Category: writing

Dance, Crazy Pants!

Alice Lundy3 Comments

Let the love in, lady, baby, little bit crazy pants.

All the men you loved before were

Mountains you climbed to get a better view.

When you could see further, you rose higher.

Don’t judge yourself for being at those depths.

Or determine that the men you meet up here

Resemble those who broke your heart yesterday.

They served as partners on your path.

And no, you weren’t lost.

You could not have arrived earlier.

The journey, with all its twists, was yours to make.

You set out to take each step that led you here.

Here, on higher ground, standing face-to-face

With a man who slayed a few dragons

And dealt with no-doubt duplicitous females

On his travels and tumbles to get to you.

Here’s a man—scared and brave, showering

You in his love, lady, baby, little bit crazy pants.

This enchanted chapter is yours.

Check out the view! This is where you dance.

Sisters Sitting at Pies and Pints

Alice Lundy2 Comments

I see Jayne and me sitting at Pies and Pints, her blonde hair flying and her head falling back in laughter. She’s lit up, alive—5 and 16 and 28 and 32—all over again. We’re telling stories about guys and saying things we would’ve said at those ages. Ours is the laughter of happy girls, something we weren’t allowed to be very often, being told to “act our age” and “grow up.”

Jayne did, fast. Married at 19, two kids followed bringing a bulk of responsibility. Jayne was up to it, even all the caretaking when cancer took her husband of 33 years. Then, the toll called upon my sister’s soul and she was weighted with a palpable brokenness, the loneliness of a widow.

As Jayne’s grappled with her grief all I could do was stand by and hold her hand like a mother helping her child fight sickness. Grief grabbed my sister like winter shapes the landscape.

Then, one day, like the flower in the sidewalk in spring, my sister’s smile emitted joy. Another day, her laughter beat like a drum in my heart. There were steps forward because life leads us on if we let it. Jayne allowed for tomorrows when all she wanted were yesterdays.

Now, grief has lived as an unwanted guest in her gut for two years and nine months. She’s endured too many Tuesdays since the one her husband went away. A year and a half has passed since I moved in to witness the healing.

With honor, I’ve served as her spotter, as if someone could spot the building of a butterfly. I’ve seen her colors evolve and her wings expand. She was in a sticky cocoon, but there were moments and now occasionally days, when I spot her flying.

Like when I see Jayne and me sitting at Pies and Pints, her blonde hair flying and her head falling back in laughter. She’s lit up—5 and 16 and 28 and 32—all over again. We are giggly girls and we are wise women. We are sisters sitting at Pies and Pints.

Marketing without Games

Alice LundyLeave a comment

It’s taken me so damn long to start a serious blog. Not that this is going to be sooo serious. Ideally, with divine intervention, Alice in Authorland will inspire you to laugh, cry, think and grow rich with authenticity.

See, I’m a writer. It’s the tattoo my soul entered this world with. But, technical crap throws me into my old math anxiety mentality (hell). My brain reacts like Teflon to the technical .

I love how Danielle LaPorte says, “Technophobe?  Get over it.” I only love those words because I’m mesmerized by Danielle LaPorte’s voice and spirit.

I get her point. It’s like students who say they “can’t” write or “hate” writing. Usually, they had a bad experience.

I spent weeks learning about WordPress and taking a class from an ass who friended me on Facebook and later asked me out. No matter how charming I acted or how often I showed up early or stayed late in order to get real help building my basic writer website, neither of us got what we wanted. He knew I was playing him and I knew he was playing me. Nobody won.

Here’s my secret shame. Long before that class, I earned an MS in technical communication. Ooh! Ahh! I must be smart! Honestly, for every elective, I selected creative writing.  In the actual technical classes, we worked in groups which divided tasks. I always took the writing part, except when I attempted to step up to the technical side. I’d ask for help from one of the techy students. They couldn’t help but take over and I couldn’t help but let them in order to hide my techno shame and secure an A for the group. I shirked my responsibility to myself to learn, create, and navigate what was then referred to as the World Wide Web.

That’s exactly what it felt like to me—a place where I kept getting stuck.  I’m not the only one. Right? We keep trying. Tried school. Tried a class. People help with, “Just pay someone to throw up a website.” These same people say, “You’re a writer? Can you make a living doing that?”

Squirm. Shame. Not yet. Fuck you!  My ego speaks first. My soul sees the sadness of suckers thirty pounds overweight doing jobs they hate.

So, I pray.

I pray to release my fears, insecurities and shame. I allow my divine desire to write, share my stories and touch hearts. I pray for the right (write) people to  step into Alice in Authorland, not just the website, but the world wide web of writing,  publishing, marketing and engaging a readership.

I also pray to be open to all kinds of angels along my path. I pray. God giggles and gives answers I never imagined. People arrive. With ideas that both excite and make me bristle.

I learn of some games people play to gain an online following and I’m floored. I don’t want to! I don’t have to! I’m not going to! (Youngest child syndrome.)

We youngest like to say, “You’ll see.” I get the invitation that you have to play to win. So did Augusten Burroughs before he shredded into A Million Little Pieces on Oprah.

I’m not him. I’m Alice Lundy. I’m committed to authenticity to the best of my ability. I despised working for others when they expected me to squelch who I am.

Still, I’d rather get a job than build my brand on the thing I hated most about working for someone else: games. I once had a boss who was infamous for saying, “My game. My ball. My rules.”

Not anymore. I take responsibility for me. I am Alice in Authorland.

Some people suggest I get friends to post rave reviews under multiple pseudonyms. They say, “Everybody does it” and “That’s just how it’s done.”

Didn’t their moms ask them about jumping off the bridge with their friends? No, these suggestions aren’t about banking fraud or political posturing, but I refuse to build my brand based on bullshit. I take it personally to expand through integrity.

If that means I’m short on following or the reviews don’t sound so cute, I’m ok with that.

I’m not cool with pretending. Period. Sure, sometimes I must, but not here, not now. Not with my voice. I want real. Yes, even if it’s real hard and slow to start. But, what if that’s where the bullshit lies?

The truth is in the magic and the miracles, God and angels, and readers who join communities that mirror better. I believe in better.