REFLECTING on my Upcoming Birthday

These two photos are of me – the left was taken six years before the right.

So much changes! Hair, hair color, glasses, weight. The one on the left was a professional photo for new author me in 2013. The one on the right was taken by hubby earlier this year (my schnoz is the same size, unfortunately). It is clear that time moves on and takes us with it but what you can’t see in photos is what else is going on. That’s what might surprise you.

I’m sharing because on March 29 I will become 65 years immortal. I feel the need to share some insight into my mind and my reflections as I turn to face an age that was once only a myth. My need to share is unusual since I am an insanely private person, sharing only lighthearted humor and, of course, the light of my profession, writing. I’m not one given to airing my dirty laundry on social media. I don’t moan to Twitter when I have a cold, or beg for hugs when I have trouble. Yes, I will do so immediately for friends and family, but when it comes to me, I feel uncomfortable saying anything about myself that is weak or negative. I guess I want to be remembered as strong and capable, when sometimes I’m anything but a blubbery mass.

Could be why so many peeps think I don’t have issues. My life is not perfect. In fact, I struggle with insecurity to the max. I worry a lot about everything. I cry more than you could imagine. When it comes to my writing and my books, I have countless sleepless nights when I wish a friend sensed my despair and reached out. But there is a problem there — age. Most of the people I like, ones I count as possible friends, are not my age, not my profession or people I don’t have enough “likes” with to be friends. OR People I used to call friends I never hear from or see anymore. OR the people my age who might be friends are old. And don’t laugh at that — I mean it. They may be “living their age” but they think that is all but dead. No thanks.

I have few real friends. In all my years, I lost my childhood friends because we moved away and we were too young to continue. In high school I never fit in. I wanted to be popular and wasn’t. It was a shallow world out there and I didn’t fit. I wasn’t pretty, or a cheerleader, or dating anyone cool, or driving a fast car (not on the highway anyway), or rich and going to the country club. The nerds didn’t want me beyond Beta Club, the drama kids gave me the lead but wouldn’t play after, and so it goes. Even my high school sweetheart belonged to the no-where kids like me. I muddled through and can’t say I was exactly unhappy but I don’t have friends or memories to carry forward. Then I joined the Air Force.

After the military, the people I cared about moved on and away, married, changed, had kids, and I was more afterthought. S’okay, I did the same to some of them. 

Today I live in a place where I’m happily married but I lack the surrounds of people my age who do what I do. I miss the company of like minds and like backgrounds. And I miss people who share my background. I do feel alone sometimes. Though I share my writing self with many others, few are my age, many are under 40 and that creates obvious distances. Though I ignore them, they are still there. Instead I seek companions in writers groups and am inspired by my interaction. It is fulfilling if limited.

All right this isn’t a pity party. This is a reflection of where I am. I’ve changed a great deal over 65 years. I’m more mellow. I’m less aggressive (unless I drink too much champagne). I’m quick to give love and encouragement (there was a time when I stopped giving either).

But some key things are different. My parents are gone and so are any aunts and uncles. Also no grandparents. My cousins are many but only a few are there to remember me or want to, I guess. I miss the love of family that bolstered my heart, my ego and my dreams. What remains are the memories and hope that love truly does endure.

Some things are deeper in me now. I am more sentimental because life is much shorter going forward and I’m not sorry how affected I am by people. I am less stoic, more cynical, less angry, more contemplative, more into belief in the magical (by that I mean I know Santa is real and the trees whisper). And I am not completely alone. There are friends. 

There are one or two people who seek out my company, who actually like me enough to call or check up with me. You see I have no children and that does place me in a category by myself when so many have families with babies to grandchildren (yes I have grandchildren but only one that I see once in a blue moon). Sometimes I feel the loss of not knowing. But I have gains to fill my life.

I am a writer. An author and moderately successful (though not famous, alas). I wrote for magazines, newspapers, literary presses, journals and did commission work but didn’t become an author until 2013. Then ZOOM WHAM BANG, I met all sorts of people, fascinating people who are talented, funny, amazing, smart and making a difference. Gems. I’m lucky in that regard. The rich diversity of knowing them gave me a different kind of fulfillment.

These are the folks who share their lives with me, who give me the gift of them, who lift me up just by their company and who remind me that we all have worth. I have learned from these people who have given patience and kindness. I have been trusted with secrets and I keep them tight to my heart. I have blossomed under faith and shared laughter and joy. All isn’t lost.

I’m going to be 65. I remember when I turned 40. That was the birthday that was hard for me (30 didn’t bother me). I wondered how it was going to be growing old. I wondered how I would be when I was eligible for Social Security. I wondered who I would become when I was “Old.”

And 25 years later here I am. I have my Social Security card, almost all my family is gone (bless my sister and a few dear cousins), a loving husband, nine books of mine and I share places in others. I have one grandchild I know and adore, and nine others I’ve never seen. I have four great-grandchildren! I have two dear friends who live away from me who remember me “when,” and I love them dearly because they know and remember the “real me” and bless me with real acceptance, no matter how stupid I get or behave. This is love.

I have aches and pains with surgeries to prove the cause. I’ve been married and divorced, married and divorced which led me to becoming happily married. I’ve traveled across wide spaces many places overseas. I’ve known joy and fear, anger and grief. And my eyes still sparkle at Christmas. That’s called faith.

Finally, I feel that life is fleeting and passing swiftly by. I want to be sure my legacy is in my writing, is in the love I’ve given along this journey, is in the laughter I shared with many others and in whatever kindnesses I could give or bring.

credit to L.E. Perez for graphic

I’m not sure when it happened, but I eventually realized that it’s good to be me and there are those who still won’t get me, don’t want to, and have already forgotten me. I’m busy being me and I hope that as I welcome this latest birthday (for I don’t imagine I have a big bucket of them left), that I will grasp joy, laughter, and love with open arms. Sure, I’m going to get insecure and cry again. I’m going to doubt and worry like crazy. I’m going to be silent and I’m going to laugh. Undoubtedly there is more grief to come and more uncertainty. I’m old enough now to handle it. I’m settled with me, for all my foibles.

So, this is me reflecting. I’ve obviously skipped a bunch of stuff, but I will share a little-known secret. I always wanted to be immortal. I had a librarian tell me that everyone on all those shelves was immortal and their names would live on long after the people where gone. I wanted to be THAT. I wanted to be immortal. And now I am. My books are in the Library of Congress, catalogued. I am forever. Even without high school cliques or childhood besties. No matter what else, I did what I thought was impossible. That’s called cool.

And I have to thank my beloved, my husband who shows me every single day how to love, to be loved, and how true love really endures. He is a prince among men. That is blessed.

I’m just over here being me. Drop by once in a while. Don’t let too much time go by before we connect, or reconnect. Bring a smile. I have one for you, too. And when you get to be 65, I hope you think of me and this bit of advice:

Do as much or as little as your heart demands. Do what makes you happy and laugh. Love hard. Give often. It’s okay to cry. And most of all, remember you make life what it is. Only you. And if there’s no one but you to share your days, be at peace. Time goes by very fast. Enjoy your life now and don’t wait on others. Live without regret. Don’t wait to make memories. Chin up, buttercup, this is your life and it is everything you jam into it. It DOES NOT MATTER what others want, think, or say. I wish I’d learned that earlier. Remember, this is your life, not theirs. Be you. In the end, that is the only thing that will make you happy whether in a crowd or alone. Be your best friend. Cut a path and leave a positive trail for others who come after you.

I’m going to do that. For whatever time I have left, let every day be a celebration. Happy Birthday (and don’t forget to take pictures!).

Thanks for coming by.
I remain, Yours Between the Lines,

Sherry

PS. Come back on Friday March 29. I’ll have birthday thoughts and a surprise.

Details Make (or break) Your Novel

I know you’ve heard the saying “it’s the little things that count,” or “the devil’s in the details.” Well, never has that been more true than when writing a novel.

Finely crafted details develop the reader’s world and keep them under your story’s spell.

Too many details or using the wrong ones, and your readers are flipping pages in bored and confused frustration as they search for meaningful information and a return to the plot.

If you want to talk about the omelet the sexy chef is making, we probably need to know about the ingredients but not intricate details about the pan. We may need to know about the stove if it is extraordinary (wood burning?) but not the convection oven. See?

Here are rules I’ve learned on what details to include, how much and when:

DO include details that support your character’s life as long as it helps us understand the personality or motivation. Maybe an assassin once won an award in archery in school.  DON’T describe looks that have no importance. We want to identify the villain soon as possible but maybe all we need to know about is the odd scar on his neck or tattoo on his finger. No need to get into detail about the gray eyes if we never see them or they don’t matter to the story.

DO concentrate on emotions. When people speak, they move. Eyebrows go up. Lips purse. Jaw muscles tighten. DON’T spend so much time emoting that we forget what we’re supposed to be doing or where we’re going. Emotions need to fit the scene and the people important to the moment. Forget the shock of the bus boy and consider the robber’s shock when he realizes he’s been captured. DO interject humor or pathos whenever you can. DON’T assume that because you don’t feel it that we will. If you don’t, we probably won’t either. Your passion must translate to the story and if it does the readers will feel it.

DO go for details that set you above the fray. Be original. Be unusual. DON’T be afraid to break tropes and set your world apart from what’s out there. Every witch has the same items and the same spell book. But instead of a cat or a gargoyle, who has a pet moth? The soaps show women always walking around their homes in high heels. What if your thing is a pair of 60’s go-go boots?

Most often forgotten are the senses. We readers love to know what the world is like, but how does it smell, or what colors are there? How does it feel? Silk or sandpaper? DO give us a complete sense of what the world is and DON’T give us more than we need for the moment. Share the rest of the details as we move through the story and experience what we need when we need it.

Too many details can be your story’s undoing. Give your readers richness and make your readers crave more. Give them too much and the gluttony will drive them away. Being sated on details is good. Being bloated is bad. (and they don’t make a Gas-X for that).

It is very true that details are the key to everything: a good suit, a tasty lasagna, and a book you can’t put down. Choose your details wisely and use smartly. And the result might produce a bestseller (I’m still trying!).

Thanks for coming by and keep writing!
Yours Between the Lines,

Sherry

Name Your Fear

I’ve written about fear before now–how fear can motivate and even inspire you. We’ve looked at writers’ fear of being rejected by publishers, laughed at by readers, scorned by fellow writers, and even the dread that fills up our Halloween daymares.

This is different. Sometimes we are afraid of things and we don’t even realize we’re afraid until we are faced with the moment and YIKES! Suddenly we discover we are afraid! And fear can cause us to react in strange ways. Plus not everyone’s reactions are the same or even logical. But we can learn and understand them.

Take me for instance. I am afraid of heights. I get weak in the knees and dizzy if I am up to high without safely assurances. I have a hard time looking over a railing into any abyss. When I went to the Eiffel tower in Paris, I was surrounded by so much metal and I had plenty to hold on to while I peered down. But when I was on a cruise ship, I stepped out onto my balcony and, as my husband leaned over the railing, I hung back, peeked over the edge and backed up into a balcony chair. All I could envision were the people I’d heard about who fell off a cruise ship from their balcony. No thanks!

But what are those fears? Wouldn’t you like to understand what is the name of the fear that makes you want to scream? Well, I did and here are some of my favorites. 

Almost everyone gets bug-eyed when they hear Arachnophobia. See that spider? RUN! Seriously, some people do run when they see one. 

Anyone see the movie IT? Ah yes, the clown that terrifies! That’s known as Coulrophobia. And it’s one reason why the circus stopped having clowns run amuck through the audiences — because children seem to have a natural wariness of the weird smiling, face-painted person who is big and tall and seems to leer at them. (SHUDDER). Then along came Stephen King. (GULP)

Would you like me to tell your fortune? Yes? Give me your last three address numbers. What? No? Afraid of numbers? Ah yes, that’s known as Numerophobia. People suffering with this odd fear have a difficult time in school because math is scary. (I hated math too).

What about people who are afraid of everything in general? These folks jump at everything because they don’t know what’s coming. It’s a real fear of the unknown and called Xenophobia.

And how about the people who insist they wear sunglasses? No, they aren’t vampires or just being cool. No, they aren’t hiding swollen pupils from drugs (well, I guess they could be any of those). You might be surprised to learn that they are afraid of —— colors. Yup, and it’s real and its called Chromophobia. Imagine being afraid to see the world in all its glory. Kinda makes you sad, doesn’t it?

There are many others, fear of heights is called Acrophobia. It is especially nasty because it strikes even when you aren’t very high up and can be terrifying. It happened to me once standing on a regular 6 ft ladder and I was only on the third step.
Here are a couple more that may make you raise and eyebrow but are truly terrifying to whomever is feeling it:

Arachibutyrophobia – the fear of peanut butter sticking to the roof of your mouth.

Allodoxaphobia – the fear of people’s opinions (this usually goes with a fear of confrontation).

Didaskaleinophobia – the fear of going to school (usually in children 7-10 yrs) and usually comes from a result of bullying.

* *

Fear can strike anyone for any number of reasons. Being anxious is not the same as being afraid and it is important to know the difference. Overcoming our anxieties is doable alone. But if you, or someone else, suffers from a deep fear (even triskaidekaphobia which is the morbid fear of the number 13), I encourage professional help and never laugh. Ridicule strengthens fear. Compassion and understanding are the only aids we can, and should, offer.

Whatever your fears are, learning to know them and deal with them is important. My mom used to say, “if you give your fear a name, you take away its power.” I tried that with my fear of heights, and it didn’t take away my fear but I didn’t feel silly anymore because I knew what I felt was real and not imagined (phobophobia is the fear of fears).

And when something is real, it can be beaten. So, what are you afraid of?

Thanks for not being afraid to come by.
I remain, Yours Between the Lines,

Sherry

Keep in Touch! Here are some important links to stay connected:

Amazon     BookBub     Instagram     Facebook     Twitter     Newsletter