Sweet Little Nothings

Do YOU chocolate

She was as much Leave it to Beaver
as she was Married with Children.
She wrote children’s nursery rhymes by sunlight
& Southern Gothic horror by lamplight.
She loved her technology
but loved her childhood without it.
She loved the finer things,
enjoyed with the common people.
She was, as Maureen O’Hara would say,
“tis herself.”

2019: My Year in Review

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I feel like I’ve lived several lifetimes since last year.  I’m working nearly full-time from home as a proofreader/editor and am now in university, pursuing my B.A. in English with a concentration in Creative Writing; I’m also back at the Writing Lab as a tutor—a great gig.

Several months ago, however, things weren’t so rosy.

When I got discharged from my full-time position at my alma mater, my first thought was “How am I going to pay the bills?”  But that thought was almost instantly replaced with an overwhelming feeling of relief. 

Three days before graduating with my A.A. and A.S., I was offered a full-time position as an administrative assistant (i.e., secretary/receptionist) for my alma mater’s foundation.  One of my interviewers had said they were “so inspired by my passion for the college” that they actually upgraded the position for me (full benefits and everything).  I like to say that the red carpet was rolled out for me, only for the rug to be pulled out from under me. Being given the boot after all that should’ve been a blow to my pride, but I’ve learned (the hard way) over the last few years that pride is way overrated.    

The story I’m about to tell, I wasn’t sure I was going to tell at all (at least in writing).  A very good friend of mine thought it should be told, so rather than change the names to protect the not-so innocent, I simply won’t mention them (they’re really not that important).

Here it is:

Every year, the foundation puts on a holiday gala for the big donors.  The year before last, it was at another campus, showcasing the healthcare program.  I was the Editor-in-Chief of the college newspaper and wanted to cover it, and my successor was taking photographs.  I thought my boss would be pleased (though that wasn’t the reason why I wanted to do it) that it would be getting some attention.  Plus, I was curious.  

Fancy affairs like this one was are generally not my thing, but there was something so cool, so insanely awesome, that I just had to tell about it:  a robotic mannequin that gave birth.  I captured the whole process on my phone and posted on to our newspaper’s Facebook page.  I think robots in general are cool, but this was just . . . WOW!

When the print edition of my story came out after I returned from winter break, a shitstorm hit.  The dean from the campus where the gala had been held came into the foundation office and talked to my boss, who went into a panic, asking where all the newspapers had been distributed, asking me to take down the video, etc.

So what happened?

The new Editor-in-Chief (the photographer that night) had replaced one of the photos at the last minute (she didn’t have a name for the caption, which is sort of a cardinal sin in the newspaper business) with a photo of the robotic mannequin giving birth (I’m not even sure if the fake genitalia was in view).  My boss informed me that because I worked for the foundation, certain things would be expected of me.  She didn’t even give me the chance to tell her that I had handed the reins over to the new EIC at the end of last year and had had nothing to do with the photograph (I guess donors don’t look at our Facebook page).  

As my grandma used to say, I was all worked up into a tizzy (even though I knew she couldn’t fire me for something over this), I walked outside and called the Editor-in-Chief, whose calm made me realize that I had done nothing wrong.    

My boss was so afraid of losing donors, referencing some anti-Trump art by a teacher (which had caused the school to lose donors), that she couldn’t see the bigger picture:  Donors don’t control the news.

What was even more insane was that donors were there that night and saw the whole thing.  I thought, if someone sees childbirth and thinks it pornographic, then they are the ones with the problem.  

My boss treated me with condescension (but never in front of people) after that, and it got to the point where I didn’t feel like I could do anything right, even take a simple telephone message; she even hung up on me when I was couldn’t find the information she was looking for fast enough.  What’s more, she acted like it was a great thing that I was losing my job because I didn’t belong there anyway, while trying to convince me that newspaper writing wasn’t that different from fundraising.  It had already gotten to the point where I was sick to my stomach whenever she came in.    

Those weeks I was unemployed I was filled with angst.  I hate looking for a job with a passion—the boring ass job applications, the endless cover letters that have to be specifically tailored to the position you are applying for (just look at my freaking resume), the interviewing (ahem, auditioning) phase, etc.  I interview well, but I hate feeling like I have to be a put-on.  The whole process is a real drag and takes a toll on your morale.  When my husband finally blew up and said he was tired of me being stressed out all the time, I broke down, finally admitting I hated her.  I think I must have said I hated her fifty times, for it felt so good to get it off my chest.  And then the most amazing thing happened:  All the anger and angst was gone.  I had been so angry with myself for allowing her to make me feel like I was a complete incompetent; never will I allow someone to have that power over me again.  

And that’s the story I never thought I’d have the courage to tell, out of fear that I would burn my bridges for a second chance at full-time employment in another department.  I also feared being judged harshly for publishing this, but this is the most honest piece I’ve ever written.  This was definitely not something that should’ve been written right after it happened (it would’ve been more of a rant), but with a little dust comes perspective.  Out of fear of losing my job (why it sucks being the breadwinner sometimes), I didn’t stand up for myself like I should have.  I regret that greatly.  I just didn’t feel I was in a position to be the least bit confrontational, for you see, the person who has the greater socio-economic status tends to be the one who gets the benefit of the doubt.  I also did not wish to diminish my good reputation or good name at the college that really had given me so much.  

If only I had known I was going to lose the job anyway, how different I might have handled things.  I hate feeling like someone got one over on me, but I love Frank Sinatra’s quote:  The best revenge is massive success.

And now that I make significantly more than I did there, I feel that I have achieved that “revenge” to some degree.  I also know that I was in the wrong place; being there at the wrong time helped me see that.  I’m glad that article came out when it did—that I got to see the mask come off.  I’m glad that I’m home when my daughter gets off the bus, that I’m able to pursue my writing degree, which I couldn’t have if I was still working there, as the university doesn’t offer all the online classes that the college does.  Because I would have put my family first, I would’ve put my degree on hold to keep the money coming in until I found something better.  

I would’ve hated to give up the benefits (two weeks paid time off for winter break, one week paid time off for spring break, and at least a week of other paid days off, as well as paid sick leave and personal leave), however, I sort of got all that anyway.  I figured out that I save 45 minutes of driving time a day, which equals to approximately 21 hours a month that I can be home with my family or working on my writing.  

Though I am happy scholastically and occupationally, my life hasn’t magically become perfect (I still have rent and car payments), but it’s better and I am so much better off than I was at this time last year.  Because I am not stressed out over work or school (no more math or science), I am happier at home.  I know I will never be able to avoid stress completely, but I am learning how to avoid unnecessary stress and better handle the stress I do have.  

My focus this year will be on finishing all my unfinished writing projects (I have a few novels), cleaning up my blog (I’ve almost ditched all the stock photography and am working on my own graphics), working on pieces for publication (besides what I publish on my blog and on Medium Daily Digest), organizing my entire flash drive, and learning how to create my own book covers to self-publish a few shorter pieces that I don’t envision being published by a traditional publisher.  

I also have goals for my daughter (reading!) but these are mine.  A Facebook friend was asking what our word was for 2019, and I said “actualization.”  When she asked how did I expect it to impact my life, I said, “It already has,” for it was this year that I realized I needed to do what I was made for.

As for my big takeaway from 2019?  Tell your story.  You own it.  

Happy New Year!

A Life in Picture Books: Shutterfly for Beginners

Life, Inverse

It was the spring of 2017 when I took a poetry course, taught by the local poet laureate.  Being the anti-procrastinator I am, I started working on my final project the night after we got our syllabus.  The project was to create a chapbook of all or some of the poems we would be writing for class that semester.  I decided I’d make it easy on myself and create mine on Shutterfly—no staples or glue for me.  

All semester, that book was like a piece of sculpture I kept adding clay to and chipping away at.  Because all my poems were autobiographical, I titled it Life, Inverse.  In that class, I psychoanalyzed myself, sharing parts of my life I never thought I would share with anyone.

I learned a lot about myself that spring.  

I started my own book publishing company, Campbell Peach Press; my mom grew up in Campbell, Missouri, and we always wanted to go back to the Missouri Peach Festival someday.  I learned how to write short and overcome my fear of public speaking (almost). I learned to love the spoken word as much as I did the written—to appreciate the oral storytelling form—for such teaches us to be active listeners.

Before then, I’d thought that because I was a storyteller, I could not be a poet; like the ballads of Tom T. Hall, all my poems told a story.  They were grounded and concrete and that was okay, for a poem was whatever I made it. My love for poetry grew along with my love for Shutterfly, for I didn’t have to be a skilled photographer to make beautiful books.

Shutterfly was for writers, too.

From that final project, I created the second edition of Life, Inverse as a Christmas gift for another professor, under whom I worked as a work-study student in the English and Communications Department and where I would work for three more semesters; it was there I working when my mom’s time ran out, and there would be no more peach festivals.

Life, Inverse

Following that second edition of Life, Inverse, I decided that every person who had ever supported me in my writing would eventually get one of my one-of-a-kind Shutterfly books.  I wanted them to one day look at it and say, “I knew her when,” though I believe that everyone I have given one to will know me forever.

All that creating on Shutterfly helped me become more aware of not just the words and how they sounded but of how they looked on the page.  I was not an illustrator, but I could be a graphic artist, and so I began taking pictures whenever I saw something I thought I could use in one of my books. Because I sought out these images, I went to places I wouldn’t have visited otherwise.  I began to look more closely at everything—to see the extraordinary in the ordinary.

That summer, I worked on Slow-Speaking Lady (a nod to Anne Waldman’s Fast-Speaking Woman, which had been one of the required readings in the poetry class) for my professor and now friend, with whom I collaborated on the school’s annual literary arts journal.  I also worked on The Post-It Poet (and other community college stories), based on my adventures at Pensacola State College—a gift to my other boss in the English department and the one who had hired me.  

Slow Speaking Lady

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That following spring, my mother was in an automobile accident.  Following her heavenly transition, I created Stories of Mom:  The Memories, the Moments (as compiled by her daughter). 

Just Mom

With that book, I was able to encapsulate memories Dad had forgotten, my brother had shared, and my grandmother had never known.  I did what I wished people had done on her online obituary guestbook—share memories of her, no matter how small, for you don’t realize how precious a memory is until you know there won’t be any more of them.

The summer after I graduated with my A.A. and my A.S., when my friend retired from the English department, I gifted her Dream in Chocolate When You’re Feeling Blue—a collection of brief poems inspired by the silly little sayings inside Dove Chocolate candy wrapper foils.  Dream was also largely autobiographical, with the inclusion of old family photos and snapshots of my college life.  What I remember most about creating this book was that the bulk of it was done during that long, hot summer when my husband, my daughter, and I were carless (eventually becoming homeless).  I was spending an insane number of hours in the Math Lab, conquering algebra by using it as an escape from my fear of being trapped in a desperate cycle of financial instability. I would often be on my laptop under the breezeway after class, working on Dream.  I didn’t know to whom this book would go then, but I knew it would be ready when I knew the answer.  

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This summer, I worked on A Memoir of Mother Goose—a series of vignettes based on the nursery rhymes Dad always read to me, and Children of the Blue and the Grey, about life in the American South and the transcendent nature and suburban graffiti that is prevalent in Pensacola.  These books were for two Facebook friends I have never met but who have supported my writing.

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Children of the Blue and the Grey

This Christmas, I made a chapbook of poems on motherhood for a friend who had just published her own beautiful chapbook of poems, Queen and Stranger.  Even though I never took her class, I feel like I know the core of who she is from reading her work, especially when I hear her read it; for no matter how much we try to hide behind our work, poetry is extremely personal. 

It is not another person’s fiction but our truth.   

When someone shares their poem, they aren’t just sharing their workthey are sharing a piece of their soul.  

Hymns of Motherhood

My books have continued to improve (I still need to take a different peach photo) as I learn more about how to use the app.  The advanced editing feature is a must-use.  

This hobby can get expensive, but only if you let it.  The way to get the best deal on Shutterfly is to have your book ready so that when you get a coupon code for a free book, you can combine that code with unlimited free pages (I’ve had to do this with a couple of my books that have exceeded the 20-page minimum).  You also want to make sure that your book is set to hardcover (my preference), as the free book codes usually include that; (if your book is set to softcover, it won’t have a spine).    

These books, however rewarding to give and receive, are also very time-consuming; I have worked for months on one book.  When I was working full-time at my alma mater, I would spend my lunch hours in the Writing Lab, working on one of these.  For someone whose main focus is photographs (see what I did there?), it might not take as long to put together, but because mine was text-heavy, punctuation like em dashes and apostrophes did not transfer over when I copied and pasted them into the app.  It was a tedious process; even after I made all the corrections, I would read every piece aloud, sometimes twice.  The eye is good for grammar, but the ear is great for flow.  

My next project will be to write a storybook for my daughter based on the Calico Critters (the Hopscotch Bunnies, in particular), using their Instagram photos, as well as Hannah’s Hymnbook—an ongoing scrapbook in which I document all the memories of my daughter as they happen or as I remember them.  Trying to capture everything with a photo or video would be ceasing to live in the moment.  Shutterfly, rather, helps me relive that moment by providing a beautiful medium to place those memories—in a physical book and a digital copy that will endure forever.

Through Shutterfly, I discovered not only my love for graphic design but how to share my writing in the old-fashioned way that is becoming more beautiful the more rare it becomes.

I have not been paid to endorse Shutterfly in any way, nor do I receive any special discounts for promoting them.  I simply love their product.

How to schedule posts ahead of time on your Facebook author/business page

This semester, I chose Professional and Technical Writing as one of my electives.

One of our assignments was to create a set of instructions.  Immediately, I thought of something I already knew how to do, which was how to schedule Facebook page posts ahead of time.  I spend about a day or two before a new semester starts, scheduling posts three days a week for the next four months.  (It helps to have plenty of content.)  I also have my Instagram set up to automatically post to my Facebook page.   

This instruction set got a 100% and some fab feedback, so I felt confident enough to share it.  🙂  Let me know how it works out for you in the comment box below.

Front page

Click here for the full instructions:  Resdesigned Facebook instructions

#Micropoetry Monday: Opposites

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He was a hard-boiled journalist
who believed that truth was so soon buried,
he would outscoop his colleagues
so that he could put it all out there ASAP;
she was a soft-hearted historian
who believed that by letting the dust settle,
the truth would either present itself
or degrade altogether.

She had an overactive imagination,
he, an overactive pituitary,
yet it was she who told the tallest stories,
him being the only one who understood any of them,
for his head was as much in the clouds
as her feet were off the ground.

He was journalism,
she, reality TV.
When they came together,
they created the fake news
that surpassed every rating
they’d ever had.

Stopping Something Old to Start Something New

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Sometimes you don’t know when the last time will be the last time, but as I was slogging through a group project for my Literacy for Emergent Learners class, inundated with texts and emails from group members, I realized that I needed to shift my focus.

When I saw the Writer’s Digest poetry prompt today, where I had to use 3 of 6 words in a list (one of my least favorite prompts, btw), I realized, after three years of participation, that it was time to retire “Writer’s Digest Wednesdays.”  November Poem-a-Day challenge will be coming soon; even though I feel I’ve mastered it, my focus needs to be on finishing school and building my (paying) writing career.  

I’ve always said that serious bloggers should blog at least twice a week, so #Micropoetry Mondays and #Fiction Fridays will be a mainstay, as those posts I can schedule in advance.  My work-school-life schedule has gotten too intense, and I’m ready for the shift to less timely writing projects. 

The time I’ve spent on my Wednesday blog installments has been well-spent—it’s instilled in me the power to meet 24-hour deadlines (which are a must in the incredibly shrinking newsroom), it’s helped me write a ton of poetry I wouldn’t have written otherwise, and it’s helped me cross over the 1000-post threshold—but I’m looking forward to working on longer form projects.  

I can finally work on editing my novel (for about the eighth time).

I will still post my short Instagram poems on weekends and writing tips on my Facebook page, but it’s time to do more “behind-the-scenes” writing on a regular basis.  I’ve already proven to myself that I can write something everyday; now, I want to work on projects that will take at least a week—projects I will actually take the time to edit.

I also want to learn how to illustrate my own work.

I enrolled in University, thinking I would be writing for the student newspaper regularly until I graduated, but I’m shifting focus to freelancing gigs.  I might still contribute an article if I happen to be attending an event that interests me, but creative writing will always be my first love (I don’t have to worry about transcribing audio or having to deal with flaky people whose information or interview I need to write my article).

I realize I’ve spent a lot of time writing for sure things—my blog, the college newspaper, etc.—instant gratification pieces. 

Now, it’s time to get serious and start writing those query letters.   

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Me, in one of my many offices, after a particularly trying day.

#Micropoetry Monday: Opposites

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He was Shakespeare,
she, greeting cards.
She saw in him,
a man who took himself too seriously,
even as he saw her as a woman
who didn’t take herself seriously enough.
He exposed her to words
that meant something,
even as she exposed him to words
that had once meant something
to someone
on their best days &
on their worst days.

She was finishing school,
he, vocational.
She made rumors people used
for the detriment
of their pers,
whereas he made things people could use
for the benefit of them.
When she decided she wanted
to “go slumming”
by trying someone new,
he told her that he only knew how
to work with wood,
not stone.

He wrote love stories,
she, romance novels.
Each believed the other
to be inferior—
hers in literary merit,
his in marketplace value,
though they both practiced
self-love
by doing what they loved.