Fight Through the Fear

 All day long I worried.

I'd been reading a novel set in the same time period as the one I'm currently writing. I didn't like it, so I found some reviews. Many readers saw the same flaws I did in the novel, and I wondered again why some books are published and others are not. 

But I also know that books are art, and art is subjective. 

What if my novel received bad reviews? What if I couldn't pull it off? Should I even bother?

I could feel the resistance starting to build the wall in my head, brick by brick. 

"Maybe I'll skip tonight's writing session," I thought.

But then I rebelled. "No. If I cave in to the fear and the dread, it'll drag on and on, and I'll end up avoiding the novel for days, if not weeks."

So. I decided to face the fear. 

I grabbed my headphones, put on my writing playlist, and opened the Word doc. 

And I began to write.

I wrote and wrote, and before I knew it, I'd finished the chapter. 

It's amazing what can spook our psyche. 

But we can either give in to it, or push back. 

Last night I chose to push back. I ended my writing session on such a high I wanted to dance around the room. I didn't, of course, because I'm sick with strep throat, but inwardly, oh did I dance.

Fight the fear. Write.

Wanted: A Sabbatical from Life

 I'm on day three of this horrendous sore throat. My doctor thinks I have strep, so I've taken two doses of antibiotics today. It still hurts. I have not had a sore throat this bad in years. As a child, my tonsils were huge, and my mother constantly worried they'd cause me problems. But they didn't - until I became a teenager. I kept getting sore throats and finally, at the ripe old age of 21 (that's old for getting your tonsils out!), I had them taken out. The pain during recovery literally made me cry. My ears and throat hurt so badly that I could barely stand it. But as the human body does, I healed, and life went back to normal.

Over the years, I've still had some sore throat, and have had strep a few times, but nothing like this latest round. When I wake up, it takes me a good two hours to get it calmed down enough to not swallow without crying. I've been eating ice cream as that seems to help, and then feel guilty about it because OH MY GOD I MIGHT GAIN WEIGHT. Ah the brain is just so much fun, isn't it?

Worse, this sore throat comes on the heels of me having a long flare of my chronic illnesses. I feel worthless, depressed, and worn out. I look terrible, I feel terrible, and hate that I'm being a burden on my boyfriend and my daughter.

Those are my thoughts, and as I wrote about earlier, they're wrong because I know I am not being a burden. When they are sick (which is rare for my BF), I take care of them and don't see them as a burden. It's not their fault that they're sick, and it's not mine, either!

I'm still trying to do the day job throughout all of this, and I had to finish the first draft of my class paper. While the paper has been submitted, I now await the inevitable edits I'll have to make for the final.

I haven't been able to exercise, and I know that's a big part of this depression - walking helps me not only physically, but mentally and emotionally.

I'm not excited about Christmas, not excited about the novel, not even excited by the books I'm reading. 

Honestly, I don't want to do it anymore, it being all the responsibilities I have. I want to take a sabbatical from life: do nothing on the day job, don't worry about the paper, don't worry about the novel. Just check myself into a hospital/sanitarium and listen to podcasts or read or have someone wheel me around the pond. 

I'm sure that once my throat stops being on fire, and I'm able to get on the treadmill, or even get out of the house, I'll feel better. 

But it sure is tempting to just say, "I'm done for awhile," and check out of reality for a week or so.

If only.

Honestly, I'm not feeling too resilient today!

Down the Research Rabbit Hole

As a historian, I love to research, and the internet makes it oh so much easier. I'm guilty of looking for one piece of information only to find my attention snagged by something else, and sooner rather than later, I've completely forgotten my original research query.

My current novel is set in Hollywood in 1940, and I am having a blast researching it. The best part is that there are tons and tons and TONS of early L.A. photos available. This means I can research to my heart's content. This also means I can get completely lost in minute details that I don't need for my story.

When I was working on my master's degree in history, I found myself making copies of files that I didn't know if I'd need or not. But as one of my fellow historians said, "The historian who has the most stuff wins." Even if you don't end up using most of your files, you just never know when a little tidbit might come in handy.

The gorgeous actress Gene Tierney

It's the same when researching for a historical fiction novel. In fact, finding one of those little tidbits can sometimes send your novel in a direction you never considered before, or add some color to a snippet of dialogue. 

Of course, you can't research forever.  You need to put words on the page at some point, but having that historical knowledge while you write is crucial. It's one thing to use anachronistic language, but it's another altogether to put a house in a neighborhood that didn't even exist at the time you're writing your story. 

I'm trying to be extra careful with my current novel because it's a topic a lot of people know a LOT about. And historical fiction readers know their stuff. They have no hesitation in calling out an author who got something wrong! I'm hoping to avoid that at all costs.

My problem, though, is that I feel like I need to read every book on a particular topic which is, quite frankly, impossible. Sometimes I wish I had the ability to just put my hand on a book and immediately absorb (and retain) all the information. Wouldn't that be something?

I Am Worthy

 I'm not sure when I started feeling that my chronic illness made me a burden to those who love me.

Maybe it's because my ex-husband told me my illnesses were one of the reasons he cheated on me and left (he was a master at emotional abuse. I mean, really. Blaming me for him cheating and leaving? Classic narcissist.)

Unfortunately, how he made me feel in that moment stayed tucked into my brain. 

My boyfriend and I have been together close to three years. The last year and a half has arguably been the most difficult due to my worsening health issues. He is invariably patient, kind, and understanding - but I thought my ex was, too. Yet behind my back, he chose to find someone else.

My brain knows it wasn't my fault. My heart, however, does not.

When I wake up feeling  ick yet again, even "normal people" sick - i.e. if I have a cold or the flu - I feel tremendous guilt and worry my boyfriend will think, "God, not again."

He assures me he doesn't. He assures me he won't leave me because I'm sick. 

But it is at these times when I feel very vulnerable. I don't feel worthy of his love because I cannot do all the things I feel is necessary for a healthy relationship. Intimacy is hard when you feel like crap most of the time. Going out and doing fun stuff takes a backseat unless I'm having a good day. 

I constantly worry I am holding him back from doing things he wants to do. He says I'm not at all.

But because of my past trauma, my heart keeps telling me, "He says that. But does he really mean it?"

It is at these moments when I have to remind myself that even if I am sick, even if I have limitations, I am still worthy. I am still worthy of respect, of devotion, of love. Why is this so hard to accept? Every time I get sick, this conversation pops up in my head.

As my therapist said, I am resilient. I will be okay no matter what. I remember the first day I met my therapist. I'd just found out about my ex's cheating, and I desperately needed help. She told me, "It doesn't feel like it now, but one day you will be okay. I promise you." I didn't believe her. I was in so much emotional pain that I wanted to die. 

But I didn't die. I kept going. I grieved, I learned about trauma bonds, I did the work, and I healed.

Healing is not linear, however, and sometimes we end up going backwards. Even three years into a new relationship, I still get triggered. But it is up to me to deal with those triggers in a healthy way.

Above all, I need to remember that no matter what, I am worthy of happiness and love and contentment. 

And so are you.

A Quiet Thanksgiving

We had a nice, quiet holiday, just me, my boyfriend, and my daughter. The BF and I took a walk today - it was a little windy but otherwise not too bad outside - and when we returned, he started cooking dinner. He's so much better at it than I am! We have a deal - he cooks, I do the dishes. Win, win!

After we ate, my daughter and I spent an hour laughing our heads off playing a fun game on XBox. So much fun to just let loose and be silly. North by Northwest, one of my favorite movies, was on TCM, so naturally I watched it. 

Tomorrow we're planning to visit my brother and his family. I'm looking forward to seeing my nieces and nephew. No Black Friday shopping for me! My poor daughter works retail, however, so she'll be in the thick of it. 

I'm hoping I can get some more work done on the novel this weekend. I wrote a bit on it last night and thoroughly enjoyed it, so need to keep the motivation going.

Gosh. What a boring post. But hey, I am sticking to my daily blogging schedule, and even if the posts are boring, they still count!

Huzzah!

Would it surprise you to learn that I have a sticker on the back of my car that says, "Huzzah!" It shouldn't. I found it at Colonial Williamsburg, and I snatched that baby right up. I wanted it on a t-shirt, but couldn't find it, so settled for this.

And why am I saying "Huzzah!" right now?

Because the first draft of the class paper is done. Oh my. This paper has tormented me from the start. My original outline promised a book-length treatise of my subject, which simply wouldn't work. So I had to narrow. And then narrow some more. And then cry - literally - because I'd start to overthink the entire process and thus, didn't even want to tackle the thing.

Of course, quitting wasn't an option (tempting, though). 

But tonight, I finally managed to crank out the conclusion. I'm not thrilled with the paper, but we'll see what my classmates and professors think. Then, it'll be time to edit it. 

It's been a hard semester, and I've struggled to try and figure out if grad school is still something I'm really passionate about doing. 

Life is short. Shouldn't we spend our time doing what we love? I know we all have jobs and need to make money to pay the bills...but I don't want to be pursuing a path that isn't the right one for me.

So. I'll be spending my December vacation from school thinking about what I truly want to do with my life.

As the illustration says, it's okay if we do something that doesn't work...at least we tried. At least we know. 

And that's what matters.

This Must Stop

Another mass shooting in the United States, only days after the last one.

This time, it was at a Wal-Mart in Virginia. According to early news reports, at least six people are dead.

Six lives lost.

Six people looking forward to spending time with friends and family on Thanksgiving.

This. Must. End.

Mass shootings in America are so common now that they no longer shock us. Nowhere is safe. Malls, shopping centers, movie theaters, schools, bars and clubs...NOWHERE IS SAFE.

I'm sickened by the gun culture of this country, and I'm sickened by our political leaders' refusal to do anything about it. One party tries, and the other party blocks it. There is no compromise, no discussion. People are literally dying over this issue and even that cannot unite us?

This sickness within our society has made me seriously look at moving overseas. No country is completely safe, but I don't have to worry about getting shot while out shopping or going to the movies or any other public activity in several other countries. 

Why is the Second Amendment being abused like this? I'm not going to go into the whole "it's my right to own a gun." Fine. But your right to own a gun doesn't overrule my right to live. No one - I repeat NO ONE - outside the military needs to own an AR-15, the gun that is used for the majority of mass shootings. You don't need an AR-15 to keep varmints off your land (I grew up on a farm - we never, ever had an AR-15!). 

We have a gun problem in this country. Some people will try and say it's a mental health problem, and that is absolutely part of the equation, but it is not the only part. There are steps we can take, but the gun culture refuses to even consider them. 

I don't know what to do anymore. I write to my representatives in Congress and they. don't. care. They do not care that people are dying. 

What have we come to?

Monday Musings

Marilyn Monroe in a Thanksgiving pinup!

I find I don't have much to say this evening.

The day went by rather slowly. I fought to stay awake, knowing that if I took a nap I'd be worthless at class tonight. My body craves sleep most of the time - that's the reality of living with chronic fatigue syndrome - and lately I've been trying to indulge that craving. When I don't, I usually end up in a flare. I'm a little worried that might happen tomorrow.

Still, class went well this evening, and I was able to have a nice chat with two of my classmates afterwards. That's one of the things I love about grad school - making friends with people who love history just as much as I do.

We'll be spending Thanksgiving at home this week - just me, my daughter, and my boyfriend. On Friday, we'll head over to my brother's house. I'm looking forward to that as I adore my nieces and nephew - they're all under the age of 7, so the place usually bursts with energy.

I find myself missing the holidays of the past, when we usually went to my grandmother's house, or we hosted Thanksgiving at my parents' place. Lots of good food, family, and laughter. Now, with everyone grown up, with their own families, and living in different parts of the state, it's hard to get everyone together. We try but are not always successful.

I'm both excited about decorating for Christmas and dreading it because it takes a lot of energy - energy I do not have. But as I'm in a different house this year, I will get to decorate it however I want in new-to-me ways. That's always fun. Plus, I have a fireplace so I can actually hang up the stockings on the mantle! 

The semester is almost over - which means I can start to focus on my fiction again. I'm quite looking forward to it.  

The Wonderful Barbara Stanwyck

Some of the first classic movies I ever watched starred the wonderful Barbara Stanwyck. I loved her spunk and spirit as Molly Monahan in the 1939 western Union Pacific, and I adored her street-savvy, wise-cracking gangster's girlfriend Sugarpuss O'Shea in Ball of Fire. Not only could she play comedy, but she could play drama equally well, and she just captured my attention whenever she was onscreen.

It wasn't until years later that I realized why I so loved Barbara Stanwyck: it was and is because she reminds me of my beloved grandmother.

This is my grandmother when she was young: 

Grandma is on the left!

Wasn't she absolutely beautiful? And here, for comparison, is Barbara Stanwyck.

Maybe it's just me...but I sure do think they look similar. And the similarities don't stop there. Barbara Stanwyck was known for being a bit of a firecracker, taking charge of her career and being a strong woman. My grandmother was the strongest woman I've ever known. Fierce. Independent. And so full of love.

I lost my grandmother four years ago and I feel her loss every day. Our relationship was special - we loved talking about old movie stars, politics, the state of the world, and anything and everything under the sun. She was whip smart, and started using a computer and the Internet in her 70s and 80s. She wasn't about to let technology pass her by. Even so, we'd still handwrite letters to each other, and I saved them all. 

She was my champion, my confident, and one of my very best friends 

That's why sometimes I will put on a Barbara Stanwyck film and feel just a little bit closer to my grandmother. I like to think that they have become fast friends in the afterlife.

The Magic of Community

I am a huge fan of classic movies. My go-to channel is Turner Class Movies (TCM), and there's a community of classic movie fans on Twitter who use the hashtag #TCMParty to tweet about whatever movie is airing on TCM. 

Tonight, after a very exhausting day of dealing with yet another flare, I watched two of my favorite classic Christmas movies that were airing on TCM: Christmas in Connecticut (1945) and The Bishop's Wife (1947). 

Watching them while live-tweeting with other classic movie fans was exactly what I needed. The movies themselves bring immense joy, but sharing that joy and appreciation with others just makes it all the better. 

This is the power of social media: community. And when you're stuck at home with a chronic illness and unable to be out with friends, or would rather stay at home, warm and cozy, yet share your interests with others, social media can be an absolute lifesaver. I've created a wonderful community of folks on Twitter, not only with classic movies, but also with other historians and other writers. That's why I hope Twitter doesn't implode because I will deeply miss it.

Blogging once offered me the same type of community, and while many of those friends migrated to Twitter or Facebook where we continued our relationship, I lost touch with a number of others. But I guess that's just life, isn't it? Some college and high school friends, past co-workers, and other acquaintances have faded out of my life, and I'm sure some people I know now will do the same. 

Community has always been very important for me. Sharing my interests with others only deepens my knowledge and bonus, creates amazing friendships!

Finding Joy in the Little Things

I've always taken great pleasure in finding joy in the little things. Life is, after all, made up of little moments and inconsequential things that add up to precious memories. Grand vacations, spectacular parties, and other big occasions are obviously causes for joy, but I would rather find contentment in the so-called "mundane" aspects of life.

Tonight, for example, my boyfriend lit a fire in the fireplace, and we worked on a puzzle while my daughter
played a video game. The pets joined us, and it was cozy and calm and wonderful. I need those simple moments in my life.

Every night, I usually pop up a small bag of popcorn (only 100 calories - ha!), have a few squares of dark chocolate, and a Diet Pepsi. Yes, it's nothing big, but oh how I look forward to it all day long. 

Other things I find joy in...

• Walking. When the weather allows it, I walk outside. I enjoy listening to the birds, and soaking in the sounds of nature.
• Bird watching. I have bird feeders outside my back window, and I love to see them chattering and scattering seed everywhere.
• Jigsaw puzzles. I started doing this two years ago, and have since finished several puzzles. I have them framed so I can enjoy them forever.
• Watching classic movies. I am obsessed with movies from the 1940s through the early 1960s. I have an impressive DVD collection. Heh.
• Hanging out with my adult daughter. We often stay up late gabbing about anything and everything.
• Reading a good book. Really, there's nothing like escaping into another world, whether its fiction or nonfiction.
• Having my cat snuggle on my lap. The funny thing is that Slick never snuggled with me until about two years ago. 
• Collecting Snoopy items. I've managed to amass quite the collection and I don't plan on stopping anytime soon.
• Taking pictures of my dog, Blitz. He's so photogenic and brings me immense happiness.

Those are but a few examples of the little things that bring me joy. I have many, many more!

What brings you joy?

On Being Real

 I know not many people are reading this blog. That's okay. I'm really doing this more as a way for me to commit to a daily writing practice. It's part of my journey toward finding a way back to my inner writer.

Thus, many of these posts aren't going to the most inspiring, or the funniest, or the most thought-provoking because well, my life isn't like that. They're also not going to be edited much. What I write for the first draft is probably what you're going to get. It's how I'm trying to get rid of the inner editor. 

What but this blog is going to be is real. .

So what's real about today? 

I went and did about an hour and a half of shopping. Nothing too strenuous. I went to one store and bought a gorgeous new comforter for my bed, another store to look for a candle, and then decided to get a few groceries. After returning home, I washed the bedding, made the bed (which should be an Olympic sport trying to wrestle a fitted sheet on a mattress), and did the dishes. After that? I was utterly exhausted.

There is grief in having a chronic illness. Many people can go to work, run errands during lunch time, go back to work, maybe hit the gym before dinner, and do some chores after that and be just fine. They may be tired, yes, but not bone-deep tired. There's an exhaustion that is part of ME/CFS that is hard to explain. It's not an ordinary tiredness or fatigue. It is far, far worse than that. Sleep doesn't help. You don't wake up refreshed. If you overdo it, you pay for it - dearly.

I grieve for my life before chronic illness. It has stolen so much from me.

I didn't get in my treadmill time (it's been too cold to walk outside) tonight. If I'd pushed myself through that exhaustion, I would have ended up in bed possibly for the rest of the week, if not longer. So instead, I rested. I didn't work on my class paper - I had no mental capacity for such work. I hung out with my daughter and my boyfriend.

I still worry that I might wake up tomorrow and be in pain. 

This is my reality. 

There are days I can accept it and days I don't. 

But I will celebrate what I did accomplish today - and that includes honoring the commitment I made to myself to write daily on this blog, even if it's at 1:21 a.m. 

Go, me! 

I'll leave you with this incredibly important quote:

Dealing with Emotional Clutter

When I was a kid, my room was usually a disaster. I wouldn't leave dirty clothes on the floor, but I would leave piles of books, stacks of paper, and odds and ends all over the place. Eventually my mother would get tired of it and clean it up. I don't know why she didn't make me clean it up - it was my mess, after all! 

As an adult, my messy bedroom hasn't really changed. I still have books piled all over the place, stacks of paper, and odds and ends...and for some reason, it doesn't bother me.

Until it does.

And then I'm a cleaning whirlwind. When I'm done, I feel sooo much better. Why do I allow my bedroom to get this way in the first place? Honestly, I don't notice it. I'm so deep into whatever project I'm working on, whether it's a paper for class, or my novel, or something else, that the mess builds and builds and I don't see it. When I start noticing it, I get irritated for a few days until I can't take it anymore and clean.

My brain is the same way. If it's cluttered in my head - I'm having problem with a project, or I'm troubled by something in the world, or my relationship, or I'm wrestling with some other issue - it builds and builds and builds. Metaphorically, I have stacks of "stuff" piling up in my brain. When I notice myself getting irritated or feel depression settling on my shoulders, I have to stop and figure out why - and start decluttering and cleaning.

How do I accomplish this? 

My last completed puzzle

I journal. I go take a walk outside or I jump on the treadmill and listen to some music. I'll lose myself in a novel for awhile or put together a puzzle.  I'll talk about my issues with my boyfriend, or a trusted friend. Sometimes, if it's more serious, I'll make an appointment with my therapist. And wow, do I ever feel better once I "clean" up the chaos in my mind.

If only I could learn not to let it build up in the first place...

Maybe some day, right? A girl can hope.

My Dream Office

 

If you're a writer, you have a dream office.

For some, it's a room filled with light and space, with plenty of room to dream and create.

For others, it's a tucked away spot, a tiny cave to lock oneself away and shut out the world.

For some: light, airy colors; for others, dark and brooding.

For me, it's a grand room, filled with bookshelves, rich tapestries, a fireplace, dim lights, thick carpets, and a large desk where I can spread out. Of course the room must have a chaise lounge in front of a large, latticed window where I can gaze out at a backyard filled with flowers (tended to, of course, by someone other than me as I have a black thumb). 

It looks something like this:

Or perhaps something like this:

I do like the dark tones. Oh! But this is delightful, as well.

It must have a fireplace, and it must have built-in bookshelves. No televisions are allowed in this room, even though I confess, I do enjoy having a classic movie playing in the background sometimes when I write. But I think for the dream office, I'll eschew the TV and listen to classical records instead.

Right now, I'm crammed into a bedroom and while I am thankful for the space that I do have, oh, do I ever dream of that wonderful, perfect office. Can I write anywhere? Have laptop, will write! But I long to have a place that is solely for creating, for dreaming, for writing.

Do you have a dream office? 

On Foxes

When I was going through a divorce, a very dear friend told me a story about the fox and the scorpion. It's a continuation of the Aesop fable about the frog and the scorpion, and it goes something like this...

A fox watched as a scorpion asked a frog for a ride across the river, saw the scorpion sting the frog (because it was his nature to sting), and both of them drown. When a scorpion approached him later that afternoon and asked for a ride across the river, the wise fox decided to teach him a lesson.

"Sure," the fox said. "Hop on."

Thinking the scorpion had found another sucker, the scorpion hopped on the fox's back and they began to cross the river. He paused in the river and saw their reflection in the water. The scorpion was about to sting him, but because he was ready for the scorpion to act on his nature, the fox flipped the scorpion into the water. You see, it was in the fox's nature to watch and be wary.

The moral of the story? Be the fox.

This story deeply resonated with me because of my abusive marriage. My therapist told me that my ex-husband was unable to show our daughter the love she deserved and needed because it wasn't in his nature to do so. He couldn't love me as I deserved and needed because it wasn't in his nature. You see, like the frog, I'd trusted him, and, like the scorpion, he stung me over and over again. We both figuratively 'drowned' numerous times - fights, tears, abuse - and yet I kept falling for it over and over again.

Then I went to therapy, and learned that this my ex-husband's nature to do these things. I understood that I wasn't to blame for the abuse, for his narcissism, for his inability to change. 

But how could I make sure I didn't make this mistake again? 

I had to become the fox. I had to not only be watchful and wary, but I also had to be smart. 

Ever since, I've had an affinity for foxes. They're beautiful, smart creatures, and they remind me to be smart, to be watchful, to know when someone's nature keeps them from doing the right thing. 

Here in our city, we have urban red foxes. I've seen them several times over the years, but the home we're at now, they come into our backyard nearly every day. We finally set up a camera so we could capture them, and over the last few months, we've obtained some incredible footage. 

Here's a video from the other day: 

I've often thought I should get a fox tattoo and maybe I will some day. But for now, I'm going to content myself with watching them in my backyard. 

I'm endlessly grateful to my friend for telling me that story. I will never be the naïve frog again - I will be the fox. 

Late Night Ramblings

 I've been trying to do a post every day, but it's now 12:24 a.m. and I'm just now getting around to it. 

Whoops.

When you live with chronic illnesses like mine, you never know when a new part of your body is going to start hurting. In the last month, it's been my shoulders. Is it the way I hold my phone? The fact that I'm not using an ergonomic keyboard since I have a laptop?

Maybe it's both.

Regardless, I'm going to have to figure out a long-term plan. While I do have an ergonomic keyboard, the desk I currently have isn't suited to using it. Ideally, I need a pull-out drawer for the keyboard. While I really like my desk - it's a 1950s French Rococo style - it's simply not big enough to suit my purposes. 

Does this mean I need to shop for a new desk?

Probably. If I want to be able to write without causing pain in my shoulders or in my wrists (that's starting to happen, too!), then I guess I'll bite the bullet.

If anyone has any suggestions, I'm all ears! 

In other late night ramblings...

• It's day 5 of this flare. And the temperature went from 76 degrees yesterday to 30 today! I hope I'm not wiped out tomorrow. Severe temperature drops usually make my body hurt.
  
• I watched a documentary on the band KISS. I like a few of their songs, but have never been a fan. Remember the VH1 show, Behind the Music? I always enjoyed watching those. It seems that fame takes a toll, no matter how well-adjusted we all might think we are.
• I'm not thinking about Christmas yet. I want to enjoy autumn a little longer. Since I went on a trip to Virginia a few weeks ago, I feel like I missed out on it a bit. So. No decorating for Christmas until December 1. But if you're in the mood, I say GO for it! Listen to Christmas carols! Deck them halls! We all need joy in our lives.

Me? Inspiring?

If we were to give out awards for those most likely to downplay their accomplishments, I would win the gold medal. 

That's why it's always hard for me to accept praise from people who say I am inspiring, or that I am amazing for my achievements despite the adversity I've faced. 

I don't think I'm inspiring. But...maybe I am?

So for this blog post, I'm going to toot my own horn and maybe, just maybe, I can catch a glimpse of what others believe makes me inspiring. 

(This is going to be hard. I was taught to be humble, to not brag, to not shout out my accomplishments. Christian Evangelism, you have a lot to answer for in my life, but that's for another post). 

Here goes.

During my toxic, abusive marriage of 18 years, I managed to work full-time, raise my children, write freelance book reviews, write several articles published in American in WWII magazine, write my nonfiction book, Nebraska POW Camps, and write several novels, once which was eventually published last year.

Also during these 18 years, I battled a narcissistic abusive husband who managed to cause chaos and turmoil everywhere he went. I became trapped in a trauma bond and an abuse cycle. I moved out three times, but always went back (trauma bonds are extremely strong). I also started to develop severe health issues. I had several surgeries for my female health issues, culminating in a hysterectomy in 2012. That surgery triggered something in my body, and I started to get sick. Doctors thought it was rheumatoid arthritis, but in all actuality, it was probably fibromyalgia.

Then in 2013, I became incredibly ill with mono and had to go to the ER. This, combined with the trauma from my marriage, caused me to develop chronic fatigue syndrome (although I didn't know this until 2021). My health began to steadily decline, but I kept writing because, well, I'm a writer. It's what I do.

2017 hit and my marriage imploded. My husband cheated on me and left, leaving me to pick up the pieces and raise our daughter on my own. That same year, the press who had published my Nebraska POW Camps book approached me and asked if I'd like to write another book. Still reeling from my divorce, I said yes, and began researching the book that would become WWII Nebraska. I still owed my then-agent a novel, so I finished that up and turned it in to her and wasn't surprised at all when she said it needed a ton of work. I was so mired in grief and PTSD that it's no wonder!

So I went to therapy. I kept working on my nonfiction book, and shelved my novel. For a year and a half, I kept to myself, going out with friends occasionally, but mostly staying home in my little cocoon, trying to heal.

When I felt ready, I started dating. Ohhhh boy. Maybe someday I'll write a book about dating in your 40s. I had some great experiences and met some wonderful guys - one became one of my dearest friends! But I also had some terrible, traumatic experiences .Back to therapy I went. 

I started working on a new novel, kept trying to get it work, but my personal life was still in turmoil and it was hard. I also noticed that my health was starting to get worse. 

Just before the pandemic hit in 2020, I'd met a wonderful man, and we'd started dating. The pandemic gave us the perfect opportunity to really get to know each other since going out was no longer an option. We went on fishing trips and put together puzzles and went on long walks. I decided to sell my house because I needed a fresh start. There were too many traumatic memories in that home, so it had to go. My daughter and I moved into an apartment for two years.

I kept writing, and Simon & Schuster UK published my first novel. The Stranger from Berlin. It was a dream come true! I enjoyed the entire experience and worked with a wonderful editor. Unfortunately, the pandemic really put a wrinkle in marketing and publicity, so my sales weren't great, and it was never released in paperback. Sigh.

At the end of 2020, I decided to pursue my PhD in history. Despite all my challenges, it was always something I'd wanted to do. So I applied to my university's history dept and was accepted into the PhD program. I started classes in the fall of 2021.

By this time, my health had become much worse. I was working from home full-time during the pandemic, and after restrictions were eased, I knew I couldn't go back to the office, so I've been working from home ever since. 

But also in 2021, a new rheumatologist said, "You don't have rheumatoid arthritis. It's something else."

So. I'd been misdiagnosed for nearly 10 years and had been taking medication that I didn't need for those 10 years.

To say I was upset was an understatement. So, in November of 2021, I went to the Mayo Clinic. I needed answers, and what better place to go than one of the best medical centers in the country?

That's when I received the news that not only did I have fibromyalgia, but I had chronic fatigue syndrome. I finally had an answer for the terrible flares, pain, and debilitating fatigue I'd been experiencing.

But as I was in school, I didn't have a lot of time to dwell on that. I had papers to write and books to read. I still had my full time job to deal with, and yes, I was still working on my novel!

In the spring of 2022, my boyfriend and I decided to move in together, so I had to pack and move again - which was NOT easy on this body of mine, but we did it!

Which brings us to the present. 

Whew.

After writing all of that, you know what? I am pretty damn proud of what I've accomplished. Three books published. Numerous articles. PhD student. Domestic abuse survivor. One kick-ass mom to an awesome (now adult) daughter. Chronic illness warrior. 

If I really think about it, at any point during my life I could have just...stopped. Given up. Said, "I'm done. Life is too hard." I could have stayed with my husband. I could have refused to go to therapy and probably ended up in another abusive relationship. I could have allowed my circumstances to drown me. I could have taken refuge in alcohol or drugs. I could have let my illnesses stop me from living life. I could have stopped writing.

But I didn't.

The burning passion to write, whether it be novels or history books or articles, just won't let me alone. It's guided me from a very young age - middle school! - and it has kept me sane and focused on days when I wanted to end it all.

The burning passion to see and experience the world, to study history, whether through books or travel, won't let me alone, either. That's why in the last 20 years, I've gone to England twice, traveled to New Orleans twice, and been to Virginia. Sure, that's not a lot of travel when compared with some people, but considering my past situations? That's a lot. And I'm planning to do so much more!

Is that inspiring? 

Hell yes it is.

Am I inspiring?

Hell yes I am!

Follow Your Truth

I've been struggling to write my class paper for a month now.

After class last night (which I had to attend via Zoom - I'm still dealing with this stupid flare!), I felt I had a better handle on what I needed to do.

But here's what really got me over the hurdle.

"Melissa," I said to myself, "stop trying to write how you think you should write. Write it how you want to write it."

And suddenly, the words came. I rewrote my introduction, telling the story I wanted to tell. It felt right where before it felt, well, weird.

What is that saying? To thine own
self be true.

This saying is not only important in our writing, but in our lives, as well. I'm facing a big decision soon and I have to keep returning to this sentiment again and again: Be true to yourself. Follow your truth, not anyone else's.

Finding My Way Back

I have a paper due for class in three weeks. Considering the amount of trouble it's given me, you'd think I'd completely forgotten how to construct a research paper. I don't know if I'm just overthinking (probable) or my cognitive function isn't great during this flare (also probable) but I've only been able to work on it in fits and starts.

I rather thought I had it sorted the other day, so I'd been trudging through it when I unexpectedly got overwhelmed again and almost closed the laptop in frustration. 

But then I decided to pop over to my novel document (I always keep it open on my laptop so I can work on it whenever I feel the urge) and write down a new opening sentence that came to me the other night. (Why I get ideas right before I fall asleep is another subject for another day.) To my utter astonishment, I kept typing, the words spilling out of my fingers, energized as if from tiny lightning bolts. It wasn't a chore, wasn't a slog. The words came fast and easy. 

When I finished that writing session, I had nearly 500 new, good words. 

I've been searching and searching for a way out of this mental morass in which I find myself, this inability to sit down and let the words flow, this unhinged perfectionism constantly goading me. And suddenly, it just vanished. 

Was it because I'd already been writing on something else, and writing fiction was just, well, easier? 

Maybe.

Or was it because I already had a sentence in mind, and I wasn't even thinking of doing more than writing that particular sentence, and thus, I felt no pressure to write more?

Or, and this is what I believe to be true, I'd already written a blog post that day, worked on my paper, and thus, creativity beget (begot?) more creativity?

I'm going with that.

Writing those 500 words was sheer bliss. I enjoyed every second of it. This is what I've been craving for months.

I'm slowly finding my way back to me, the girl who used to sit in her basement during summer vacations and hammer out stories on her mom's manual typewriter, the teenager who eschewed going out partying in high school for staying at home to work on her new novel, the woman who devoured writing craft books and kept honing her craft, the woman who lost the love of writing through adversity, trauma, and despair, and is slowly finding it again.

Those 500 words lit the spark. I hope I can now fan the flame.

When You Want to Give Up...Don't

Today has been...difficult.

I woke up in a very bad flare. Everything hurts. My limbs feel like they're coated in concrete. I'm exhausted and have zero energy.

This happens every few weeks, and I try to pace myself so that it doesn't happen. I didn't do that yesterday, and I paid for it.

One of the symptoms of chronic fatigue syndrome (a.k.a. myalgic encephalomyelitis) is post-exertional malaise. That means if I overdo it on something, I pay for it. This can be exercise, household chores, going shopping, etc. It can also happen with mental over-exertion. This is why pacing is so important. If you push through, you'll only make yourself feel worse. In the long run, this can lead to terrible complications. Some people become bedridden.

The problem is that when you have a good day, you feel like doing ALL THE THINGS. Yesterday, I did a lot (for me). I worked on my class paper, wrote a blog post, wrote on my novel, took a long walk, gave the dog a bath, did the dishes, and washed my bedding. To most people, that might be a typical day. However, for me? It was far, far too much. 

When you have a flare, rest is absolutely crucial. You cannot decide to ignore it and go on with your activities or you might end up in the ER. I've developed some strategies for dealing with flares, and it usually includes watching comforting shows or classic movies, reading, finding inspirational quotes on social media, journaling, and working on puzzles. If it's not too bad, I will try and take a short walk But on days like today...that's impossible. 

Earlier, I wanted to cry and just give up. Give up on this paper that I'm writing, give up on the class I'm taking, give up my job, give up my writing...just quit.

But of course, this is only a temporary state of mind, and I recognize that. Still, it's important not to invalidate my feelings. Staying positive all the time doesn't work. There's a certain amount of grief that comes with living with chronic illnesses. My life will never be the same again. I cannot do all the things I once did, and yes, I mourn that old life. Acknowledging those emotions is crucial. That's why I journal, or vent on social media. Some people don't appreciate seeing me being real and raw, and would rather I just post happy, positive statuses. But that's not my life. And I've always made it a point to be the real me on social media, not some fake version of who others think I should be.

I won't quit. I'm going to write this paper and finish this class. I might not work on my novel today and that's okay. I can work on it when I'm feeling better. 

I've had to make lots of adjustments to my life, and I've mostly accepted it. But on days like today...oh do I get frustrated and upset and angry. 

But I won't quit. It's not in my DNA.

How Life Changes...

 I haven't posted on this blog in five years.

A lot can change in five years. A LOT.

On the personal front, I got a divorce, took a few years to heal (lots of therapy!) before I started dating again, entered the dating trenches in my 40s and had some good and very bad experiences, found a wonderful man, sold my house, moved to an apartment, and then two years later, moved into another house with my boyfriend. I also decided last year to start working on my PhD in history, a decision which, it turns out, might have been not exactly wrong, but untimely. I wrote and published a nonfiction book called WWII Nebraska, and sold a novel to Simon and Schuster UK. Whew!

I did a complete 180 on my political beliefs. I'm a moderate who doesn't like the state of my country, and find far too many disturbing parallels to 1930s America regarding fascism and antisemitism. Since that is what I study for my PhD research, it is a little disconcerting to be researching something that is so relevant today.

I read through some of my old blog posts earlier today, and I am just amazed at how much better my life is now. 18 years in a toxic relationship did a number on me, and made me sick. For years, doctors diagnosed me with rheumatoid arthritis. Last year I discovered that wasn't the case at all. I made several trips to the Mayo Clinic and they diagnosed me with fibromyalgia and chronic fatigue syndrome. Because of the abuse and trauma I endured during my marriage, my brain got stuck in "fight or flight" mode, altering how my brain perceives pain. There's a whole lot more to it than that, but suffice to say that I now have lifelong illnesses largely as a result of a painful marriage. I had to make peace with that.

But since those chronic illnesses have become worse, I've transitioned to working full time from home. I'm very thankful that my job allows me to do this.

And having a partner who loves me, respects me, and treats me as his equal is incredible. No more abuse. No more fights. No more drama. At first, I wasn't used to a relationship where I wasn't crying every few days or wondering why my partner thought cruel jokes were "funny." Fodder for another blog post, I guess.

I decided to start blogging again because it is time to rediscover me, the me who loves to write fiction, who loves to immerse myself in the writing world. Once upon a time, blogging helped me focus on my writing in a way I'd not experienced before. I made such incredible friends through blogging, and most of those friendships survive to this day. I hope by resurrecting this blog that I can form new friendships, deepen my knowledge of the writing craft, and become a more prolific writer.

I'm excited for this new chapter in my life to begin.

Join me on this journey!

Bring Back Blogging!

Well.

It's time to resurrect this ol' blog! I haven't written on this site since 2017. But I'm feeling sentimental, and I'm really eager to start blogging again. Read on for why...

Bring Back Blogging!

Way back in 2005, blogging was all the rage, and I decided I'd get in on the action. Over the years, I blogged nearly every day, visited other bloggers, widened my knowledge on the craft and business of writing, and best of all, made many, many wonderful, talented friends.

Blogging sort of died out with the advent of Instagram, Twitter, and Facebook. But with social media being inundated with ads, nasty trolls, and pithy, quick takes, I rather long for the days when I can settle in every day and read what my friends are up to without being distracted.

As I'm also trying to dive back into my fiction writing, I thought establishing a daily blogging habit might be the perfect way to create momentum. I remember being so inspired and motivated to write when I blogged and read what my friends were up to in their writing endeavors and their lives. So why not bring it back?

If you'd like to add me to my blogroll, please let me know in the comments below!