"Dear mom on the iPhone," A Response

Now I know I told you this would be a continuation of the Mental Health topic, and it will be, but I just want to pause for a moment and talk about a link I've seen going around Facebook. This blog post, called "Dear mom on the iPhone: Let me tell you what you don't see," has been getting shared by my friends who, I notice, largely don't comment about the share. Now I was curious about it so I read it.

Oh. Wow. Okay, now I agree wholeheartedly with the basic premise, the "we need to let our kids know that they are more important than our smartphones." Yes. Absolutely. But I do not agree with this blog post at all. In fact, reading it made me angry and annoyed because it is exactly these kinds of blog posts that are feeding into our neurosis. It is bad enough that weigh ourselves down with layer upon layer of guilt; we don't need to do it TO EACH OTHER.

Last time I was talking about all the different pressures that women have in America today, to work and to stay home, to keep a clean house and to play with our children, to be strong and productive in society without losing our femininity while at the same time not being a slave to false stereotypes about women. I was talking about us forgiving ourselves and was going to get to focusing on the good things we do and how talking about it can help, and why learning cognitive behavioral therapies can help us balance our lives and like ourselves.

And then we get smacked with judgements like these. "You are doing a great job with your kids: You work hard, you teach them manners, have them do their chores. But Momma, let me tell you what you don't see right now..." and then the post proceeds to say that by taking the kids to the park and then not responding to their desires for attention you are damaging their self-esteem. Like this one, "Your little boy keeps shouting, "Mom, MOM watch this!" I see you acknowledge him, barely glancing his way.
He sees that too. His shoulders slump, but only for a moment, as he finds the next cool thing to do."

And we pass it around because we don't want to be the one to argue with it, we don't want to be that "Mom on the iPhone." But we don't comment on the story when we share it, either, because secretly we're resenting it. We don't have to secretly resent it. The author of the blog post does say, "I am not saying it's not OK to check in on your phone, but it's a time-sucker: User beware!" so we have permission to check our phones but not to use them. And after we're given permission we get this smack in the face, "You've shown them, all these moments, that the phone is more important than they are. They see you looking at it at while waiting to pick up brother from school, during playtime, at the dinner table, at bedtime."

Why are we doing this to each other? Why do we think it's okay to be down on other women, other mothers, like this? Again, yes, I agree with the premise of the article. I even agree with the caution the author is trying to convey- your phone shouldn't be more important to you than your kids. But you need time to be yourself, and being a parent is harder now than ever before. Generations before us would drop us off at lessons and go do something; we're expected to wait, and watch, the entire time. Kids used to be sent out to ride bikes or go play without parental involvement. Now, tell me you've never seen a group of kids playing and thought, "Where are their parents?!" because parenting has become a 24-7 thing. We center our lives around them and take them everywhere with us. Sometimes we need a break from each other so they don't become dependent on us for their self-worth and so we can be reminded that there is a person inside the job description.

I have something to say to that mom on her iPhone. Good job for taking your kids to the park. Thank you for going with them. Thank you for looking up to check on what your son is doing, dressing your daughter in dresses she can twirl in and combing her long hair so that it shines in the sunlight. Well done pushing your baby in the baby swing. I don't know what's going on in your life; you could be checking your email because your mom wrote all about the serious surgery your sister just had and you want to make sure she's okay. You could be looking for a new home in a nicer neighborhood with better schools for your kids. You could be networking for the business that you run from home so you can be at home with your kids. Or you could be playing Angry Birds, because you've been with your three small children all day and need a mental break so you don't have a mental breakdown.

I don't know why you're on your phone. But you know playtime at the park won't last forever, so you brought them to the park where they can be outside and with other children while you take a mental break instead of parking them in front of the TV. Don't feel bad about yourself. Being on the phone at the park doesn't mean you're on the phone during dinner or texting while you're driving.

And for everyone else at the park, good job for taking your kids to the park. Isn't the sunshine beautiful? Pat yourself on the back and enjoy the day. We need to give ourselves a break and extend that same courtesy to others. Remember that I agree with you, that we need to live in the moment and not through our phones, but we need to cut each other some slack. Our mental health and well being depends on it.

Who needs therapy? You do. Me too!

Someone I follow on Twitter said that it's National Mental Health Awareness Week. Since I hear that four or five times a year in different contexts, I'm not sure if it is or not. But whether that's true doesn't matter. Whenever people hear the phrase "mental health" they immediately begin to think of all the different diseases and syndromes that people who have "poor mental health" are labeled with. And all the stigmas that go along with it.

Because there are still a lot of stigmas. There are still a lot of people who think that unless you're certifiably insane, you can just get over it. Move on. Stop wallowing. My favorite is the phrase, "it's all in your head." You know what? They're right. It is all in my head. Because my head is where I keep my brain, and that's the organ with the problem.

And that, right there, is the cause of all the issues and problems people have in dealing with those who have a mental illness. They don't consider the brain as being just another organ, subject to the same frailties and imperfections as any other organ in the body. Diabetes is a group of metabolic diseases in which a person has high blood sugar, either because the pancreas does not produce enough insulin, or because cells do not respond to the insulin that is produced. And yet no one tells a person with diabetes, "Suck it up. It's all in your pancreas." Would you tell someone with a heart defect, "You don't need those pills, just exercise more," or anything like that? Then why on earth does anyone feel qualified to say, "It's all in your head?"

I have been diagnosed with three different "It's all in your head" conditions in my life. When I was 19 I was diagnosed with depression. At 28 they added mild panic disorder. When I was 30 fibromyalgia was introduced into the mix. I've been told to, "just deal with it," "calm down," and "suck it up," by uninformed people who truly cared about me and wanted me to get better, but had no idea what was the matter. Thank heavens for my parents, who wanted me to get help.

And as if my heart had a murmur and I had to be careful with how I worked out or what I ate, with depression and anxiety and fibromyalgia I have to be careful with getting into bad habits and watch what I eat, and what stress I invite or avoid, and some days I have bad days anyway.

Which is why my chosen profession is so dangerous.

I entered The Darkest Lie in a contest for self-published or as yet unpublished books. The contest is called the Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award and they accept 10,000 entries. I feel like I may have talked about this before. I'm bringing it up again now because I entered my novel last month and they have already announced the 2nd round. My novel is really good- I'm very pleased with it and it's something I feel proud to share with others and I think I've mentioned before on this blog how passionately I would like to be a writer as a career. But for this first round they aren't judging my novel; the entire cut is based on a 300 word blurb you write about your novel.

If you've read my blog before, you know brevity isn't how I manage to make my point. I meander around it being repetitive for a while until I find the exact phrase I was looking for, or make it back to my original argument, and voila, I'm done. My talents lie in eloquence or my unnecessarily large vocabulary because they allow me to be exact. 300 words is hard. It's limiting. But it's done.

In the end, I wrote 3 blurbs. Then I allowed a small and easily accessible group of people to read them and vote on their favorite. This was the favorite:

He's electrocuted two grown men. He's knocked down a seven story building. He shoved a grenade into the mouth of an unconscious daemon and was ready to pull the pin. He's screamed defiance at the sky in the company of a jungle panther and a red imp, and done anything he needed to survive. But the thing Thane fears most is his sophomore chemistry class.

At 15, all Thane wanted was to be invisible for three more years. His one cardinal rule was, "If they don't see you they won't hurt you." And then one thing changed, and that was the catalyst for his chemistry teacher framing him for attempted murder, opening a door that led halfway around the world, getting drugged, getting shot, being imprisioned, getting shot again, and finding out that there's a hole ripped in the fabric of our reality where magic is seeping in. 

That one thing was, of course, a pretty girl. 

Now Thane is fighting to keep his humanity and questioning his sanity while everything he's ever believed is being proven wrong. He isn't invisible and he isn't powerless and he can hear the song that holds the universe together, but knowing that science and magic are two sides of the same thing isn't going to save him. The most powerful magic and the most advanced technology will fail and worlds will fall unless Thane can do one thing. He has to believe in a power that doesn't come from magic or machine, and let go of the darkest lie he's ever been told.

Of the 3 I wrote, this was the third and it was my favorite too. Surprisingly it clocked in around 250 words, making it not only the last pitch I wrote but the shortest by 50 words. Re-reading it now my stomach is clenching and the agitated shaking is revving up. I'm nervous because they're only taking 400 entries to the next round. That's 4%. Conversely, 96%of the people who entered this contest three weeks ago will not be making it to the next round. 

The first order of business for me is to stop freaking out about it. Entering this contest was one of those rare scenarios where I had everything to gain and nothing to lose, because the entries are confidential and there were no barriers to entry: no fee, no promises, nothing. If I check the website tomorrow and my name isn't on the list I lose nothing and I gain nothing and my life continues. The extreme emotional roller coaster comes from what the potential gain is- there are 5 categories and the winner of each category gets a $15,000 advance and a publishing deal with Amazon. But those 5 novels then go head to head, and the "Grand Prize Winner" gets the same publishing deal, but with a $50,000 advance.

Then there's the intangible: I'd be a writer as a career for the rest of my life. As a job. And I wouldn't ever have to worry about finding a different one. Job security in my lifelong ambition. 

What's the danger? Oh man, everything. And, by they way, when they announced the 2nd round I wasn't in it. That may have been because I entered it in the wrong category, and it may have been just because the blurb wasn't good enough. But the book review I received on the same day took the sting out of my loss a little bit. I've posted it on Facebook and on my author page before, but it said two things that really made my day. It said, "[The Darkest Lie] is the best contemporary fantasy book ever," and "... made this book my favorite read since 'Enders Game.' Sorry Orson, this woman's got serious chops." It helps that the book review was posted by a university reading professor, aka someone who reads books for a living. So I had a bright spot to balance the disappointment: I lost to people who didn't read the book and was given that praise from someone who did. 

Whereas I have several friends right now who are going through huge life-changing trials and wretchedness that are going to drastically alter their lives. I've found myself on the phone with one or the other of them several times over the last months and I've discovered that when I say my heart aches for them, I'm not speaking metaphorically. There is an actual pain in my chest. They talk to me about what's going on in their lives and what they have to deal with and I am grateful that they talk to me. Because of that trust, I'm not going into any specifics about who or what or anything. I want them to talk to me. I can't do anything to help their lives actually get better, but I can listen and sympathize and love. I am good at being reasonable and trying to see things objectively, and sometimes I help them feel a little better for a while. That's my win. That's what I can do.

But I find myself repeating to several of them the variations on the same phrase. It's a simple sentence, not insightful or eloquent in design. It's only, "(Insert Personal Pronoun) needs therapy." 

And let me also specify to any of those friends who might be reading this that you'll read something and you'll think I'm talking about you. I AM NOT. If you think I'm talking about you, then you're already wrong. I am giving personal thoughts on depressingly common situations, and I have not in the past two years had a conversation with someone about issues and trials and grief that isn't markedly similar to another situation I've heard or written or spoken about. If you find something personally applicable in this, hooray I've done my job as a writer. But I love my friends and my family passionately. Don't bother being offended because again, these are generics.

Enough caveating. 

He needs therapy. Sometimes I feel sorry for men, especially here in Western society where they're taught to bottle up emotion. Don't share, don't be weak, don't drag others down. Men generally are the providers for the family and they work increasingly long hours in our more and more competitive economy. Men form friendships and other personal bonds through time spent together doing the same thing, whether it be having dinner or playing a sport or watching TV. But they spend 60-70% plus of their waking hours at work. If he's unhappy or feels oppressed invariably he'll be told, by others or by himself, to man up and just get it done. If he doesn't have an outlet for that, for all that pressure from bosses and co-workers and spouses and children and himself, eventually he'll burst like a balloon that your cousin won't stop blowing into and just give you even though you asked him to please blow it up for you. 

People who care about him will talk to him about being unhappy in terms of action items, "If you'd just do this and this and this then you'd be fine." Okay, when someone is hurting and you respond with things they could improve on, you are telling them that they aren't okay and that they're right, they're a failure or weak or whatever. And can I take this aside for a second and talk about a personal pet peeve? A really big personal pet peeve, more pettish and peevey than almost any other peeve that I keep as a pet?

ULTIMATUMS ARE THE WEAKEST FORM OF NEGOTIATION. Mostly because they give no room for negotiation. Ultimatums are the dominion of the villan in a story. The good guys aren't the ones saying "Batman, you either give me your mask or I'm going to blow up this bus full of sick orphans." Ultimatums are also the purview of bad teenage relationships, "it's me or your friends." But when ultimatums are introduced into a relationship, any relationship, not just romantic but family or friends, you have to understand that you have crossed a line you can never take back. You are, at that moment, asserting that your will and desire are dominant over anything the other person could say or think or want. If you have come to the point where you see no other possible step but issuing an ultimatum, your relationship has deteriorated past any healthy point already. And it means that you've lost control and you're lashing out, desperately trying to get it back. 

There are absolutely situations where someone has lost control and needs to get some back. But any time you are seeking to control someone else, you are treading dangerous ground. Don't take it lightly and never in the heat of the moment.

Here, there's a whole wikihow on How to Give an Ultimatum. My advice though, is just don't. The moment you do, you're the bad guy. I'm much more in favor of co-operation and negotiation, where you give and take. But I do understand that life spins out of control sometimes and you have to take drastic measures to spin it back.

Anyway, tangent ended. Take away? Sometimes we need therapy just because we need someone to talk to who doesn't have any skin in the game. Someone who isn't going to be affected by our choices and so can afford to be objective. And someone we can be totally honest with without worrying about hurting their feelings or our words getting back to whomever we are talking about.

Honestly, how nice does that sound?

She needs therapy. I just finished reading Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy again. I don't recommend it, honestly I don't recommend any Tolstoy unless you have a passionate curiosity about the condition of Russia and specifically the Russian peasantry during the last few reigning Tsars, because Tolstoy was passionate about it and his characters discuss it at length every few chapters. However, the point of the story is Anna, a beautiful woman in a loveless marriage who leaves her husband to become a mistress. And all of her mental devolvement afterwards. She is terrified of losing her lover and becomes convinced he doesn't love her anymore, and if that's true, what can she do? She is lost. She can't go back to her husband and no one else will have her, and there is no work or position she can hold. And in the end (which means SPOILER ALERT but I'm only mentioning it at all because there was a movie based on the book that came out last year) she kills herself.

I can't speak for women everywhere, but I know that I'm plagued by insecurities. And sometimes I obsess. And usually the thing that I'm harping about the most inside becomes more of a self-fulfilling prophecy. Our insecurities can drive us crazy and drive the people around us over the edge too.

Most of us won't do anything that drastic, however, every woman in America is in the center of a maelstrom of emotions. We are pulled in every direction by our ever increasing responsibilities. If we're at work, we should be at home raising the children. If we're at home, we're lazy and not contributing to the economy. When we're at home, if we're doing laundry and washing dishes we're not paying attention to our children. If we're playing with our kids, then the housework isn't getting done. And then add to all that the pressure of being educated and intelligent and finding time to make and keep friends and reading books and having dinner ready and being a good wife while still finding time to volunteer and haven't you ever just wanted to scream, "Shut up and leave me alone!" to the world in general?

Never ever wonder why someone is crazy. Be impressed that they've managed to stave it off for so long. Therapy is again an outlet for emotions without repercussions, but it can also be something more.
Something a lot more. I think I've gone on long enough this time, but stay tuned for part two: You need therapy. I need therapy. Why does therapy work?

Where I Was When I Was Gone

The Road goes ever on and on

Down from the door where it began.

Now far ahead the Road has gone,

And I must follow, if I can,

Pursuing it with eager feet,

Until it joins some larger way

Where many paths and errands meet.

And whither then? I cannot say.

            --J. R. R. Tolkien, "The Fellowship of the Ring"

I've recently returned from my very first book tour! It was my first individual adventure in a long time. The first time in a decade, in fact, that I've gotten on a plane without either my husband or children and not going towards either of them. It was just me, oh solo mio, and after I got over the initial weirdness and stopped jerking my head around looking for my sons it started to be fun. I sat next to the editor-in-chief of The Natchitoches Times (and his sweet wife!) and gave a small interview and bam, my book tour was officially begun.

When I woke up at my house, it was 73 degrees outside. Then I got on a plane and flew to Salt Lake City, Utah, where it was 14 degrees. Then I got in a car and drove to Green River, Wyoming, where it was NEGATIVE 17 DEGREES. I lost 90 degrees of warmth between when I woke up that morning to when I went to bed that night. The sacrifices we make for our art. And I did pack an electric blanket.

And I've been asked about the presentation I gave and what I talked about so many times that I'm going to post it all here. That way I know which of my friends read my blog. ;-)

The first school I went to was an alternative high school in Wyoming. I was taken to the library and introduced to 45 teenagers who'd been expelled from standard high school for one trouble or another, and I was thrilled. These were exactly the kids I wanted most to talk with, and the ones I thought could really benefit from what I had to say. Because my presentation wasn't as much about the book as it was about why I wrote it.

I began with my adventures in temperature, and they all groaned in jealousy about how warm it is here in southern Texas. Then I segwayed into talking about trials, and for me the cold is a tough one. It sets off my fibromyalgia and makes my arthritis worse, which of course is startling to people who don't know me. I look so young and healthy, after all, and aren't those things old people get? But I'm not the only one with problems. Who's heard of Gandhi? Mother Teresa? Some hands. Albert Einstein? Tom Cruise? More hands. Jim Carrey? Oprah? Almost all the hands in the room went up then, which put these students right where I wanted them.

"Has Jim Carrey always been rich and famous? Were his parents rich?" I asked. They don't know. Truth is, he wasn't, and they weren't. Jim Carrey's father died when Jim was 12, and his family lost their house. They lived in a van, and 12-year-old Jim worked a full time 8-hour job every day after school to help support his family. But who is he now? A multi-millionaire comedian known the world over.

In high school, Oprah wore clothes made out of potato sacks because that was what her family could afford. Now she's the richest woman in the world, when you base the financial worth off of personal earnings. There are plenty of heiresses and widows who have more money, but you wouldn't recognize any of their names. Oprah you know.

Albert Einstein, the father of physics, we all know failed math during his school years. Did you also know that he failed at getting into college? More than once? But now he's the guy we think about when we think about science, or how to shoot a ball at a pool table. He's also the man who said imagination is  more important than knowledge, and he imagined himself an entirely new branch of science.

These people started out at the bottom of the hill. But they didn't give up, and more importantly, they made their own choices and didn't accept the choices that other people made for them. One of the biggest reasons I wrote this book was because I work with teenagers, and there were things I desperately wanted them to know. To believe. Things I wish I'd believed sooner, that I wrote in this book so I could tell as many teenagers as possible. The first theme of my book is that you get to choose. No matter what's going on around you or the situations other people may put you in, you have the choice how you're going to react and what you're going to do.

Then I read an excerpt from my book. My main character, a 15-year old sophomore in high school named Thane, is having a bad day. Frankly he's had a bad life. His parents are abusive and all he wants to do is get through the next three years without being noticed so he can graduate and get away. But his plans of invisibility have been thwarted by a pretty girl who's new in school and his possibly insane chemistry teacher, who has just set him up for attempted murder. Thane's on the run from the police when Brennan, an enigmatic thirty-something who knows more about what's going on than Thane does, finds him and talks to him about it. Brennan has also just lost 3 fingers of his right hand in a fight.

Brennan paused, and Thane heard him take a deep breath. "Losing my fingers didn't make me happy, but it isn't going to stop me from doing what I want to do. You're losing something big right now too. Bigger than my fingers. You're losing your confidence in what is real in the world and what isn't. All the ground you thought you had under your feet is being pulled away. I get that. I went through it. But it's up to you what you're going to do about it." The red haired man leaned back and Thane turned his face toward the ground, thinking. "Would you rather not go to jail?" asked Brennan. Thane's head whipped towards him, fear making him angry.

"What do you think? Don't patronize me," he shouted, smacking away the hand Brennan tried to lay on his shoulder. "Don't tell me it's going to be all right or that I can decide what to do. I can't--"

"You can." Brennan's voice cut through Thane's tirade. "And you do have somewhere to go, if you would shut up and listen." Brennan waited but Thane stayed silent, hands trembling with cold, fear, and anger. "You aren't going to jail. You're fifteen, this is your first offense, and there will only be charges if Mr. Hoffman decides to press any. I don't think he will. What’s going to happen is that the police will question you and then remand you into the custody of your parents. Then you'll go back to your life and Ms. Rasmussen will be free to take another crack at you. That's your first choice."

There was a long pause as Thane mulled over everything Brennan had just said. It wasn't jail. It wasn't even that bad, just a few weeks of more embarrassing attention for his family and then everything would go back to normal. Oh, and his chemistry teacher might try to kidnap or kill him. That was a factor too.

"What's the second choice?" Thane asked, his voice raw from crying, vomiting, and getting sand in his throat. 

"The second choice is that you stand up and take control of what's happening to you. It requires that you acknowledge that you are not a normal teenager, and that you accept the world is not as you always thought it was. The second choice says you start taking responsibility for things that happen to you, and because of you." Brennan had been looking up and away, but now he turned his gaze to Thane and met his eyes. "The second choice is Sanctum."

The first theme of my book, the first thing I wanted to tell every person everywhere was that you have a choice. Life isn't about what happens to you, it's about what you choose to do with it.

After my first presentation (and this is only the first 3rd of it, but I'm going to keep interrupting to talk about some of the different schools) I thought, "This is easy, 45 kids in one room. I can do this!" My next presentation was for a middle school of 7th and 8th graders, also in Wyoming. It was only a few hours after the first. They took me into an auditorium, gave me a mic, and introduced me to 400 kids who were just waiting to be entertained. 

I decided to be a little more interactive. I pulled some kids from the audience and asked them what they wanted to be when they grew up, and inserted their names into my list of the rich and famous who've overcome their humble beginnings. "The point I want you to take away," I said, "Is when I list these names-- Mother Teresa, Tom Cruise, Meagan Halloway*, Jim Carrey, Oprah Winfrey, Korey Johnson*-- your names do not sound out of place there. 

At the end of my presentation, they rushed the stage to get my autograph and meet me. It was an epic feeling.

Skipping forward a bit to my favorite presentation. This one was a bit compressed, as the full talk is about 45 minutes long, but I only had 20 minutes at this school. It was an elementary school and I was speaking to about 60 kids in the 6th grade. There were two special things about this school, though; it was the elementary school I had attended, and my 5th grade teacher, Mr. Hansen, was still teaching there.

If you've read my book you already know why it's called "The Darkest Lie." Talking about that is the second part of my performance and the most important. If you read the dedication you know that Mr. Hansen is in there, as the teacher who taught me to write. He is also the first teacher I ever had that I never faked sick to get out of school, and the one who helped me start believing in myself.

The book is called "The Darkest Lie," and when I started sending it around to agents they all thought the title sounded depressing. Change it, they said. No, I said, and moved on. Because it's called The Darkest Lie for a very important reason, and it is in fact the reason I wrote this book. It may be the second theme but it's the strongest, and the one it took me the longest to learn.

I read another excerpt from the book here, a conversation between Thane and a man named General Gage. General Gage is one of the leaders of Sanctum, the clandestine pseudo-military organization that knows magic exists and tries to protect the magic users from the non-magic users and vise versa. The motto of Sanctum is "The only burden we carry is the fate of all worlds," and in the few days that Thane has been in Sanctum and training, he managed to drop a seven-story building on General Gage.

Thane goes to the hospital to apologize, but also to ask General Gage where Thane's ability to use magic comes from. This is an excerpt from their discussion.

"Haider sent me copies of your x-rays," General Gage began in a conversational tone. He took another bite and chewed. "In almost every image there is evidence of remodeling from hairline fractures. Your bones are thicker than pure humans. It would take someone significantly larger and heavier than you to have done this damage, and based on the remodeling, the fractures happened over the course of years. You can look, if you want." 

Thane took the infopad General Gage offered and used his finger to scroll through the images. Every image had at least one part circled with a note written next to it. "Hairline fracture. Remodeling indicates at least 6 years old." "Significant bone bruising. Thickening of bone indicates injury is 9 years old." "Multiple radiating fractures from a single impact point. Injury occurred no less than 11 years ago." 

Seeing this journal of his life was like a hand squeezing around Thane's heart. He couldn't reconcile these images with his last memory of his... of Bert. The man who wasn't his father. Thane wondered if Bert even knew, or if he suspected that Thane wasn't his son. That could explain some of the animosity. But if he had known, he didn't remember anymore. Thane thought of the last time he'd seen the man, standing in the kitchen with his head bowed and apologizing. He had broken that man, in a more complete and thorough way than any of the x-rayed injuries he carried had damaged him.  

"Have you talked to anyone about this, son?" Gage asked. "These bones didn't heal evenly, which tells me they weren't seen by a doctor. And your body language, the way you speak, and your refusal to look me in the eye tells me more. Thane," and the man waited until Thane looked up at his strangely sympathetic face. "This is not okay. Being treated like this is not okay. You didn't do anything to deserve this and it isn't your fault. Things like this," and he indicated the x-rays, "usually come from people we should be able to trust. When we can't it makes us feel like we can't count on anyone, like we're completely alone in this world. That's a lie. Do you know why I joined the Shaerealm Mercenary Guard?"

Thane shook his head.

"I was in the Air Force as a Captain, with an excellent career ahead of me. When Sanctum approached me I refused, thinking that I had everything I needed where I was. I thought their motto about carrying the fate of all worlds was self- aggrandizement. Then I met Meagan Quinn." His eyes took on a distant look, and his mouth curved in a strange little smile. "She was... unique. She was the one who explained to me that Sanctum has one motto, but the SMG has another. Have you heard it?" Thane shrugged, unsure.

"Nigerrimus mendacium nos semper nuntiavit est ut solus. The darkest lie we’re ever told is that we are alone." General Gage focused on Thane, his intense brown eyes demanding Thane's full attention. "You are not alone. Not every person can be trusted, but that does not mean no one is trustworthy. Your instincts will tell you, and when you feel the urge to open up to someone, do not hesitate. Sometimes you'll get burned, but sometimes you'll find a place to be safe. And that's worth getting burned now and again."

Thane had been carefully still during the general's speech, unsure how to respond. But as General Gage turned back to his food Thane's mouth opened against his will. "How do you say that again? The SMG thing?" 

The man turned back and smiled, and Thane was surprised at how much kindness and wisdom Remi's father smile could have. "Nigerrimus mendacium nos semper nuntiavit est ut solus; in English, 'The darkest lie we’re ever told is that we are alone'."

I gave Mr. Hansen a copy of my book in front of all his students. I read them the dedication out loud, and then I also read what I had written on that page in pen: "To Mr. Hansen, I have been through college and beyond and you are still the best teacher I ever had. Thank you for making me feel not alone," and I signed it. He got teary. So did I. And I finally got to give him a hug and tell him thank you.

For me, that is the most important part of the book, the thing I want everyone to think of every time they see the title. We are not alone. Alone is the lie, and the lie we have to let go of to move on. There are people all around us who want to help and who care about us, but we have to make the first move. To open up. To help the people around us feel not alone too.

I got to give the same presentation later that day in my old Jr. High School. I hated Jr. High. There was a group of popular kids who told me on my first day it was their mission to make my life miserable, and they did a great job. But there was still a silver lining there, and it was the third teacher from the dedication, Mrs. Staheli. She was also still at the school but had transitioned from teaching to being the librarian, and she didn't make me believe in myself. She made me believe in my writing. I've wanted to be an author since I was in the 2nd grade, but I can pinpoint the moment that I believed I could be an author, and that moment was with Mrs. Staheli.

I got the cry from her too, when I presented her with a copy of my book.

I went to more schools and every presentation was different. Getting to the third theme of my book and the third section of my constantly varying time allotment was fun every time, and the students were always responsive. I got to spend a little more time with the students of PG Jr. High as there they gave me an hour and a half to talk, double what I was expecting, and yet somehow I still managed to fill every minute. (wink).

The last part of the presentation begins with two student volunteers, and I always had kids who wanted to volunteer. I love teenagers. I set one of them at one end of the room and asked, "What do you want to be?" The answer was different every time, but I would always point out a specific place or person in the room. "There's your goal. That's where you're going." Then I would set their shoulders and tell them to take 3 steps. And I'd do the same with the other student with a different goal and a different personal objective.

After 3 steps I'd ask, "If they keep going, will they get what they want?" Yes. "But what if they make a wrong choice, even just a little one," and I would move their shoulders so they were facing slightly off course. And I would always be very clear than in this scenario, "right" and "wrong" choices were determined by whether those choices got them closer to or further from their goal. And I'd take the second student, the one still facing where they wanted to be, and turn their shoulders a lot. "What about now? Are they going to get there?" No.

Wrong. One wrong choice, or even two or three, cannot prevent you from forever getting to where you want to go. Theme three: You decide. No choice you make in the past can forever determine your future. No step you take is so powerful that you can never change course again. And we all make wrong choices, every day we make decisions that point us away from where we want to go. The point is we can always, ALWAYS make another choice that gets us back on goal. Getting from where we started to where we want will take longer with each wrong choice, but it does not mean we can't get there from here.

Book excerpt three, a conversation between Thane and another character, this one called Usiku Paka. She's called that because it's Swahili for "black cat," and she is one. Paka is a jungle panther, a cat person who walks on hind legs and speaks her thoughts and is a creature of the Shae, those who use magic instead of science. She's also been a slave most of her life, taken from her village and her pack as a cub and raised to do the bidding of others. Sanctum freed her, but she keeps the name they gave her as a reminder.

Paka grinned at him. "I am the richest slave in all the worlds. But you, Thane," the 'th' sound of his name was emphasized in her feline mouth, "you are not a slave. You have earned a name and have found your power. Why then do you still seem as one in chains?"

Thane was caught off guard by the question enough to answer honestly. "I don't want to be this."

She cocked her head at him while Jaeger studied the bug. "To be what?"

"A--" he almost said 'freak,' but looking at her, changed it to, "someone so different."

"Different from what?"

"From everyone else. I don't want to be a dragon," the word was hard for him to say. "I just want to be me again."

"You never stopped being you," Paka observed. "This dragon blood in you is not something that has just happened. There is nothing different about you than there was three dark moons ago. Why does knowing make it harder?"

He blinked at her. "But I feel so different," he reached for the right words, trying to explain. "I feel... trapped by knowing. Like now I have to be someone else who isn't me."

"You were trapped," Paka stated. "You were a child and led by the hand. But you have found your Song, Thane dragon son. This cannot be the first time you found your deep self, or the result would not have been so dramatic." She looked at him, and Jaeger flew behind her head with fireflies between each of his fingers. The imp was giggling. "Where was your deep self, Thane?"

"Bioluminescence," Jaeger was beside himself with glee, catching fireflies with his toes now that his hands were full. "Aye can build with this."

Thane thought back to being in the desert. The viper faced him, a deadly animal, but only an animal. He'd felt something primal and powerful move within him then and saved himself from the snake. 

"I captured a viper that was about to bite me," he confessed to Paka. "We stared at each other, and I knew I was going to die. Then I felt something inside me that was strong, and I caught the snake. I think," he hesitated, never having said this out loud before, "I think it was afraid of me."

"The viper would've seen the dragon. That's why it waited to attack," Paka confirmed. "So why cannot you do this again?"

"People are harder," Thane said. "I can't... I don't want to disappoint anyone."

The panther woman made a sound between a growl and a hiss. "Do not live because someone else wants you to. That makes you a slave, too. The viper would bite, and kill. The person can only talk." She rose on two legs and stretched. The set of drums behind her rose into the air, shining.

"Bioluminescence!" Jaeger yelled. "Aye haf made music glow!"

Paka's human eyes glittered in the light of the drums. The greenish glow lit her fur from one side, and again Thane could see delicate patterns woven through the black. The panther woman saw him looking. 

"I wear my name on the outside so I do not forget what I have not yet earned," she said, with the air of someone who is telling a deep secret. "I must re-dye my fur every cycle until I have avenged my parents and my people. You wear your name on the inside, hidden deep where only you can see it." She enunciated each word carefully through her fangs, the green light shining off them strangely. "Stop apologizing for living. You destroyed a building under your own power. You faced down the viper. You sang the Song of lightning and made it stronger with your heart's blood. You survived the training of the Omega Team, and you can outrun a standing panther. Thane, dragon son, you have power in your own life." She bent down until her face was level with his, all her teeth bared in a snarl. "You decide." 

There wasn't much to the presentation beyond that. I talked about writing, the process of it, and how to start writing a story you need to have a story to write. You need three things, and you can start with any one of the three to determine the other two, plot, setting, or character. In my hour and a half long final presentation the teenagers and I wrote the entire arc of an urban fantasy book and in my favorite moment of the entire week I had to convince them all that even though the magic in my book was fictional, the string theory it was based on is a real thing. And we talked about the Higgs Boson particle and why that's really cool and had a great time. I promised to come back after the next book in the series, "The Sound at the Edge," comes out at the end of the summer.

I've been invited to speak at schools around Houston, and I'll be doing that next month. I've also been asked to speak in Oregon and Virginia, and I need to plan those trips, but I don't think I'll be gone a whole week again. I love being an author, and I love that I got to share my message of why I've been writing with so many incredible people. I'm glad, in a way, that I've had so many challenges and illnesses in  my personal life because it means I have some credibility with and empathy for other people facing challenges. So when I tell them they can overcome obstacles, I can show them how my hands always shake because of the arthritis and fibromyalgia and then talk to them about the book I wrote. Or about the crippling depression and loneliness I used to feel and how it's still part of me but neither defines me nor limits what I can do. Or the narcolepsy that for all it's craziness and many annoying or nerve-wracking symptoms, does mean that I am supposed to take a medically mandated nap every day.

I got to share my message with nearly a thousand teenagers. Now I get to share it with you. Remember that you have the power to decide how you act and what you do. You can always change and get back on course. And the darkest lie we're ever told is that we are alone.


UPDATE!

I found Mr. McMurray, the 3rd teacher from the dedication! He was a little more tricky and I'll have to mail him his book, but he's working at Utah Valley University as a councilor and teacher. He more than anyone will understand the whys behind the book, as he's the one who first believed I would be a writer and so gave me permission to believe it too. I've found them all!

Arbitrary Dates and Inappropriate Goals

Firstly, I find it humorous that even typing the word "inappropriate" made me cringe a little. "Oh no!" my inner monologue screams, "what will they think you're talking about? Are they going to judge you? Maybe you should change it." Have I mentioned at any point previous that my inner monologue seriously needs to chill out and calm down?

Today is January 9th, which means that 9 days ago it was New Years Eve, the traditional time for making resolutions to improve myself and promises that I would do better throughout this new revolution around the sun. Did I make goals? Yep. Did I write them down? Sure did. Was it on New Years Eve, or even New Years day? Nope. Not remotely. It wasn't even in December OR January. And have I followed them? Not so far. Not even a little. There has not been one day since I wrote them down that I have even tried to meet them all.

Most calendars are based on astronomical events. From our perspective on Earth, the two most important astronomical objects are the Sun and the Moon, which is why their cycles are very important in the construction and understanding of calendars. The new calendar year, this 2013, is based on the Gregorian calendar. The Gregorian calendar (or Christian calendar) is centered around the sun, so even though the length of a month is roughly determined by the cycle of the moon, the placement of the months has nothing to do with the moon.

In fact, the placement of most things on the calendar seem arbitrary. Why is January 1st the beginning of the year? There's no reason for it. Some people will argue and say that it marks the length of one rotation of our planet around the sun. Sure, yeah, that's true, but WHY did we decide that Jan. 1 was the beginning point and ending point of the trip? It isn't when we're closest to the sun, or furthest away. My brief internet research shows lots of countries moving to Jan. 1 as the beginning of the year, but not why. The Julian calendar, predecessor of the Gregorian, was ratified by Julius Caesar and that had January as the first month seemingly just because they all started with the same letter. 

As a side note, the names for September, October, November, and December mean 7th, 8th, 9th, and 10th respectively, NOT 9-12. 

My point being, January first being the date of all new resolutions and new years is entirely arbitrary. No reason or abiding logic, no rule. Just centuries of conformity. And you all know how well something like that would sit with me. But I agree that there should be A beginning, some point in time designated as things being new and old burdens dropped and outdated chains sloughed off. That idea I am completely in favor of honoring and upholding. 

And I do celebrate New Years, I participate in social conventions. I like any excuse for a party.

I made my goals, my resolutions for a new me, back in October. That makes sense to me because it's when I have my birthday, a very definite start-and-end point for each of my revolutions around the sun. Goals are a personal thing and should not be subject to the censure or even opinions of others. Not that you can't share them- quite the opposite. Do share them. Telling people about them makes them more concrete for you, and also provides you with a sense of accountability for them. These are my goals world, and telling the world the world may respond with, "So, how's it going?" 

My goals that are currently 3 months old are as follows:

1. Exercise 4x per week- running, yoga, 30 Day Shred

2. Write 2 more books before my 33rd birthday

3. Go to the temple once a month

4. Read scriptures every day

There is a second set of goals, but those are family goals and are therefore not mine only and not mine to share. And about these goals I can say unequivocally that I have completed none and been consistent with none. 

Each goal varies in the limit of time. Daily, weekly, monthly, and in one year. In the past three months I have not read my scriptures daily, I have not gone to the temple once I month (I think I've been once), I have barely written anything on my next book let alone the next two, and I think I've worked out 6 times. Total. In 3 months. Clearly I'm failing in meeting my goals. Either I lack will power, or my goals were inappropriate for my life and/or lifestyle. Right? No other way to explain such epic failure.

Except that I don't think I'm failing. Not at all. Have I met my goals? Nope. Do I feel bad about it? Not really, which is surprising considering I have a guilt complex about most things that could put 7 psychologist's worth of children through graduate school. And this is because in my head there is a fundamental difference between the way my goal is as written and the way that I meant it in my head. 

For me, a goal is not something I do and check off a list. It's something I want to become, a habit I want to form to shape my personality. It is a verbal representation of the way I want to grow as a person. I don't want to have exercised 4 times a week. I want to be a person who exercises frequently, and as a result of that habit is a healthy, active person. If I exercised once in October after making these goals then no, I didn't exercise four times per week. But if I exercised once in October because of these goals and hadn't exercised in September because I had no goal to do so, then I'm making progress and even if my goal isn't "met," neither have I "failed."

The same is true for the rest of them. I have not yet read my scriptures "every day" but I am up to several days in a row now before I miss one, and that's going in the right direction. I'm writing more because hey look, blog post, and this gets my mind in the right frame for writing in my books. And even though that writing goal is fairly concrete, "Write 2 more books before my 33rd birthday," even that is more because I want to be a prolific writer than because I feel that those books would be best served by that time table. And in my head, writing 2 books means having "The Sound at the Edge" written, edited, and published and having the rough draft of the 3rd book done, not having both out for public consumption. Just so you know. 

It's January 9th, which means you've had approximately 9 days with your goals, your new years resolutions, staring you in the face. You've had at least 8 chances to work on them. But you have not, friend, had the chance to "fail" at any of them yet, unless they were things like "learn to make a chocolate souffle before my cousin Danielle's birthday on January 6th" (Happy birthday, Danielle, you're beautiful and awesome and I did not make a chocolate souffle, I had a book sale). And even if you failed to meet that specific date goal, you didn't fail unless you've decided you failed. If you're goal was to make my cousin a chocolate souffle, there's still time. There's even still time to give it to her for her birthday (but again, Danielle, you rock and you're beautiful and yours is one of the only cousin birthdays I can ever remember but there's no souffle I could get to you from Texas). The only thing you can't do now is do it on January 6, 2013, but if that's what you've decided then you're trying to disappoint yourself and seeking out failure, in which case you need to start helping a psychologist put his kids through graduate school.

Which reminds me of a scene I've been working on for my book, because although I haven't completed my goal having it sitting in front of me is keeping my book on my mind. There have been many other awful things going on adjacent to my life, meaning they haven't been happening to me but they have been happening to people I care about deeply and therefore matter to me as if they were mine. Therapy has been brought up and some friends are resistant to it because of social stigma. To them, and for them, I submit this bit of dialogue between Iselle and Remi in "The Sound at the Edge."

Iselle continued with her work, not looking up or making eye contact. Thane could almost feel her refusing to be offended by Remi's cold remark. "Don't ever let anyone tell you that you don't need therapy," Iselle still spoke carefully, trying to minimize the French influence on the English words. "We all need therapy. We all need someone to talk to who we feel is an unbiased listener, and who we don't see at school or at home to judge us." She finished the careful placement of each tool before looking up into Remi's face. "Your honestly can never be brutal to someone who won't be hurt by it."

Remi gets a little snarky after that, but given the stress of their circumstances at the time, it's forgivable. And wow are they in trouble here. But the reason I put this here is to shout at you all, stop being ashamed. Stop worrying about "failure" or "success," just keep trying.

I have a Pinterest board called "Quotes I Love," and even though most of them are from C. S. Lewis, there is one by Walt Disney that always makes my throat feel a little tight and my tear ducts prick.

"Around here, however, we don't look backwards for very long. We keep moving forward, opening up new doors and doing new things because we're curious, and curiosity keeps leading us down new paths."

Don't be held captive by the concept failure. I've always HATED the saying, "Failure is not an option." Of course it's an option, it has to be an option, because if failure isn't an option than neither is trying. I much prefer this:

If at first you don't succeed, that's one data point.

Do You Want More?

Okay, all you Darkest Lie fans out there- I'm writing the second book, "The Sound at the Edge." It picks up approximately two weeks after the end of the first book. Now I'm willing to post the prologue of the second book on my website,www.awriterbyday.com, but I'm going to need something from you. If 100 of you will recommend my book to a friend and post about it here (the word "recommended" would suffice) I'll post the prologue. If I get 100 recommends AND 50 more reviews on the Amazon page, I'll post the prologue and the first chapter on my website. Cressa is in the prologue. And a deleted scene from Sanctum in book one has been added to chapter one of "The Sound at the Edge." :-)

Remember, the title of the first book came from the Shaerealm Mercenary Guard motto, "The darkest lie we're ever told is that we are alone." The title of the second book, "The Sound at the Edge," comes from current scientific study about the nature of the universe. Specifically, that we are detecting noise at the furthest edges. That's right; there is actually sound at the edge of our known universe, possibly arising from something beyond the event horizon. Could it really be music?

There will also be a return to more consistent blog posting beginning at the first of the year. Welcome to the end of this one!

My Carol

Jolly Old St. Nicholas,
I'm having a bad day.
Don't you tell a single soul
What I'm going to say.

Today's the last day of the world,
So the Mayan's say.
It's the last day of preschool,
So says my HOA.

I'll miss the kids, I'll miss their hugs,
The things we used to do,
But dear Santa, I love these kids.
That's why I came to you.

Keep them safe from guns and drugs
And from nightmares at night.
Watch out for them as they grow up,
And help them choose the right.

Help them remember they are loved.
That's my one small wish.
Well, that and to someday see my name
On the best seller list.

I won't cry when they leave today
Because I want them to see
The faith I have in each of them
And in their family.

Jolly Old St. Nicholas
If you stop by tonight,
Give them each a kiss for me,
And we'll all be all right.

If You're Here to Help, You're in the Wrong Place

People, especially people who care about you, always come with the best of intentions. People want to help, they want to make you feel better when you're sick or sad or lonely. And usually that's great. It's awesome to have people around you to help you out, lift you up, or make you smile. But there are times when trying to make someone feel better is the worst thing you could possibly do.

I'm going to tell you a sad story. It's made up of as many pieces and parts as I could gather from different people at different times. If you're familiar with it, skip to the end. If not, I'm going to keep it brief because my hands still shake and my throat burns whenever I think about this. A little more than a week ago three young people set out to drive home for Thanksgiving. One boy and two girls, all over 18. The boy, Taylor, and one of the girls, Bailee, had recently become engaged. Recently meaning earlier that day. They were happy and excited and in love. The other girl, Madie, was Taylor's younger sister, also happy and excited. They were all good people, the kind of people that make you smile when you see them because the light around them seems a little brighter. The word "vibrant" means full of energy and enthusiasm, and if you needed a visual aid, Madie especially was the person to look at.

Blame any grammar or spelling errors on shaky hands and bleary eyes. They were in a car accident. Baliee was largely unhurt. Taylor was badly injured and for a while after it wasn't clear if he was going to survive. Madie's funeral is this Saturday.

Taylor is going to be all right, but he's going to have tens, possibly hundreds of thousands of dollars in medical debt. He and Bailee are still engaged, and if you want to help these incredible people, you can click the link below and donate to help offset some of the financial costs of this accident.

Morris Family Assistance Fund

I could spend the rest of this blog post talking about Madie, an amazing person and friend and how knowing her even as little as I do made me smile. Every time. I could talk about dealing with grief and how last week I've spent hours in my front yard cleaning, sweeping, and weeding the path in my front yard that she and several other teenagers helped to build just because she helped build it. But I'm not. Instead, I'm going to address the rest of my blog to everyone in the whole world who has ever had to interact with someone who is trying to deal with a loss.

This is how I help. This is how I'm going to do a good deed for everyone everywhere. I'm going to be a jerk and tell you exactly what I think needs to be said. I've had some experience with loss, losing friends, losing important relatives, losing a sister when I was young, and being very afraid that I was losing my mind (not exaggerating- do a google or wikipedia search for some of the more "fun" symptoms of narcolepsy like hypnagogic hallucinations  or sleep paralysis). I was pretty seriously picked on by some of my cousins growing up, and the two people I could count on for unconditional love and protection was my Grandpa Foutz (who was the inspiration for Thane's Grandpa Whitaker, knock knock jokes and all) and my dog Poochie (whose unfortunate name was not my fault.) My Grandpa died on October 10th, 1990 of a heart attack. I remember that because his viewing was held two days later on my 10th birthday. Within that week, we also had to put Poochie to sleep because of his medical issues. This was all after my little sister died, a loss I still feel.

I'm not sharing this for your pity or your sympathy, I'm telling you this so that when you read the rest of this post you will 1) know I'm serious, 2) not be offended, and 3) once again, know I'm serious. Because you, the well meaning person who knew and cared, might be going to say something unbearably stupid and painful to someone you are trying to cheer up. I want to spare both you and that person.

There are lots of platitudes and trite but true phrases that people use to try and bring peace or hope to someone who is grieving. I'll go into a list in a minute, but let me tell you all something up front. SHUT. UP. If you are trying to give someone peace or make them feel better, your intent is noble and your timing is wrong. Being left behind is painful, and nothing you say will make that lessen. People have to hurt first, and trying to take away that hurt (because after all, making someone feel better is doing exactly that) means that you are getting in the way of grief. LET THEM GREIVE. That doesn't mean leave them alone, but it does mean shut up. There isn't anything you can say, because everything is geared towards helping people gain peace and perspective and those come in time but now is not the time. If you must say something, stick to talking about the person you are there to honor and remember. Tell funny stories about them, talk about how they affected you.

But do not, please, under any circumstances, use any of the following phrases. Do not say the person whose funeral this is, is better off. We know this world is a hard, cruel place. This is not the time to remind us how hard and cruel this world can be, and realize also that this phrase, "better off," allows the person to infer that you mean without them. That isn't true. They aren't "better off" without us. They miss us too. At this moment, in this suffering of grief, "better off" is only applicable to someone who had a wasting and terrible illness, or who has lived a very long and very full life and has been waiting to go on. And even then only maybe.

Don't ever say "the sun will still rise tomorrow" or "time heals all wounds" or "just give it time." The last is the best of the three, because it at least doesn't insult the grief. But they don't mean anything. They don't fix anything. It's true, the pain and the reasons will be clearer and the peace will come in weeks or months or years, but the time it takes to gain the perspective hasn't passed yet and so talking about it is more painful than helpful. Don't. I remember a specific conversation with my own dad, who is a kind and awesome person. He told me that the sun would rise tomorrow. I told him that I wished it wouldn't, because it felt more like an insult than assistance. The idea that life goes on is painful and damaging to hear when you're experiencing real grief. Back off.

Do not talk about Madie in the past tense. Madie isn't gone. She's gone ahead. We haven't lost her, we've just been separated for a while and that hurts because the separation is so definite. Even missionaries get to write home and call twice a year. And now she is the best new missionary recruit to those spirits in prison, but that doesn't mean it isn't an adjustment for her. We don't know how much, because we have no experience with it. But every person who has gone ahead gets to come back, and we don't know when that's going to be. Maybe in another two thousand years, sure, but maybe it's tomorrow. But again, she isn't gone.

All these phrases make it feel like we have to move on. We don't. Sometimes loss hurts so much it's hard to breathe. And that's the way it should be. The depth of our grief is not a direct correlation to how much we loved her- the time it takes to start healing is not a set number of days or weeks or years. It is okay to hurt. It is okay to be in pain and to feel lost because in a very real way, we are. We spend our days assuming the people around us are going to be around us tomorrow and plan accordingly. The people who matter the most we plan around the most. When they are suddenly removed, they leave that hole where they used to fit. And then nothing else fits. So don't try to make people feel better about it. Try to let them know you understand, or if you don't, just let them know that it's okay to hurt. Because it is. Don't try to fix that or take it away.

Another one I always disliked was the trite but true "God has a plan." Yes He does. And as the Author and Finisher of our faith, He knows best. But saying that He has a plan is like saying the grass is green or sometimes it rains when it's cloudy. We know it's true, it doesn't help right now and there's no way to respond to it.

And it always particularly annoyed me because I felt that somewhere in this phrase it implied that my grief or my pain was the result of a lack of faith. Yep. Look at it again. You're trying to make me feel better by saying that this was part of God's plan, right? Which means that this ache is fighting against that plan, or at least complaining about it. And you're also telling me that somehow this death, this loss, was His idea. And you know what? I don't think it was.

I'm going to diverge a little here into something I'll call "The Book of Angie." I'm stealing the phrase from a friend I love dearly who's a physical therapy assistant. Her patients ask her for advice, but she's not a doctor. She has a lot of practical knowledge but not the definitive right to give prescriptions or treatment plans. So she has her "Book of" herself, where she gives her patience the advice they're asking for under the umbrella of "this is not a doctor's advice and if the doctor's advice ever conflicts, go with the doctor."

My book is how I see the world, and how I understand the Gospel of Jesus Christ. I do not believe that our Heavenly Father makes bad things happen. I believe He allows our agency and our agency causes problems for other people. I also believe that in His omniscience and omnipotence (all knowledge and all power) that He can find ways to make good things happen that would not have happened if the bad thing didn't open the way for it. And sometimes there are just tragedies. He didn't do it, He is not okay with making us hurt and He will do everything He can (which is actually everything) to make this all better in the end. So don't talk to me about His plan, because this pain and suffering is not His fault. He will figure it out and make everything all right eventually, and He is incredibly happy to have our loved one back, but I get to be bitter right now that I have been left behind and it hurts. Because that's part of the plan too. Hurting. Because hurting is part of loving.

So please, please, all of you who care about the people who love Madie, or anyone who has to talk to someone who has recently been left behind, please understand that it isn't about trying to make anyone feel better. There's a movie about my favorite author, C.S. Lewis. That movie is called "The Shadowlands." In it, Jack (C.S. Lewis' nickname) falls in love with a woman who has cancer (this is a true story). There's a part in the movie when they're talking about her having cancer and Jack is very angry at the prospect of losing her. She says, "The pain then is part of the happiness now. That's the deal." At the end of the movie, Jack repeats the line but with a change, saying, "The pain now is part of the happiness then. That's the deal." We don't need to feel better. We need the pain now. And all you other people who care, who matter, you're still here. Which means you aren't terribly relevant to the pain now, unless you are also suffering it.

I startled Madie the first time I met her. I'd heard a lot about her from both her older brother's family, who was in my ward at the time, and from the young women I worked with. When someone introduced me to her I think I actually squealed and threw my arms around her, because she was exactly the way I'd pictured her. Not the calmest first impression, but she hugged me back right away. That's what you can do, if you're there on Saturday. Now is not the time for figuring things out, or feeling better. Now is the time for love and support by physical presence.

If you absolutely have to say something or your head is going to explode, I will give you two things that you may say if you mean them. Number one, "I'm here if you want to talk." That's it. Don't add anything. This tells the sufferer that they aren't alone, and it also gives them something they are sorely lacking. Any kind of control. That's why the word "want" is important, not "need." But you can't say it if you aren't serious about it.

Number two is even harder. It can feel awkward or out of place. But you can talk about the person who's gone ahead. You can share your favorite story, especially if it's funny. Talk about how you met. Talk about your favorite thing about them. It feels so taboo, but it shouldn't. It serves several purposes. It reminds the person to whom you are speaking that they aren't alone in their grief. Misery loves company, but not because misery is a sadistic jerk. Because people who are hurting can have that pain validated by others who are also in pain. And it gives them permission to also talk about it.

If you want to help more than that, make a donation. It'll help you feel better, too.

Morris Family Assistance Fund

Sickness and Self-Promotion

WARNING: IF YOU HAVE A WEAK STOMACH, SKIP TO THE SECOND PARAGRAPH. I hate being sick. And the worst part of it isn't throwing up; it's the few minutes after you've thrown up, when your mouth is coated in bile and some of it has gone up your nose so all you taste and smell is everything you just puked. Is that really necessary? And you rise your mouth out with water and blow your nose three or four times before the lingering bile starts to dissipate. So you drag your sweaty self back to bed and miserably and hold the futile hope that you won't have to do it again.

Bah. Two and a half days of feeling awful. Throwing up and other unfortunate bodily functions of illness, in addition to being drawn out and tired. Really tired. I think I've been spoiled- being able to take my narcolepsy medication and getting restful sleep has made me forget just how tired I am when I can't take my medicine. Ah the endless paradox of narcolepsy- always sleeping, never at rest. 

AND now we're past the pity party. Apparently I should stick to writing novels when I'm sick, because blog posts just devolve into whining. That first paragraph was written yesterday, the second was nine hours ago, and now it's Sunday night just after putting the kids to bed and I'm feeling much more like myself. I've eaten (and kept it down! Woot!) and I'm drinking gallons of Gatorade to re-hydrate myself and all-in-all feeling much better. I'm going to get a good long night of sleep and then spend a solid two hours tomorrow morning with my favorite music playlist and at least two bottles of Lysol before any of the preschool kids get here. Thank heavens I live where it's still warm at the end of November, because all my windows are going to be open tomorrow morning. This house needs to air out. And it's going to get it! 

A big thank you to all of my preschool parents who went in together last year and bought me On Guard and a diffuser. Love it. You'll smell it tomorrow.

I've spent the last three weeks beating my head against the wall of self-publishing and trying to get the word out about my book. It's hard. It's an uphill battle, and a little part of me hates myself every time I tweet or update my facebook status and it's all about my book and buy my book and recommend my book! and it all feels so disingenuous. Ironically it is completely genuine- my book is great, it is worth reading, and if someone else had written it I would honestly recommend it to others to read, although not with such frequency. But sadly, I am not of myself famous. Therefore the mediums I have access to are few, and the people with whom I can directly communicate are also relatively few. So I must continue to pursue every avenue of self-promotion that I can think of, and I'm running out of easy ideas.

The best idea is, of course, a book tour. And I'm working on setting one up in January, where I would go to schools in Utah, Idaho, and Oregon and give a presentation about being an author. Then I would read the prologue and first chapter, and hand out bookmarks. It's a lot to set up, especially since I have to make sure that my own kids are taken care of getting to and from school and having somewhere safe to go until my husband gets off work. It sounds like lots of fun, and I want to read at schools in the area, too, but those don't take as much advanced planning. More permission, but not as much planning. Less planning because I live here, so all I have to worry about is getting done before school's out. More permission because I don't actually know anyone who works for the school district or in any of the schools other than the elementary where my kids go. I don't have an "in" or know who to call. But I would love to go and inspire more kids to read!

Which all sounds like great fun, but gets in the way of what I really want to be doing. Writing. I haven't worked on book two of this series in weeks because the marketing and promotion of The Darkest Lie has been taking all my spare time and energy. Honestly more than all my spare energy, because my arthritis and my fibromyalgia have been on overdrive ever since my book published. Stress related? UM, YES. I feel like since the moment my book went live on Kindle on November 7th I've been working two full time jobs in addition to being a mom and a wife and a homemaker. My hands nearly vibrate they shake so much and I haven't had the physical strength in my wrists to open a jar in over two weeks. And my poor church calling; I love what I do, working with the young women, but I've been to church once this month and not to any activities because by about 5:00 every day I'm worthless as a person and by Saturday I'm so shaky and achy that I have a hard time standing up. Is it worth it?

Yesterday I got a text from my dad. This is what it said. "I just finished reading your book. Angie, you amaze me. Your book amazes me. It brought me to tears various times as I read, realizing you had written it. It completely enthralled me. Thank you so much for being you. I am so proud of you, and I love you!" 

Firstly, my papa is awesome. Beyond awesome. If you don't believe me, check youtube. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MGlIZCNhdaw.

Secondly, yes, it's worth it. I've talked before about why I wrote this book, and what I wanted to say. That we are not alone, never alone, and there are people all around us who want to help and lift us up. That was this book. I don't know if I've mentioned that this is the first in a series of four books that I'm writing. The next one is called "The Sound at the Edge," and I'm hoping to have it finished and out by June. The series as a whole deals with loneliness and the lie of being alone, but even more it carries the theme of loss and trials, and how with every setback or pain we face, we have the choice of how to respond. 

In "The Darkest Lie," the character of Iselle is talking to Thane after he's gone through a traumatic training experience. She shares this story with him. (It's important to know that she is 16 and from France). Some of Thane's reactions have been omitted for spoiler reasons, but her story is intact.

She spoke for several sentences before the cadence of her voice and the gentleness of her unfamiliar accent was able to pull enough of his focus to actually hear her words.

 "… vineyard in Bordeaux. Many men worked for my father. Two of them were the best. One was my father’s foreman, who had apprenticed at the vineyard and stayed. One of them, Alphonse, was aveugle, was blind from his birth and had lived his whole long life in our valley. They both knew when the grapes were most ripe, and which vines were most heavy and ready for harvest. They brought the best and most sweet grapes to my father, who made cheap wine of their offering." Thane fought to breathe, and listened.

"A fever swept through our small village. Many were sick, some died. Some were left disfigured or maimed by the disease. My father’s foreman became aveugle, the sight burned out of his eyes. He could not see even the smallest light. He would not leave his bed, and he ordered the windows to be shuttered and barred. He became bitter and angry, and was violent towards those who would try to help him."

Thane realized that one of his hands was shaking and that his other was captured within both of Iselle's. His fist was wrapped inside her almost timid fingers, while her thumbs stroked the knuckles and made small circles on the back of his hand. He didn't feel the flush of warmth and louder heartbeat like when Remi had taken his hand, but he felt the fear draining away and right now that meant more. With every word she spoke the memories and nightmares sunk deeper and further away.

"Alphonse continued to work, to bring grapes to my father. My father joked of making the old blind man the new foreman and letting the young blind man drive himself to l’enfer. Many did not think his jokes were funny…" she trailed off for a moment, and in Thane's mind the images flared back to life.

"My father’s foreman tried to return to work, but could not find the vineyard," Iselle’s quiet voice cut across the clamor in his mind and Thane’s attention was drawn to her again. She was still looking down at his hand. "Two men, both blind, one made excellent and one made a fool. My father’s foreman tried to kill himself, but could not find a rope to hang himself with. Could not buy a gun to shoot himself with. No one would lead to the river to drown himself. Any way he tried to end his despair was taken from him and he was made to go on. His family, people he loved, would tell him, ‘Ce n'est pas le plus mauvais, it isn’t so bad, think of Alphonse; he has been blind his whole life and he goes on. He never has had what you had. Aren’t you béni, aren’t you blessed to have had sight at all?"

Thane tensed. Was she giving him a lecture? Telling him to man up, at least he wasn't dead, just like his father had done? But that man was not his father. The anger tried to claw its way out of the pit and Thane felt those claws dig in and pull him down.

"They did not know they were being cruel." Her words stopped his anger, made the claws release and the fury fall back. "To lose something you did not recognize, that is nothing. To have something taken that we value, that destroys us. It is not what we lose, it is how." Thane's fear surged; he loathed pity, and was afraid to see it in her. When he glanced up at her, she was looking at him, but there was no pity in her face. Instead there was anger, and defiance. Perhaps even a trace of her own fear.

"You and I have lost much and had much taken from us. Things that all children should have were rarely ours, and we understood their value. And now you are having what few things remained to you ripped away." He shuddered at her choice of words and her thumbs stopped making their small circles. The surcease of motion drew his eyes back to hers, brown with flecks of gold. "When every way to forget your loss is taken, how do you move on?"
This section, this story, was the inspiration for the entire series, and the entire series tries to answer that question. I wrote that originally as part of a short story for a writing exercise, but it stuck with me. That question stuck with me. How do we move on from loss, from pain, from fear or trauma or tragedy?

One verse of scripture that has most guided my life comes from The Book of Mormon. I can't say it's a favorite, because it doesn't inspire faith or warmth within me, but it has stuck with me very powerfully ever since I first remember reading it and being old enough to understand what it meant. It's in Alma, chapter 62, verse 41. It says, "But behold, because of the exceedingly great length of the war between the Nephites and the Lamanites many had become hardened, because of the exceedingly great length of the war; and many were softened because of their afflictions, insomuch that they did humble themselves before God, even in the depth of humility."

Through the rest of the series, bad things keep happening. Good things do too. More good than bad, but usually many many small good things and one or two really large bad things, the way life is. And the characters in the story suffer loss, and pain, and have to respond to it. And they respond differently. Some respond by becoming hardened and bitter. Some respond with gratitude and humility. A few start with the hardening and progress to humility. One or two go the other way. But with every experience I want to highlight the choice- we decide how we live our lives. We have the power to choose to act or react. 

So it's worth it, because there is so much loss and pain and trauma in the world already. There is so much loneliness and so much despair, simply because there are so many who don't know how to choose hope. Loss should never be diminished or made light of- even with all we know about life after death and the promise of eternal families, losing someone we love hurts. It's supposed to. Few things hurt worse than being left behind and being denied the companionship of someone who matters for the rest of our time here on earth. But I want to tell every child, every teen, every person who has ever suffered that their suffering is VALID, their pain MATTERS, and that while it will always be a part of them, it doesn't DEFINE them. And they never have to suffer alone.

So it's worth it. Every sickness. Every ache and pain. Every time I have to make my son a cheese sandwich instead of PB&J because my wrists won't open the PB or J jars. And every time I hate myself a little for tweeting, "Hey, I sold over 100 books this week! #TheDarkestLie, the best gift for every reader on your Christmas list!" because this is the thing I want to tell the world. And this is the price I pay for sharing that message.

Thank heavens I still get to whine about it. And so you all know, The Darkest Lie is on sale at Barnes and Noble .com this week for only $10.69, which is cheaper than you can even buy it through me. And it really is a great book. Just ask anyone who's related to me! :)

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-darkest-lie-angela-d-day/1113841786