For those with a burning desire to know the results of yesterday’s “How Well I Lie About Myself” game, the answer is "Not very." The list contained one complete truth and one total lie, all the rest were blends as follows:
I completed a reverse dive with 2 1/2 somersaults from the three-meter board (aka: the high dive) for the first time ever during a college diving meet and lived to tell the tale.
False with bravado: The dive I completed from a three meter board for the first time during meet was a reverse dive, layout position; there were no somersaults involved--what do you think I am, crazy?
College rules changed at the beginning of senior year forcing me to learn all dives from three-times the height I had been springing off of since the age of eight--otherwise the team would forfeit the event. Let’s simply say that 21 years of living had granted me the the wisdom to question plunging from such a height, and I delayed learning that particular dive until my back was up against a wall. Option one: jump off the board and receive a score of 0. Option two: slink, humiliated, down the ladder in front of a packed crowd and receive a score of 0. Option three: Wing it and pray. Which I did, after standing there for a looooong time. I remember being in mid-air, staring at the tiled ceiling in order to control my plummet, chanting: "Oh God, oh God, oh God."
I used to die my hair different colors, including pink.
If you knew me you’d know how false this is: I used to mix the shades of brown, but pink never came out of the bottle. Hmmm, perhaps a little pink in my life would be a good thing,
I once stole apples from an orchard in Tasmania.
False with kudos to Connie: The word collusion might work here, but my sister is the hero of the apple saga. We had money enough to sleep in the youth hostel or to eat, but not enough for both, having failed to plan for a national holiday that closed the banks over a long weekend (prior to ATM's). She had the nerve to slip the apples up her sleeves, while I played coward, um, I mean look-out. We supplemented the fruit with one pack of Ramen noodles between us over a 24-hour period.
Prior to a first date, my paramour spilled battery acid on his pants. They disintegrated while we watched the movie.
True, true, true: Thank you for thinking I could make up this story. It involves a failing car battery, removal of a battery from a different vehicle, and a snow bank. Oh, and one long and awkward embrace on our way out of the movie theatre so no one could see the serious deficit situated at the front of his corduroys.
Believe it or not, we went out again.
I have lived in twelve different states.
Bald-faced lie: If you count college, and the two summers I lived with my friend, then I’ve lived in three. But the real answer is that I’ve lived here in Massachusetts my entire life.
Conan O’Brien is my first-cousin-once-removed.
False on a technicality: Conan’s father is my first-cousin-once-removed. Conan is my second cousin. I’ve met his parents; I’ve never met the man himself.
Thank you again to Helen at Straight from Hel for honoring me with the "Creative Writer" Blogger Award.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Monday, February 8, 2010
Deceptive Truths or Truthful Deceptions
I struggle while writing to step away from my own existence, apart from my appalling earnestness, my day-to-day experience, to open myself to creativity and imagination. Lately, I’ve employed writing prompts in recent “scene storming” exercises and have been astonished and thrilled by the short, albeit completely untruthful, tales that river out of me. Who knew?
For that reason, I’m in awe--thrilled as well as shocked--to have received this award from Helen at Straight from Hel (and by the way, isn’t that the best blog name ever?).
For that reason, I’m in awe--thrilled as well as shocked--to have received this award from Helen at Straight from Hel (and by the way, isn’t that the best blog name ever?).
Thank you Helen! In acknowledging her own award Helen said: “I am honored to receive such an award, but wonder, since accepting this award means I must lie to all of you, does…think I’m a liar or a creative writer? Hmm….” I choose to be optimistic that, unexpected as it seems to me, Helen thinks I’m a creative writer…so now I need to get on it and tell you some lies.
Actually, here are the rules:
Recipients must:
1. Thank the person who gave this to you.
2. Copy the logo and place it on your blog.
3. Link to the person who nominated you.
4. Tell us up to six outrageous lies about yourself, and at least one outrageous truth.
5. Allow your readers to guess which one or more are true.
6. Nominate seven "Creative Writers" who might have fun coming up with outrageous lies.
7. Post links to the seven blogs you nominate.
8. Leave a comment on each of the blogs letting them know you nominated them.
I’m short on the seven, but I nominate:
Simon at Constant Revision , because I can’t wait to read the lies he comes up with.
Carolina at Carol’s Prints because she’s as clever as Simon.
Sarah at Sarah with a Chance because she’s so, um, “creative” that I laugh at everything she writes. Imagine giving her permission to lie…er, I mean, to be creative. Here's a hint though, if she tells you she doesn't like Johnny Depp, it's a great big fat one.
Rea at Us in Tejas, because I’m pretty sure she can give us all a run for our money.
So with no further ado, here are my up to six lies, and one outrageous truth. Guess which is which!
I completed a reverse dive with 2 1/2 somersaults from the three-meter board (aka: the high dive) for the first time ever during a college diving meet and lived to tell the tale.
I used to dye my hair different colors, including pink.
I once stole apples from an orchard in Tasmania.
Prior to a first date, my paramour spilled battery acid on his pants. They disintegrated while we sat in the movie theatre.
I have lived in twelve different states.
Conan O’Brien is my first-cousin-once-removed.
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Every Vote Counts?
Okay, so I haven't graduated to Twitter yet. I'm mulling it over, but clearly others are eons ahead of me. Therefore, I'm asking a favor. Some of you may recall my shameless plug a while ago about a contest I entered called "Why I write," on Editor Unleashed. I submitted an essay from Middle Passages that I edited and tweaked (That's "tweaked," not "tweeted," or should it be "twittered????") called "Scotch Anyone?" The contest is, in part, being scored by popular ranking, and now we are at the part where readers can vote. Aside from those Twitter folks who are leaving me in the dust, I'm having a respectable showing and I'd appreciate your support to close the gap a bit. You have to be a member of Editor Unleashed to vote, so if you are, may I ask you to? Vote for me, I mean?
In case you aren't a member, and don't know, Editor Unleashed is the site of a former Editor from WritersDigest.com named Maria Schneider. Her site offers volumes of information as well as forums for writer types. For years, prior to the cocoon-to-butterfly writer transformation that occurred last year, I read and learned a tremendous amount from Writers' Digest, so I'm a huge fan of both Writer's Digest.Com, and now of Maria Schneider's Editor Unleashed. I recommend both.
So, if you are currently a member, or become a member of Editor Unleashed, can I beg you on bended knee to read the "Why I Write Contest," and if you are so inclined, to vote on "Scotch Anyone?" pretty please? Oh, and if you could, in good conscience of course, vote five stars, I'll be your best friend. Really.
If you want to offer me a tutorial on Twitter, I'll take that too.
In case you aren't a member, and don't know, Editor Unleashed is the site of a former Editor from WritersDigest.com named Maria Schneider. Her site offers volumes of information as well as forums for writer types. For years, prior to the cocoon-to-butterfly writer transformation that occurred last year, I read and learned a tremendous amount from Writers' Digest, so I'm a huge fan of both Writer's Digest.Com, and now of Maria Schneider's Editor Unleashed. I recommend both.
So, if you are currently a member, or become a member of Editor Unleashed, can I beg you on bended knee to read the "Why I Write Contest," and if you are so inclined, to vote on "Scotch Anyone?" pretty please? Oh, and if you could, in good conscience of course, vote five stars, I'll be your best friend. Really.
If you want to offer me a tutorial on Twitter, I'll take that too.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
So it Continues
"What ever you think you can do or believe you can do, begin it. Action has magic, grace and power in it." Goeth
“If you build it, they will come.” Field of Dreams
“Desire, ask, believe, receive.” Stella Terrill Mann
A year ago today I tapped my fingers on the blond-veneered desk in the building I had traipsed through for the last 23 years, with my stomach churning. Rumors whispered all over the complex about an imminent lay-off and my source was well placed—she sat in an office across the hall from the woman compiling “the list.” Add that to the fact that sales numbers were appalling and, I was "overhead," not revenue generating. Over the past days, meetings had been held without me—confidential information I was usually privy to in my HR role had become hush, hush. What ever else I may be, I’m not dumb. When my boss sent a message that our 2:00 meeting would be postponed but to wait to speak to her later, the heart started pounding hard. And then, I got the call.
For years I had asked myself what I would do if I no longer worked for my former employer. For equally as long, the only answer I knew how to voice was “Not this.” Blind to anything beyond the golden handcuffs of a good salary and excellent benefits, I was so stuck in the day-to-day that it was impossible for me to notice that the answer was obvious—in the newsletters, training pieces and policies I loved to author at work, in the few articles I’d had published, in the countless essays jamming the hard drive on our home computer. It was all there, trapped in a steamer trunk inside my soul—waiting for a little thing like a lay-off to unlock the door.
You know the story. The day after I got my walking papers, Middle Passages poured out of my shocked and confused fingers. What you don’t know, is that a few days later at my first outplacement meeting, I announced in front of an entire group of similarly affected individuals, that whatever I pursued in the future would have to involve writing. After that, the liquid of Middle Passages carried me through—the ease with which words flowed when I thought I had nothing there kept me kept floating when I questioned my skill, on course when I worried about direction. Readers and followers, strangers and friends alike relayed messages about my writing: “You can do this.”
“I can?”
“You are.”
“I am?”
Yes, I am. A year to the day later I hand out my business cards like candy in the supermarket, stuff brochures in restaurant information booths, direct strangers to my website, conduct networking phone calls with friends-of-friends, and for the first time in my work life, every dollar I earn is born of passion, diligence, commitment and joy—each penny worth a hundredfold more than the significant salary I earned before.
So, today is not an anniversary of loss; instead it’s a time to honor a milestone—a speckled quartz rock with a date etched under a glowing tribute, a felt banner hanging from the gymnasium rafters. It’s a time to savor the victories of the last year—the words that kept coming and the readers who found me and keep me here. I thank each and every one of you with a gratitude beyond any phrase I will ever construct. Through you, and Middle Passages, I maneuvered my way down the path to a place where I don’t always doubt myself—where I wake up smiling in the morning, ready to run to what ever project lies ahead.
Don’t get me wrong. Writing for my own development as well as for business is challenging. Sometimes, like yesterday, it’s pull-your-hair-out hard. But it's all good because in the last 365 days, I have learned this: as long as I ask them to—as long as I let them—words will keep coming. It’s up to me. I suspected it then. I know it now. The thought began taking shape on February 5, 2009. On February 4, 2010 I’m shouting it out loud.
I can do this.
Thank you.
“If you build it, they will come.” Field of Dreams
“Desire, ask, believe, receive.” Stella Terrill Mann
A year ago today I tapped my fingers on the blond-veneered desk in the building I had traipsed through for the last 23 years, with my stomach churning. Rumors whispered all over the complex about an imminent lay-off and my source was well placed—she sat in an office across the hall from the woman compiling “the list.” Add that to the fact that sales numbers were appalling and, I was "overhead," not revenue generating. Over the past days, meetings had been held without me—confidential information I was usually privy to in my HR role had become hush, hush. What ever else I may be, I’m not dumb. When my boss sent a message that our 2:00 meeting would be postponed but to wait to speak to her later, the heart started pounding hard. And then, I got the call.
For years I had asked myself what I would do if I no longer worked for my former employer. For equally as long, the only answer I knew how to voice was “Not this.” Blind to anything beyond the golden handcuffs of a good salary and excellent benefits, I was so stuck in the day-to-day that it was impossible for me to notice that the answer was obvious—in the newsletters, training pieces and policies I loved to author at work, in the few articles I’d had published, in the countless essays jamming the hard drive on our home computer. It was all there, trapped in a steamer trunk inside my soul—waiting for a little thing like a lay-off to unlock the door.
You know the story. The day after I got my walking papers, Middle Passages poured out of my shocked and confused fingers. What you don’t know, is that a few days later at my first outplacement meeting, I announced in front of an entire group of similarly affected individuals, that whatever I pursued in the future would have to involve writing. After that, the liquid of Middle Passages carried me through—the ease with which words flowed when I thought I had nothing there kept me kept floating when I questioned my skill, on course when I worried about direction. Readers and followers, strangers and friends alike relayed messages about my writing: “You can do this.”
“I can?”
“You are.”
“I am?”
Yes, I am. A year to the day later I hand out my business cards like candy in the supermarket, stuff brochures in restaurant information booths, direct strangers to my website, conduct networking phone calls with friends-of-friends, and for the first time in my work life, every dollar I earn is born of passion, diligence, commitment and joy—each penny worth a hundredfold more than the significant salary I earned before.
So, today is not an anniversary of loss; instead it’s a time to honor a milestone—a speckled quartz rock with a date etched under a glowing tribute, a felt banner hanging from the gymnasium rafters. It’s a time to savor the victories of the last year—the words that kept coming and the readers who found me and keep me here. I thank each and every one of you with a gratitude beyond any phrase I will ever construct. Through you, and Middle Passages, I maneuvered my way down the path to a place where I don’t always doubt myself—where I wake up smiling in the morning, ready to run to what ever project lies ahead.
Don’t get me wrong. Writing for my own development as well as for business is challenging. Sometimes, like yesterday, it’s pull-your-hair-out hard. But it's all good because in the last 365 days, I have learned this: as long as I ask them to—as long as I let them—words will keep coming. It’s up to me. I suspected it then. I know it now. The thought began taking shape on February 5, 2009. On February 4, 2010 I’m shouting it out loud.
I can do this.
Thank you.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
The Bottom of the Barrell
My daughter has taken pity on me. When she asked: “What are you going to write on your blog today and I snapped “I don’t know!” she thought she’d give me a few ideas. “Did you already write about the birds?”
“Yes”
“Could you write about the fact that you have nothing to write about?”
“I may have to.”
“How about writing about a squirrel named ‘Bob’?”
Sigh.
Sometimes it’s a struggle to refrain from recording the the bla, bla, bla of my days, to force myself to stretch my brain toward a topic that touches, or colors, or with any luck stops you cold. Today though, I’m the one who is cold, like the fine snow particles spitting from our winter sky. We've reached the grey of the season. Tires sew zipper tracks through the dusting of snow on our driveway, pine trees sway under a liberal dose of talcum powder. The sky holds bleached white, an ocean of still and quiet.
It is the time of year that we have to force ourselves to find warmth in the sun, and it's too easy to daydream about teal Caribbean waters and a wallet that takes you there. Given I haven't purchased a lottery ticket, perhaps instead of longing for the imaginary, I'll celebrate what is real.
Last week Tricia over at Tailspinning, gave me an award:
Since all week I have struggled to fashion a well written blog post, now seems like the right time to remind myself of this, and to thank Tricia. If you haven’t read her, she writes beautiful Haiku’s, among other things, takes stunning pictures, and loves the sea. All good reasons to be drawn to her blog. Please check her out.
The rules of this award are to answer the following questions with one word. My challenge above not withstanding, most times verbosity is one of my failings; it practically killed me to be limited here!
Your cell phone: texting
Your hair: curly.
Your mother: gone.
Your father: also.
Your favorite food: impossible
Your dream last night: none.
Your favorite drink: coffee.
Your dream goal: book.
What room are you in: Family.
Your hobby: gardening.
Your fear: loneliness
Where do you see yourself in six years: successful.
Where were you last night: home.
Something you aren't: tall.
Muffins: corn.
Wish list item: car.
Where did you grow up: Massachusetts.
Last thing you did: wrote.
What are you wearing: wool.
Your TV: Off.
Your pets: Winkie.
Friends: Supportive.
Your life: engaging.
Your mood: determined.
Missing someone: Sarah
Vehicle: OLD
Something you aren't wearing: perfume.
Your favorite store: book.
Your favorite color: blue.
When was last time you laughed: today.
Last time you cried: Tuesday.
Your best friend: kind.
One place you go to over and over: beach
Facebook: Struggle.
Favorite place to eat: Connie’s
Thank you Tricia! I'll forward the award to five bloggers in the future!
“Yes”
“Could you write about the fact that you have nothing to write about?”
“I may have to.”
“How about writing about a squirrel named ‘Bob’?”
Sigh.
Sometimes it’s a struggle to refrain from recording the the bla, bla, bla of my days, to force myself to stretch my brain toward a topic that touches, or colors, or with any luck stops you cold. Today though, I’m the one who is cold, like the fine snow particles spitting from our winter sky. We've reached the grey of the season. Tires sew zipper tracks through the dusting of snow on our driveway, pine trees sway under a liberal dose of talcum powder. The sky holds bleached white, an ocean of still and quiet.
It is the time of year that we have to force ourselves to find warmth in the sun, and it's too easy to daydream about teal Caribbean waters and a wallet that takes you there. Given I haven't purchased a lottery ticket, perhaps instead of longing for the imaginary, I'll celebrate what is real.
Last week Tricia over at Tailspinning, gave me an award:
Since all week I have struggled to fashion a well written blog post, now seems like the right time to remind myself of this, and to thank Tricia. If you haven’t read her, she writes beautiful Haiku’s, among other things, takes stunning pictures, and loves the sea. All good reasons to be drawn to her blog. Please check her out.
The rules of this award are to answer the following questions with one word. My challenge above not withstanding, most times verbosity is one of my failings; it practically killed me to be limited here!
Your cell phone: texting
Your hair: curly.
Your mother: gone.
Your father: also.
Your favorite food: impossible
Your dream last night: none.
Your favorite drink: coffee.
Your dream goal: book.
What room are you in: Family.
Your hobby: gardening.
Your fear: loneliness
Where do you see yourself in six years: successful.
Where were you last night: home.
Something you aren't: tall.
Muffins: corn.
Wish list item: car.
Where did you grow up: Massachusetts.
Last thing you did: wrote.
What are you wearing: wool.
Your TV: Off.
Your pets: Winkie.
Friends: Supportive.
Your life: engaging.
Your mood: determined.
Missing someone: Sarah
Vehicle: OLD
Something you aren't wearing: perfume.
Your favorite store: book.
Your favorite color: blue.
When was last time you laughed: today.
Last time you cried: Tuesday.
Your best friend: kind.
One place you go to over and over: beach
Facebook: Struggle.
Favorite place to eat: Connie’s
Thank you Tricia! I'll forward the award to five bloggers in the future!
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
They Came Back...
And they brought friends. Since the idea of witnessing the window crash follies again today did not appeal, after I took the shot below, I bolted.
What do you think is so yummy about our frozen grass?
Monday, February 1, 2010
Inner Vision
As a child, a robin sighted in the March or April presented a reason to celebrate. Fair-weather birds returning from warmer climates delivered evidence of approaching spring. So imagine my delight this morning, when I watched as two robins landed on the grass outside the window in front of me, then three, then a flock. Their stomachs bulged, puffed out like swallowed baseballs, protruding orange bellies brushed the ground as they pecked at the frozen earth. It was clear that these guys have experienced no ill effects through our frozen winter or the six-week snow-cover that melted last week during a short-lived thaw.
Somewhere in my adulthood, I became educated to the fact that robins don’t actually leave us during the cold months, however, the plump beauties feeding from my lawn on the first day of February provided me with an unexpected gift--a moment of optimism in which I was anxious to engage. So leaving my Morning Pages notebook open; I ran to the guestroom, changed the lens on the Nikon and began shooting pictures through the window.
The birds noshed on the yellow stubs of hay, oblivious to the drone of commuter traffic pouring down our street until a school bus spewing blue smoke revved its diesel engine and they took flight. I heard a thwack as one of them hit the front door. “Ugh” I thought. “I’m not opening it to check.”
Once the bus departed though, the flock returned and after taking several photos, I set the camera aside and began writing again--until a contractor’s pick-up clanked as it bottomed out in the divot in front of our house. For a second time, the birds took to the air and again I heard a thump, this one into a bedroom window.
Wincing and throwing down my pen, I walked to the rear of the house and found more birds rooting around the backyard. As I sat in front of the computer, another, louder crash reverberated. “Holy God” I yelled. Jumping up, I paced from room to room; afraid to look out at what might, or might not be flapping on the lawn, while checking to see if a window had cracked. All I could think about was the three-sided glass den jutting from the back of my childhood home. Birds always collided with the sliding doors; we would watch them afterwards, shivering or lying stunned on the grass until they recovered from the shock. Most times, they did.
In all, six birds flew into our house this morning as I cringed, before the flock departed for good. It’s only dawning on me as I type this that I could have opened the door and banged a pot and those suicidal dive bombers would have moved right along.
Sometimes obvious answers are the hardest to see. This is an anniversary week for me. A year ago Friday, I started Middle Passages as a result of a life-change the day before that left me flailing like a broken-winged bird. Somehow I healed myself, but like my visitors this morning,I’ve been flying blind all year and have encountered my share of clear glass windows. Here's what I've learned. After the crash, it's OK to lie on the ground for a bit. But then all you can do is shake yourself and lift off once again, knowing that the only sure thing is that life will erect other invisible surprises.
Today's harmless revelation--well, to me anyway?
Robins must be myopic.
Somewhere in my adulthood, I became educated to the fact that robins don’t actually leave us during the cold months, however, the plump beauties feeding from my lawn on the first day of February provided me with an unexpected gift--a moment of optimism in which I was anxious to engage. So leaving my Morning Pages notebook open; I ran to the guestroom, changed the lens on the Nikon and began shooting pictures through the window.
The birds noshed on the yellow stubs of hay, oblivious to the drone of commuter traffic pouring down our street until a school bus spewing blue smoke revved its diesel engine and they took flight. I heard a thwack as one of them hit the front door. “Ugh” I thought. “I’m not opening it to check.”
Once the bus departed though, the flock returned and after taking several photos, I set the camera aside and began writing again--until a contractor’s pick-up clanked as it bottomed out in the divot in front of our house. For a second time, the birds took to the air and again I heard a thump, this one into a bedroom window.
Wincing and throwing down my pen, I walked to the rear of the house and found more birds rooting around the backyard. As I sat in front of the computer, another, louder crash reverberated. “Holy God” I yelled. Jumping up, I paced from room to room; afraid to look out at what might, or might not be flapping on the lawn, while checking to see if a window had cracked. All I could think about was the three-sided glass den jutting from the back of my childhood home. Birds always collided with the sliding doors; we would watch them afterwards, shivering or lying stunned on the grass until they recovered from the shock. Most times, they did.
In all, six birds flew into our house this morning as I cringed, before the flock departed for good. It’s only dawning on me as I type this that I could have opened the door and banged a pot and those suicidal dive bombers would have moved right along.
Sometimes obvious answers are the hardest to see. This is an anniversary week for me. A year ago Friday, I started Middle Passages as a result of a life-change the day before that left me flailing like a broken-winged bird. Somehow I healed myself, but like my visitors this morning,I’ve been flying blind all year and have encountered my share of clear glass windows. Here's what I've learned. After the crash, it's OK to lie on the ground for a bit. But then all you can do is shake yourself and lift off once again, knowing that the only sure thing is that life will erect other invisible surprises.
Today's harmless revelation--well, to me anyway?
Robins must be myopic.
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