If You Love an Author

Look. I’m going to be really frank here, because I think we’ve been friends long enough that I can do that. And if we haven’t, I hope you’ll bear with me for a minute, because this is really important.

If there is an author in your life, and that person happens to be important to you on ANY level, but especially in a familial or close relationship, there are some things you should know.

I’ve avoided this subject for a while, for various reasons, one of them being an inherent belief that I have no business telling someone how to love anyone else. But in a recent moment of clarity, I realized that that is not what I’m about to do. What I’m telling you isn’t how you should love them, but rather, the most important way you ought to be showing that love. Because authors are emotional, sensitive people who pour those emotions and those sensitivities into our work for the WHOLE ENTIRE WORLD to read.

What we write is so much more than just words on a page, or a screen, or in a book. These stories often come from the very depth of our souls, distributing pieces of ourselves to everyone who reads them. Luckily, for every slice of ourselves we give away, we grow new, grander ones to share.

Since we are writing to share our deepest, most intimate souls, the hope is we will be joined in this special place by our closest, most beloved people in the world. Our spouses. Our children. Our parents, siblings, extended families, and closest friends.  

Because our stories mean so very much to us, it’s difficult to understand why our loved ones wouldn’t be absolutely dying to read our newest (or oldest) work. But all too often, our loved ones aren’t even interested. And that lack of interest, of support—to us—translates to a lack of personal value.

If you love an author—for whatever reason and in whatever capacity—read their work. I don’t care if you buy it, tweet it, Facebook it, share it, talk about it, or even review it (all of which you should ALSO be doing, but that’s another blog). READ IT. Do not offer explanations or excuses about why you “can’t” or tell them you’ll get to it when you have more time (next year, perhaps?). You might as well be telling them you “can’t” find the time to love them. (And let’s not talk about how short life really is here.)

FACT: Time it takes the average author to write a book = 6 months to one YEAR  .

FACT: Time it takes the average reader to read that same book = 4-6 HOURS (7 if it’s long or you’re a slow reader).

FACT: The average American wastes approximately that much time every week (if not every day) watching TV and/or surfing the internet.

If you love an author, value the time they have spent dedicating themselves to their stories. Read his or her work. Do not make excuses. We are smart people. And you are missing out on the best parts of us.

And that, my dear friends, would be the saddest story of all. 

In Which I (possibly) Skipped Church and Ended Up Chasing a (real life) Criminal

So … There’s this thing that happened. And it was a one of those things that people think only happens in movies or books—and most of the time that’s probably true.  Unless, of course, you’re married to the Chief of Police in your town. (And actually, even when he wasn’t the chief, stuff like this happened to us—so yeah. Maybe it’s more about being married to a cop? We have been known to apprehend shoplifters at the grocery store with our cart half-way full and our ice cream melting. But I digress.)

Back to this particular Sunday. I work with the young women in our church, and it was my turn to teach the lesson. My plan included asking a lot of questions that would require responses from the girls, which meant I needed candy with which to bribe / reward them. So after the larger congregation meeting, my husband and I skipped our next class for a gas station run.

My husband’s personal car is also his duty car, which means our Tahoe has red and blue LED lights and a police radio installed, and the radio is always on whenever we’re in our town. We had just left the gas station and were heading back to church *coughcough* when dispatch notified the on-duty officers that county officers were in pursuit of a suspect (read: suspected carjacker) who had just driven into our town, crashed his first stolen car, and then stolen a second one.

The suspect was less than a mile from us. And being the chief, my husband needed to make sure everything went smoothly with this pursuit, since safety is always an issue. And so the LEDs went on, as we zipped between streets, passing a number of seemingly stunned onlookers, and a number of vehicles which the suspect had crashed into before he took off and fled on foot.

At that point, my husband armed himself and put on his bullet-proof vest as he instructed me to take his car and go back to church. But the foot chase didn’t last long, and with the help of concerned citizens who kept him in sight, officers apprehended the suspect and took him into custody before I could adjust the driver’s seat so I could reach the gas pedal. 

My husband returned to the car. “I’m going to be a while dealing with these accidents. Why don’t I take you back to church?”

Sunday school just got a whole different meaning.

“Well,” I said, feeling rather accomplished, considering that it was before noon. “My car is there, and so are our kids.”

And so back to the church I went. And guys, believe it or not, I made it in time to teach my lesson. Not only that, I learned one myself. Next Sunday we should probably skip the gas station run. Unless we plan to fight other Sunday afternoon crimes. If only I could remember where I put my cape…

*Interested in the real news story? You can watch the clip here or read about it here.

If You’re Going to Do Something, Do it Right

We’re moving this week. I know, I know, we just did this, right? But that's life. I was hoping to be moved in by now, or at least mostly moved in. But the renovations weren’t quite done in time to make our first, or second closing date, so we pushed forward with a third, and have still had to hang out while the last details were finished (minus cleaning, which will probably fall to us now).

*crosses fingers everything is really finished for real*

The problem we continue to run into is that some of the subcontractors have dragged their feet on making deadlines, and then been lazy about the finish work. And, these poor guys because they now have to deal with an annoyed and irritated me, who is very intolerant of lazy/messy finish work.

It’s not that I’m mean or unable to be pleased. It’s just that I have this very firm belief that if you’re going to do something, and if that thing is going to have a deadline, you should do it right and within the time allotted. And if you are not going to finish in time, communicate about why and STILL do it right from start to finish.

Writers, artists, professionals of every variety and choice—we all have projects. Our projects have deadlines, and specifications, and each of us has someone who will hold us accountable (or we should, anyway) for finishing our projects, and finishing them the right way.

I expect this of myself, though I don’t generally get paid for my work immediately after turning it in (or finishing or whatever),  so it’s difficult for me to expect less of people who are immediately getting paid. Because really, I believe we should always, always, always strive to do our BEST WORK, in everything, regardless of circumstances.

So tell me. When is the last time you pushed a deadline, and what did it take to make sure you turned in your best possible work?

I Believe in Monsters

Last weekend, as I watched the Super Bowl with my family, a heart-wrenching news story broke, flashing across the bottom of the TV screen. It was a story of heartache and loss, of innocent lives gruesomely taken in a murderous fit of rage, a story of sad choices, that has brought me, and many others, to tears.

Things like this happen, and they happen WAY too often. More often than any of us want to think about. But let’s be real.

Evil exists in the world.

It bores into the core of certain people, grows into a huge, ugly thing, and manifests in horrible, disgusting actions that will forever alter, destroy, or end the lives of others. It exists in men. In women. From elderly to—yes, I believe it—children. It exists.

There are monsters walking the earth. They may not be the demons we read about in books like I Am Not a Serial Killer, but they’re monsters, just the same. Worse, even, because the monsters are disguised as human beings. When someone does something so heinous as this, those left behind have nothing left but to wonder. Was it a sociological disorder? A chemical imbalance? A physical condition that overtook a mind and turned a person into a demon?

They are left forever wondering why.

Why would a parent abuse a child? Why would a husband abuse a wife (or vice-versa)? Why would someone—anyone—take the lives of his or her children? There are no real answers to these questions. But I think, sometimes, there are explanations. And I hope the people who need them are able to find them. I hope they somehow find peace.

Also, their own kind of power. The power to overcome, to move forward, and to defeat those dang monsters with shiny, plastic swords that shoot fire from the tips. (Oops, my writer-self is leaking out.) Or, you know, with something more scary-looking.

Daily Defining Moments, Part III: Mean Girls

Situation #3:

Recently, a young girl I know went on a school-sponsored trip. After having her medications taken and held hostage by an unknown party for three days, then having her belongings hidden while she was in the shower, cold water dumped on her in the wee hours of the morning, among other things—this girl could have been vying for revenge. (Especially knowing that the culprits were girls once considered her good friends.)

But this particular young woman wasn’t. Through her hurt and frustration, she opted to take the high road. She didn’t play a single mean prank, even on the girls who wouldn’t leave her alone.

The explanation she gave was this: I don’t ever want to make anyone feel the way they made me feel. I’m not that person.

But it’s not an experience she wants to repeat, either.

So. In this instance, does our compassion make us stronger, or does turning the other cheek make us weak?

(FYI: Right now, I’m wishing Kenny Rogers had written a song about mean girls—cuz I can’t get his song Coward of the County out of my head.)

My conclusion: I’m not saying there’s a right or wrong way to handle any of the situations I’ve mentioned. I think it’s more about who we choose to be and how we react to the cards we’re dealt. In real life, as well as in fiction. As I recently heard quoted by a wise man (sorry, I didn’t catch the source), “It is our daily efforts and how we handle challenges that define us.”

So I ask myself:

1. Will I be defined by a pile of popcorn on the floor?
2. Will I be defined by hitting the ball that results in the winning run?
3. Will I be defined by the cruelties of others?

No, children, I will not. But I might be defined by how I react to all those things. And that, my friends, is the stuff of which personal growth is made.

How will you be defined today?

Mislabeled

I think writers, by nature, tend to be observers. Well, okay, I can’t really speak for the rest of the writing community, but it seems a common trait among my friends. And it’s definitely true for me. I pay attention and often catch things most other people miss.

Like nuances of speech, the way strangers (or acquaintances) react to things people thoughtlessly spout (be they positive or negative in nature), and the possible differences in a sports team when they come out of the locker room after halftime. Maybe they’re pumped up again, or maybe they’re down and out. It all depends on the coaches’ mood, the words they used, and how those words were delivered.

I notice, for instance, the way people look away from one another when they’re telling a lie, or how they plead with their eyes when they’re telling a painful truth. And while I believe what other people think of me is none of my business, it’s sometimes hard to miss an emotion or thought when it travels across their faces and into their body language.

Once someone forms an opinion of another, it’s not an easy thing to change. Out of those formed opinions come misconceptions that turn into rumors, and rumors turn into stories, and stories into actions that may, or may not, be warranted.

This is the stuff of interest we read about in novels, be they fiction or nonfiction. In many instances, it’s the beginning of conflict. The catalyst, if you will.

Luckily, fiction and real life are two totally different things. The question is where will we allow our misconceptions, our preconceived judgments, or our unnoticed observations to lead us? Will we be the spreaders of rumors? The instigators of unwarranted arguments? The pot-stirrers in the mix?

Or will we find it in us to take a step back and observe the truth for what it is? People for who they truly are rather than what we (or others) have made them out to be? What will be the ending to our personal stories, and who will ultimately decide?

Do we become the person other people think they see, or do we try to correct their misconception? Or do we continue on with our own lives, ignoring the untruths and allowing those people to live as they choose?

For once, my above questions are rhetorical. I don’t know that anyone truly has all the answers. But I am curious. Have you ever felt labeled for reasons you couldn’t name?