Most of you have probably seen Yes Man (2008) with Jim Carey and Zooey Deschanel. What I took away from this movie is this: Say yes sometimes, even if you don't want to, are scared to, or don't know what you're getting yourself into. Only by being present in your own life and living in the moment are you really alive. Similarly, most of you have seen Pay It Forward. Along those lines, you've probably heard, seen, or taken part in a "random acts of kindness" movement.
Combining the messages/lessons/morals of these two films, I recently decided to make my personal mantra for this year, "Don't say, 'No.' Just go!" In other words, I will be saying, "Yes," to many types of things: 1) On Tuesday night in my Introduction to Computer Applications and Concepts class, I said, "Yes," when all three students in my row in the computer lab could not pull up a website (the substitute spelled it wrong and didn't figure out why most of the class was lost). Today while volunteering for the MLK Day of Service at NOVA, I said, "Yes," to helping clean up, break down, and load the truck. I also said, "Yes," when the Stop Hunger Now representative asked if I was available to volunteer on a regular basis and am now a registered go-to volunteer (which has the potential to lead to a paying job, hooray!).
For those of you who have seen Yes Man, I am not going to take the mantra anywhere near as literally as Jim Carey's character. No need to fret over me becoming overcommitted. Rather, I am going to say, "Yes!" to: parties, concerts, theater performances, dinners, in-home sales parties (these can be a lot of fun), new experiences, breaking out of my comfort zone, and becoming a person I am proud of. This year, I am challenging myself to be more present in my own life, actively engage with people I meet, make new friends, and strengthen bonds with friends and family.
Life is too short to let it fly by without enjoying it or actively participating in it. I have already lost many years, opportunities, and successes for various reasons. I've been a couch surfer, wallflower, and observer long enough. Judging by the life spans of my ancestors, I have likely lived about 40% of my life. Put another way, I wish I had more to show for the years I have been converting oxygen into carbon dioxide and water vapor. By doing more, I will have more accomplishments, perhaps a few more spectacular failures, but at least I will gain experience and have a few neat stories to tell.
I have put a few proverbial irons in the fire, and many plans are in the works, a few of which stretch my boundaries and explore new territory. As I take on these projects, travel to new places, and expand my horizon, I plan to share my experiences with you in the coming days, weeks, and months.
Lastly, I would like to ask you a favor. I am open to and actively taking your suggestions for things I should do, see, eat, hear, etc. If you're doing fun, exciting, strange, nifty (heck, or even downright naughty) things, invite me. My plan is to say, "Yes," unless I honestly have prior plans, my academic pursuits would suffer, or the logistics/finances are not where they need to be.
Challenge accepted? Great. Here I go!
Friday, January 18, 2013
Wednesday, January 16, 2013
Unstudious Students
NOTE: This post has been updated after a friend pointed out a few errors in judgment and logic. She was 100% right, so I edited the post to remove my bias. I apologize for any offense caused.
I am in my second semester at NOVA Alexandria campus and I am loving it! After being out of school for about 10 years, I decided to go back and pursue an A.A.S. in Business Management to give myself a new set of skills which will hopefully translate into me finally finding my niche career. I have four degrees (B.A. in English, A.S. in General Studies, A.S. in Legal Studies, and an A.A. in General Education), however I was not happy working in the jobs those degrees made accessible to me. I am still searching for my ideal job; the one I want to wake up early for and arrive early to; the one I am genuinely passionate about; and the one I cannot help but say only positive things about. I am still uncertain of what I want to be when I grow up other than Chris' wife and doggy mommy to at least one furry child at all times.
This semester, I am taking Introduction to Marketing. It is the first class I have taken during the day since 2001 when I graduated from the University of North Florida. Back then, it was normal to be surrounded by 18 to 23 year olds and have a handful of students in your classes who did not care about grades, their performance, or how much they may have gotten on their fellow students' and professors' nerves for their bad attitudes and approaches to school. Now that I am an adult (*gulp*, I turn 35 in about 2 months), I want to attend class with students who of the same mindset as me: get to class early, do all of the homework giving my best effort every time, complete all of the reading on time, come to class prepared, ask intelligent questions during the lecture, participate in class, build rapport with my fellow classmates and the professor, etc. I strive to be the best student I can be; always and without exception. I am very proud of my high GPA and academic performance and I am willing to go pretty far to protect and defend what I have worked so hard for.
So, when I have students in my class who are more inclined to put their heads down on the desk and nap/doze/sleep through class, not pay attention, not bring a pen or notebook to class so that taking notes is impossible, play on their iPad or iPhone through class, arrive late and leave early, make a lot of noise, talk amongst themselves during lecture, or otherwise demonstrate their negative attitude toward school or disrupt my and other students' ability to do well in the class, I take great offense and want to do something about it.
To my surprise and horror, there are several students in my marketing class who have already shown me that they apparently do not care about their performance in the class very much by the following behaviors:
1) two girls who are clearly best friends sit in the back row and talk quietly to each other through class
2) a few students who never bring a pen or notebook to class and never take notes
3) five students who consistently sit in the first row before class starts, which is reserved for late-comers and anyone who knows they must leave early (so they are not disrupting the class)
4) one girl who opened an "angry soda" which sprayed onto her desk (which she did not clean up) and who ate a bag of crunchy trail mix during class (her crunching was very loud, but my professor said nothing)
Unless these folks have taken a class under this particular professor before, they do not know that he quietly watches their behavior in class, makes notes as he needs to, and deducts points from their participation grade, which accounts for 5% of the final grade. Also, if they show up late after the roll has been passed around, they forfeit their attendance points for the day. These two aspects of the final grade could be considered a "gimme," so I would think that most students would do their best to arrive on time consistently, stay for the entire class period every time, participate in class, and guarantee that 10% (which translates to a letter grade difference and is nothing to scoff at).
Hopefully, we will be allowed to choose our own teams for the group project. If not, at least there is a peer review component to the project grade. On the form, we can give accolades to students who perform well and/or make the professor aware of any student(s) who did not pull their weight. I really dislike group projects, but I am already making mental notes about who I would like to have on my ideal team.
I am in my second semester at NOVA Alexandria campus and I am loving it! After being out of school for about 10 years, I decided to go back and pursue an A.A.S. in Business Management to give myself a new set of skills which will hopefully translate into me finally finding my niche career. I have four degrees (B.A. in English, A.S. in General Studies, A.S. in Legal Studies, and an A.A. in General Education), however I was not happy working in the jobs those degrees made accessible to me. I am still searching for my ideal job; the one I want to wake up early for and arrive early to; the one I am genuinely passionate about; and the one I cannot help but say only positive things about. I am still uncertain of what I want to be when I grow up other than Chris' wife and doggy mommy to at least one furry child at all times.
This semester, I am taking Introduction to Marketing. It is the first class I have taken during the day since 2001 when I graduated from the University of North Florida. Back then, it was normal to be surrounded by 18 to 23 year olds and have a handful of students in your classes who did not care about grades, their performance, or how much they may have gotten on their fellow students' and professors' nerves for their bad attitudes and approaches to school. Now that I am an adult (*gulp*, I turn 35 in about 2 months), I want to attend class with students who of the same mindset as me: get to class early, do all of the homework giving my best effort every time, complete all of the reading on time, come to class prepared, ask intelligent questions during the lecture, participate in class, build rapport with my fellow classmates and the professor, etc. I strive to be the best student I can be; always and without exception. I am very proud of my high GPA and academic performance and I am willing to go pretty far to protect and defend what I have worked so hard for.
So, when I have students in my class who are more inclined to put their heads down on the desk and nap/doze/sleep through class, not pay attention, not bring a pen or notebook to class so that taking notes is impossible, play on their iPad or iPhone through class, arrive late and leave early, make a lot of noise, talk amongst themselves during lecture, or otherwise demonstrate their negative attitude toward school or disrupt my and other students' ability to do well in the class, I take great offense and want to do something about it.
To my surprise and horror, there are several students in my marketing class who have already shown me that they apparently do not care about their performance in the class very much by the following behaviors:
1) two girls who are clearly best friends sit in the back row and talk quietly to each other through class
2) a few students who never bring a pen or notebook to class and never take notes
3) five students who consistently sit in the first row before class starts, which is reserved for late-comers and anyone who knows they must leave early (so they are not disrupting the class)
4) one girl who opened an "angry soda" which sprayed onto her desk (which she did not clean up) and who ate a bag of crunchy trail mix during class (her crunching was very loud, but my professor said nothing)
Unless these folks have taken a class under this particular professor before, they do not know that he quietly watches their behavior in class, makes notes as he needs to, and deducts points from their participation grade, which accounts for 5% of the final grade. Also, if they show up late after the roll has been passed around, they forfeit their attendance points for the day. These two aspects of the final grade could be considered a "gimme," so I would think that most students would do their best to arrive on time consistently, stay for the entire class period every time, participate in class, and guarantee that 10% (which translates to a letter grade difference and is nothing to scoff at).
Hopefully, we will be allowed to choose our own teams for the group project. If not, at least there is a peer review component to the project grade. On the form, we can give accolades to students who perform well and/or make the professor aware of any student(s) who did not pull their weight. I really dislike group projects, but I am already making mental notes about who I would like to have on my ideal team.
Sunday, January 6, 2013
Why I Doubt My Talent
Some of you, especially those who have known me since my teenage years, know all to well that I have self-esteem issues. In particular, I tend to doubt my own abilities when it comes to my intelligence and academic abilities. Deep down, I know I am good at certain things. Writing and baking are two examples off the top of my head, but I second-guess myself a lot. No, really. A lot. More than that. Yeah, there you go. That's about right. That much.
In writing, I've been known to completely reword a sentence if I am not 100% sure that I have used a word correctly or if I think I've spelled it wrong. The tiniest seed of doubt can be planted in my mind and it grows into a humongous stumbling block within seconds. I have to be perfect. I want to present my best work at all times. Even a small mistake constitutes failure if we're talking about anything remotely academic. Maybe this is another way that my Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD) manifests itself? Regardless, doubt stops me dead in my tracks more often that I care to admit. I am working on my self-esteem little by little and it is much better now than it ever was in grade school. In fact, finally starting this blog and publishing things that I wrote (my writings are on the internet!), is a serious step forward.
I have been promising myself and others that I would share my writings for years. I am scared to share, because of "what-if syndrome." Several questions pop into my head in rapid-fire succession, making me feel nervous, stupid, foolish, and that I am opening myself up to too much criticism, hatred, and other very bad things. For example, after I completed tonight's post, I thought, "What if people think you are bragging? They will hate you." Also, "What if your memory is wrong? What if someone calls you a braggart or liar? What are you going to do then, huh? Are you gonna cry?" My inner monologue is a real jerk sometimes.
Okay, so I told you all of that to tell you this story....
For most of my early childhood, from age 10 months to age 7, my family lived in Montgomery, Alabama. As a child, I remember refusing to do the in-class work in 1st grade. I still have my little green Peter Crump Elementary (Go Cougars!) tote bag with yellow lettering and a not-so-scary-looking cougar on it. What my pregnancy-induced-dragon-lady teacher did not know was that our workbook was exactly the same as the one I had just used at Southside Baptist Church's (SBC) kindergarten. No way was I going to waste my time doing it again.
SIDENOTE: My parents sent me to SBC to learn phonics. I attribute my strong language skills (I am bilingual in English and German and speak intermediate level French), writing ability, voracious appetite for reading, and my vocabulary to this experience. Thanks Mom and Dad!
Unfortunately for me, my teacher thought that my polite refusals were indicative of my "mental *blank*". (Folks, I refuse to write that word. It is an ugly, hateful word.) Fed up with my lip, Mrs. Erin sent me to the principal's office one day. There I was, 6 years old, with my teacher holding my shoulder and urging me along to the big wooden door with frosted glass with PRINCIPAL painted on it in large black, menacing letters. When the door opened, I was gently pushed inside the wood-paneled, dark office and the door clicked shut behind me. A very tall, muscular African American man with piercing, intense eyes that seemed to stare straight into my soul sat behind a large wooden desk. Behind him on the wall was a very large, impressive collection of paddles that would have greatly pleased the Marquis de Sade. There were leather, vinyl, plastic, wood, several shapes, a rainbow of colors though most were black or brown, etc. Corporal punishments were allowed in schools in Alabama in 1984. Students were routinely spanked in front of their entire class as a deterrent. Whether with bare hands on bare bottoms or with any number of the assorted paddles on the principal's wall of pain/torture, teachers had the authority to beat us for misbehaving.
SIDENOTE: I saw my first black penis during class in 1st grade. Sammy, the really badly behaved kid, had his pants and underwear yanked down and was spanked in front of the whole class for refusing to sit down for the umpteenth time. He made it his mission in life to mess with the teacher every chance he got. Mrs. Price, my second and much better 1st grade teacher, chose a wooden paddle with holes drilled into it. Now that I am adult, I know that the holes decreased wind resistance, thus allowing the teacher to hit his backside with even greater force. I lived in fear of being paddled in school for very good reason. I had seen it happen, heard the screaming, and seen the resulting inability to comfortably sit down for the remainder of the day.
After a few seconds, the man quietly told me, "Come here and sit down."
I was SCARED of this man. He was so big and ripped, that he resembled this guy:
Of course, he was dressed professionally wearing slacks and a short-sleeved button-down dress shirt. I promise you, if he had flexed at all, that shirt would have shredded right off in Incredible Hulk fashion. Now that I think about it, I want to say that the man actually was a former Mr. Universe or something like that.
However, just as the man in the above image is smiling, I noticed that the principal was smiling as I got closer. When I sat down at the edge of his desk and looked at him again, harder this time, I saw that he really was smiling at me. It wasn't menacing or fake, just kind. Confused, I asked him, "Mister, are you mad at me? Are you going to paddle me?"
He said, "No, I'm not mad at you and I'm not going to paddle you. I just want to know why you won't do the work Mrs. Erin gives you in class. Will you tell me why?" So, I told him the whole story. When I was done, he thanked me and sent me back to class.
When I started to come home from school telling my mother about how my teacher was making me do work I had done already, put my head down on my desk for hours for "talking back" although I had only told her, "Mrs. Erin, I did this work already in kindergarten. I don't want to do it again," and how she would call me "stupid" and other ugly names to my face, my mother took action. I was a polite, very well-behaved child at school. I was not one to get into trouble often and it was rarely, if ever, serious. When I did misbehave, it was usually at home and unintentionally bad behavior.
Fast forward a few weeks. My mother took me to nearby Auburn University at Montgomery's campus for very detailed testing. I was scared and tried to run away, but a chewy chocolate chip granola bar and a nice, understanding chat with her allayed my fears. Since I was a very sickly child and spent a lot of time in doctor's offices having blood drawn and tests run, just mentioning the word "doctor" caused me to panic. I was tested in verbal and reading skills, mathematical ability, spatial relationships, a few other tests I'm probably forgetting, and I was given an IQ test. When my results came back, everyone was stunned....
At 6 years old, I had a certified IQ score that was statistically significantly higher than average. I was reading and comprehending on a 6th grade level. My mathematical ability was on par for my age. My spatial relationships ability was in the 80th percentile, meaning I can manipulate objects in my head fairly accurately. The head researcher in charge of my testing talked to my mother and drew this conclusion: "Ma'am, your daughter is simply not being challenged at school. In other words, she is not doing the work, because she is bored."
So, my mother fought very hard with my school to have me removed from Mrs. Erin's class and put into Mrs. Price's class. Also, I was pulled out of class every day to spend an hour in the 6th grade class for reading. I am deeply grateful for my mother for being my strongest, unrelenting advocate. I don't think most parents today would believe their child if they came home from school saying, "Mommy, my teacher was mean to me today."
This is probably when my self-esteem and confidence problems started and why I need a lot of validation. I need to hear that I am liked, wanted, appreciated, loved, smart, talented, etc. in addition to actions that convey those emotions. I had been treated horribly by my teacher who should have been my friend and advocate and was verbally abused by her and some of my classmates. Although I continue to excel in school, with the exception of 1998 through 2001 when I was very ill and as yet undiagnosed (to be discussed in a future blog post), I still have periods of extreme self doubt. However, I suppose everyone doubts themselves now and again. Maybe this is normal? Or at least normal for me?
I am thankful to have many excellent, supportive friends and family who reassure me that my talents are indeed real (for real-real, not for play-play) and support me in my expression and use of those talents. Thanks, guys. You rock!
CORRECTION: I changed the IQ score to a generalization, because I cannot lay my hands on the test results.
In writing, I've been known to completely reword a sentence if I am not 100% sure that I have used a word correctly or if I think I've spelled it wrong. The tiniest seed of doubt can be planted in my mind and it grows into a humongous stumbling block within seconds. I have to be perfect. I want to present my best work at all times. Even a small mistake constitutes failure if we're talking about anything remotely academic. Maybe this is another way that my Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD) manifests itself? Regardless, doubt stops me dead in my tracks more often that I care to admit. I am working on my self-esteem little by little and it is much better now than it ever was in grade school. In fact, finally starting this blog and publishing things that I wrote (my writings are on the internet!), is a serious step forward.
I have been promising myself and others that I would share my writings for years. I am scared to share, because of "what-if syndrome." Several questions pop into my head in rapid-fire succession, making me feel nervous, stupid, foolish, and that I am opening myself up to too much criticism, hatred, and other very bad things. For example, after I completed tonight's post, I thought, "What if people think you are bragging? They will hate you." Also, "What if your memory is wrong? What if someone calls you a braggart or liar? What are you going to do then, huh? Are you gonna cry?" My inner monologue is a real jerk sometimes.
Okay, so I told you all of that to tell you this story....
For most of my early childhood, from age 10 months to age 7, my family lived in Montgomery, Alabama. As a child, I remember refusing to do the in-class work in 1st grade. I still have my little green Peter Crump Elementary (Go Cougars!) tote bag with yellow lettering and a not-so-scary-looking cougar on it. What my pregnancy-induced-dragon-lady teacher did not know was that our workbook was exactly the same as the one I had just used at Southside Baptist Church's (SBC) kindergarten. No way was I going to waste my time doing it again.
SIDENOTE: My parents sent me to SBC to learn phonics. I attribute my strong language skills (I am bilingual in English and German and speak intermediate level French), writing ability, voracious appetite for reading, and my vocabulary to this experience. Thanks Mom and Dad!
Unfortunately for me, my teacher thought that my polite refusals were indicative of my "mental *blank*". (Folks, I refuse to write that word. It is an ugly, hateful word.) Fed up with my lip, Mrs. Erin sent me to the principal's office one day. There I was, 6 years old, with my teacher holding my shoulder and urging me along to the big wooden door with frosted glass with PRINCIPAL painted on it in large black, menacing letters. When the door opened, I was gently pushed inside the wood-paneled, dark office and the door clicked shut behind me. A very tall, muscular African American man with piercing, intense eyes that seemed to stare straight into my soul sat behind a large wooden desk. Behind him on the wall was a very large, impressive collection of paddles that would have greatly pleased the Marquis de Sade. There were leather, vinyl, plastic, wood, several shapes, a rainbow of colors though most were black or brown, etc. Corporal punishments were allowed in schools in Alabama in 1984. Students were routinely spanked in front of their entire class as a deterrent. Whether with bare hands on bare bottoms or with any number of the assorted paddles on the principal's wall of pain/torture, teachers had the authority to beat us for misbehaving.
SIDENOTE: I saw my first black penis during class in 1st grade. Sammy, the really badly behaved kid, had his pants and underwear yanked down and was spanked in front of the whole class for refusing to sit down for the umpteenth time. He made it his mission in life to mess with the teacher every chance he got. Mrs. Price, my second and much better 1st grade teacher, chose a wooden paddle with holes drilled into it. Now that I am adult, I know that the holes decreased wind resistance, thus allowing the teacher to hit his backside with even greater force. I lived in fear of being paddled in school for very good reason. I had seen it happen, heard the screaming, and seen the resulting inability to comfortably sit down for the remainder of the day.
After a few seconds, the man quietly told me, "Come here and sit down."
I was SCARED of this man. He was so big and ripped, that he resembled this guy:
Of course, he was dressed professionally wearing slacks and a short-sleeved button-down dress shirt. I promise you, if he had flexed at all, that shirt would have shredded right off in Incredible Hulk fashion. Now that I think about it, I want to say that the man actually was a former Mr. Universe or something like that.
However, just as the man in the above image is smiling, I noticed that the principal was smiling as I got closer. When I sat down at the edge of his desk and looked at him again, harder this time, I saw that he really was smiling at me. It wasn't menacing or fake, just kind. Confused, I asked him, "Mister, are you mad at me? Are you going to paddle me?"
He said, "No, I'm not mad at you and I'm not going to paddle you. I just want to know why you won't do the work Mrs. Erin gives you in class. Will you tell me why?" So, I told him the whole story. When I was done, he thanked me and sent me back to class.
When I started to come home from school telling my mother about how my teacher was making me do work I had done already, put my head down on my desk for hours for "talking back" although I had only told her, "Mrs. Erin, I did this work already in kindergarten. I don't want to do it again," and how she would call me "stupid" and other ugly names to my face, my mother took action. I was a polite, very well-behaved child at school. I was not one to get into trouble often and it was rarely, if ever, serious. When I did misbehave, it was usually at home and unintentionally bad behavior.
Fast forward a few weeks. My mother took me to nearby Auburn University at Montgomery's campus for very detailed testing. I was scared and tried to run away, but a chewy chocolate chip granola bar and a nice, understanding chat with her allayed my fears. Since I was a very sickly child and spent a lot of time in doctor's offices having blood drawn and tests run, just mentioning the word "doctor" caused me to panic. I was tested in verbal and reading skills, mathematical ability, spatial relationships, a few other tests I'm probably forgetting, and I was given an IQ test. When my results came back, everyone was stunned....
At 6 years old, I had a certified IQ score that was statistically significantly higher than average. I was reading and comprehending on a 6th grade level. My mathematical ability was on par for my age. My spatial relationships ability was in the 80th percentile, meaning I can manipulate objects in my head fairly accurately. The head researcher in charge of my testing talked to my mother and drew this conclusion: "Ma'am, your daughter is simply not being challenged at school. In other words, she is not doing the work, because she is bored."
So, my mother fought very hard with my school to have me removed from Mrs. Erin's class and put into Mrs. Price's class. Also, I was pulled out of class every day to spend an hour in the 6th grade class for reading. I am deeply grateful for my mother for being my strongest, unrelenting advocate. I don't think most parents today would believe their child if they came home from school saying, "Mommy, my teacher was mean to me today."
This is probably when my self-esteem and confidence problems started and why I need a lot of validation. I need to hear that I am liked, wanted, appreciated, loved, smart, talented, etc. in addition to actions that convey those emotions. I had been treated horribly by my teacher who should have been my friend and advocate and was verbally abused by her and some of my classmates. Although I continue to excel in school, with the exception of 1998 through 2001 when I was very ill and as yet undiagnosed (to be discussed in a future blog post), I still have periods of extreme self doubt. However, I suppose everyone doubts themselves now and again. Maybe this is normal? Or at least normal for me?
I am thankful to have many excellent, supportive friends and family who reassure me that my talents are indeed real (for real-real, not for play-play) and support me in my expression and use of those talents. Thanks, guys. You rock!
CORRECTION: I changed the IQ score to a generalization, because I cannot lay my hands on the test results.
Wednesday, January 2, 2013
Blank Pages
+Christie Chapman, you've created a monster. One that needed a push to take that terrified first step out of the cave it called home and out into the light of the blogosphere. For that, I love you.
Blank pages stare at you, taunting you like the
freckle-faced ginger boy in your kindergarten class who called you sissy
because your mother insisted on sending you to your first day of school in a
cute little blue and white gingham-checked dress and lace-edged bobby socks. They are thoughts not yet formed, dreams not
yet conjured up by your subconscious, cakes that are just containers of raw
ingredients waiting to be dumped into the bowl that is your imagination,
stirred by the large wooden spoon that is your experience, and poured into the
cupcake liners that is your unique touch or spin on reality. Each writer and their own unique experience
shape the content which flows forth from their pens or flows seemingly
effortlessly onto the page via a laptop keyboard with a sticky “e” key (which
does become rather bothersome rather quickly).
This is where I am happiest; among the blank pages, sitting in the
relative silence of my bedroom tucked warmly and safely away with my trusted
canine companion asleep at my right side and my husband sequestered in his room
(we sleep separately, because he snores and I am a very light sleeper) using
his laptop to watch a movie, play a game, or whatever it is he cares to do
behind closed doors. When time is mine
to do with as I please, when there is no one making demands of me, nothing
pressing that needs to be done at this very second or perhaps the world may
cease to spin, the birds will stop singing at daybreak, and cats will no longer
be the most shared and talked about thing on the internet; this is when I am
happiest.
Only at times like this, precious (sometimes stolen) moments
of peace and quiet and serenity, does my creativity drive begin to power
up. I can hear the gears in the
innermost portions of my brain begin to stir as if a small nest of mice has
suddenly woken from its slumber to the sound of sugar cookie crumbs falling to
the hardwood floor from a careless child’s snack. Little scratching sounds of small gears as
they turn, faint creaking noises as mental filing cabinets open and close
searching for the right words and phrases.
These are the first signs of the magic that is to come: the story that is beginning to take shape,
come to life, and burst forth from my imagination, down my nerves, into my
fingers that tingle with the heat of my passion for my craft, and tumble
clumsily, yet orderly, onto the waiting page.
What it is about, who the characters are, what the plot will be,
etc. I must confess that I do not yet
know. Isn’t that the fun of it,
though? The not knowing is what excites
me as a writer. The endless
possibilities are too vast to quantify.
And so, I plunge in and see where the current of my muses takes me. Come, sail away with me. This blog will take you on a most fantastical voyage into who I was, am, and may become. Are you ready?
“Ha, little ginger boy, you booger-picking little bastard of a blank page. I have bested you yet again. I win!”
To the victor go the spoils (and the royalties, if I should be so lucky).
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