May the Odds Be Ever In My Favor

Hi. I’m Teresa and I write quiet novels. It’s an addiction. And currently not marketable.

For those of you who do not understand the industry term “quiet”, it means introspective. The major conflict of my novels is internal. Sure, I have actions scenes, but I focus on my characters. What they are feeling. What they are thinking. Write the book you want to read? That’s what I’m doing. I want a character study that gets deep into why we act like we do.

 I’m tired of go-go-go. We’re so rushed through life. The work week starts like we’re shot from a cannon. The stress starts as soon as the alarm goes off and it’s sustained through the entire day. Our sleep isn’t restful because it’s brief and riddled with dreams about work. People talk about mindfulness and being in the moment, but we make it into another task for the day. Something else to tick off our list. We stop to see the flowers because we’re told it will help, not because the colors are beautiful or the scent is sweet. We live in a world where even our downtime is pumped with action, binge-streaming shows where the fate of something BIG hangs in the balance every forty-eight minutes. The stakes are so high, we forget what it’s like to be grounded.

 I want to take it down a few notches and plant my feet firmly on the earth. I want more than adrenaline levels that make my muscles twitch. I want characters that come to life on the page even if they aren’t saving the world or their own life/relationship/family. When I close a book, I want the satisfaction of knowing it’s possible to dig through all the bull of our daily lives and remember what makes us human.

 Introspection allows us to know ourselves. When we become self-aware, we understand life. We learn the reasons behind the actions, and knowing the reasons arms us with the power to change. And not just ourselves. Seeing the root cause of a bully’s attitude, of a person’s depression, of the oppression and harm we perpetuate without intent… it is all possible to change.

 Entertainment doesn’t always need to be serious, but it should be taken seriously. There’s a correlation between reading fiction and developing emotional intelligence. I hear the naysayers arguing already, but everything we experience, be it the sun on our faces or what we consume as entertainment, it all becomes part of us. It takes an understanding of ourselves to see it, to know if we watch Thor because Chris Hemsworth’s physique is a work of art or because we yearn for the person who will end the suffering. I watch superhero movies with the full knowledge of them being allegories for the military, ingraining the idea of the (usually white) savior, and that violence and destruction are perfectly fine if the ends justify the means. I see how it affects me and I can make a conscious effort to live in a way that says, “No. The ends do not justify the means.”

 There are plenty of novels that will whisk a reader to a world of magic and mystical creatures in the fantasies, to the mind of the psychopath in thrillers, or to the detective who’ll solve everything in a neat little package. There is nothing wrong with these genres at all. I read Anne Bishop, Jim Butcher, and Gillian Flynn. But I also read Barbara Kingsolver, Anna Quindlen, and Sue Monk Kidd. These are authors who delve into the inner workings of their characters and place their complex, imperfect people against the backdrop of a plot, and the result is nothing short of perfection.

 I spoke with someone in the industry who is gracious and encouraging, but also blunt in reminding me I have an uphill battle to be traditionally published. I knew that going in; she really didn’t tell me anything new. I write about recovering from trauma and right now we’re all too marred in traumatic times to even think about another’s woes. But the key word here is recovery. Life can beat you down to a messy lump of flesh, but recovery is possible. We can get through it.

 I may write quiet and dark… but ultimately? I write about hope.

 Maybe the time and place for my novels isn’t right now, but the opportunity will come. I won’t give up.

In the Shadows

Tis the season to be crabby. Fa la la la la.

I’ve been thinking about stress and how it comes about. For me, it’s the pressure to complete what I set out to do. In October, I vowed to post new content every week and did well with it until recently. I was disappointed I didn’t contribute last week and am late this one. This is a self-imposed deadline, so the only person I’m disappointing is myself. But, I am my worst critic, as many others can claim.

Holiday stress is upon us now. We spend the last two months of the year in a mad scramble to get dozens of things done. And they are always extra things on top of our already hectic lives. The marathon to New Year’s Day begins around when Daylight Saving Time ends and we’re suddenly plunged into darkness earlier each day. I don’t know about you, but I have a hard time motivating when it’s 9pm at 4:30.

This year has been challenging for everyone. Many of us are stuck in the mud of depression and there are times it feels more like quicksand. I’ve been crying over the most insignificant things and my fuse has been shorter than in recent memory. I can’t go on like this. It’s not good for me and it’s not good for those who have to deal with me. They have their own obstacles to tackle.

Last Sunday I participated in a New Moon Circle through Zoom. I never thought a virtual Circle could work, but it was fantastic. The only thing it lacked was the ability to exchange contact information with the others. During Circle, I was reminded of the benefits of living with the rhythm of nature. During November and December, we all blame the endless gift acquiring, postal deadlines, celebratory meal planning, and cooking for those meals. Indeed, all of that is stressful. But what if we actually slowed down and took time for ourselves while the Earth beds down for the winter? Scheduling time for yourself may just seem like another thing on your to-do list. The expectations we make for ourselves are just as stressful as those imposed on us.

In Earth-based spiritual paths, the darker half of the year is meant for what’s called shadow work. It sounds mystical and all woo, but the major players in psychological theory, mainly Jung and Freud, recognize the shadow self as the unconscious. Granted, this is an over-simplification of the idea, and yes, I’m aware of the problematic aspects of the theorists I’m citing.

Shadow work is an introspective practice with the goal of understanding oneself better. We are constantly changing, sometimes for the better, other times we regress, so introspection is always needed to understand where the path is leading. It allows a chance to change directions or reaffirm commitment. For most people, introspection requires quiet time alone. Even in a pandemic where we’re supposed to be socially distancing from each other, adequate conditions for reflection are difficult to come by while the Holiday Madness Marathon is in full swing.

The schedules we keep this time of year are unnatural. To be conservative in my guessing, we’re up at 7am and go down near 11pm year round. We may be up with the sun, but still have a good five to seven hours of activity after it sets. Our responsibilities make it impossible to end our day when it grows dark, and there isn’t much we can do about that. I doubt an employer would understand “my internal clock says it’s time to go home.” In the interest of honoring the natural deceleration of the year, I’m dropping out of the annual marathon. I want to reconnect with myself on a spiritual level. Examine what I’m feeling and why. Set my sights on how I wish to live, and how I’ll affect the world around me. I don’t know *how* I’ll do this just yet. But the need is there and I’ve vowed during Circle to listen to what my soul says I required to thrive.

Shadow work is a personal experience. For me it usually involves journaling beyond this blog, spending more time in the kitchen, and putting fairy lights up everywhere. My to-do list grows in some aspect and shrinks in another. Choosing things I want to do, rather than what’s expected, within reason. Bills need paying, laundry needs washing, drainboards need emptying… But cutting something off the to-do list gives me back a piece of my soul I never thought I lost.

I’ve reached the point in my writing when I have no idea how to wrap up this set of thoughts. I’m learning to accept these posts can’t be perfect. They are the thoughts I wish to share and thoughts are a work in progress. It’s easy for someone to tell you to let go of stress. If it were truly that simple to do, the self-help section of bookstores, libraries, and websites wouldn’t exist. I’m planning to give myself a break starting right now. I hope you can to.

Spend some time with yourself. Embrace your shadow so your light can shine brighter.

Relax.

It seems disingenuous to post something about gratitude during Thanksgiving week, but with the way this year has gone, it’s more important than ever to take stock of our blessings.

This will be the quietest Thanksgiving on record for our family. When just my husband and kids are home, we’re a group of seven. COVID is knocking that number down to the four in our household and maybe a third as one daughter will come by but stay outside since her job doesn’t allow for isolation.

I’m torn. I miss my extended family, but I’m grateful for less stress. We do not have to decide between venues and leave a group of important people out. My holiday stress usually starts in mid-October, worrying about which family members I might insult with my lack of attendance, or which I may aggravate with my presence. This year the choice has been made for me. I love my family and friends enough to stay away completely.

I’m grateful for the people who have taken this pandemic seriously and have been isolating as much as they can for the past eight or nine months. Not everyone can. There are friends who work in manufacturing or other jobs deemed essential. There are people who cannot work from home and whose finances do not permit the lack of a paycheck. No one can live on the single, insignificant payout the federal government has begrudgingly sent, and unemployment insurance has its limits.

My disgust is directed at the government. So many other countries offered financial relief to their people. The United States has been more shameful in its governance this year than in recent memory. We continue to put money over morals, and as a result, the body count continues to grow.

Experts said we needed three months of sacrifice. Three months of a complete shutdown. Three months of helping each other out. Three months of being selfless. Three months of saying rent isn’t due all the way up the chain until the only thing affected was some bank’s interest income. Three months to starve the virus down to something less widespread. But no. Close to nine months later, the country is still at the mercy of a merciless disease and many of us are still doing our part alone. But maybe I’m asking too much. After all, what could one expect from a country that responds to the mass shooting of 5- and 6-year-olds with shrugging shoulders and offering “Thoughts & Prayers”?

But I digress; it’s so easy to fall into a rant.

I plan to use the quieter holiday to truly reflect on what I have rather than what I’m missing. I may be isolated, but I’m with people I love. My husband and I haven’t been affected financially during the pandemic and so we’re able to help those who have. The extra time at home has been wonderful for our senior pup, who needs assistance with walking more than ever. Each of us has someone to lean on when the depression becomes too much. There are too many people who do not have this kind of comfort and support.

Take this time to rest if you can. Read. Play a board game or cards with the kids. You don’t have to feed a cast of people at your table this year. You don’t even need a turkey. It’s a non-traditional Thanksgiving anyway, so why not break all the rules? (Except for the masks-wearing and social distancing. Those rules still apply.)

If your holiday table is to include people who are not in your immediate household, I beg you to reconsider. The more we’re in contact with each other, the longer the pandemic will last. You may be fine, and your family may not contract the virus, but if you are asymptomatic carriers, you risk infecting others.

Thank you to everyone doing their part. Thank you for staying home so that we can be together again at some point. Thank you for the pain you’re dealing with, the sorrow you feel, the loneliness that is so difficult to bear. I wish you strength and perseverance. I hope your internet connection keeps you as close to loved ones as possible.

Thank you to my family who has chosen to stay home this year and to my friends who I desperately miss, be you local or distant. Thank you to those who are caring enough to shoulder the burden while too many ignore it.

The light at the end of the tunnel is getting brighter. We’ll get there.

Supernatural- Not a Wayward Finale

Many fans hated the Supernatural finale. I want to tell you why I liked it. This post is heavy on the spoilers so if you haven’t seen it, bookmark this page and come back when you’re done.

I'm not a long-time fan of the show. I’ve only been watching for about 4 years. I started watching on Inauguration Day 2017. I figured watching a show about two brothers fending off the apocalypse was appropriate for the coming years.

I started off thinking the show was pretty cheesy, but charming with its B movie slashing effects. It was almost as if they were poking fun at themselves by saying, “This never looks real anyway so lets make it as over the top as possible.” Of course this could have just been a budgeting non-choice, but I like the scenario in my head.

The show is a semi-departure from-my usual tastes. I like fantasy, but not traditional monsters like vampires. I love strong and fun characters. but gravitate to shows amplifying female power. A show with a majority male cast was never for me. (Except MacGyver. The original, anyway; the reboot has fabulous female characters.) I loved Supernatural’s humor mixed in with drama. But the characters are what kept me watching.

Yes, it helped Jarad and Jensen aren't hard on the eyes, but the characters were real. I could see them as real people sitting at the bar of a local watering hole. Dean hitting on the women and Sam looking like the less dangerous choice.

The true finale of the show was Ep. 18. ALL the loose ends got tied up and it was a satisfying ending to the arcs, encapsulating the growth of the characters. Symbolically, they were always beat down in fights they shouldn't have won, but they got up over and over until they prevailed.

The producers could have left it at that. In watching it, I wondered if I was mistaken about the date of the finale. The credits rolled and I said to my husband, “What could they possibly do for two more episodes?” But Ep. 19 wasn't within the season. I would have preferred it to be billed as an appreciation show and maybe aired the week after as a palate cleanser to the emotional hangover.

This brings me to the actual series end. Complain as the fans might, it was wrought with emotion and symbolism. The brothers start by saving brothers, which was the whole series. Sam and Dean saved everyone, yes, but they saved each other in so many ways in every single season. Their final hunt as brothers was fitting.

Social media tells me Dean's death is a point of contention. No, it wasn't the spectacular blaze of glory most fans wanted. But here's my take: Dean was really just a man. While the vehicle of his death was not ordinary, it was a human bested by something human. Hellhounds didn't rip his body to shreds. Djinn or vampires didn't drain him. He died by something that could have killed any of us. I would have felt cheated if Dean was killed by a supernatural being. He fought the most powerfulones in existence. He couldn’t possibly die from something other than the mundane. And there’s a lesson: Ordinary people can be heroes. We *are* heroes. We don't need anything but our own will and the encouragement from those we love to fight back.

Sam continuing on is the resilience featured season upon season. Pain and sorrow are part of our lives, but getting up to face the day is what we need to do. His sitting in the Impala tells us to not forget the past. That it’s ok to have the scars of living. It's ok to still hurt, but still get up in the morning. The brothers truly died in accordance with their beginnings. Dean was a hunter through and through. Sam wasn't interested in the life. Dean died doing what he was passionate about, and Sam passed after living the life he originally wanted.

Another point of contention was the exclusion of Cas. Yes, Misha deserved a curtain call. Yes, I would have loved an encore performance from our favorite angel. Yes, we would have cried harder if Cas appeared on that bridge. But…

No one else belonged in this episode. Bobby was needed to explain Heaven 2.0 (Honestly, I lost count of how many times Heaven was under New Management, so bear with me on the 2.0), but the focus should have been, and was, on Sam & Dean.

For those complaining about a lackluster finale, we got the ending we deserved in Ep. 18. The Winchesters prevailed. Jack's purpose was fulfilled. #Destiel is canon. #TeamFreeWill.

Episode 20 was a farewell to the fans. It was a thank you to us. It wasn't about the show or wrapping up loose ends. They were telling us everything was ok. To follow the song and Carry On.

The final scene of the brothers on the bridge had me in tears. Bridges are connections, joining two separate things. Sam and Dean/Jared and Jensen met us in the middle. They did their part by showing up week after week for 15 years. We did the same, and I believe the actors truly appreciated the dedication— not because it meant they had a steady job. They know how they affected the fandom and I’d venture to say they are fans of us just as much as we are of them.

And they were content— whether we were watching the actors being themselves or Sam and Dean, they were happy to be where they were. Together. After a job well done. Just like the song says:

There’ll be peace when you are done.

On the Morning of November 3rd

Creation

Convention

Apprehension

Tension

Condescension

Corruption

Indignation

Eruption

Destruction

Observation

Imagination

Intention

Expression

Construction

Anticipation

Trepidation

Elation?

Consolation?

Mental Health In Fiction: Identical

I’m not sure how Ellen Hopkin’s IDENTICAL came to my attention. But. Um. Wow. I have thoughts and feelings about this book.

First, I have to admit I cringed at a novel written in verse, but Ms. Hopkins makes it WORK. The format is brilliant and beautiful to the point of jealousy. She burns images into your brain, which, given the subjects explored, is both good and bad. The genre is Young Adult, but it should have a long list of trigger warnings.

Note: from here on, this post will be nothing but spoilers and commentary.

IDENTICAL is told from the points of view of Kayleigh and Raeanne. They were the mirror twins of a prominent judge and politician. I say “were” because the plot twist revealed towards the end of the book I figured out by page 148. A car accident that plunged the family into turmoil is mentioned early on and a specific transition between Kayleigh and Raeanne’s narrative lead me to believe one twin died in the crash. There are clues sprinkled throughout — very reminiscent of The Sixth Sense, where once you know the secret, you realize all the micro-clues that support the Holy Moly moment.

But IDENTICAL isn’t narrated by a ghost. Kayleigh developed Dissociative Identity Disorder and her alter takes the form of her twin. DID isn’t on most people’s radar and will be surprised when it is revealed. But someone with DID is in my orbit and easier for me to recognize.

The depiction of DID is accurate in the sense there are two very distinct personalities with a smattering of similarities. What I find strange is Kayleigh is unaware of missing significant blocks of time. Her alter attends and cuts classes, but Kayleigh never wonders why she didn’t have history that day or week. It’s possible she has a vague sense of time passing or something “not being right”, but I didn’t catch either being expressed.

It’s not clear if Kayleigh’s DID results from the trauma of the accident or the sexual abuse she suffers at the hands of her father. I’m not certain it matters; Kayleigh has experienced enough trauma to justify every defense mechanism she has — and there are many. At times it feels like Ms. Hopkins is piling on as many disorders as possible, but maladaptive habits are rarely solo and there are two personalities to divide the various issues.

I’ve been concerned about the portrayal of mental health in works of fiction. IDENTICAL should be applauded for its unflinching and realistic portrayal of how trauma affects us. Sexual abuse victims and survivors often go to the extremes of avoiding connections with others (Kayleigh) or promiscuity (Raeanne). Substance abuse, binge eating, and cutting fill the void pain, shame, and guilt create. Alters help shoulder the burden of secrets and aid in their hosts’ resiliency.

Defense mechanisms are exactly that: defenses. Addressing the defense without touching the source doesn’t help anyone. Medication and love help, but neither conquers all, as too many books and movies would like us to believe. IDENTICAL concludes with Kayleigh getting the professional help she needs and extraction from the family whose behaviors are at the core of her defenses.

I definitely recommend IDENTICAL for understanding the root causes of disorders and how trauma can wreak havoc in our lives.

*I am not a mental health professional or an expert by any means. I base my comments on personal experiences with my own mental health and that of my friends.

The Only Thing I Can Write.

My fiction isn’t flowing.

These days have the same feel as those following 9/11.  My day *looks* the same, but I’m pushing through a dense fog masquerading as normalcy. Silence is heavy and actions are meaningless. The new way of life has not sunk in yet and is buried under the rubble.

There are victims, survivors, the untouched, and the out of touch. POTUS is trying to pacify the country with bedtime stories of efficiency and competence when we need a hefty dose of reality.

Getting through a crisis such as this requires painful truth. We do not need to be patted on the head and told everything will be all right.  He needs to stand in his full authority as a leader and truly “tell it like it is”. We don’t have enough personal protective equipment. We do not have the testing capabilities. We do not have enough hospital beds. We do not know how many people are infected.

I’m bitter and I’m mad. I’ll admit my attitude would be the same regardless of his actions; I’m under no illusion I’m biased. I’m reading reports of warnings as early as January and nothing was done. Nothing that we can tangibly see. That’s beginning to change.

When a friend first mentioned the virus, I didn’t think much about it. I figured it was the typical doomsday hype we hear from the news every day. Ebola and H1N1 would wipe us out and it didn’t.  This would be the same. What did not factor into my sense of calm were all the things that happened behind the scenes with previous epidemics. The previous administration tackled things head-on. The response wasn’t perfect—we still had too many deaths. What we did not have is the national panic.

We’re right to be panicked. Even with strong leadership, this will be a devastating time. My solution is to stop requiring payment for everything. Everyone. From manufacturing overhead to getting groceries. All monetary transactions should stop all over the world. Ration goods. Stop worrying about the stock market. No more talk over how much it costs to produce a drug, mask, hospital gown.  All of it. But we’d all have to play along. It’s unrealistic. I know that. A person can dream that greed can be put aside. Darwin had it wrong.  It’s survival of the richest.

The best of humanity needs to shine through. Post 9/11--- hours after the towers fell* people lined up in the streets to give blood. Today average people are trying to manufacture protective masks and gowns on their home sewing machines for the healthcare angels.  

But the bells are ringing and the healthcare angels are dwindling, earning their eternal wings. What happens when the people who fix us need fixing?  When those who feed us go hungry?

I have no answers.  I barely have words. But I have a heart and will do what I can with it.

Kindness must overcome greed. Life before the bottom line. The economy can’t recover if its participants do not.

*I’m in New York and cannot comment on the experience of the Pentagon and Pennsylvania site responses.

Quelling the Monkeys

My therapist tells me a story of a shelf in her house. It bows under too much weight. The manufacturer swears up and down it should support the load placed on it.   

It doesn’t. 

Well… perhaps it does. Just not in the way the consumer intended. After all, it hasn’t broken or given any indication it will. 

The books sit atop the shelf long enough to make the bow permanent. There is no denying the shelf is damaged even if its load is lightened. The once promising wood sags for all to see but is still deceptively strong. 

The metaphor sits with me for days. The lesson isn’t that I’m damaged but still strong. I’ve already learned that:  I’m still here. It’s not even that a book or two can be removed. I’ve done that and I’ve ripped some chapters out of the books that are part of my permanent library. 

The shelf should be able to hold the weight. Its materials and construction are on target. It shouldn’t bow. In fact, the manufacturer has stated it should sustain even more. 

It should.  It shouldn’t. It doesn’t.  But. It. Should. 

But I should be able to do the thing. Whatever the thing is. I’m better than I was. I shouldn’t need a break after making the bed. I should be able to concentrate enough to finish an article. I should be able to work by now. 

I should all over myself. 

A woman in a previous support group called these thoughts Monkeys. They screech and rattle the bars to be heard.  Each has a different, often contrary message.  But it all boils down to noise in my head. 

The shelf story addresses the Should Monkeys.  

It should. It doesn’t.  That’s where the thought ends. 

Insisting that it should do what it doesn’t is circular thought. No amount of insistence, desire, or willpower will change the situation.   It is what it is. Don’t add any more stress to the shelf. Accept the shelf’s limitations despite all the Should Monkeys screeching. 

Accepting a chronic illness is neither easy nor giving up. The latter has stuck with me for a long time.  I’d like to think I’ve ripped that chapter out but the Authors like too much to let it go. 

I am chronically ill. It doesn’t matter what my diagnoses are. My shelf is bowed. I may lighten its burden, but the damage is done. I can say it should bear a heavier load, but it doesn’t. Getting another shelf isn’t an option. It’s imperative to take care of what I’ve got. 

Because with the proper attention, that shelf will hold up just fine for as long as I need it.