Category: writing

I Divorced Drama

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I refuse to be disrespected. I’m not going to shut down so you can speak up. You don’t get to feel good at my expense. You’re responsible for you—your words, attitude and drama. I’m responsible for me—my voice, feelings, and sense of self.

I no longer keep people in my life who put me down, pull me down, or try to make me feel small. I do my best to build people up and surround myself with others who dare do the same.

If you’re grieving, struggling, feeling down, or going through a hard time, I’m there. I’ll listen until 3 a.m. or be your errand gal. I’ll do the shit that’s hard for you. Truly, whatever you need.

However, if your life screams drama because you attract it, are addicted to it, you’re easily offended, create conflict out of insignificance, or you consistently project or defend, sayonara baby. I wish you well. I’ve been you. I’ve spent enough time with characters who come from where you do.

“When the student is ready, the teacher will appear.” Well, I’m not your teacher or your fixer.

I’m the woman who walks down a new street.

I’m going somewhere different.

I divorced drama. Now, like the alcoholic who shouldn’t be in a bar, I cannot be around defeatists or those who want to argue, prove, one-up or one-down me.

I’ve got to surround myself with the winners of the world, the dreamers, the artists, writers, singers, dancers, life players and love makers. I spent a lifetime contorting and exposing my buttons to be pushed and crying poor me and me, too! But, no more!

I decided to stand up, to live this last half of my life (yep, going for 100!) as the gift that it is, be fully present for the people and experiences before me. I just can’t do that around the crazy makers and naysayers.

There’s a certain kind of person that can pull me in and suck me dry, make me think less of myself and wonder why I try.

Even if you don’t mean to, I’ve discovered who you are and what my reaction is to you. So, I’m out.

I’m out so I can be in. In truth. In authenticity. In courage. In joy. In forward movement. I’m out from the crowd and certain individuals who crush my spirit, even the well-meaning ones. I determine to expand like an eagle in flight, like a person sucking the marrow out of life. Can you dig it?

 

 

 

I refuse to be disrespected. I’m not going to shut down so you can speak up. You don’t get to feel good at my expense. You’re responsible for you—your words, attitude and drama. I’m responsible for me—my voice, feelings, and sense of self.

I no longer keep people in my life who put me down, pull me down, or try to make me feel small. I do my best to build people up and surround myself with others who dare do the same.

If you’re grieving, struggling, feeling down, or going through a hard time, I’m there. I’ll listen until 3 a.m. or be your errand gal. I’ll do the shit that’s hard for you. Truly, whatever you need.

However, if your life screams drama because you attract it, are addicted to it, you’re easily offended, create conflict out of insignificance, or you consistently project or defend, sayonara baby. I wish you well. I’ve been you. I’ve spent enough time with characters who come from where you do.

“When the student is ready, the teacher will appear.” Well, I’m not your teacher or your fixer.

I’m the woman who walks down a new street.

I’m going somewhere different.

I divorced drama. Now, like the alcoholic who shouldn’t be in a bar, I cannot be around defeatists or those who want to argue, prove, one-up or one-down me.

I’ve got to surround myself with the winners of the world, the dreamers, the artists, writers, singers, dancers, life players and love makers. I spent a lifetime contorting and exposing my buttons to be pushed and crying poor me and me, too! But, no more!

I decided to stand up, to live this last half of my life (yep, going for 100!) as the gift that it is, be fully present for the people and experiences before me. I just can’t do that around the crazy makers and naysayers.

There’s a certain kind of person that can pull me in and suck me dry, make me think less of myself and wonder why I try.

Even if you don’t mean to, I’ve discovered who you are and what my reaction is to you. So, I’m out.

I’m out so I can be in. In truth. In authenticity. In courage. In joy. In forward movement. I’m out from the crowd and certain individuals who crush my spirit, even the well-meaning ones. I determine to expand like an eagle in flight, like a person sucking the marrow out of life. Can you dig it?

 

 

 

Crazy Mind and Strong Heart

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Crazy Mind doesn’t want to write. She’s busy thinking of how and what to write and the fact that she’s not writing and all the shit that’s getting in the way of her writing. Crazy Mind is online and has ulcers over lost time. Crazy Mind is irritated by children and dogs. Crazy Mind makes lists and tries to master her vulnerabilities and hide her humanity from herself. Crazy Mind is always searching for the answer, the tool, the right way to do the right thing at the right time. But, Crazy Mind isn’t writing.

Strong Heart knows it’s hard.

Strong Heart coaxes, encourages and seduces. Strong Heart relaxes into moments—all of them. She walks in the woods and returns to her own nature. Strong Heart is young, free, wild and wise. Strong Heart knows. Strong Heart trusts. Strong Heart believes in magic and God and doors swinging wide open at just the right time. Strong Heart waits—without worry. Strong Heart takes the long view. Strong Heart has friends and a life off the page—unapologetically. Strong Heart starts—over and over. Strong Heart is quiet and sometimes she’s loud. Strong Heart prays and dances and sings. She laughs at herself and life. Strong Heart is silly and deep and lighthearted. And she writes.

No Resistance Required

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Do not resist joy.

It comes to you

Like a foreign lover

At an unexpected time.

Just after you determine

Life’s direction.

Joy will spin you around like

Pin-The-Tail-on-The-Donkey.

You’ll hear the laughter,

Recall hitting the wrong wall.

The music will confuse you.

You must remember:

It’s your party! Your joy!

PLAY! PLAY ALONG!

Wear the blindfold.

Give into the giggles.

Fall into joy like a lake.

Joy comes to you

Like an ex-lover who

Broke your heart so hard

You forgot the beauty of

The beginning and the

Treasure of the lessons.

Joy is your long lost best friend,

Favorite mirror, sweetest flavor.

Or salty. Or spicy! If

That’s how you like it.

How do you like it?

You’ve got to let yourself

Give in. Taste joy. Like it.

I Am a Woman

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Phoenix isn’t just a dog to me. She’s my baby. Maybe I wasn’t meant to have children. Or I was too scared or whatever. But, I am a woman. I’m carried by a feminine desire to nurture, care for and love. Phoenix is a sensitive soul in a black lab body. She teaches me how to love. When men push me away, Phoenix follows me like Ruth to Naomi: “Where you go, I go.” She gives me loyalty and devotion. I am her chosen one.

That’s what I want to be for a man. I’m nobody’s back-up anything. So buddy, you better back up. I don’t want to be anybody’s back-up wife, other woman, or just for fun.

Oh, I’m fun. And funny. And articulate. I can be stunningly beautiful — physically and spiritually.

I can touch you in places you didn’t even know existed.

I am a woman. A blessing. A gift.  If you don’t want to be open to that gift, not a problem. Move along, wish you well.

I’m not starving for affection, attention, or connection. Oh, I’ve walked down those roads; don’t get me wrong. I get that there are some things a man can do best.

However, not all. See, I know how to please myself. I’m perfectly capable of loving and nurturing myself. Anyone who thinks a woman can’t be happy without a man isn’t paying attention to all the women who are. Or has a dull grasp of the power of love from dogs, sisters, girlfriends and family, not to mention male friends. If you need back up, phone a friend.

By the way boys, men, if friendship isn’t your bottom line in hanging with me—as in honesty, intimacy and connection, which will require multiple conversations in addition to the romance and rocking sex, just keep walking because even if you send your best representative, there will come a day when I will walk away. So, why don’t you just save us both some time?

Gentlemen, I’m not 20 years old and you trying your plays, your ploys and your downright lies is downright insulting.

You know that women’s intuition exists.

I don’t have to prove it to you. I can see your false fronts as clearly as you can see a 14-year-old’s fibs. You standing there denying what I know to be true is as foolish as me telling my father in high school, after I drove into a pole and made a perfect indentation, “It must’ve been a hit and run.”

Just because I don’t say anything and you don’t think I have the proof I need doesn’t mean you got away with something. More like you let something special get away due to your disregard and disrespect.

Yeah, I get hurt, but I get up. I did not get up to get in the back of the line or to be your back-up girl. I got up to create a full and fulfilling life.

If you’re looking to be anything less than real, I’m real sorry, but you simply don’t qualify.

Maybe you could be my back-up boy or my boy toy, but while we’re playing and you think you’re the player, remember: I am a woman.

How to Write Memoir that Rocks

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“I’ve said it’s hard. Here’s how hard: everybody I know who wades deep enough into memory’s waters drowns a little.” ~  Mary Karr, The Art of Memoir

As my old writing professor used to say: “Tell the truth, but make it a good story.”

Truth is nonnegotiable in memoir.

Writing memoir, good memoir, requires going deep into your experiences and your truth.

It’s only your truth, but if you want to bend it, call it what it is–fiction.

As you craft and revise memories, be willing to question yourself–because your readers certainly will.

Deep contemplation and consideration brings intensity, meaning and depth to your memoir.

Without depth, it’s just a story to tell at happy hour.

The art of memoir is in the crafting of the behind the scenes, understanding the unspoken, and sharing insights with your readers without coming off as a know-it-all.

Memoir can be thick with the everyday dramas of life, but it need not be tedious, boring or insulting.

If the writing is strong, it can seduce the reader to turn one more page.

Rich memoir is a map to the reader, taking them on a journey that reminds them of something inside themselves or helps them imagine another life altogether.

Well-chosen memories help us better grasp where we’ve been and we’re going. They serve as mirrors. Not every memory is vital to the story, even if important to the writer.

Solid memoirs awaken readers’ own sense of direction, or at the very least, help them make way for others’ choices.

Memoir that rocks not only reveals the writer’s revelations, but shift the readers’ awareness and understanding.

To write memoir that moves people, you’ve got to allow yourself to be moved, nudged and even shoved by life. You’ve got to live it fully.

There’s no room for surface dwellers in the realm of rich memoir.

Writing of this sort requires the same time and effort other writing does.

Of course, it demands showing up on the page, but memoir writers who earn rapt attention spend time studying themselves, their stories, and their lives.

Memoir writers like Mary Karr or Glennon Doyle know themselves in a way few do.

Much of that knowledge comes from painting words on paper, but memoir is more.

It’s cohesion of memories, ideas, lessons, values and visions. It’s wisdom, not only in the words but in the character of the writer behind the words.

As a memoir writer, I’m out to expose myself—not as a flasher, but as a woman who’s put herself under the microscope, fledged through the darkness and awakened to beautiful blessings.

A memoir writer must not be afraid of the dark, or shining the light on it.

If you want to write memoir, great memoir, dive in, dig deep.

Expose the underbelly of life, but do it in the way that only you can.

Shine your light into your darkness and expose the lessons you’ve learned like a grandfather tells tales on a camping trip with the fire snapping in the night.

Make us lean in.

Date Like a Gentleman

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I have a friend who dates frequently. He’s on Match.com and obviously attracts dates—first dates, some second and thirds. He told me the other night, after the fizzle with yet another woman, that he doesn’t mind listening as women dump their issues at his feet. After all, he’s a nice guy. And, he doesn’t expect sex right out of the gate, but he doesn’t want to wait six months wading through someone else’s baggage. He seems sincerely confused.

I haven’t been on his dates, so I can’t be sure, but I suspect what he might consider carrying baggage, these women may be trying to show him who they are by exposing their wounds. Yes, some women definitely dump too much on day one. However, in general, it’s our way of connecting. Consciously or not, we’re testing to see how you react to our wounds to see if you’re safe.

Being a nice guy isn’t enough to make a sane woman jump into your bed.

Plus, frankly, most of us can buy our own dinner and drinks these days. We also consider our time valuable.

My friend Bill keeps saying, “I’m a kind guy, but these women…” Well, first, being kind or being a gentleman is like being powerful. If you have to announce it, it makes me wonder. Second, who gives a crap? Nice guys are a dime a dozen. Oh, sure there are plenty of jerks. But, by a certain age, strong, successful, secure women spot the seriously flawed character as easily as crooked teeth and bad grammar.

What we’re concerned about is, if I invest my heart in this guy, will it bring me joy or pain? It doesn’t matter that you’ve bought dinner, shown us your BMW, pulled out our chair and opened the door. That’s just the bow on the box and we’ve been burned before.

Bill would say, “But I really am a nice guy! I am a gentleman! My mother raised me right!”

None of it matters if we don’t feel safe and connected.

And, if we do, we’ll make all kinds of allowances for your income, political affiliations, and even being short.

The thing Bill isn’t counting in the equation is women’s intuition and the intensity of our feelings. We know things. We know things we don’t even know we know. The things you think you’re presenting we’re peering beyond, even without intention. If you’re trying to get something from us, rather that actually get to know us, it doesn’t matter if you say and do all of what you consider to be the right things. To us, to women of quality, those actions are common courtesies. They don’t matter because we can FEEL your intentions. We can feel whether you truly care about us as unique individuals—our struggles and desires—or if you just want sex.

The fact that you think that’s something you’re out to get from us lets us know you don’t get women at all, because we actually have the same desires you do.

If we feel connected and protected, we naturally want our bodies to be part of the expression.

If we feel like you let us into your heart, we’ll let you into our body. We know (it doesn’t matter how well you do the dating game) giving our bodies doesn’t win your heart. Women want your heart. (Bitches!) You’ve revealed your unavailability and that’s a turn-off and therefore, you get turned down for sex.

I get it, guys. You don’t want the big commitment because you’re happy with your life. Well, why not consider an escort service? It’s only offensive if you’re pretending you want something you don’t. You want a beautiful woman who will do things with you when you want, especially sex, and go away so you can be happy with your life.

Women get that. We know. Really, we do. We get where you’re coming from. We just don’t like it.

If you can’t meet us where we are, how can we give you what you want?

We need to feel safe. We need to feel connected. Sometimes, we don’t like that about ourselves, but most of us, at one time or another have tried giving our bodies without our hearts, and that’s just not where we are now. The truth is we long for a man’s touch as much as you wish for a woman’s. We’re just hoping there’s some way, someday, we’ll meet the right guy, on the right path, and we’ll feel safe enough to let him seduce us, you know, like a gentleman.

Work as Hard on Yourself as You Do Your Job, Marriage, Home or Hobby

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I’m dismayed by women who rise to the top of the corporate ladder, but refuse to honor their own tears. What’s the point in being a woman who can land a man, purchase a home, and gather a gang of girlfriends, if you feel lonely looking in the mirror? As long as you’re alive, you’ll have a relationship with yourself. Why not work as hard on yourself as you do your job, marriage, home, or hobby?

Those could be temporary. Witness the woman who loses her job, husband or health. Years later, she’s revived and fully alive because when she lost her balance she found her center.

Don’t wait for loss to break you and make you decide you’re worth the investment. Choose yourself now.

We force ourselves to feel what we believe we should and do what we think we must. Give yourself a break! Take time for you. Ask, “What am I feeling?” and then honor, rather than deny, dismiss, or justify. What do you need, now? Have your values changed? What unfulfilling relationships or time-consuming activities could you let go of to spend more time with the one ever-present in your world? You matter. Out-of-balance people become a burden.

You want to be a blessing? Sanctify yourself. We work on relationships with men and family. We work on careers, homes and gardens. Yet, we expect ourselves to just arrive? Growing takes work, energy and time. It’s the best investment you can make. Working on yourself means finding your needs and desires, and recognizing your own evolution. It’s knowing, honoring and nurturing the person you are today. What themes come up short around you? If there’s a hole in your soul, nothing outside can fill it.

You can fool yourself and work on everything else, but don’t you know better? Don’t you deserve better?

What do you really need and want? Quiet, meditation, prayer, yoga, music, therapy, art, dancing, poetry, wild sex, bike rides, trips to the beach? Do you need to quit your job or leave your relationship to live congruent with your soul? Or do you need to step it up in some area of life? Don’t just be a better mother, wife, sister, or friend. Be a better YOU. Think about yourself. Just for five minutes.

Ah, come on! You’d give a friend five minutes without hesitation. Or your child or mate or boss. What about you? Be worthy in your own eyes. What lights you up? Work as hard on yourself as you do anything else and your world will expand. But, hey, if that’s too much, just start with five minutes.

 

 

How to Overcome the Media Madness

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The art of spending time in thought is a dying craft. What is one crafting when she delves into contemplation? Sorting, creating, comparing, conjuring, releasing, cultivating a considering mind. To ponder is not a waste of time. I’m not talking about wallowing, but investing actual mind time in clearing and clarifying for oneself before walking and speaking in the world. Let our words not simply mirror opinion of favored media moguls or what a brother-in-law shared on Facebook.

When did we stop thinking for ourselves and begin begging to be spoon-fed “facts” and ideologies without consideration of the rampant rhetoric and rudeness of our society?

We’re living in reaction. Can you feel it? The defensiveness?

The answer is contemplation. Rather than a plateful of bite-sized news and entertainment bits, what if we chose to spend time in deep contemplation over the multifaceted challenges facing our society and what roles we might play in helping?

Personally, I’m overwhelmed by the world—selling, convincing, soothing, seducing, and manipulating me away from my core.

Contemplation brings me home. What do I think? Why might others think their way? How do I feel? How might others feel? What’s behind this? What are we not seeing? What am I afraid to admit? How can I speak my truth without condemning others? How can I not cower and close down when others dismiss me? How can I be at peace when I feel guilty for sitting in contemplation?

Write Like a Champion

Alice Lundy5 Comments

Decide to step up. A champion is not made by default.

Go into writing the way that you once chased running. Remember getting up at 5 a.m. to run before school? Determine to be a writer in the way you focused on becoming a salesperson, learning presentations and product information and agreeing to opportunity.

It’s time to pour your love into your writing the way the way you’ve doused men with attention. Give your focus, devotion and care to your writing. Take the drama to the page.

Decide to do the work. Stack the bricks of discipline into a solid foundation. Continue developing your craft.

Be your own inner coach. Find what works for you and work it. Time is both your responsibility and your opportunity. No one can do this for you. It’s completely up to you.

People’s opinions, good or bad, stand irrelevant. You’re the only one who can be cruel to your calling. A writer who doesn’t write keeps her gifts from the world.

Decide to dedicate yourself to the giving of your gifts.

If you fall short, no one will know. Except you. You alone will know the extent to which you suffer or come alive.

Your soul knows if you’re talking about writing instead of doing the work. If you were born to be a writer, if it’s your destiny, but you don’t write, your life will ring hollow.

Without writing, if it’s in your blood, nothing will ever be enough. Writing is your livelihood; it awakens you into a new level of being.

It’s not the success or fame that brings you joy. If you’re a writer, it’s the pen to the page, the hands on the keys, and the reader connecting to something you wrote. That’s the reward.

Yet, if you want lots of people to read your words, if you want to influence people through your writing, you can’t just throw it on the page. You’ve got to spin it, shape it, and grind the dust away like a diamond cutter. Then, present your words to the world like an engagement ring to life.

Go after your story like it’s a lover you’re determined to win.

You can’t go into your writing hard and demanding. Sometimes you have to charm its little pants off. Other times, you must hold your own hand to get into your writing. Coax it and seduce it.

Go to your writing. Go through your writing. Be with your writing. Fully present and accounted for. Don’t just write the way a child practices multiplication tables.

Write like your heroes. Imagine the writing habits of Marianne Williamson, Joan Brady, Elizabeth Gilbert, Cheryl Strayed, Dorothy Parker and JR Moehringer. Then, create your own writing rituals.

Honor the doors that have flung open for you. Know the world is conspiring and preparing for your success.

You must do your part so you can meet your destiny when she arrives. You must write like a champion.

When a Student Threatens Murder

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A couple of years ago, I taught technical writing at a community college in Minnesota. What I’m going to tell you about is a rare event for any college instructor. So, of course it happened to me and now I’ll always wonder what happened to that boy.

He leaned in on the second night of class after not showing up for the first. He got too close and told me too much, about his older brother who was mentally challenged and then died while they were both just boys. Andy mentioned living in a half-way house for a while. He mentioned drugs and something about the law. His vague, random, rambling, uninvited words glued my eyes to his, needing him to know I was listening. I cared.

The next day I called the school to get Andy some help, counseling I hoped, but he didn’t show up in class the following week. I worried a bit, but frankly, I wanted to forget.

On the following class meeting, I told him I wanted to get him help. “Let’s just walk downstairs and see if there’s somebody you can talk to.” There wasn’t. It was a night class at a community college. The walk afforded Andy the opportunity to reveal to me that he thought he might be the Messiah, who was definitely coming he said, even if it wasn’t him. Andy then told me he was going to have to murder “those people,” referring to some of his neighbors who weren’t taking him seriously. He told me he didn’t want to kill them but he had to; it was karma.

“Yes,” I said, “That may be true. They might even deserve it as you say, but I’m concerned about you. You’re going to school and improving your life. If you do what you’re saying, you’re going to be living in a cell for the rest of your life.”

“Do you think I’m insane?” Andy asked.

“I think we’re all a little insane at times,” I said.

“Well,” Andy said, “I heard there’s a fine line between insanity and genius.”

“Exactly,” I said. “If we get you some help, maybe you can get to the genius side.”

I didn’t know how to help him that night on our 15-minute break, other than to beg him not to kill anyone, at least for a couple days. I promised him someone would call him tomorrow.

Just to be safe, I slipped a note to one of my students who I knew had firearm and military experience, asking him to walk me to my car after class.

         The following day I called the school counselor. She asked me, “Does this student know if he mentions murder to me I’m obligated to call the police?” It seemed an odd outlook, but Andy said the word to me three times. I encouraged the counselor to try to get Andy to come in and talk to her.

The next thing I knew, the police called me, searching for Andy. I wondered if it was good or bad that they couldn’t find him. He seemed so lost and the image of police swarming him could freak him out even further.

Then, I received a call from the dean of the college. “I understand you have a religious zealot in your class?” What had I brought down on this boy? The dean reminded me of other scenarios like Virginia Tech where security and police hadn’t intervened, the way they would at Andy’s next accounting class. I hadn’t gone too far in calling the counselor. I didn’t stretch the truth. The kid was talking murder. Hopefully, I helped divert disaster. But, could somebody please help the boy?