact that I don't have a definable "great love of my life" stems from Summer Sisters. I have read this book twice; once at 20, and the second time at 30. I saw it differently each reading. I saw the relationship between Vix and Caitlin in different ways. I left each visit with completely different views on Bru. The first time, I had many questions. I didn't understand why Vix made some of the decisions she made. Why did she forgive the people she forgave? Why didn't she forgive others? The second time around, I found myself much more satisfied at the end, despite the obvious lingering questions the reader is left with. I got it. I could accept all outcomes. I understood her reasoning. I saw her mistakes and how she learned from and became a better person through them. Both times however, after reading, I closed the book and held it to my chest. I could almost smell the sand and salty water amongst the definable "library book smell".

I now find myself gravitating toward the likes of Chelsea Cain and Lisa Lutz, and even some of those old broads like Charlotte Bronte. While I haven't cracked the spine on a Blume in a few years, chances are I'll be reacquainting myself with my old pal Vix when I hit 40, just to see if she's changed at all.

The Best Thing, Baby

2012-05-22T17:11:00.000-04:00

I remember being a child, and feeling as though summer would never arrive. Spring felt like it stuck around for months instead of weeks. The end of the school year seemed to never want to show her beautiful face. Finally, almost overnight, it would be here, and mom would put the sheets up in the windows, to keep the house cool. We practically lived in our bathing suits after the pool was installed. I don't remember many details of my childhood that occurred in the fall and winter months, but each and every summer has managed to stick with me, in high-definition.

Now, of course, as an adult, my summers are the same as the rest of my year, only I spend my weekends floating around with my pool ladies, and enjoying the occasional cookout with friends, or a night on the deck of our favorite bar. You just can't imagine how much of a difference it makes to have that time.

"Isn't fun the best thing to have?"

It makes me sad to see people who just won't allow enough enjoyment in their lives. We all have stuff to do, but you know what they say about all work and no play. Dishes don't have to be done immediately. Laundry doesn't have to all be done in one day. Go outside and live a little. Slather on the sunscreen and even buy a big floppy hat if you must, but go outside. I spent so many years of my life as far away from any social activity as I could possibly get. I was embarrassed of the way I looked. I wore jeans all summer to hide my hideous legs. After high school, I didn't buy a new bathing suit until the last year of my 20s. I used to never leave my house on a Sunday.

I hated the job I had back then. I would be so horribly depressed every Sunday, I rarely made it out of bed. Once I started working at my current job, in a place with windows and happiness, I started to see how much better life was with a little bit of fun. I began to feel less a prisoner of my own mind, and started to embrace my untapped "fun side".

I always say to never have regrets, but I do regret wasting nearly ten years of my life feeling sorry for msyelf. Especially since there was absolutely no reason to do so. I see now, that even when things aren't great, it actually is possible to make the best of a bad situation. I try very hard to not let anything break me down, and I don't always succeed, but I also don't surrender. It helps to have great people who aren't afraid to smack you across the face and scream "Snap out of it!!!!"

Now, I go out and enjoy myself, no matter what day or night of the week it is. I can still manage to be a responsible adult and make good decisions. I'm happy in my own skin, yet I am aware of and actively pursuing improvement in that area. I no longer mind showing my legs; they sport shorts and skirts and regular swimsuit bottoms. Sure, nobody will be insuring them for their outstanding beauty ever, but they're mine. They have walked miles, and have been bruised and burned. They have been stretched to their limit, and they bear dimples and cellulite. They have jumped for joy and have had my arms wrapped around them for comfort. They have a story to tell, just as the rest of me does, and I feel sorry that I was ever ashamed of these magnificent gams that have carried me through my life. Sunday is now my favorite day of the week, whether I'm floating in a pool, watching football with my friends, or curled up with my dog reading a book.

I've been thinking about this stuff a lot lately. I think it is because I have been in such a funk all winter. I look back and the majority of my posts lately have been about how lonely I am, or frustrated I am, or stressed I am. I have this fear of picking up my old pathetic habits and retreating back inside myself. Back to a place my closest friends and family will not follow me. I think about that, and how now, when I'm having a bad day, all I want is to be with people. I enjoy socializing and those who make me laugh. I think that is normal. I am as close to the carefree little girl racing her lavender Schwinn down the alley as I can be at the age of 32.

Why? Because I started allowing myself to have some fun.

So, if you don't enjoy yourself, now is the perfect time to get started; because summer is here and fun really is the best thing to have.

Great Expectations

2012-05-16T12:30:00.003-04:00

My patience grew thin long ago. It is more or less nonexistent. I despise waiting for things to happen. What I hate more is being left guessing. I don't like playing games. I grow tired of promises being made that were never intended to be kept. Life is too short to wait for good things to happen. You have to make them happen; because even if they don't work out the way you want, they're still going to work out the way they should, and there really isn't much one can do about that.

In the past, I would typically just give up if something didn't work out the first time. Rather than "beat a dead horse", so to speak, I preferred to walk away with what I felt was my dignity. Prior to that, I would throw caution to the wind, get everything out on the table; dignity be damned. I now know that neither way is the right way. You can't hide from the pain anymore than you can take all of it at once. That's me, though. Either playing it too safe, or jumping without a net or a parachute. One extreme or the other.

"Darlin, I don't know why I go to extremes."

Once, several years ago, back in the time before the walls were built. I took a risk on ruining a friendship and told someone I had feelings for him. I had been agonizing over it for quite awhile, and finally I couldn't take it anymore. I had to know, even if it meant the pain of rejection. My reasoning was "at least I won't have to wonder anymore". Of course I was rejected, and humiliated, and heartbroken. I curled into a ball on the floor of my hallway and sobbed until I had no tears left. To this day I am grateful for that act and for that experience. I was able to get him out of my system, and believe it or not, we're now dear friends. At the same time, remembering the pain of that door closing, and the utterly humiliating feeling that ebbed through me the next time we crossed paths; has caused me to go to extreme lengths to ensure it will never happen again.

Recently, as I began to chip away at that fortress I built, and slowly take the wall down, I have found that this feeling I was so afraid of feeling again is everywhere. I just no longer have the desire to protect myself from it.

It now serves as a reminder that I'm still alive.

Even though I experience it all the time (twice just this week, in fact), I still fear the rejection. No matter who it is coming from, or what about me is being cast aside; the fact remains that it is someone telling me something I have done, or the person I am, is not good enough. Sugar coatings are sweet, but they eventually dissolve, and often you're left with something sour and unpleasant. I have found, however, that the dull ache in my gut I get when I'm in limbo about something, hurts far worse than any "No" I have ever heard. It just makes me stronger and more resilient; and that's not a bad thing to be. There are a lot of things I could allow to get me down, every single day; and sometimes they do. At the end of that day, though; I am healthy, my family loves me and my friends are awesome. I also have a great job, and I am doing my very best to follow the dream I have had since I was a little girl. With that alone I face a potential long line of even more "No" and "It's just not what we're looking for", and of course the dreaded "YOU'RE not what I'm looking for". The first one was like a punch to my gut, and a knife in my heart at the same time. I did it, though. I took that step and I took my licks, and the next time won't be so bad.

Somewhere there is somebody who thinks I'm good enough, and maybe even better than that. Be it an agent or a publisher, or a guy who actually means it when he says he is going to call. Until then, I am going to brace myself with the knowledge that throughout my past, when things have seemed as though there wasn't a chance in hell they could ever get better...they always have. These days I can't find much to feel hopeless about. I could never overlook how fortunate I am.

Reading In The Summer

2012-05-08T17:15:00.000-04:00

On my way home from work yesterday, I turned up the one-way street by the post office, and drove by the library, just as I always do. This isn't the most direct route home for me, but it always makes me happy to see the many cars parked outside, and the many people coming and going from a place that has meant so much to me throughout my entire life. My biggest fear with the advent of electronic reading devices, was that people would lose the desire for the whimsy of a bound book. Seeing my community use the library makes my soul smile. Yesterday, I saw new signs placed out front "Dream Big, READ!" I texted my mom immediately to let her know how much I love the theme for this year's summer reading program.

Summer reading was an unspoken requirement in my family. Of course, I don't recall complaining, as I have always loved to read. My grandmother worked at the library at the time (See: Lindsey & Ann Like Red), and we lived just a block away from the library (See: The West Northmarket Gang). Each week I would pick out books, take them home, and read them. The next week I would return and record the ones I had read, at which time I would get stickers to add to my tally on the big scoreboard. Of course after recording them, I would pick out more books. I never won the coveted "most books read" title, but I always did very well for myself. I didn't try to rush myself through the stories, because that just takes all the fun out of reading. At the end of the summer, the ladies of the library would throw an "end of summer reading party". I remember this always involving something special, like a magic show, in the tent, followed by an award ceremony and snacks. Now that the tent is no longer, the end to the program is marked by a pool party, at the community pool. Not too shabby.

It has come to my attention, that participation for this thing which is so near and dear to my heart has been down as of late. This makes me sad. I used to look so forward to it every year, and I know I'm not the only one. What has happened? The library has convenient hours (10:30 a.m. to 7:00 p.m. M,Tu,Th,F; and 10:30 a.m. to 2:30 p.m. W and Sat.; Closed on Sunday), a vast selection of books, and an amazingly helpful and encouraging staff. Who can't spare an hour or two every night to encourage your kids to unplug and read? Who can't do that for themselves? This year, along with the preschool and school age categories, the Hagerstown Jefferson Township Library will also be offering categories for teens AND adults to participate. I hear the prizes are pretty stellar too!

Reading is so important, especially for kids. Read to your little ones, and encourage them to read when they learn how to do it on their own. It teaches them to focus, and learn the english language (as it is meant to be spoken), all while entertaining them for much longer than any movie ever could. Also, if they see you reading, they are going to be encouraged to do it too. Of course, if movies are your thing, the library has plenty of those to rent as well. The theme this year, as previously mentioned, is "Dream Big", what better way to encourage us to all reach for the stars than by reading? Each story we read contains a dream, whether fiction or nonfiction. It began as a dream, of the person who created it. We are inspired to either follow or avoid what we learn from the story. It also gives us a chance to escape, if only for a little while.

So run, don't walk, to the Hagerstown Jefferson Township Library, and get yourself signed up. The dream begins on Tuesday, May 29th. This year, they have a little something for all ages, so get the whole family involved. I know I'll be signing up! For more information, stop in and chat up one of the wonderful librarians.

Happy Summer Reading to all!

The Dream

2012-04-29T16:34:00.000-04:00

I have been saying since I was a little girl that I would write a book someday. It is and has been my ultimate dream for as long as I can remember. Over the years, I have started writing hundreds of books that I could never manage to take past a couple paragraphs. The characters had names, but not much else. I always spent so much time trying to come up with the perfect names, I neglected to come up with an actual story. They were underdeveloped, or overdeveloped and the plots lacked absolutely everywhere. I was trying to put all my eggs in one basket and crank out a novel so I could get started on my dream. Clearly I had not yet realized that things would not just fall into my lap one day. I would have to work for it. I would have to fail, possibly repeatedly, before I would truly succeed.

So, I started writing one. Like, seriously writing. I am posting it online chapter-by-chapter for the time being. My goal is simply to finish it. It would be wonderful to have it published someday, of course, but either way, it must be finished first. If only one person enjoys reading it I'll feel as though I have succeeded. I think that, lately, I have been spending entirely too much time focusing on things I want, and things I don't have, places I feel I should have already been, and goals I should have already achieved. I'm great at doling out advice, but I'm not always good at following it. If I want to go somewhere, I need to take a damn step.

Around the time of my birthday, in the beginning of February, I hit "pause" on everything. I got sad and grumpy and lonely. I felt like a loser and a failure with nothing to show for her life. I know none of this is actually true, but nonetheless, it is where my brain was at the time. Not constantly, but more than I care to admit. So, one day, I just said "You're never going to be happy until you do what you've always wanted to do". I started messing around with an idea I'd had brewing for awhile, and a few weeks later, I had Chapter 1 of "Wiener Brain" finished. It took a few days to actually work up the nerve to post it. It is now a little over a week later and I am currently working on Chapter 8. The book has already developed a bit of a following. Of course, as a result of the time I am spending writing my book, my blog posts are suffering. I am asking you all to please be patient with me and maybe hop on over to Wattpad, to check it out. Also, I would be thrilled to get some opinions on my book from my blog followers.

To read "Wiener Brain" click (here)

Remember, it's not finished, and it is only a first draft. I try to get a chapter finished every couple days. Sometimes I finish them early, sometimes it takes a little longer. I will also keep everyone updated via "Stuff" on the book's progress. If you're already a "Wattpad" member, please feel free to fan me and vote if you feel I'm deserving. Thanks everyone!