A very wise woman I know recently wrote a blog about this very subject. My writing a blog actually goes against her advice, because she worries that young writers will put too much thought and effort into a blog instead of getting published. I agree with her advice, even; yet here I am still typing away.
The truth is I finished a novel around Christmas of 2009. It's sitting on my laptop, a thumb drive, and in a binder. I can't bring myself to send it off. I'm a very confident person, but for some reason my novel still gathers the literal and digital dust.
I started blogging partly for that very reason. I need to get used to the idea that anyone can (and hopefully will) read my work, and they can choose to like it or not. This blog is a writing exercise for me in confidence and risk taking.
It's not because I'm scared of criticism. I work in an industry that's full of it, and I have tough leathery skin to protect myself. For me, the nerves are jumbled because I'm exposing something that I've always kept private: my writing. I was published twice in school mags: one I had to be talked into submitting, the other my teacher did so without asking.
I have the commitment and follow through to finish the writing part of being an author, but I don't quite have the guts for it yet. Even now, 10 posts later I still close one eye when I push the publish button.
I wrote in an earlier post that I believe in letting people know you love them beyond just a specific day. This is why I call Valentine's Day, Hallmark Day. And Hallmark supported this theory by one of their latest slogans, "Valentine's Day is for saying 'I love us.'" In other words, "We are aware we have commericalized this day WAY too much, but we have a solution."
I guess this is a good time to say: I. Do. Not. Like. Valentine's. Day! My husband will readily admit that he is more romantic than me. Don't get me wrong I do loving cards and gifts, but 9 times out of 10 there is always a smart ass edge to them. For anyone who wonders if I wasn't shown affection as a child, that's not even close to the case. I just always did my own thing, and adding smart ass humor to sweet, serious, or mushy stuff is a large part of it.
Beyond just the smart ass side of me, I also have a very warped sense of humor. I love dark comedies and my favorite is Heathers(it's actually one of my favorite movies period). I always joke that it's incredibly romantic. I realize murder isn't actually romantic (although most horror films can be traced back to some sort of love), but I hated high school and found it hysterical. Heathers is my favorite movie to watch on Valentine's Day because of it's truly warped sense of "young love."
From sharetv.com
I want to be clear before I complete this post: I, in no way, think love is a bad thing. I do think, however, the notion of having a day to celebrate love and rub it in other's faces is inappropriate and disgusting. I find the whole day aprehensible and bitterly mean. I believe strongly that you love the people you love, and you tell them that as often and as much as possible. Don't wait for a "special" day or a greeting card company to tell you to.
So, instead of Happy Valentine's Day, I leave you with this:
Today is one of those days that noise drives me, well...CRAZY. I talk on the phone for the majority of my work, which means hearing is essential. This essential part of my job isn't made easy: I do not have my own office, there are several televisions around me, and tons of other people. None of this includes phones and other operating systems around the office.
It was one of those days that I would rather just have a jack hammer next door than a loud voice. There are some people who's voices just carry shout, no matter what they are doing. If you don't know what type of person I'm talking about, you should meet my grandmother. Her voice was our beacon if we got lost at the fair or Disneyland (and no, I'm not kidding). The voices with that volume make you wonder if they are hard of hearing or if you soon will be.
My wonderful grandmother, Ed Nanny, and me at the fair. I didn't get lost! :)
The phones are often the most annoying, because I don't know how anyone in this century doesn't know how to silence or, at the very least, place their phones on vibrate. Some just think their ring tones are cool: which, let's face it, it's a phone, it's not that cool. Others swear they would never realize their phone was ringing without the noise, but there are two possible ways to solve that problem. They make carriers to put it on your hip so you can feel it, or place it in front of you on that flat surface we call a desk.
Anyone who knew me growing up is probably shocked at the news that noises drive me crazy. I was always super talkative and known to play my music WAY too loud (I even had my dad install extra speakers in my Escort). But as I've gotten old(er), I appreciate days where I can hear myself think, talk and type.
For any men who read this, I know you like to think that crying is a "woman's" thing. But the truth is, sometimes there's no better way to get whatever emotion out: frustration, happiness, anger, disappointment, and, of course, sadness.
Pulled from baby-gear.biz
Anger is the one most people don't understand as an emotion that can bring tears, but it's my favorite time to cry. I'm a Southern Woman, which means I'm supposed to be strong willed (and I am), but it also means I'm very respectful-almost to a fault. So instead of yelling at people, I often take a walk and cry my bloody eyes out.
The "anger cry" causes many people a LOT of confusion. Take my poor dear husband for example: depending on my week and schedule, the anger cry can be frequent and unstoppable. Being that he is the world's most wonderful husband, he wants to fix it and make me feel better--which is amazingly sweet and unfortunate for him. Don't get me wrong, I LOVE and APPRECIATE that he holds me through it, but there's nothing he can do beyond that. I just need that "therapy."
It's taken me YEARS to call it that word: "therapy." I use to think it was weakness. I firmly believed that if you saw me cry, you would have to be sworn to secrecy with a blood oath. No one could talk about it. I'll admit, sometimes even now, I still wonder if I can make that oath with people. But I know it's not a weakness, it's a healthy coping mechanism. So, to all Southern (or Anywhere) Women, take your walk and cry those tears; but most of all appreciate the cost of VERY cheap, water therapy.
I should warn you, several people will gasp at part of this post (I'll let you know when). February 3rd has always been a day my household marked on the calendar. It is this day in 1959 that Buddy Holly, the Big Bopper and Ritchie Valens died in a plane crash over Iowa. It was an important day at home because this was the day that, according to my father, the real King of Rock-n-Roll died. (GASP!) I know, shocking. But I was raised to believe that the real King of Rock-n-Roll was Buddy Holly NOT Elvis.
I listened to oldies radio almost exclusively until I was old enough for sleepovers. At the time, I'm not sure it occurred to me that there was new music being made. I listened to my parents' LPs, and I still think to to this very day vinyl sounds better than anything digital (although I wouldn't forfeit my iPod for anything). I listened "That'll be the Day" and "Everyday" countless times.
This belief that Buddy Holly was indeed robbed of his crown was only strengthened by a family favorite, "American Pie" by Don McLean (circa 1971--I was horrified Madonna remade the song). My brothers and I knew all the words to the eight minute and thirty-three second masterpiece. (There are shorter versions of the song, but I'm always deeply offended when a radio station plays them.)
This song also became the soundtrack to my most fond college memories. My father, two uncles, and several of my friends were TKEs at the same college I attended. Every night the guys would gather in a joyous circle to sing "American Pie" with slightly altered lyrics. Hearing this song always fills me with warmth, despite it's sad creation, because it makes me think of friends I miss, lost, and those that I don't talk nearly often enough.
Derek Revord, who was one of those TKEs. I think of him everyday.
You have to forgive this somewhat mushy post; but in light of the past week or so, I find it appropriate/necessary. The last post was about college basketball and that can't be discussed by me without mentioning my dad. But I find that I often leave out my unsung hero--my mom.
My mom is easily one of the strongest, most intelligent, most compassionate and impressive people I know. She had, what I truly believe, is the hardest jobs around: She is a full time mom, and managed to get all four children through college and then some.
She's the loudest and best cheerleader that any child could have. She didn't bat an eye (although pretty sure she lost some sleep) when I told her I was going to Los Angeles for grad school, despite the fact I knew no one here. She always has faith in her children, sometimes to a fault (We do make mistakes, but she's on our side no matter what).
My mom has been the backbone to our family for years. She takes care of everyone and is the most selfless person I know. My mom is the person who takes everyone to the doctor; doesn't miss a baseball game, chorus performance, theater production; rearranges her schedule in a moment's notice; there's no emergency, diagnosis, or disaster that she can't handle and navigate.
Being in a house full of men (3 brothers and my dad), she was my best friend from the get go. Don't get me wrong, I went through a typical teenage/college stage where I didn't tell her everything (2nd tattoo, anyone?). But we always make time for each other and think of each other (spur of the moment Carrie Underwood concerts, shopping trips, and the song below--I sent her the CD the second I heard the song).
She's taught me so much about who I am and continue to strive to be. As I've gotten older, I look back and actively thank her for decisions I hated at the time they were made. This probably sounds like a Mother's Day post, but what can I say? I firmly believe in making sure people you care about know it, regardless which month on the calendar it is--another thing I learned from her.
