I haven’t written anything in a long time. I would love to blame it on life changes, getting pregnant, having said baby, quitting my job, but that would be a lie. I haven’t found enjoyment in trying to write my novel. So I’m putting it aside for now and just writing when inspiration strikes. No more forcing a project I thought I wanted. I just want to write about life, marriage, motherhood, the good, the bad, and the painfully funny.
Ladies, what is with this trend of saying “I feel” rather than “I think”? I have been seeing it in articles all over social media and hearing it daily (like this one) . I admit I have picked up the feel-y trend as well. Every time I do it I cringe and remind myself that “I think” is a much stronger statement than “I feel”. If you know something is fact just state the damn obvious. Drop the “I thinks” and the “I feels” all together and say it with confidence. Honestly switching I “think” with I “feel” just weakens your opinion and voice. Unless you truly are talking about feelings.
For example, if you have to use a fuzzy disclaimer because you are telling half-truths when repeating a story, say “I think”. You don’t FEEL a person said (blank), you THINK they said (blank). You don’t FEEL the person was wearing a red shirt, you THINK they were. The level of intensity you want to remember this switch depends on how seriously you want to be perceived. How much confidence do you have in what you are saying? When I hear someone say “I feel” (first I cringe) and instantly start to wonder if they are feeling or thinking. Then I lose track of the substance behind their statement. When I hear “I think” I perk up and prepare for a debate, but I am paying attention to their statement. When someone states exactly what they mean I instinctively believe them because they sound strong in their statement, I may not believe them for long if they can’t support their opinion but they have an advantage in the beginning.
You have to contemplate how to maneuver your statements in a professional setting. If you are being interviewed, would you really say “I feel” rather than “I think”? The interviewer is going to hand the job over to the person with stronger convictions and knows their own mind. If women fall into the habit of using the weakest verb when stating their mind, their opinion is forgotten before they are even heard.
I have noticed this trend with women mostly and it saddens me because we are already looked over in many aspects of the professional world. Lets stop the trend and start thinking, better yet, KNOWING our own minds.
Since I made my declaration of “I’m going to Write a Novel!” on FB, people ask me all of the time, “How is your novel progressing?”. To which I reply, “No comment…hahaha” or “Writers block is a bitch you know?” as I shuffle my feet and avoid eye contact.
I have a pretty extensive outline (which I am quite happy with) and tons of notes and ideas, but when it comes to the writing, well I don’t have much. The few pages I do have I am not happy with and honestly it has thrown some water on my fiery passion of writing. I think damp is a good way to describe how I feel about my novel. I got caught up in the storm of a great idea and I was running full tilt and splashing in the puddles, but now the thrill has worn off and I am just wet and cold. To distract myself I read a lot.
I have always been a voracious reader and a half ass/part-time “writer”. I read everything I can get my hands on. Lately, I have been on a huge Tudor/English court kick. Phillipa Gregory and Sandra Gulland are two authors who I highly recommend if you like the genre. I took a break from Henry the eighth and all of his dramatic descendants to read the Sookie Stackhouse series by Charlaine Harris. You have to love the sexy, sassy Sookie and all of her supernatural eye candy. But I have to wonder, is all of this fun reading just a delightful distraction?
Are voracious readers all just lazy writers? Are we the crash and burn wannabe authors who just couldn’t hack it in the literary race? My story is the one novel I can’t buy off of the bookshelf until I write it.
Time to put on my rain boots and word sludge.
Well surprise everyone I am 17 weeks pregnant. I have been in a bit of a writing lull and my reading time now includes baby books. Well… not books but book.
I am reading “What to Expect When You are Expecting” by Heidi Murkoff and Sharon Mazel.
What to Expect has been a great source of information on how your body will change. They are very PC in their descriptions about breast changes and how some women start to show earlier than others. BUT, they don’t mention the fact that you go through a stage where you look like a beer pong champ. I am talking bloat and thick through the middle. You will get all of the side effects of a long weekend of drinking: the gas, ohhhh the gas, heart burn, and the bathroom will be your new hang out spot. Pregnancy is one of those things that is beautiful from a distance. Talk to a woman’s partner or someone arguably closer (cubicle mate) and they will tell you the dirty truth about being near a pregnant woman. Thanks for loving me anyway guys!
What to Expect has been a huge reassurance that these weird-ass side effects nobody talks about are not me losing my mind. I have had bloody noses, SI joint pain, dry skin, acne, and then beautiful skin, and then acne again. I don’t know why we aren’t just given a list of possible side effects when we find out we are pregnant. Hey Doc, can I get a list of the things I should call your office about and a list of things that are completely normal? I think this would save everyone a lot of time… and your receptionist won’t want to murder me for interrupting her lunch yet again. Luckily What to Expect covers a lot of these side effects.
I’m still waiting for “The Dirty Truth: What to Expect When You are Expecting”. The nitty-gritty down and dirty truth about pregnancy. Until then ladies pick up a copy of “What to Expect When you are Expecting” it’s the only preggo book I can find that doesn’t put me to sleep after two pages. I got headaches from the last book I tried to read from all of the eye-rolling.
Disclaimer to all readers: Please don’t read this article as me casting my emotional rod into the internet ocean for compliments. This narcissistic issue starts and ends with me.
“I am stupid.” I say this to myself often throughout the day. I whisper it to myself in the bathroom at work after I ask an obvious question to my co-workers. Every day when I leave the office, I think to myself, “I am the weakest link on my team.” Hell, I would vote myself off in most team situations. I inhale the word idiot and exhale in a rush of anxiety when someone asks me for directions within the town I reside. How do I explain that I can’t remember street names that I drive on daily? When people talk about North, South, East, and West they may as well be speaking a foreign language. My family has had to deal with more directional hysterics from me than anyone should have to in a lifetime. I thank God daily for their patience.
I think my stupidity complex started in elementary school when my class began learning multiplication. My teacher created a pyramid to chart the basic 0-12 multiplication table. Well let me tell you I was no Pharaoh of THAT pyramid. My peers started to progress, but I always stayed at the bottom. I think I got through the 2’s (2×2 =4, 2×3=6, etc.) and just stopped. For months I sat in shame at the bottom of that pyramid while I watched other children receive treats for their success. It was not the rewards that I coveted, my parents were generous people, I didn’t want for much growing up. I wanted to be equal with my peers, but I was always behind.
I hated sitting in class where the whispered words “You’re stupid.” echoed throughout my mind and bounced around the walls. School was my mirror, where I had to face the part of myself I desperately loathed. In high school I graduated with a 2.0 GPA, a courtesy from teachers who desperately wanted to see me succeed. Even living through the trauma of K-12, I decided to attend community college. The decision was due to my best friend applying. I thought, “I guess college is the thing to do”.
After my first quarter at community college which felt like a flash back to the nightmare of K-12 (Pre-reqs are the worst!) I began to look forward to class. I found a passion for learning aside from the anxiety of everyone finding out just how stupid I really was. I devoured the content of each class. I knew that my work was weak so I made up for it in participation. I volunteered my ass off. If the teacher asked a question, I was the first to answer. Extra credit, I was all over it. My GPA went from a 2.0 in high school to a 3.7 upon graduation from Western Washington University.
My time at WWU was a chaotic, wonderful, crazy time in my life. I was working two jobs and completely immersed in my English literature degree. I was finding my way and learning who the “adult Rachel” was. I had my setbacks as well though. For example, I remember being in a study group for a 400 level English class. I was with two very intelligent classmates (the Sheldon and Leonard of the English world) and I told them I felt bad because I wasn’t helping much with the assignment, they were just flat out faster than me. But in good humor they joked that I provided the tea and the study space at my apartment. I cried that night, all of my old anxieties and worries rushing back at me. The echo of “I’m stupid, I’m stupid, I’m stupid” was an earthquake inside my dark bedroom. The next morning the emotional disaster that was my ego followed me onto the bus. I went to class with a residual “Stupid“.
Time reveals the magic of our past, hidden behind the black curtain of the present.
All of my life I had teachers and parents who believed in me. They were showing me their faith in a variety of ways. My 3rd grade teacher had me read one of my stories out loud to three other classes. My math teacher Mr. Sessions gave me extra assignments so I could graduate from high school. Upon graduation day he gave me a dream catcher that he made himself. My Dad paid for my first two years of college out-of-pocket, with only a 2.0 GPA from high school backing up my scholarly reputation. My Mom and step father let me live at home for four years after high school. They spent hours every week helping me with homework. None of those people would have gone to such effort if they did not see any potential in me. I will never forget how I almost fell to the floor when one of my classmates introduced me to his reading group as one of the most insightful, intelligent people in our class. That compliment was a cast for my broken confidence that was beaten down by yours truly.
I can look back now and appreciate my academic achievements; I can attribute graduating to not floating by on participation and extra credit. I looked like an idiot (often) and I survived. I hope sometime in the future I will look at this time in my life and realize that: I was good at my job. My novel was decent. I should listen to my husband when he patiently tells me that I am, in fact, an intelligent woman. Maybe one day I will realize that I am not the only driver in a constant state of lost. Tomorrow I will look in the mirror and tell myself, “You are not the stupid girl.”
I decided to splurge and get a facial for my birthday in August. The first thing I noticed when I walked into the spa was the amazing smell that permeated throughout every room.There is something about natural oils that can invigorate and soothe you at the same time.
On the other hand, have you ever walked into someone’s home and it’s like walking into a Bath and Body Works (guilty)? Where you smack into a wall of perfume and smoke. While it smells amazing it can give you a headache or make you feel nauseous depending on the scent. Don’t get me wrong, I love my citrus summer, and fall pumpkin spice candles as much as the next girl, but when I am trying to read and relax I want the spa experience.
I started researching the benefits of essential oils and found some really interesting information on Web MD: Negative Ions Create Positive Vibes. “The action of the pounding surf creates negative air ions and we also see it immediately after spring thunderstorms when people report lightened moods. says ion researcher Michael Terman, PhD, of Columbia University in New York… In fact, Columbia University studies of people with winter and chronic depression show that negative ion generators relieve depression as much as antidepressants.” – Web MD
Negative ions are abundant in nature. For example, a water fall produces 50,000 Ions/cc, the country 700-1,500 Ions/cc, and mountain/seashore 5,000 ions/cc. While an air condition room has fewer negative ions 0-25 ions/cc (doTERRA manual). The negative ions upon reaching our blood stream increases our serotonin and help immensely with our mood.
I searched Amazon and read many blogs for the best product to dispense natural oils and I found a few different options:
- Tea lite diffusers (burn the oil)
- Plug in diffusers
- Fan diffuser
- Ultrasonic mist diffuser
I decided on a ultrasonic mist diffuser: doTERRA the Aroma Lite Diffuser, because it adequately dispenses the oil and there is no smoke to inhale. I chose two oils from doTERRA: Purify (lemon, lime, pine, citronella, melaleuca, cilantro) and Citrus Bliss (Wild Orange Peel, Lemon Peel, Grapefruit Peel, Mandarin Peel, Bergamot Peel, Tangerine Peel, Clementine Peel essential oils and Vanilla Bean Absolute.)
.I plug in my diffuser every evening when I get home from work. I use the 8 hour setting (there is also a four hour setting) so that it runs for a few hours before we settle in at night. The diffuser is very quiet (and trust me I am a light, finicky sleeper) so we let it run while we sleep. The soft purple glow is very soothing, but I turn the light off because I can’t sleep with any light. Both scents are lovely, but the Purify has a much stronger smell than the Citrus Bliss and I tend to gravitate towards it for that reason. Follow the essential oil use chart to choose which oils work best for you.
I love to have the diffuser on while I am reading and writing. I am prone to anxiety and sometimes this hinders my ability to write. The smell helps me to relax and quiets my mind from the chaos that typically ensues after work. I don’t think this diffuser will be my “end all” for my anxiety, but if it helps in the slightest (and I truly believe it has) then it is worth every penny.
Here are some more links about the health benefits of essential oils. I chose to write mostly about the positive effect it has on my mood because that is the main benefit I have received.
Don’t you just hate when inspiration strikes at 7:41am when you are sitting at your work desk? Luckily I have an awesome coworker and friend who I can bug across the aisle, “Ashley, can you listen to my novel idea?” We look at each other with data-glazed eyes and talk about creative ideas and the light of humanity begins to shine again.
I am so grateful for my day job of project management and scheduling that affords me the money for my house, bills, and fun on the weekend. Although when that writers itch begins it’s hard to focus on the Excel sheet in front of me. In fact, I just want to run from the building, jump in my car, and drive home to my novel. Why do the waves of urgency hit at the most inopportune places/moments? I document my thoughts, but by the time I get home the rush has left, and I am stuck with uninspiring notes.
I’m asking writers out there, how do you schedule the time and more importantly the inspiration (as if it can be scheduled) into your 40 hour/week career schedule?
Happy writing/reading peeps!
The Fisherman and His Wife is a classic story of greed and not knowing when to stop.The story begins when a fisherman releases a trout back into the ocean because the trout is actually a bewitched prince. Upon hearing what her husband did, the fisherman’s wife (Ilsebill) demands that her husband requests the trout’s help for a nicer house. The requests become more and more extravagant, until Ilsebill wants to be “like God” to command the sun and moon. When the fisherman requests that his wife be “like God” the trout says, “Well, then. Go home. She’s sitting back in your hovel again.” This tale will make you reflect on need vs. greed. I found myself thinking of all of the blessing already in my life when I finished this story.
The drawings in this story are by Wanda Gag, 1936.
Sometimes it’s hard to go back to the basics. Ever since we began essay writing in elementary school, we have always been instructed to create an outline. In my haste to start writing my novel I skipped the outline (hey I had it in my head) and dove write into the dialog. I found that this was a huge mistake because I was writing in circles and finally quit writing for a few months
I started to research outlining to get my ass in gear and start on my book again. I came across the article, “How to Write a Novel Outline and Structure a Story” by Eric Dockett. This article is great for new novelists who are looking to to make a checklist before they get started. I could see my story in my head, and the sequence of events, I just needed a visual to keep me organized. Here are the main points highlighted in the article:
- Creating Your Novel Outline
- Overall Novel Structure
- Structure of Each Act or Section
- Chapter Structure
- Setting Goals
After reading Dockett’s article I rushed out to Office Depot and bought a new white board and went crazy for an hour, getting an overhead view of the structure of my story.
Wish me luck!
For my 27th birthday my husband Miles bought me “The Fairy Tales of the Brothers Grimm” edited by Noel Daniel and translated by Matthew Price. Published by Taschen.
The collection begins with a wonderful introduction by the editor Noel Daniel about the history of Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm. I didn’t know that the German fairy tales were not actually written by the Grimm brothers (although there was an extensive amount of rewriting), but they were collected, edited, and translated by the brothers. The Grimm brothers originally targeted the tales for scholars, but noticed over time that they had a split audience and children were enjoying the stories just as much as the adults.The collection was then tailored towards a younger audience. The edition I was gifted was derived from 1857 when they released their “child-friendly” version.
Aside from the 27 charming stories the book contains, the illustrations that accompany each story are enchanting. Through various mediums, the stories are brought to life in a Büffet of illustrations ranging in dates from the mid 1800’s to mid 1900’s.
I am going to pick and choose a few of the tales to review in forthcoming posts. The first story I would like to start with is “The Frog Prince”.
The “Frog Prince” according to Daniels dates back to a medieval Latin manuscript. The colored engraving featured above was done by Walter Crane in 1874. The illustration seen above captures the young princess and the frog as they bargain for a golden ball and friendship. The frog agrees to retrieve the golden ball that was accidentally dropped in a well. As for payment he requests not money, “But if you would be fond of me, and cherish me, and if I were your friend and play mate, sitting next to you at your table, eating from your golden plate, drinking from your cup, and sleeping in your bed-if you will promise me these things then certainly I will slip down below and bring you back your golden ball.” The princess flippantly agrees thinking she would never see the frog again. She gets her ball back and walks home.
When the frog comes knocking on her palace door the princess turns away coldly and demands that he goes on his way, but her father the king forces her to keep her promise, “Whatever promise you have made, you must also keep.” (Go Dad!). Eventually the princess and the frog go to bed and in a fit of frustration the princess hurls the frog against the wall and the frog turns into a prince and explains that the princess broke a spell that was placed on him that only she could undo. He then stays the night with the princess (very racy for medieval literature). The next morning he rides off with his princess and his faithful servant Heinrich who “..had been so downcast ever since his master was transformed into a frog that he had bent three iron bands around his chest, lest his sullen heart burst with grief.”
This story holds the obvious morals of keeping your promises and don’t judge too harshly before you know someone. But there is also a lesson about true love that is explained not between the princess and the frog prince, but from loyal Heinrich whose heart had to be bonded to keep from breaking apart when his prince turned into a frog. There is also a lesson directed to parents, perhaps the most important: Hold your children accountable to their promises and commitments.
Note: If you would like to read the same edition I have, you can purchase it here.