My Vein, My Blood – 21

Morning Pages 11-18-03

I got me a full cup of coffee and a seat on the deck so let’s see if we can figure out what’s bugging us.  DW’s family.  Dad without a dog.  Holidays.  T’s shower.  All the thing I do wrong.  Christmas is on a Thursday. 

Time for Glad Tidings and Cups full of Cheer? 

Startling even the Snowmen it’s that time of year.

How did it happen, where’d the days go?

Seems like we saw you just a year ago.

So shore up your strength, gather your mirth

It’s another Meyers get-together for what it’s worth.

On Saturday the 27^th we will all gather

At ………………………… unless you’d rather

Not come around 7, we’ll understand

Just RSVP before we strike up the band

If you bring food to eat or a drink to share

We’ll let you leave no worse for wear

Whatever you bring you’ll take home with you

Breathing a sigh of relief.

We hope leftovers will be few

This rhyme is in the toilet, I do the party

For my daughter who’s been abandoned

Her whole life by her extended family.

But I count her lucky because at least

Her family of origin hasn’t abandoned her.

So this pathetic attempt at a tradition

The holidays pretty much suck around here since no one gives a shit about us anyway.  God, we’re pathetic.  So much for the morning pages.  Gee.  I think I know what’s bugging me.  Should have called C last night.  What if it was a God whisper like they were talking about on Oprah?  What always happens when you don’t follow your instincts?  Bad things!

11-19-03

I guess I figured out what was bothering me.  I set up lunch w/C for which I’m really happy.  I still fear rejection.  Trying to break that cycle with D.  I must ask her how important a holiday party is to her.  Have to remember this might be her only tradition.  She’s not going to have a lot of family around either.  So invite and whoever shows up shows up.  And that’s the way it is.  I think I’ll get K one of those red Christmas mugs and a lb. of coffee.  Need to get DH something.  Definitely.  Don’t have much for Mom and Dad.  Pefume for S.  Kids?  Starbucks cards.  Need to make T’s gift.

Later that same day…I think everything is a message, a sign, an opportunity to learn and grow if you are only open to it.  Even something as simple as you don’t go to bed and you’re flipping channels and you come across something that’s really significant to you.  Maybe a tidbit, something small.  Something that reinforces what you’re discovering about yourself or some area you’re working on.  Like today was horrible, but can I still count my blessings.  I’m glad I have a phone.  I have technology, aggravating as it can be.  I’m glad my husband comes home at night.  My kids are doing okay.  Everyone survived another day.  I have S.  I’m looking forward to lunch/hanging out w/C on Friday.  I think I did the right thing.

11-20-03

We’re all terrorists.  What was Columbine?  Waco?  Oklahoma City?  We breed terrorists here in the U.S. born out of poverty and ignorance.  Drive-by shootings and gang wars.  Isn’t that terrorism?  If you fear for your life every time you walk out of your own house.  What about the incidents of individuals walking into their places of employment and opening fire?  That’s terrorism.  Yet we’re only really shocked and appalled when it’s foreigners on our soil or elsewhere who use bombs to blow up big buildings and kill lots of people.  What about all the little acts of terrorism.  The every day ones like child abuse we turn a blind eye to.  I think Bush’s opponents resent his self-assuredness.  It comes from God and his faith and belief that he’s fighting the good fight.  When’s the last time a righteous man inhabited the White House?  Someone who answered to a Higher Power instead of seeking his own glory?

5-28-04

I am feeling very sad today.  BJ is not supportive when I express my frustration with what D is going through and how they’re trying to find a way to prosecute her.  What good does anger do in the aftermath of the death of a child?  How does persecuting another child, the one you view as responsible, help your pain?  That’s what I don’t understand.  If D had died the same way would I be so vindictive?  I don’t know.  I think of R all the time. Her loss hurts in ways that are barely comprehendable.  I expect my friends to come to my defense, be on my side.  Not force me to look at things from their perspective.  I hate all of this.  I hate that D’s life got so hard so soon.  My princess.  She should have it easy always.  Did I raise her with enough grit to get through this?  That’s my fear.  That she’s too soft.  That she’ll crack.  Fall apart.  Never recover.  Life is not fun for her any more.  At 17, it should still be fun.  But life isn’t fun for R’s family either.  Our little bit of suffering is nothing compared to theirs.  I wonder if they’ll go to Maine this summer.  R’s death has surely created all kinds of chaos for them.

I just whacked some of my hair off in the back.  That probably didn’t help anything and it’s probably uneven.  Only 3 weeks since my last haircut.  But I didn’t like the way the back looked at the bottom. What else do I want?  If the travel thing works, what else was on that list?  Or what should I add?  I want to be in great physical shape.  Firm and fit.  I want B to be interested in me.  I want my appeal to broaden.  I’ve forgotten what it’s like to feel sexy.  Did I ever know?  What is sexy?  I want to finish Phantom.  Finish it.  Whatever that takes. Whatever it means. I want it to sell and be a big splash in the marketplace.  I want to be more spiritual.  I want D to soar.  I want R’s family to not hurt so much.

Off The Cuff

The agent search continues.  What can I say about this?  Authors rely on agents to represent their work to editors.  Agents supposedly know the market.  That’s their job, right?  To know what’s trending in publishing, which editors/houses are looking for or would be interested in a specific work?  For this, they get 15% commission for whatever they sell the work for.  The author gets 85%.

There’s virtually no way an author could keep up with all the markets, publishing houses, house-hopping editors, lay-offs, advance numbers, essentially every business detail you’d have to know to do what a good literary agent does and create at the same time.  Since authors are the creative side, that’s where I think they should focus their attention.  Let the agents handle the business side.  Give up 15% of your income to them.  That’s the conventional wisdom.

BUT, agents are picky, picky, picky.  Publishing is a buyer’s market.  EVERYBODY is under the impression that they can write a saleable book.  Agents are flooded with submissions and they reject the majority of what they receive with a form letter.

I’ve received a couple of those in the last couple of days, which is nothing new.  It is incredibly difficult to get others to see your vision for your work.  It’s time-consuming.  Even if you have an interested editor from a reputable house already looking at the manuscript.  Even if you’re already published.  it doesn’t matter.  If you’re not a known name, if you don’t have a track record and sales numbers and the other twenty things an agent is looking for, I think they hit the button and send the “thanks but no thanks” form right back to your in-box.

So…for someone like me, who admittedly didn’t plan her writing career very well, I must look like an abject failure and why would they want to deal with me?  It has nothing to do with talent or good ideas or interested editors.  I’ve sold three books to small publishers in the last ten years.  While that’s an accomplishment in the eyes of my friends, family and the non-writing public, in the publishing world it means bupkus.  I could, in fact, be one of the fiction world’s best writers ever.  I could be (am) a future bestselling author.  But an agent isn’t going to believe that based on my current track record.

You can’t explain to an agent in a query (well, I guess you could, but they wouldn’t be interested and they’d hit that form rejection button even faster) that you’ve spent the last almost twenty years writing.  That okay, yes, periodically you queried agents and editors.  That occasionally you got one or the other or sometimes both to request a manuscript.  That you never really cared whether you sold or not.  That you lost interest in querying for long periods of time and concentrated on writing.  They don’t care that all that time you were raising your kids and working another job and living your life and getting published sort of had to sit on the back burner because there are only 24 hours in a day and you had to prioritize.  It isn’t important to them that you didn’t need a writing income so you weren’t driven to make money from your work.  So I would imagine most of the agents I query now are scratching their heads (if they even bother to do that when they read my query) and think, well, she hasn’t done much in the last twenty years.  She doesn’t look very motivated.  Her idea’s not bad.  Nice that she’s got an editor looking at it.  But I think I’ll pass.

And so, oh well.  My track record is what it is.  I can’t change it.  I can only move forward and believe in my own ability and my own talent.  And based on the e-mail received in the past couple of days, I ask myself this question:  What’s the worst thing that will happen if I don’t find an agent?  There is no worst thing.  I’ll continue to do what I’ve been doing.  There’s nothing to say I can’t negotiate a contract by myself.  Even though I think an author that does might have a fool for a client.  Even though I might make mistakes an agent would have caught.  So what? 

My book still gets published.  People will still buy it.  I’ll still have proven what I set out to prove.  That I have talent.  And drive.  And ability.  And a saleable product.  Because I couldn’t convince an agent of that doesn’t make me any less successful.

Off The Cuff

Didn’t I just say yesterday that I wasn’t going to look for an agent?  Okay, I lied.  If things move forward the way I expect, I’ll need one.  What makes me think I can or want to negotiate contracts on my own?  I’ve never cared much for the business end of writing.  Creating is much more fulfilling and interesting. 

If success is when preparation meets opportunity, why should I be stupid and childish about getting an agent now?  Might as well shoot myself in the foot if I’m going to do that.  See, this is why these posts are titled “Off The Cuff.”  Because I don’t advance plan what I’m writing, think about it, edit and then post.  NO.  I just post whatever’s going through my head at the moment.  You see how dangerous this can be.  Especially since I’m often futzing around with my thoughts and feelings.  They change from moment to moment.

So query letters are zinging out across the e-mail system.  Stay tuned for further updates.

Oh, by the way, I’ve been up since 4 a.m.  I don’t know why I keep waking up so early.  I’m pretty sure I need more than six hours sleep, but I’m awake and I’m not going back to sleep and there’s nothing I can do about it.  It’s 6:07 a.m. now.  I’ve had two cups of coffee, a piece of toast, loaded the dishwasher with last night’s dishes, journaled, done some more agent research and sent out another query.  I have to work from 7 to 11 today.  Bet I’ll need a nap.  I was dragging yesterday when I had to work 11 to 5.  Which is why you’d think I’d sleep longer, right?

Oh, well.  Getting up at 4 has its advantages.  I can put in a full 8 hours before noon!

 

Off The Cuff

First of all, since it’s in the news and I asked this of the TV anchor last night, I’ll share here.  If the federal government is incapable of distributing enough flu vaccine in a timely manner to all of the citizens they claim to be at risk or even just those who want the vaccine, WHY IN THE WORLD would anyone think the federal government should be in charge of HEALTH CARE for the entire country?  WHEN has the federal government not bungled anything it put its greedy fingers into?  If you’ve got a brain in your head and even one ounce of common sense, you can not think government-run health care is healthy for the country or for you.  And you should share that thought with your elected officials.

Now then, having got that off my chest, I’ve been up since about 4:15 this morning.  Something to do with a full moon and Daylight Savings Time, I’ll bet.  Now there’s something I think the federal government might be able to do something about.  Abolish Daylight Savings Time.  It’s pointless.  Everyone knows it’s pointless.  The reasons it began in the first place haven’t been relevant for years.  So could we please get rid of it once and for all?  Why doesn’t some enterprising Congressman introduce legislation to change that?  If he plays his cards right, such a move could catapult him to national fame and he could be our next president.

Oops.  Didn’t meant to get all political on you.  So I spent a lot of time this morning deciding what I want career-wise.  Part of that is do I need or want a literary agent?  I’m sitting on the fence on this one.  I’ve heard horror stories about them.  I’m sort of disillusioned with the idea.  But I don’t know if I have the ability to negotiate a publishing contract on my own and do it well.  Especially if it’s got a lot of complicated legal jargon.  The alternative to an agent seems to be a literary attorney who will simply negotiate the contract for a fee.  Which is kind of appealing.  Except you have to find a good attorney.  Probably about as easy as finding a decent agent.

All of this is anticipatory in the belief that I’ll soon be offered a contract that will require such negotiations.  I’m sort of annoyed at the idea that I might be able to find a decent agent only after I’m offered a contract.  Where were they all when I needed them to represent my unpublished work and get me the contract?  Why should I give one 15% of my take now when s/he didn’t have to do anything to sell my book?  Even if, let’s say, I missed something in the contract an agent might have caught and it costs me money, would that error of mine cost me 15% of my potential income?

Do I want an agent who’s already turned me down?  (That’ll limit the pool of possibilities substantially!)  Sadly, I think I’m being very childish about this.  I want to stick out my tongue and say, “Nanananana” to all of them.  Sort of like in Pretty Woman when Julia Roberts returns to the store where the saleswomen were snotty to her and shows off all her shopping bags and says, “Big mistake.”

I think what it comes down to is not one of the agents I queried over the years (okay well, maybe one did) were impressed enough with my ability to offer me representation.   They couldn’t or didn’t see my potential, didn’t want to take a chance on an unknown, or whatever their reasons were.  My ideas weren’t original enough, my writing not distinctive enough–what-ev-er.  So now, suddenly because I prove I can interest an editor at major publisher–then I’m suddenly acceptable to the same agents who turned me and this project down?

 Hmmm.  I think I just talked myself out of looking for an agent.

 

Off The Cuff

I never just blog.  I always write blogs ahead of time, edit them, cut, paste and post.  So this is new for me.  I had some interesting thoughts earlier today while walking the beach.  I hope I can remember a few of them. 

One was the number of people who ignore you when you say “hello” or “good morning.”  What’s up with them?  It’s sort of bizarre.  When did we become a society where a simple courtesy such as returning a greeting went out of style?  I don’t get it.  The majority of other beach goers NEVER initiate contact.  For some of them, it’s all they can do to nod or smile.  The only person who greeted me first was an older lady walking slowly with a cane.  She said good morning to me before I said anything to her. 

The beach is interesting to me.  How it’s always sort of the same, yet it changes constantly.  Today the surf was rolling in and water was high, so I’m assuming it was high tide.  You’d think after living close to the shore all these years I’d know.  Instead, I just assume.  There wasn’t a lot of dry sand like there usually is. 

Earlier in the week when I walked the beach I passed a guy fishing.  Kind of a big guy, fishing near a couple of other guys, also fishing.  On my way back I passed him again and he spoke to me, but I didn’t catch it, so I turned around and he repeated it in an accented voice.  “Exercising?” he said.   I said, “Yeah, well, meditating.”  Because the pace I walk the beach could hardly be called exercising.  I kept walking.  He says behind me, something like “you’ve got a nice shape” or something like that, that I also didn’t catch.  So I turned around and said, “What?”   And he did the universal sign with his hands for “nice shape.”  Even now it makes me laugh. 

It makes me think of how easy we women denigrate ourselves.  A guy might actually think we have a nice shape, but all we see is the muffin top or the too-heavy thighs and flabby biceps.  We’re probably much less critical of a guy’s shape than we are of our own.  They’re not perfect either, you know.  No one is.

Back home I’ve decided to start writing down what I eat because frankly it’s out of control.  I’ll take a page from Bridget Jones’ Diary, date, weight, and everything I put in my mouth that day.  Carbs.  Carbs.  Carbs.  Why do I crave carbs?  And why can I take the healthiest things in nature–like an apple–and dip it in melted brie and brown sugar so it barely resembles the low calorie healthy snack it started out to be?

I’ve also been told by the tax experts that I should document the time I spend writing.  I never thought of that.  Oh my gosh, what if I’d documented the time I’ve spent writing for the last almost 20 years?  Would it make me feel even worse than all the stacks and stacks of unsold or “needs some work” manuscripts that clutter my closets?  If I equated it into actual time, how much would it be? 

The only saving grace there is that I gave up so quickly on getting any of them published until the last few years.  By the time rejection letters rolled in, I’d moved onto another story.  I was too happy and too busy creating to ever worry about selling what I wrote.  Plus, I didn’t need the money, so what did I care?

But now, I sort of love taking those old manuscripts out and seeing if they’re fixable.  That’s what I spent four hours working on today.  An oldie entitled SCATTERED MOMENTS.  My gosh, I started that when we were building our house!  That’s where the idea came from.  I look at the old files I saved.  Some date back to 1996.  Others to 1998.  I’m pretty sure I know where I went wrong with this one.  I’m pretty sure it can be saved.  I’m pretty sure it’s a viable romantic suspense.  So stay tuned.

Like the Song Says, “How Bizarre”

Some of my friends send me e-mails about the interesting situations in which their friends and family find themselves.  Here’s one:  (Names have been changed.)

This would be funny if it wasn’t so bizzare.

Here’s the gist.

 Background:

Doreen is the eldest of six daughters her mother produced. Not one child is from the same father. Mom was married 3 times, but the other 3, including Doreen, are  . . . well, are they still considered illegitimate? (term no longer has the negative connotation it once held, but Doreen grew up with the stigma.)

Mom always told Doreen her father had the last name Sadler–Doreen went by Doreen Sadler until she married Carl–and she was born in Missouri. Mom moved with toddler Doreen to Florida where Doreen spent the next 6 years of life with her dirt-poor maternal grandparents on a farm outside of LaBelle.

At age 8, Doreen’s mother took her back. Mom has another toddler and is preggers and in midst of divorce from pregger baby’s dad. Had a job with the sheriff’s dept. in whatever county LaBelle’s in. From that point forward, Doreen became the babysitter for younger sisters Mom continued to produce and went thru 3 step-fathers.  

One of those sisters, Valerie, stole Doreen’s identity over 20 years ago. Carl and Doreen spent two years with fed investigators to get everything straightened out. Valerie bi-polar druggie, did lots of jail time and became a fugitive while out on probation.  

Present: 

Doreen’s driver license, which she’s had for 9 years, is due in Nov. Off she trots last week to renew at local DMV office. They inform her they can’t renew until she presents birth certificate and SS card. Doreen produces SS card, but has no birth certificate. Isn’t that good enough? There’s nothing pending against her. No speeding tickets, parking fines, no warrants. What’s wrong that she can’t just renew her license?  

SS card not enough. Gotta produce birth certificate. They don’t know why. It’s just what the computer is telling them. 

Doreen steamed. Goes home and spends two days going through paperwork she had from when her mother died. Finds no birth certificate.  

Calls Missouri. Gets transferred from one dept. to another. What date was she born, what county, mother and father’s names. In the end, no record of her birth. Better yet, the last woman she talks to says there’s something weird. Her name is red-flagged in the Missouri state computer system. Must do some research. Will call Doreen back. 

Turns out Doreen is flagged cuz her name’s on the fed homeland security list as a “threat”. Woman tells her she’s turned it over to someone else in Missouri.  

On Thurs. Doreen gets call from some Missouri state investigator. He’s full of Q’s, and Doreen can’t answer any of them. He gets all professional investigator on her and tells her she doesn’t exist. Kincaid must be an alias. In which case, her SS# is invalid. Her marriage to Carl isn’t valid. Her entire life is a hoax on the American public.  

The guy then tells her he’ll continue research, but if she doesn’t get a letter from Missouri containing her birth certificate in the next week, she needs to get an attorney.  

Like I said, too bizarre to be funny. Poor Carl trying to calm her down and tell her it’ll be okay. And she’s flipping out.

 Meanwhile, Doreen got calls from two of Valerie’ adult children over 4 years ago who needed money to bury her. Which Doreen sent, but not before getting a death certificate from the state of Tennessee, which was where Valerie was living at the time. Drug overdose.  

So now Doreen’s wondering if Valerie maybe didn’t die. Maybe she’s still using Doreen’s personal information.  

Regardless, apparently Doreen’s mother didn’t tell her the truth about who her father was, or equally likely, didn’t know who the father was. Nor was Doreen born in Missouri, apparently.  

Is that just some weird stuff, or what?

 

 

JOURNAL BLOG DISCLAIMER

JOURNAL BLOG DISCLAIMER

 I spent time today going back through my journals from the past few years.  If any of you have been following the MY VEIN, MY BLOOD thread and missed the opening explanation, that’s what those posts are from.  Excerpts from my personal journey through life and writing and trying to understand.

 Some of you who know me may see yourselves referenced in those pages.  Some of you may be offended or mildly amused.  Sometimes, I will feel it necessary to delete specifics, mostly because it isn’t important or to protect my privacy or someone else’s.

 You may find it confusing at times, because I use initials instead of names.  It seems a lot of people in my life have the same initial.  Maybe I will try to make those entries easier to read by using a middle initial or something in the future to differentiate between the players.

 I started posting from one notebook I chose at random, and I’m nearing the end of the entries on the front side of the pages.  As you may recall, I only wrote on one side of the page, and then I decided I should save paper and use the back side of the notebook pages as well.  For that reason, the notebooks themselves are not in chronological order, and so my blog journal entries won’t be either.  I also don’t want to get too close to the current day in my posts.

 It’s important for my readers to understand that the entries I post reflect where I was at that point in time.  In my head, in my life, on my spiritual path.  And also where I was in that actual moment while I was writing those pages.  As we all know, our thoughts and emotions are in a constant state of flux, and I’m sure if you read enough of these, you’ll see how true that is.

 I’ve been posting from my journal for a few weeks now and I’m still not convinced of the wisdom of this idea.  But rather than creatively drain myself trying to blog anew each day, I’m going to continue with this.  As I mentioned in my previous disclaimer post, I don’t think anyone’s reading it anyway, or very few individuals are.  I’ll assume whoever is reading it, whether it’s one or a hundred people a day, those are the individuals who are supposed to be reading it.  Maybe there’s a message in those lines just for them.  Maybe there’s a message from them to me.

 As always, I have more questions than answers.  I wouldn’t be surprised if you do, too.

September 29, 2009

My Vein, My Blood #20 means I’ve reached the end of the first half (front side) of the first journal that began on Wednesday 10-8 or 9-03 (My Vein, My Blood #1).

There have been moments when I cringed as I translated what is in my journal to text in a Word file and copied it to my blog.  Do I really want to reveal the crazy thoughts that go through my head?  I can see along the way where some of my journal entries were influenced by books I read (Write It Down, Make It Happen, for example).  The Secret  DVD.  Anything that might give me new insights, make me look at life in a different way, anything that pushes me to grow or carries me along on my journey.  Lately, I’ve been reading the Bible.  A verse or two a day.

 My posts may not make much sense to anyone else, but if you want to know what it’s like to be me, there it is.

My Vein, My Blood – 20

11-8-06

I am a genius.  I am wonderful.  I am worthy.  I give thanks.  I am getting better each day.  My time is valuable.  I am blessed in ways I’m not even aware of.

Bestseller List NYT, USA Today

Barbara Meyers NOT QUITE HEAVEN

Barbara Meyers A MONTH FROM MIAMI

Barbara Meyers FINAL MISSION

Headlines – Barbara Meyers sells movie rights for unprecedented 7 figures.  Barbara Meyers lands top agent.  Barbara Meyers in New York City for major booksigning event with fellow bestselling authors.  Barbara Meyers buys home for brother.  Barbara Meyers buys new couch, redecorates living room.  Barbara Meyers stars in movie, is nominated for independent film award.  What is the secret?  Be what you want to be and draw that energy toward you.  God, show me.  Thank you.

11-9-06

Some brilliant person is going to create a fantastic web site for me.  That brilliant person might just be me, because, of course, I am brilliant.  What would I put on my web site?  Blurbs of my not yet pubbed books?  NO—don’t want to give anyone ideas.  Maybe some of the little stories I’ve written over the years.  My poems.  My brilliant insights into the world.  Or at least my amateur views.

I don’t know why the J issue bugs me so much.  I just resent like hell anyone getting preferential treatment unless, of course, it’s me.  And if you can’t do the job—then why are you there?  And why does management make concessions for you and not for everyone else?  It’s just bad management, imo.  But as long as it doesn’t affect me overly much, then why should I care?  I am going to move on and achieve my own success.  In the meantime, this job serves my purpose.  And it will make a lovely rags to riches story when I get where I’m headed.  I might need to pay someone to build and maintain my web site.  Only because of my time.  Would I spend that much time keeping it updated?  I’d like the control and “do it yourself.”  But how time-consuming will it be?  I need to brush the dog and put in her eyedrops.  What makes her think she’s allowed to sit on the couch?  It’s getting cold in here.  My feet are freezing.  I feel vaguely hungry but I don’t know what for.  Chocolate milk maybe.  I keep having this recurring (and very vague) story idea. Sort of a modern-day Jane Eyre plot.  Guy who has young twins—dead (or disappeared?) wife?  Hires nanny (ugly duckling type) who has a troubled past that’s about to catch up with here.  In what form troubled past takes shape I don’t know.  Somebody wants her dead?  But why?  She sees this guy’s gated estate as security.  Safety.  But what is she running from?  Or to?  Maybe she was attacked and severely injured and left for dead and she testified against her attacker and he went to prison.  But he swore he’d hunt her down and kill her when he got out.  And now he’s out.  She should have some scars—a limp or something.  Maybe he hurt her because she was helping someone else.  Her sister maybe?  Domestic violence?  And he killed the sister in a fit of rage and almost killed the heroine.  Maybe she’s disguised herself?  To make herself homely, but she’s fairly attractive.  I see her swimming at night and hero sees her—he had no idea what lurked beneath her baggy clothes.  I wonder if his wife could return.  Where’s she been?  Maybe the brother-in-law/b/f guy could conveniently kill her when she gets in his way?  And heroine can kill this guy after he threatens the twins and the dad?  There’d be all this underlying fear—she’d want to hide—he’d want to avoid being hurt or abandoned.  She thinks she’ll be safe with him, but he can’t keep her safe from her own desires.  Maybe she was high profile at one time—nanny to a celebrity’s child and that’s all the reference he needs—doesn’t know about attack or guy getting out of jail.  She resists going out, but he encourages/forces her to.  I see her on a bed crying—he’s been cruel—in comforting or apologizing, passion ignites.  Or interest, at least.  And he distances himself from kids because he’s not sure they’re his.  Oh, yes, I am a brilliant genius.  I could meet an agent in Starbucks.  I could meet an editor in Starbucks.  Maybe Mitch Albom’s editor.  Who’s looking for a brilliant new voice in another genre.  I see my future. Thank you God, for everything.

11-10-06

Things To Do

1. Get check
2. Get F RX eyedrops
3. Get F Heartworm med.
4. Call S.
5. Call S.
6. Shower door
7. E-mail C & M
8. Trim nails
9. Print pictures
10. Take pool water in

The Freedom Lull-a-bye

I think we’ve elected the perfect president for our country.  Someone who reflects who and what the American people have become.  A “free” people.  But what if we’ve taken freedom to far?  What if we’ve taken it to a complete lack of accountability?

I’m often surrounded by 20-somethings because I work with them.  I’m also a parent of two.  I get a glimpse into their attitudes and their world-view and sometimes it’s frightening.

Take for example a young woman who becomes pregnant and calls it an accident.  Even though she knowingly had unprotected sex.  This is not an accident.  It is behavior associated with risk and there are known consequences.  To the young people having sex with each other like bunnies, get a clue.  Sex between a male and a female can lead to procreation (oops, using those big words again), in other words, a baby.  But…there seems to be an epidemic of uncommitted unions resulting in unplanned babies.  Which results in unstable environments in which to raise these children.  Because, it seems, no one wants to take responsibility for the decision that brought them into the world and the fact that they’re here now and must be dealt with properly.  Should we all be shocked when children born of irresponsible parents grow up to be irresponsible?

Remember when you were a child and all you wanted was to grow up and be “free?”  Free of your parents’ rules, free to do your own thing, live your own life?  This is all well and good but what many of us don’t seem to get is that along with freedom comes responsibility.  Freedom without responsibility results in chaos.  Which seems to be where we’re heading now.

The supposed health care crisis may not be the crisis we think it is.  Think of all the sick people you know and now take a look at their lifestyles.  How much of their “illness” is caused simply by the fact that they don’t take care of the mind and body God gave them?  Although there are certainly illnesses that strike those who do their best to be healthy, many of our fellow citizens bring it on themselves.  Excesses in food, drugs, cigarettes, alcohol, etc.  Back pain because you’re overweight and don’t exercise?  Take these pills or get this surgery.  Lung problems?  Could those be caused by smoking?  Liver problems?  Depression?  Been drinking much lately?

Oh, it makes me so mad when people look outwardly for a cure for what ails them, but never see that it’s within their own power to regain their health.  No, because then they’d have to take responsibility for the shape they’re in.  It can’t be their fault, can it?  Blame MacDonald’s or the tobacco industry or the beer manufacturers.  Who let all that pot and cocaine across the border to tempt us?  Must be the government’s fault.  Because it certainly isn’t ours.  Someone twisted our arms, forced us to try it.  It wasn’t by choice and now we’re addicted.  Boo-hoo.

In the same way, isn’t that what the current administration does?  They refuse to be held accountable for decisions they make, even for statements caught on tape.  When the president is expected to speak the truth and doesn’t, anyone who calls him on it is a racist or someone with a differing political agenda.  It couldn’t possibly be because he said something that wasn’t true.  Because that would mean he’d have to explain himself.  Be held accountable.  And if we hold our leader accountable for what he says and does, then we’d have to take a good hard look at ourselves.  We might have to hold ourselves accountable.  And it’s really so much easier to look the other way.  No one wants to look in that mirror.  No one wants to do the work required.  We all want to take the easy way out, so why should we be surprised when we elect someone with the same mindset?

When Bill Clinton was president and he got caught with his hand in Monica Lewinsky’s candy jar we pretended to be appalled and outraged.  But in truth, I think a lot of men applauded him for being a guy and doing what many of them were doing.  Cheating on his wife, chasing younger women.  Because he was like them.  And if he did it, whether he got away with it or not, then it made it okay for the rest of us.  Yeah, you might get caught.  But it’s no big deal.  Life goes on.

How do you tell when someone is sincere?  By what they do, not by what they say.  Actions speak louder than words.  Yet we allow ourselves to be lulled into a false sense of security by this president’s words.  Giving a great speech is what got him elected.  But how does having a way with words translate into responsible leadership? Or even the ability to lead?

Things getting tough?  People getting angy?  Trot the president out and let him give another speech.  It’s like a lull-a-bye.  A lull-a-bye is meant to soothe a child back to sleep, and that’s exactly what the president hopes to do to the American people with the sound of his voice.  Like children, he thinks we’re too naive to look beyond the meaning of his words.  We’ll go back to sleep and let him do whatever he wants with this country and our money.

A boss of mine once told me the easiest thing in the world to do is to spend someone else’s money.  Since we, as a society always seem to look for the easy way out, why are we surprised that we have a president who wants to spend someone else’s money?  The someone else being the taxpayers, you and me, for example.  Is it only okay when someone else’s money is spent as long as it isn’t your money?  Too bad.  Because it is your money.  It’s my money.  We elected the people in the White House and Congress whether we actually voted for them or not.  We don’t hold them accountable for the same reason we don’t hold ourselves or our children accountable.  Because it’s too much work.

The People on TV Reflect…Me?

After watching TV last night, I’m almost ashamed to call myself a U.S. citizen.  One has to wonder, doesn’t one, what this country is coming to?  First we have a member of Congress standing up during the President’s speech and calling him a liar.  Then Kanye West gets in Taylor Swift’s face and tries to steal her moment in the spotlight.  Then there’s Bill Mahr espousing his political views (and I use that term loosely) laced with such arrogance that what he says doesn’t even make sense.  But still, he gets air time.  I’d like to know who his fans are.  How many people understand his gibberish?  He sort of reminds me of a friend’s two-year-old daughter.  She’s quite adamant when she speaks, insistent in getting her point across.  But no one, including her parents, can understand what she’s saying.

 When I see such behavior on my television screen night after night, I find it embarrassing to be lumped in with my fellow citizens.  I wonder if the way we see people of notoriety acting is reflective of the general public in America.  Are their bizarre behaviors and rude outbursts becoming the norm?  What happened to manners?  Politeness?  Respect?  At this point I’d accept mere civility, but we can’t even aspire to that.

 Have we all become rude, arrogant, and simply unbearable?  Are we just nasty people who care nothing for others, but only about ourselves and our self-interest and self-promotion?  No wonder people in other countries hate us.  No wonder we’re attacked and belittled.  In the same way we put down the behavior of those we see on TV, outsiders put us down.  But I have to wonder…is TV simply holding up a mirror for all of us?  Reflecting our bad behavior back at us? 

 I can attest to the fact that manners have dropped by the wayside because every day I encounter rude individuals at my place of employment.  Kids who want something for nothing approach the counter and say, “Can I get a glass of water?”  No “May I” or “Please” or “Thank-you.”  No purchase, either.  Just a sense of entitlement and no need to be pleasant or grateful.  What am I saying?  It isn’t just kids.  Adults do this, too. 

 The number of people who chat on cell phones while ordering?  Don’t get me started.  The ones who throw their money on the counter because they’re too high and mighty to actually put it in my hand?  They’re just lovely and they make me feel so special.

 How many of us say and do nasty things without even thinking about it?  The middle finger extended toward the driver who cut you off.  The comment you make to someone else as soon as a disliked acquaintance or co-worker walks away.  You were nice to her face…but you really can’t stand her.  And you’ve got to get your digs in when you can.  So spread your poison around to others.

We’re all guilty.  Including me.  Want to have a look at the society we’ve created?  Just turn on the TV, look in the mirror, and enjoy.