Best of 2020 (Yes, there were some "bests"!)

 Hi all!

2020 is drawing to a close (thank goodness!), and I don't know about you, but I need to spend some time dwelling on what was great this year.

This year was a struggle in so many ways (see previous post + 2020 in general), but some exciting things happened for me.  I started a new job in IT (I know, I know--surprise!), my son started Kindergarten (albeit virtually), and I've started working on some new writing projects.  I was also able to spend more time watching, listening, and reading, so I have a heft list of "bests" for you this year!

Books of 2020

I set a goal to read 55 books this year, and I have exceeded it with a couple of weeks to go.  Here are the books I rated five stars on Goodreads:

The Travelling Cat Chronicles, Hiro Arikawa

Once, Alice Walker

Sold, Patricia McCormick

Red at the Bone, Jacqueline Woodson

Red, White, and Royal Blue, Casey McQuiston

Untamed, Glennon Doyle (My #1 Book of the Year!)

The Prophet, Kahlil Gibran

The Boy in the FIeld, Margot Livesey

Men We Reaped, Jesmyn Ward

Intimations, Zadie Smith

The Archer, Paulo Coelho (My So-Close Runner Up!)

Navigate Your Stars, Jesmyn Ward

Movies and Television

The Last Dance: Wow.  I love a good sports documentary, but even if you don't think they're for you, this is a must-watch.  Not only did it take me back in time, but the discussion of character and the politics of the game are on point (see what I did there?).

The Crown: Can I tell you how happy I am that they had filmed before COVID?  I absolutely love this show.  The casting and acting are spot on, and the storylines compelling and complex.  It's also made me realize how incredibly lucky I am not to be a royal.

Discovery:  So here's the thing, my husband loves Star Trek.  Like, loves it.  We went to the Star Trek convention in Vegas years ago--and that's a story I definitely need to tell here on the blog.  Anyway, I was raised with Trek in the background (I was convinced to go see Star Trek VI in theatres by my family telling me Christian Slater was in it--yeah, for five seconds!).  I've seen every Trek series (Next Generation is obviously my favorite, but Deep Space Nine is a close second.  We pretend Enterprise never happened).  But I digress.  Discovery, while it has its faults, is a ship I'd want to be on.  I want to be Tilly's best friend and have a healthy fear of Michael.  

Superstore: We were looking for something to watch after binging the next two selections, and man, did this fill the void.  SO funny, yes.  But I truly love these characters, and I want them to be happy--the sign of a great show.

The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel: When we finished Schitt's Creek (wait for it), we were lost.  What could follow my new favorite television series of all time?!  The answer--Maisel.  What I love about this show isn't simply the aesthetics (though for real, the clothes are just AHHHHHH!), it's the characters themselves.  This show is so--well--written.  I found myself eventually adoring characters I wanted to punch in the face several episodes before.  And I love Midge and her filthy mouth.  Take me on tour, Susie!

Schitt's Creek: I'm not even certain I can adequately explain my love and admiration for this show.  My family binged the entire series in record time and even found a way to watch the final season before it came on Netflix (not illegally--I'm not that girl!).  If you've started this show and given up after a few episodes, go back!  Once we hit season three, my heart forever belonged to Dan Levy.  What I most love about this show is the character development.  For one thing it's believable.  For another, it's beautiful.  The show perfectly balances humor and raw emotion.  The natural acceptance of all kinds of love is refreshing and lovely to watch.  At its core, this show is about love.  My god, we need that right now.

RuPaul's Drag Race: I had a student give a presentation on this show, and while I was watching, I was wondering how I'd never seen it.  When we all went home last spring, my family started with Season One and watched all the way through.  This show has so much heart, and so much glitter.  It just makes you feel good.  It's happiness.  Now sissy that walk!

The Prom: How I loved this film!  I loved the music.  I loved the songs.  I loved the writing.  I loved the plot.  I loved the casting.  I loved the acting.  I loved the heart.  I loved it.

Home Alone: Because it never gets old.

The Shows Must Go On: Thank you, ALW.  You saved the summer.

I haven't watched many films this year (yes, I will be watching Ma Rainey's Black Bottom super soon), but I plan to spend much of my holiday break making up for it.

Music

No concerts this year, but here are some songs that got me through 2020.  As usual, I'm late to the party with some of them:

"Blinding Lights", The Weeknd

"Positions", "Into You", "Dangerous Woman", "Love Me Harder", Ariana Grande

"Can't Keep My Hands to Myself", "Lose You to Love Me", "The Heart Wants What it Wants", Selena Gomez

"Don't Let Go", En Vogue (takes me back!)

"Caution", The Killers

"March, March", The Chicks

"The Last Great American Dynasty", Taylor Swift

"Break My Heart", Dua Lipa

"August", Taylor Swift

"Read U, Wrote U", Drag Race

"Your Makeup is Terrible", Alaska

"Sissy That Walk", RuPaul

"A Little Bit Alexis", Schitt's Creek

Looking Ahead: I'm excited to announce that I'm launching courses on Udemy in the new year.  I'm starting with AP Language and Literature crash courses, but then I'll be offering courses in various subjects related to writing and literature, as well as college admissions prep.  I'm also working on two non-fiction books, so stay tuned...there's a lot coming in 2021!  I hope you have a beautiful holiday season and cheers with me as we welcome a new year and say "Get outta here!" to 2020!

Where I've Been

 Hey friends,

Before I dive into my list of the best of 2020, I want to take a minute to say thank you.  Thanks for sticking with me through 2020.

When the pandemic began, and we all went home, I thought my introverted nature would not only be fine with the isolation, but thrive in it.  And for a while, I did.  I started "Time for Tea", which reminded me how much I love teaching and analyzing literature.  I was working from home, so much of the social anxiety I feel every day when I walk into work was gone-poof!  And I started reading--a lot.  I was keeping in touch with friends, having socially distanced driveway chats, and going hiking on the weekends with my family.

But sometime in the summer, something shifted.  I was exhausted.  I found myself sitting in Zoom meetings from the comfort of my bed (with a virtual background hiding my room) because I would fall asleep during my lunch break immediately after tapping "Leave Meeting".  I was always sleepy, and I had no energy.  In the spring, I was doing cardio dance classes online, taking time for daily yoga, and then, once we got our dog, walking her three times a day, sometimes jogging beside her.  Now I couldn't bring myself to get through an entire yoga flow series.

Then I started getting shortness of breath and chest pains.  If you're a reader of my blog, you know that I have sad lungs and have had pneumonia twice, so I freaked out.  I was convinced I had COVID.  I got a test, and it was negative.  

At this point, I was feeling depressed and anxious.  I was incredibly down, more than I have been in years.  I started shutting down.  I stopped Time for Tea abruptly, because it was giving me such anxiety to be responsible to others; I started avoiding friends' calls and texts, because I couldn't bring myself to talk to anyone.  I have been on antidepressants and antianxiety meds off and on since college, so I messaged my doctor to raise my dose until I could work through this.  I called my counselor and started working with her again.  But I wasn't feeling any better, physically or emotionally. 

So I called my doctor again.

On our virtual call, she looked me in the eyes and said, "You just had a hemoglobin test at the OBGYN a few weeks ago--did they not tell you that you're incredibly anemic?"

Anemic.  Why no--no one had mentioned that.  The tech who pricked my finger asked if my hemoglobin was always this low, and I told her that they always had to prick my finger twice when I donated blood, so it was often borderline.  She raised an eyebrow.  The doctor didn't mention it in our appointment.

My doctor said, "Megan, it looks like your iron levels have been going steadily down for three years."

Turns out, I was exhibiting many, many symptoms of anemia--including emotional symptoms.

I've been on iron pills for months, and I'm feeling so much better.  I did take it upon myself to decide I needed to eat more iron, so I stuffed myself with iron-fortified cereals and insisted I get a filet take out from a nearby steakhouse more often than I care to admit.  For the record--this is absolutely NOT the way to go about this.  You end up with more than the COVID 15 and your doctor reprimands you at your follow-up appointment. You've been warned.

Anyway, thank you.  Thank you for sticking through ti with me when I completely pulled back from everything.  You guys are awesome.  I am so in awe at the fortune of being able to share words with others.

Also, if you're someone who deals with anxiety and/or depression, I got you.  Let's make 2021 a healthy year.  And please, wear a mask for my sad lungs.

Why I Left Teaching: A Speech

I presented the following speech at Trinity Lutheran Church, Greenville, SC, on Wednesday, September 23, 2020.  You can view the speech here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kFgUfhgNELw 

All I ever wanted to be was a teacher.  When I was an only child growing up on a farm in rural Georgia, I spent my summers playing Tom Sawyer and teacher.  For my ninth birthday, I asked for a chalkboard, and my room was decorated with little pockets and popsicle sticks for classroom chores.  I taught my family members and imaginary students.  I wrote lesson plans and tests, and I sent out report cards. 

When I was twenty-three, I became a teacher.  I taught for a year at a small private school in Charleston, and then Ryan and I moved back to Greenville, and I began the first of fourteen years teaching high school English at a Catholic school.

It was a challenge teaching at a Catholic school, but I loved my students, I loved that we could discuss faith, and I loved my curriculum--I was able to create it myself and so it was really more like, “A Study of Mrs. Koon’s favorite books and writers.”

The best part was mentoring the kids. I loved watching them journey into themselves, and it was a privilege to walk with them through it.  Over those fourteen years, I went to cello concerts at the mall, Indian coming of age rites, and many Nutcrackers.  I held them through broken hearts, anxiety attacks, and suicidal episodes.  When I was interviewed for state teacher of the year, I told the panel that I didn’t care if the kids didn’t remember what year William Faulkner died, I cared that they remembered that I was someone who loved her job, who found happiness in what she did.  And so they would set out to find that happiness for themselves.

But in January of 2019, everything changed.

Just before the previous Christmas, I’d been asked to give a talk to the Friday morning non-denominational praise and worship group.  I was thrilled.  I gave my talk on the phrase “Keeping Christ in Christmas.”  My position was that a bumper sticker does nothing.  We keep Christ in Christmas through showing his love to others.  I ended with a prayer for the students.  Here’s the quote that changed everything:

Bless their hearts, that they may be open to seeing ALL people, every single one, as a child of God, no matter the person’s race, age, gender, sexual identity, physical and mental ability, socioeconomic status, political party, nationality, religious faith.  May we not pass the judgement on others that we so fear being passed on us.  Bless them that they may have the courage to speak out against the words and actions that harm our precious brothers and sisters.

When I had my annual review with my department chair that January, I was told that I was not meeting the mission of the school.  I was told that my talk had gone against Catholic teaching (it had not).  I was told that my words might “cause our students who fancy themselves ‘activists’ to think I was promoting same sex marriage.”  In addition, she had looked through my blog and took particular issue with my recommending an episode of Queer Eye to my readers as well as Will and Grace.

I walked out of that review completely numb.  I asked the Theology chair to read my talk to see if anything went against Catholic teaching, and his response was, “No, that’s pretty much what Catholicism is all about, loving people and seeing dignity in them.”

And yet at least once a week, the academic dean would be in my classroom with a new complaint from my department chair: I had posted a picture of me with Elizabeth Warren on my private Instagram, I had been accused of “counseling students to engage in a homosexual lifestyle”, my forthcoming novel was about a baker, a baker who bakes a wedding cake for a same-sex wedding in the last fifteen pages.

For years I had supported the LGBTQIA+ students in our school.  A student cried in my room one day because a classmate had said that all gay people should be killed so they couldn’t produce more gay people, and the teacher hadn’t said a word.  Another nearly hyperventilated as she told me that her parents had sent her to conversion therapy.  One student’s sister threw up as she told me that she was so scared that her brother would be disowned by their parents if they found out he was gay.  I have had four students (that I know of) who have transitioned since leaving the school.  What it must have been like for them.  It was my privilege to hold these students and tell them that they are loved by me and by God, that they have worth and dignity.  That they are enough.

But as the spring of 2019 moved along, I realized that I could no longer give them the support at school that they needed.  I was muzzled, and my students knew it.  They continuously asked me what was wrong, why had I lost my spark.  It was because everything I said and did seemed to be taken as me promoting my “dangerous liberal agenda”.  Since when is kindness a “dangerous liberal agenda”?

To be fair, the school wanted to keep me.  They knew I was a strong teacher and that I loved the kids.  We had conversations that showed that they wanted to do better for our LGBTQIA+ students; they just didn’t know how. But I knew that if I stayed, I would continuously be second guessing everything I said and did in fear that it would be misconstrued.  I would not be able to advocate for my students--any of my students--as I had before.

And so I left the school and I left teaching.  It was one of the most difficult things I’ve ever done.  But as I stood in the middle of one of the messiest times of my life, I sat quietly to listen, and I knew with absolute certainty that this is where God was leading me.  I can be a stronger advocate for LGBTQIA+ youth outside of that school where I can use my voice for love freely and without ideological constraints.

It isn’t an easy path.  I took a job at Furman only to have the position dissolved within months of my start date.  I now work in IT, which surprises everyone--especially me.

I’ve struggled, though, because for most of my life, I just knew that teaching was my vocation.  I was called to it.  And I knew this from a place deep inside me.  So I’m standing in a mess.  I don’t know what my future holds professionally.  My job at Furman is a temporary, project based  position, so in another year I have to start something new once again.

But here’s the thing.  I’m okay with this mess.  There is no part of me that regrets leaving the school.  It was the right thing to do.  What I loved about teaching was loving the kids.  If I’m not allowed to love and affirm them as they are, then that’s not where I’m meant to be.  

In these messy times, our natural reaction may be (I know mine certainly is) to actively seek.  I’m always looking ahead.  I’m a planner, and it triggers my anxiety disorder big time when something disrupts the plan.  I want to act, and I want to act immediately.  But what I have learned over the past year and a half is that the better choice is to be still.  If we fill our minds with lists, ideas, determinations, and desperation, we may miss the gentle, loving voice of God that knows us better than we know ourselves.  That voice that is there to guide us.  The guidance may not always be clear, and it sure as heck isn’t going to work with our timeline, but it’s there nonetheless.

I’m standing in the middle of a mess.  I don’t know where I’ll be in another year.  I don’t know the best way to use my voice to advocate for LGBTQIA+ youth now that I’m free to do so.  I don’t know how to fill the void in my life that teaching filled.  But I do know that worry changes nothing.  That I can force something to happen, but that doesn’t mean it will satisfy any of my questions.  I am grateful that I have a job.  That I love my boss.  That my co-workers are kind, funny, and smart.  That the relationships I formed with students all those years are still going strong.  I’m working on staying in the moment.  Being grateful for this moment.  I’ve come to realize that the messy moments are when we really grow.  They force us to listen, to contemplate, to pray.  God speaks to us through the mess.  God is working through me every day, guiding my words, my heart, and my life.

I may not know where I am going, but I know where I’ve been.  I look back and see the good I did, the love of God that I showed his children, all of his children.  I know that that chapter of my life is over, and that’s okay.  I don’t know the title of the next chapter, but that’s okay too.  Because God’s got this.  So I’ve got this.  And I am going to use my gifts and my voice to advocate for God’s precious LGBTQIA+ children, and to ensure that they know they are loved by God, and by me.  For years, I thought teaching was my vocation, but I’m starting to see, through the epic mess that is my life right now, that my real vocation is lover.  Thanks be to God.

Summer Reading!

Hi all!

I'm so grateful summer is here.  The past few months have been a challenge for everyone, and I'm hopeful that a new season will begin a new stage in life.

I'm also hopeful that you have been healthy and well, both physically and emotionally.  This pandemic is certainly taking a physical toll on so many, and there is a palpable emotional toll as well.  Please take care of yourselves.  Love yourselves and each other.  Talk to someone.  Ask for help.  Seek teletherapy.  Know that you are enough, just as you are.

Okay.  That was heavy to begin, but necessary.  Now, the time has come...

SUMMER READING!

If you've read the blog in the past, you know that one of my favorite days of the year is the day I go to the library and check out ten summer reading books that I shamelessly judge by their covers.  I don't know about where you are, but our library has been closed since March.  Thankfully we've been able to check out children's books online, because otherwise my five-year old would have me reading the same four Dr. Seuss books night after night.

So this year I ordered the next book in the No. 1 Women's Detective Agency series, because I read the next book every time I go to the beach, and then I did my book sweep through my own personal library.  Yes, you're correct.  This means I have not read every book on my shelves--but no time like the present to get going!

So without further ado, here are the BIG TEN, the bonus two, book club reads, and the extras I borrowed electronically so I can read them at night when my husband's asleep.

BIG TEN
The Handsome Man's Deluxe Cafe, McCall Smith
True Grit, Portis
The Death of Vishnu, Manil
Holidays on Ice, Sedaris
Living By the Word, Walker
Dust Tracks on a Road, Hurston
Lily Dale, Wicker
Beautiful Ruins, Walter
Above the Waterfall, Rash
The Printed Letter Bookshop, Reay

Bonus Two (Loaned to me by a friend)
The Invention of Wings, Kidd
The Book of Lost Friends, Wingate

Book Club Reads
How to Be an Anti-Racist, Kendi
Beloved, Morrison (our next read for my YouTube/Facebook series, "Time for Tea")

Late Night Reads
The Last Mrs. Parrish, Constantine
The Universe Has Your Back, Bernstein
The Willoughbys, Lowry
Autopsy of a Boring Wife, Lavoie

Happy Reading!

Thoughts on Quarantine and Facebook Live

I'm an introvert.  Don't get me wrong; I am also a teacher, a speaker, a performer, and a vocal advocate.  Yet at the end of the day, I recharge either by myself, or one on one.  I am absolutely comfortable in a situation where I can stay home, with no appointments or responsibilities beyond my personal four walls.  I'm fine only leaving home to go to the grocery or pick up dinner from one of out local restaurants.

Please don't misunderstand; this is awful.  It's a human calamity and my heart is breaking every day as sirens inevitably echo in the distance or another ambulance or fire truck drives through my neighborhood, lights flashing.  I watch Governor Andrew Cuomo every day and feel sick thinking about my family and loved ones in New York and across the country.  I'm in pain.

Yet it's also true that this situation has given me space for introspection, and I've rediscovered who I really am, beyond the world's expectations for me.  I am a pleaser and a chameleon; I can be who you need me to be.  During this time, however, I'm simply being...me. 

As I've discussed on this blog, I suffer from a serious anxiety disorder.  This is something I've been working through formally for twenty years, though I see now that it was present from very early in my childhood.  After all, I was the kid whose stomach hurt so badly when the kindergarten class played duck-duck-goose, I ended up getting sent home sick from school.

In the past week, however, I've realized that this is the most mentally and emotionally healthy I've been in a long, long time.  Am I worried about the virus?  Yes.  I'm concerned for my family, my friends, my co-workers, my neighbors, and the people I've never even met.  But there is a difference between worry and anxiety.  For me, anxiety manifests from fears that are not at all justified.  This fear is justified, and so I can face it.  It's hard to face something that doesn't exist.

I'm working from home, and I'm working hard, but without my hour and a half round-trip commute each day, I've come into some extra time.  I take walks during my lunch breaks.  I hug my kids when I go to refill my water between meetings.  I read.  A lot.  I write.  I binge watch RuPaul's Drag Race with my daughter. 

And I spend time alone.  I think a lot.  As I've noted, 2019 kicked me harder than any year has.  My heart was broken as I realized I had no option but to leave a job I loved.  My new job was dissolved.  My daughter was hospitalized.  My "person", my Nana, was diagnosed with cancer and suddenly died of a heart attack.  And all of that happened between August and December.  2020 began with a devastating diagnosis of one for the people closest to me.  I started a new job, but then we left to work from home.  Now here we are.

We all have a lot going on while it may seem nothing is going on.  And that is just a touch of what I'm carrying right now.  I know you're carrying a lot too.  That's life.  And I, like many of you, haven't had a chance to really process any of it.  I go, go, go, and now I've had to stop.  Yesterday I lay in a hammock in the backyard and looked up to the sky through the trees.  For the first time, as I looked towards the heavens, I really allowed myself to think about the loss of my grandmother.  The sun was shining; the clouds fluffy and floating smoothly through the perfectly blue sky.  I felt peace.

And then I heard the sirens.

I've experienced so many moments like this in the last few weeks.  This time is a struggle for everyone, but all of our struggles are different.  And that's okay. My extroverted friends are suffering in ways I cannot imagine.  Too many people have lost loved ones; too many still will.  We're being divided even more than before, at a time when we need to come together to care for each other.

Let's love people.  Let's create beautiful things for the world.  Let's be careful.  Let's wear our masks to show the elderly, immuno-compromised, weak, and afraid that we care.  Let's encourage each other.  Let's show gratitude to those who are saving us.  Let's get ready to hug the heck out of each other.  Let's love.  Love, love, love, love, love.  Take care of ourselves and each other.  And above all, let us show kindness.

We can do this.  Together.

Here are a few things I'm using to escape my worry:
RuPaul's Drag Race (I started on season one, and I'm almost caught up!)
The Masked Singer
Murder, Inc. podcast (OMG--a must listen!)
Disney Nature films
HGTV and Food Network (as always)

What I've Read:
Death and Other Happy Endings, Melanie Cantor
Drive Your Plow Over the Bones of the Dead, Olga Tokarczuk
Letters from an Astrophysicist, Neil DeGrasse Tyson
The Risen, Rod Rash
Once, Alice Walker**
Ritz and Escoffier: The Hotelier, the Chef, and the Rise of the Leisure Class, Luke Barr
Sold, Patricia McCormick**
The Hazel Wood, Melissa Albert
Red at the Bone, Jacqueline Woodson**
A Word for Love, Emily Robbins
Starting Over, LaToya Jackson
**My favorites of the bunch

I've also started a series on Facebook Live called "Time for Tea" where we'll be reading books and discussing writing and life.  Our first book is Lord of the Flies...come join us!  Just "like" my page, @meganprewittkoon on Facebook!

2019 Year in Review

In many ways, 2019 kicked my fanny.  It began with the recognition that I needed to leave a career I had loved for fifteen years, and it ended with a week during which I had a hospitalized child, Sweet Divinity launched, and my grandmother who had helped raise me and who had been the biggest supporter of my writing suddenly passed away.  So many tears were shed through the emotions by which I was overwhelmed that week.  As I think about last year, I am struck by the emotional upheaval of it all.

On Christmas Eve we were gifted a clear ornament with our family's name written on it along with "2019".  The four of us gathered at the kitchen table and began to write our memories of the year on slips of red and green paper.  We wrote about all of our struggles, but we also wrote about our great memories: my trip to Europe, my daughter's first roles on the stage, my son's last year of preschool, my husband's first tattoo.  There was so many that we ran out of paper strips.  We curled the papers and placed them in the ornament as reminders of what 2019 meant for our family.

It was the most challenging year of my life, but I believe that out of these challenges I have grown a stronger, more inspired woman.

Books of 2019

I read 54 books in 2019.  Here are my top-rated books, in the order in which I read them.  You can see all of the books I read on Goodreads:

Gmorning, Gnight!: Little Pep Talks for Me and You by Lin-Manuel Miranda
Possessing the Secret of Joy by Alice Walker
A Bound Woman is a Dangerous Thing: The Incarceration of African American Women from Harriet Tubman to Sandra Bland by DaMaris B. Hill
Hillbilly Elegy: A Memoir of a Family and Culture in Crisis by J.D. Vance
The Nickel Boys by Colson Whitehead
Becoming by Michelle Obama
Searching for Sunday: Loving, Leaving, and Finding the Church by Rachel Held Evans
Questions I Am Asked About the Holocaust by Hedi Fried
Big Magic by Elizabeth Gilbert
Almost Everything: Notes on Hope by Anne Lamott

By far, the best book I read this year was The Nickel Boys.  It was a difficult read, but I haven't been that moved at the core of my being by a novel in some time.  Required reading for all.

What I'm Watching

I haven't gotten to see as many movies as I like this year (thought I did manage to see all of the Best Picture Academy Award nominees), or to spend as much time watching quality television (and it isn't worth the pneumonia I had last year to get in some binge hours!).  That said, here are some movies and television shows I've been enjoying this year:

Black Panther: Smart, relevant script, beautifully shot and perfected cast.  I've watched it a couple of times this year, and it keeps getting better!

Roma: This was my pick for Best Picture, and I stand by it.  A subtle, heartbreaking, beautiful film shot in the classic style we've lost in a lot of film.  Bring the tissues.

Aladdin: Perhaps this is a controversial choice.  I absolutely adore the original animated film, and this movie is not listed in competition with that one.  To me, they're completely different.  This film had all the charm of the original but with some changes that I appreciated and found smart and sharp.

Frozen II: Let me be straightforward, I thought this was better than the original.  I know, I know.  It's okay to disagree.  Perhaps it's because I've been on my own journey of discovering where I'm meant to be, but this movie really spoke to me this year, not to mention that "Into the Unknown" is incredible and Olaf's recap of the first film had me laughing so hard I cried.

Knives Out: Man, I love a murder mystery, especially when it's brilliantly cast and perfectly twisty-turny.

Downton Abbey (the series): I rewatched the entire series with my daughter.  It was like going home.  I felt the same about the movie, though it wasn't one of my favorites of the year.

Victoria: I love PBS.  They just get it right.  But that cliffhanger.  I mean, we all know what happens, but it doesn't make it any less shocking.

Outlander: I'm totally on this train.  I can't explain why I care so deeply about Jamie and Claire, but maybe it's the fantastic acting and beautiful film work.

The Crown: I'm late to the game on this one, and, looking at this list, I don't know how I haven't watched this show yet, considering my obvious love for British aristocracy, but I'm here now and I'm all in.

Jane the Virgin: I'm so sad this show is over.  It was such a smart exploration of family, and I loved following Jane on her publishing adventure--it kept me going on mine.

The Masked Singer: This should, by all accounts, be the dumbest show on television.  When I describe it to people, it sounds ridiculous.  And yet, it's FANTASTIC.  It's the only show my family gathers together to watch live every week.

Music 

In 2019, I was able to check two concerts off of my bucket list: Fleetwood Mac and Elton John.  I love live music, and I love discovering new artists.  While one of the highlights of my musical year was the release of  Taylor Swift's new album (my favorite songs are "False God", "Cruel Summer" and "Afterglow"), I also discovered Todrick Hall and Meg Myers, and celebrated the release of new music by Lana Del Rey.  My daughter and I announced that "our song" is "Down to the Honkytonk" by Jake Owen, and I rediscovered my love for "Halo" by Beyonce and "American Girl" by Tom Petty.  I made a playlist titled "You Are a Queen" that I listened to in my challenging times.  Here's the list:

"Don't Take the Money" by The Bleachers"
"Fire Escape" by Andrew McMahon and the Wilderness
"Inside Out" by Britney Spears"
"You Need to Calm Down" by Taylor Swift
"Style" by Taylor Swift
"Work B*tch" by Britney Spears
"Halo" by Beyonce
"Bootylicious" by Destiny's Child
"Glitter" by Todrick Hall
"Let's Have a Kiki" by Scissor Sisters
"American Girl" by Tom Petty

Writing

The publication of Sweet Divinity has kept me busy this year, but I've been working on both the sequel and on Reliance.  I'm excited to see what 2020 brings for these works.  The sequel for Sweet Divinity is beginning to take shape.  I've established the theme, and I've already found the characters in some hilarious shenanigans.  As for Reliance, I've recently made some discoveries about a couple of the characters that certainly change the game, and I'm excited to follow them down the road and into the forest.

Looking Ahead
I often look to the new year with trepidation, a byproduct of the anxiety struggles I've written about on the blog.  It's a big unknown, the new year, and that makes me nervous.  But this year, I'm excited.  Maybe it's because 2019 ended so horribly, or maybe it's because next year simply has to be better.  The only plans I have for 2020 are to take my daughter to go see Hamilton (tickets are purchased!), and I'm super good with that.

I wish you a fantastic 2020.  Embrace your creative self, believe in your gifts and talents, and use this year to embrace the amazing person you are!

My Literary Family

Note: Don't worry, my friends, I'll be posting about my upcoming book release and book signing schedule soon.  For now, I hope you enjoy this little nugget that's been napping in my "drafts" for a while. :-)

I began to realize I had a literary family when I was in graduate school.  I knew that I had a passion for Victorian novels, and so I signed up for an independent study with two girlfriends, and we sat in the professor's office drinking tea, petting his dog, and discussing Charles Dickens, Wilkie Collins, and, among others, Thomas Hardy.  We read Tess of the D'Urbervilles, and I was enraptured.  I loved the language and the way that Hardy made the place of the novel so essential to the emotional lives of the characters.  The setting was in fact a character all its own. The very next semester I undertook an independent study with the same professor, this time focusing singularly on the novels of Thomas Hardy.  The first book we read was Far From the Madding Crowd, and that was it--I announced that Thomas Hardy was my literary husband.  I wanted to spend my life with him, and I vowed that I would.

But life is complicated, y'all.  Because no sooner had I announced my marriage to Thomas Hardy than I was introduced to my literary boyfriend, William Faulkner.  In a Southern Literature class, a class I had signed up for begrudgingly (because my snooty self couldn't imagine that any American could write as beautifully as the Brits), we read Absalom, Absalom!, and I was hooked from page one.  I began devouring Faulkner, purchasing As I Lay Dying straight away and soon returned to a book I had discarded years before after reading only one page--The Sound and the Fury.  I don't know what was different this time around, but I could not get enough of Faulkner and his run on sentences, disregard for standard punctuation, and unashamed baring of the complexity of the human heart.  I realized that I was a woman with two lovers, and I refused to choose.

From there, my literary family grew: my uncle, Mark Twain (because everyone knows that uncle who teaches the little kids dirty jokes and cuss words at family gatherings); my grandfather, Walt Whitman (because he's watching me all the time anyway, and I'm pretty sure he gives me $5 randomly); my aunt, Flannery O'Connor (an aunt with pet peacocks and a dark sense of humor?  Yes, please!); my best friend, Virginia Woolf (we go to marches together); my other literary uncle, Ernest Hemingway (the one who brings a new lady friend to every family event); my Southern grandmother, Katherine Anne Porter (so damn sassy!); my cousins, ee cummings and Tennessee Williams; not to mention my goddess of a grandmother, Toni Morrison or that aunt who tells me all her best stories, Sandra Cisneros...I'll stop there.  I think you get the idea.

I speak about these writers are part of my "literary family" because they have become such an essential part of what's made me, me.  When I read, "Crossing Brooklyn Ferry", it affects me in a deep and lasting way.  I can't rid of it (not that I want to).  Their words have become part of me; I live with them every day.

Whitman wrote that as we go through life, every action connects us with every person who has ever done the same.  For example, if I go out and look at the moon tonight (and it is a rather fetching crescent this evening), I am connected beyond the man-made bonds of time with every person who has ever looked at the moon, and every person who ever will.

When I read the words of these writers, I'm connected with everyone who has every read them, but I'm also connected with the writers themselves.  And that's magical, my friends.  Oscar Wilde (another wild uncle-oh, the puns!) wrote "The Ballad of Reading Gaol"--like, he actually composed those lyrics--so as I read them, I'm experiencing them as he did when he read the poem through the first time, or the second, or the third.

Reading is such a connective experience--it forms bonds we can't even imagine.  I love mentioning a book in passing and someone's ecstatic reply that they read that book as well.  Connected.

We should talk about reading more often.  What are you reading?  What work has most affected you?  What book can you never understand?  What writers are in your literary family?

And you know what?  Now that you've read these words, you're in mine.  Welcome.

Cozy Spaces

Where I write is essential.

If you've followed me on Instagram for some time, then you've been introduced to several of my favorite writing spaces.

There's a coffee shop in my town that is a writer's haven.  It's independent, charity-centered, and downright cozy--even when filled with strangers.  The handcrafted tables and chairs fill the space with artistry, and the tables are topped with glass panes, beneath which lie mounds of raw coffee beans.  Yum.  The smells of coffee and crepes fill the atmosphere, and when you breathe it in, it's like eating the air.  Ahhhhh....

There are several spot in my home that I find cozy writing spaces.  I've written about my writing chair often, but honestly I can't give it enough love.  That armchair has been with me since college, and allowing myself to sink into it is one way of escaping from my world and entering that of someone else.  I'm enveloped in the fabric, and lost to this day and this time.  It's seen its share of life; there are small tears on the edges and marker-drawn lines along the arms (so I have a little reminder of my kids with me when I write), but the chair has also worn into my shape.  It's simply meant for me.

On a beautiful day, no matter the temperature, I'll write on my back porch.  I joke that my house has three porches: the reading porch (screened in), the sunbathing porch (the deck), and the writing porch (under the pergola).  If it's chilly, I wrap myself in a blanket and head on out.  There's something about nature that gets the words flowing for me.  If I'm frustrated with the writing, a walk or a hike re-centers me. 

I've written at the kitchen table, the library, my work desk, and at a hotel, and sometimes that's just fine.  However, given the choice, I like to write someplace cozy.  I can see that I like to be in places where I'm fully enveloped-whether by an aroma, by cloth, or by nature.  I think it's a security thing--I feel safe there, safe to explore and get outside myself.  Safe to become someone else and to listen to the voices in my mind.  Safe to allow myself to become the vessel, the means.  I am most alive in these cozy spaces.

It's National Novel Writing Month!

Every year I take on NaNoWriMo and its 50,000 word challenge, and every year I don't even make a dent in that goal.

Maybe it's the fact that I have a preschooler and a preteen.

Maybe it's that I work a full time job and tutor on the side.

Maybe it's that you can't "force" creativity.

Maybe it's that I don't get enough sleep at night.

Maybe it's that I am my own writer's block.

I think that last statement might be the correct option.  We are often our own creative blockers.  We let all of the "stuff" of life get into our heads and take up space.  I've written about my anxiety struggles on this blog, and, let me tell you, they are absolutely a creativity blocker!  Lately I've been so preoccupied with the uncertainty around me that I haven't had the space my characters need to breathe, much less to live out their extraordinary lives.  My mind has been filled with unexpected changes at work, with my children's struggles, with the illness of a family member, with to-do lists for my community commitments.  How in the world do I expect to hear my characters if I can't even hear myself for all the jumbled noise?

What I've come to realize is that NaNoWriMo isn't actually a goal.  It's a space.  A space that focuses me for the month of November, at least as best it can when combating my raging anxiety.  This one month of the year is focused on creativity.  So what if I don't get 50,000 words of a novel written?  If I get 1000 words, I've probably written more than I would have without this focus.  Indeed, November is the month when "busyness" really starts ramping up.  What a perfect month to try to focus, to be quiet, to let others speak.

So this November, I encourage you to take part in NaNoWriMo, even in an unofficial capacity.  If you write one haiku every other day during the month of November, you've brought that much creativity into the world.  Good for you.  If you write your 50,000 words, remarkable--you've created new life.  If you write 100 words and get swept up in the swirling world around us--great job!  You found time.  Maybe not the time you wanted, but time nonetheless.

I'll be keeping myself honest here and on www.nanowrimo.org.  My goal?  Write more.  And I have a sneaking suspicion that if I do that, I'll quiet my mind and my life a bit too.

Little Love Poem

little love poem
like a song
blowing through the trees that surround my heart
seeking the sky of my mind
longing to fill my everywhere soul
little love poem
sing in my bones
dance on my fingers
loafe in my heart
little love poem
brighten my eyes
fly on my breath
live within me
always

Those Who Give Us Life

I've been doing a lot of thinking in recent weeks.  I've made some big life changes, and I've been working to reconnect with people who have influenced and inspired me.  I've learned a lot in 2019, but the most important lesson I've taken to heart is that we must surround ourselves with people who give us life.

I was a teacher for many years, and that work fueled my heart and fed my soul.  I created so many lasting relationships, both with colleagues and students, and I absolutely loved being at school each day, sharing my love of books, fawning over Faulkner and Tennessee Williams, and striving to make each student feel loved, honored, and appreciated as they are.  That's good work.

And man, was I surrounded by people who gave me life.  My teacher friends affirmed me, supported me, made me feel needed, laughed with me, emotionally ate with me, and cried with me.  Teaching is tough stuff, but if you have the right people around you, you really are part of a community.  I had the most fun I've had in my life with those friends in those years--the most fun.

But life has a way of signalling us, if we're open to receiving the signals, and that's just what happened to me.  Because just as we should surround ourselves with people who give us life, we must also erect boundaries between ourselves and those who do not.  It's a painful process, and it sometimes means we must move on from people and places we love.  Yet faith assures us that our inner genius, as Emerson always referred to our intuition, knows the way.

I am now in an environment where I can be authentically myself, where I am surrounded by people who affirm me, who know my character, who believe in my integrity and my dedication to goodness, who support me as I strive to do my part as a writer, a woman, and a human being.  In addition, I've been able to develop relationships that had been put in a box somewhere.  My teacher friends and I are closer in a different way, as we now have to make an effort to find time for one another--no more just popping next door.  A dear friend from whom I had drifted when I was struggling through this process was dutifully waiting for me on the other side, excited to get lunch during my lunch break (a foreign concept to teachers).  One of my colleagues in writing, a prophetic, powerful writer in her own right, recently shared her project with me, because now we have time to discuss it and to learn more about each other's processes and work.

My family time has shifted, but the quality has only improved as I come home each day stress-free and calm, ready to watch Wild Kratts or Downton Abbey, depending on which child is in the living room.

I have removed from my day to day those people who don't bring me life, and I'm focusing my efforts on those who do.  I pray that I myself am a life-bringer.  That has always been and will always be my goal.  Let us surround ourselves with people who support our goals, believe in us, know our hearts, love us in all our idiosyncrasies and faults, and want to see us thrive.  Then we shall, unashamedly, be our authentic selves.  Then we can really change the world for good.

Confessions

I'm currently reading I'd Rather Be Reading: The Delights and Dilemmas of the Reading Life, by Anne Bogel, my delightful sister-in-spirit and creator of the blog "Modern Mr. Darcy".  If you read my blog but haven't read hers, then you've made a mistake and you need to head over there immediately.  #lifegoals

One chapter in I'd Rather Be Reading focuses on the books that avid readers are ashamed to admit they haven't read.  That got me thinking: perhaps it's confession time.

The truth is that I haven't purposefully avoided any of these works.  Somehow, despite my high school English classes, college English major courses, and graduate school English major courses, I never encountered them.  In fact, I own many of them...I just haven't picked them up.  Admittedly, there are a few I began but then put down for one reason or another.  Yet there are so many books to read, and only this one life, so when I'm not captivated I'm quick to put the book down and choose another.

In my twenties, I would refuse to "quit" a book.  Haha!  She who thought she had all the time in the world to read!  Now I have two children and I'm nearing forty--my available reading time has quickly diminished!  So I'm a quitter.  But rarely do I intended to walk away from the book, never to return.  I'll come back again and again until I read that book, but in the meantime...

My Shameless List of Books I'm Ashamed I Haven't Read

Grapes of Wrath: Okay, so I've read selections from this one, and I've read almost every other Steinbeck novel.  But the truth is that I've faked having read this book on multiple occasions.  See, I'm already defensive.
Little Women
Persuasion
The Secret Garden
Alice's Adventures in Wonderland
Oliver Twist
The Brothers Karamazov
Crime and Punishment
Sherlock Holmes (and I mean...any of it)
The Three Musketeers
Madame Bovary
The Pillars of the Earth
One Hundred Years of Solitude
Roots
Catch 22
1984
For Whom the Bell Tolls
Where the Red Fern Grows: Okay, I admit it.  I lied.  I've avoided this one.
Atlas, Shrugged
Any book in the series other than The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe
The Age of Innocence
Lord of the Rings: Caveat--I read the first book and half of the second.  I left off in the middle of a rather long poem, as I recall...

Now that I've unburdened myself, I ask you, dear readers--which shall I read first?

25 Things You Might Not Know About Me

I was listening to an audiobook recently, and the author talked about a social media phenomenon from a few years ago calling for people to post "25 Things You Don't Know About Me."  Well, I'm a sucker for a good list, so here we go!

1. I was born in Naples, Florida, which has formed me into a total beach snob.
2. I hate beach sand.  Hate it.
3. I once ate a delicious meal in the country of Liechtenstein.
4. I've had a near-death experience.
5. I have seen over fifty bands/singers in concert (including U2 3x, Britney 3x, The Killers 2x).  I love live music!
6. My favorite movie is Beasts of the Southern Wild, but I'm also a sucker for Roman Holiday.
7. If I could eat as much of one food as I wanted with no consequences, it would be chocolate cake with chocolate icing.
8. I have a caffeine intolerance.  My body hates it.  I love it.  Chocolate has caffeine in it.
9. I have traveled to nine countries and sixteen states.
10. I would move to England tomorrow.
11. My personal library has 773 books in it (not including Special Collections).
12. I keep my special books in a china cabinet.
13. I've been to Disney World too many times to count, and my favorite ride is The Haunted Mansion.  Hands down.
14. When I left home for college, I had a complete emotional breakdown and begged to come home.  Now I work there.
15. I am an only child.
16. I'm an introvert (no one believes this, but I promise you, it's true).
17. I love to be on stage.  My favorite of all of the roles I've played is Adam in The Compleat Wrks of Wllm Shkspr: Abridged.
18. When I grow up, I want to be like Michelle Obama, then RBG.
19. When I was a kid, I fished with a cane pole on a homemade raft and used chicken livers as bait. (I grew up on a four hundred acre farm.)
20. I'm fabulous with power tools.
21. I've dealt with anxiety as long as I can remember, but I only realized it senior year of college.  If you see it in someone you love, help them recognize it.
22. I have a record of chasing famous people down the street to get their autograph. #noshame
23. My hair has been brunette, orange, pink, and blonde--but my natural color is light brown and I have a birth mark in my hair--a white streak!
24. The book I've read more times than any other is The Adventures of Tom Sawyer.
25. I once dressed up as Paula Abdul for my school's "What I Want to Be When I Grow Up" day.

I thought I should put something really profound, but I'll save that for another list.  Let me know if I should elaborate on any of these facts...I'm a storyteller, after all!

Oooooooooooooooo......Ghostwriting

Some of you may recall that I've taken on a ghostwriting project.  One of my friends has a remarkable personal story, one of those that you listen to and say, "That sounds like a novel!"  I am honored that she asked me to help her put her story on paper.

But ghostwriting is hard.  When I'm working on a novel, it flows.  I listen to the voices tell me their stories, and I let it pour onto the page (or rather, click click onto the page).  I recently had someone say to me, "I don't put much stock in it when writers say they didn't know what the character was going to say or where the story was going to go.  That's just, whatever."  Spoken like a non-writer.  I don't know where it's going most of the time.  So much of writing is listening.

But ghostwriting is different.  The story doesn't come from within me.  I listen to voices, but they're informed by the stories I've been given.  I don't cultivate the voices; they've already spoken.

Here's the process we're working through.  My friend is writing out her story in a series of journals which I am transcribing and forming into a memoir.  We've sat for hours looking at pictures and talking about the people, places, and events she's written about.  When I sit down to write, I try to read her notes in her voice, and then keep that voice in the words I put to the page.  I write, imagining what she might have felt, posting questions in the margins asking for the colors of clothes, the sights, smells, thoughts.  I put commentary into the "characters'" minds and make a note to ask if that's a reasonable assumption.

This is hard work.

And yet I love it.  I am a storyteller.  I've written on this blog about the power of stories, the necessity of stories.  So using my words to give voice to someone's authentic story?  I'm all in.

I'll say it again.  We need stories now.  We need your stories.  Pick up a pen.  And if you just can't craft it, find someone who can.  Everyone's life has value and meaning, and everyone's life is worth sharing, if you're up for it.  Tell someone your story.  Validate it.  Affirm it in all its messiness.  Speak it. 

Your story matters.

Change

I like to think that I'm good with change.  I love traveling and imagining myself living in my destination.  I'm infamous for calling my husband from, say, Dallas, and announcing, "Pack your bags!  We're moving!"  I enjoy looking at real estate listings and envisioning where I would put our furniture if we bought each house.  Rearranging furniture is my jam, and man-oh-man do I love purging and reorganizing the pantry!

But I'm also a sucker for steadiness.  Every summer, without fail, I reorganize my library.  The fiction titles are alphabetized, and the nonfiction books are arranged according to the Dewey Decimal System.  When I go home to Georgia, it makes my heart ache to see that my room, once covered with my friends' signatures on every wall and ceiling surface, has been repainted.  And when I drive past a well known forest to find the trees cleared, I tear up.

Yet I am currently making some big changes in my life.  I just began a new career, one I never anticipated, but one to which I believe I've been led.  It meant many heartbreaking farewells, including farewell to a career I loved so completely, the only career besides writing that I ever envisioned for myself.  Still, my first days in my new venture have confirmed that when I made the change, I was right.  Emerson once wrote, "Trust thyself: every heart vibrates to that iron string.  Accept the place the divine providence has found for you, the society of your contemporaries, the connection of events" ("Self-Reliance").  I have been sitting quietly for months, listening.  And here I am.  It's no surprise to me that the day I made the decision to change is the same day I found out that Sweet Divinity is now entering the editing process at its publisher.  This is the beginning of a new era.

So naturally I needed to make more tangible changes to match the changes inside of me.  I've been practicing yoga every morning (and I bought an essential oil diffuser which has added even more sensory experience to my practice), and I created a dedicated writing space.

Our family playroom has been a disaster for months.  It wasn't even usable space anymore.  The room was crammed full of toys, discarded souvenirs, and furniture that didn't seem to fit anywhere else in the house.  Also, for months I've been longing for a dedicated writing space.  It's been too hot to write outside on the back porch, and having a four-year old in the house doesn't allow for much privacy.  Yesterday I found my husband cleaning the playroom and, within twenty-four hours, I had my own space.

The desk at which I write was originally part of my mother's bedroom set.  It's late '60s/early'70s green and off-white, with a green vinyl cushioned stool for a seat.  When I was growing up, the desk and seat served my grandmother in her sewing endeavors.  On this desk she made all of my theatre costumes, summer dresses, and even a formal dress for my senior Sweetheart Dance.  Its central drawer contains literary finger puppets of Virginia Woolf and Zora Neale Hurston, cards printed with inspiring quotes, and your typical desk necessities.  Another drawer holds a notepad, post-its, index cards (because I LOVE writing on index cards!), and daily checklists and planning sheets.  The middle drawer contains my stationary--because I refuse to let the handwritten letter die--not on my watch!  Finally, the bottom drawer holds mementos--mostly artwork created by my kids, but also my Hamilton playbook and Disney Magic Bands.

The top of the desk and the area surrounding it are decorated with items that inspire me.  In addition to the photos and art pieces I've already written about on the blog or on social media are a candle scented to evoke Edgar Allan Poe, a Jane Austen prayer candle, a mug from the Library of Congress, working notebooks for my ghostwriting project, and whale bookends that I've stolen from my son because he can't yet appreciate Moby-Dick (yes, I know Moby Dick was a white whale).  In future days I'll be highlighting these inspiring objects on social media.

If you feel as if you're in a rut, I encourage you to re-imagine your space.  I didn't spend a cent on this project, but I feel renewed and, honestly, more established in my writing.  Even if it's a shelf in your bedroom, I ask you to re-imagine a space today.  Shift some items around, purge what doesn't bring you joy, and bring to the space objects that feed you.  I promise you'll feel renewed.

And a little cat-cow yoga wouldn't hurt either.

Washington DC: The Capital of Words!

A few weeks ago, my husband and I decided to take a last-minute trip to Washington, DC.

Let me begin with a confession: I'm thirty-nine years old, and I had never been to Washington, DC.

It's a funny story, really.

When I was in middle school, I was invited to join the "Gifted and Talented" class at my public school.  I threw a fit.  I didn't find it at all fair that the kids who scored higher on one standardized test were given access to learning opportunities and information that the other students were not.  I refused to be in the class, and I continued to refuse every year of middle school.  Instead, I took the "Enrichment Period" each day, and in it we read books and took part in "enriching" activities (none of which I can recall).  As a result, I never learned the history of the American presidents (until a road trip in college when my now husband, horrified that I didn't know that Pierce was a president, taught me to name them in order), and I didn't get to go on the Washington DC field trip.

Despite the fact that I ended up with a few holes in my education, I maintain my stance.  I still find it markedly unfair that some students are given access to a more thorough education and more educational opportunities than others.  Who knows which student sitting in my enrichment class would have been inspired to public service on that trip?  Who knows which student, by learning about the presidents, would have been inspired to take on a leadership role as an adult?  This inequitable access to education disturbs me to this day because it hasn't gotten any better, and we haven't demanded the change.

And so, when my husband and I decided to go on a last minute (and belated 15th anniversary) trip, we decided it was time to fill this gap in my experience and travel to DC.  (I would also add that I had been to the country of Liechtenstein but not to my nation's capital, which I find hilarious.)

I have to tell you, DC exceeded my expectations.  On our first evening, we walked the monuments, which were grander and more profound than I could have imagined.  In particular, the FDR monument, with its words upon words, spoke directly to me and to my beliefs and longings for our nation.  The Korean War monument took me aback; I don't know why this one doesn't get more attention.  The emotion I felt as we approached was only enhanced by the detail on the soldiers' faces as we got closer.  The Vietnam memorial was also more moving than I had expected--perhaps that is because there was an older man in a worn, brimmed hat and a vest covered with buttons standing still, staring at a particular name.  As I walked past, he reached out and felt the letters with his fingers.  I had to walk away; it was too much.  And the Lincoln Memorial--this is one I've longed to see since I was a child.  Standing behind the engraved spot where Martin Luther King, Jr. gave his "I Have a Dream" speech as his voice echoed over the National Mall was a moment in my life that I will always hold dear.  The power of words was everywhere, carved into every monument, a testament to the endurance of language.

We toured the Air and Space Museum, the American History Museum (where I saw the table on which Elizabeth Cady Stanton wrote the Declaration of Sentiments, the ink pots used by Lincoln to sign the Emancipation Proclamation, and Thomas Jefferson's desk upon which his wrote the Declaration of Independence, to name just a few!), the Natural History Museum (dinosaurs!), The National Archives, and the Capitol.  We even got to sit in as the House of Representatives was in session.

But the highlight for me, to no one's surprise, was the Library of Congress.  I'm not sure that even now, a month later, I have the words for what I saw and felt inside that building.  I stood with Thomas Jefferson's library.  I gazed into the breathtaking reading room.  I read every Jefferson quote emblazoned on the arches and walls.  I want to move into that building and live there forever.  Surely friends will sneak in food and water for me.  It was truly a shrine to knowledge and to reading and to words...it was my perfect place.

I cannot wait to return to Washington DC.  The trip renewed my faith in democracy and in the positive power of government.  My husband chased a congresswoman across the Capitol grounds for a picture, and she cheerfully obliged.  Our intern tour guide at the Capitol told us how his job had shown him the good that happens in Washington, the collaboration we never see.  The words that speak forth from every building tell of equality and justice.  I could not help but be inspired to use my words to make those ideals a reality.  Inspiring words are everywhere, carved into stone never to be scraped away.  Let's keep those words at the forefront of all we do, and let's demand that those who represent us do as well.

Having recently returned from Europe, I'll be honest...I was spending a lot of time daydreaming about how much better it would be to live in one of the beautiful countries I visited.  I needed this trip to remind me of the power of the American spirit and the pain, but also the enduring determination, of the American journey.  The words I saw in DC matter.  Nay, they're essential.  They have made us "America".  Let's listen to them, honor them, and ensure they endure.

Best of 2018

After a brief hiatus, this post, originally posted in December 2018, is back on the blog!

Greetings! Tonight is New Year's Eve, and I've been reflecting on the year, as I'm sure many of you have. To be honest, I often approach the new year with a bit of trepidation. It's a huge question mark. This year, however, I'm actually excited for all that the new year has in store. Sweet Divinity is set for publication in 2019. I'm working on establishing a name in freelance writing. I have tickets to see Fleetwood Mac and Elton John early in the year. I'm turning fabulous forty.

So much to look forward to!

But before I look too far ahead, I'm looking back. I've been excited to see that quite a few people I follow on social media have been sharing their "Best Of" lists, and so I thought I'd add mine to the mix.

I read fifty books this year, and I'd like to share my top ten with you. I enter my books on Goodreads immediately upon reading the final page. The following books received my highest ranking this year. You should know that I'm very picky with my five star ranking. These lucky books are listed beginning with the most recently read.


Blue Iris: Poems and Essays by Mary Oliver
Call Me By Your Name by Andre Aciman
Red Bird by Mary Oliver
Born a Crime: Stories from a South African Childhood by Trevor Noah
The Origin of Others by Toni Morrison
The Marvels by Brian Selznick
We Should All Be Feminists by Chimamanda Adichie
The Hate U Give by Angie Thomas
Amazing Peace: A Christmas Poem by Maya Angelou

And this one received four stars but still makes the top ten:
Warlight by Michael Ondaatje

Please share the best book you read this year...I'll add it to my list for 2019!

I wish you all the best in the new year. May it be filled with passion, confidence, and joy.

My Watch List

After a brief hiatus, this post, originally posted in December 2018, has returned to the blog!

Perhaps the question I'm most often asked by young people is, "What do you watch?" In the age of binge-watching and Netflix, this question seems to have taken over the classic, "What are you reading?". I read constantly, and right now I'm in the midst of a self-help frenzy; after all, I somehow timed my family so that I have a tween and a toddler in the house!

I do watch a few shows religiously. I'm not proud of all of them, but I'm not embarrassed either. What we watch says a lot about us; this I believe. And I give you the freedom to judge me based on my watch list.

Outlander: I've come late to the party on this one (much as I did with Downton Abbey and my all-time favorite show: Lost--not Penny's boat!); however, I have been fully immersed for the past few weeks catching up on this gem. I read the book about eight years ago as part of a book club, and I fully admit, I had dreaded reading it, thinking my high brow taste for classic literature would be offended. Wrong. I was captivated by the historic setting, the politics, the romance. And now the same can be said for the Starz adaptation. I love escaping into another world, another time. I love gazing upon the rich landscape, and I adore the characters. I'm certain that this show is going to break my heart every time I sit down to watch. I'm right.

Jane the Virgin: A friend recommended this show to me after I rolled my eyes at her insistence that it was great. The title didn't appeal to me in the least. Yet I soon realized that this show is everything I love in entertainment. The casting is spectacular. It has all the drama of a telenovela (and I'm a dramatic lady). The writing is absolutely fantastic. And best of all? The protagonist is a writer, struggling to publish and to make her way through this unpredictable profession. She's optimistic, romantic, and loving--and her father is one of my favorite characters ever! This show depicts familial love in such a beautiful way. My heart is happy every time I watch.

Star Trek: Beyond: I came to Trek through marriage, but I'm all in. As a child, I watched a little TNG and I saw Star Trek VI in theatres because Christian Slater was in it for two seconds. This iteration of Trek is compelling each and every week. The writing is tight and the filming is technically brilliant. It remembers that what so many of us love about Trek are the character dynamics. And man, does this show have some dynamic characters!

Will and Grace: Fabulous in the 90's and fabulous now.

The Bachelor/Bachelorette/Bachelor in Paradise: I have watched every episode of this franchise, and I have no shame. I am absolutely a reality TV junkie. This series, in particular, feeds my love of romance and my desire to see "happily ever after". It doesn't matter to me if they end up actually getting married. I want to see people find love and happiness. And, full disclosure, I love the drama. And the dates. And world travel. And the clothes. And the beaches. And Ashley and Jared.

Dancing with the Stars: Every time I watch, I consider signing up for ballroom lessons, until I recognize, once again, that I am not at all coordinated. Though I do fantasize about becoming just famous enough to be asked on the show. I would happily don the costumes and make a fool of myself on national television, as long as Mark is my partner.

Queer Eye: Thank you, Netflix. I loved this show in its original iteration, but man, this new version is even better! Not only is the show uplifting, funny, and actually quite helpful (I can now identify a "french tuck"), but it's important and relevant. One of my favorite episodes features Karamo in a conversation about race and police brutality with a southern police officer. That's just one example of many times the show features dialogue amongst people who come from different backgrounds, belief systems, communities, and identity groups. This show is important. Required viewing.

That's about it. No crime dramas, medical dramas, weekly tear-jerkers, or I'm-So-Rich reality shows. That's fine for other people, but I like to want to jump into the shows I watch. I watch to experience a different life or a different world (you see what I did there? a great show from my childhood!). Any recommendations to augment my list?

The Mat--My Happy Place

I posted a photo on Instagram yesterday captioned, "My Happy Place."  I'm not sure that most people know that I practice yoga every single day...so there's a fun fact for you!

I attended my first yoga class during my senior year of high school.  One of the women in my family and I had hit a rough patch, and so we went to yoga together to try to bring peace between us.  I'll never forget walking in and seeing the instructor for the first time--he looked exactly as I'd imagined every yogi looking: tall and thin with a tie dyed t-shirt, baggy sweatpants, and long, wavy hair to his waist, tied back in a ponytail.  He led us through our poses with his soothing voice and then guided us through final meditation (my seventeen-year old self didn't quite have the maturity for that part yet--at least not as he led us).  Yoga didn't "take", we'll say.  I went to a few classes, but I couldn't commit.

Fast forward ten years, and I found myself back in class.  As I've written, I suffer from an anxiety disorder.  I know it and I claim it, and I decided yoga might be helpful.  Thus, I began taking a restorative yoga class on Sunday afternoons at the local gym.  The teacher, Nicole, was just right for this class.  Her voice was beautiful and sing-songy, and when she chanted--ah!!!  We used our bolsters and blocks to relax into poses, and during final meditation, Nicole would cover us with blankets and put eye pillows filled with lavender over our eyes.  At least once a month I would fall asleep during meditation.  It was heavenly--perfect if you're in need of self-care.

I also took hatha yoga and power yoga classes, though inconsistently.  Then I got pregnant with my daughter and yoga was over (let the record show that I did purchase a "Prenatal Yoga" video, which I completed a couple of times, but I'm being real--I was a pretty huge and immobile pregnant woman early on).

I returned to yoga a few years later, when I was in the deepest place of anxiety I had ever been.  Both my pastor and my doctor recommended yoga and meditation in addition to medication and therapy, and I was excited at the prospect: I had deeply missed my time on the mat.

So now I practice yoga every morning, first thing (unless I've done something silly like over-snoozed, in which case I practice before bed that night).  It begins my day perfectly.  My favorite spot to unroll the mat is in our library, facing the open windows at the front of the house.  Our yard is beautiful and green, and in the fall we have the most beautiful tree in the South.  This view connects me with nature, with my breath, with God, with the earth.  It grounds me.  Yoga reminds me to appreciate my body, my heart, my mind, and my strength.  In fact, most often my mantra is, "I am strong."

Centering myself at the beginning of the day clears my mind, refocuses me on gratitude, and helps me begin with a fresh, anxiety-free slate.  On particularly difficult days, I'll add in a ten minute meditation at the end of my practice.

Now you may be asking, "What does this have to do with words?"  Everything.  The words in yoga are breathtaking.  From "ujjayi" and "chaturanga" to "savasana" and "namaste", the words flow beautifully, guide the breath, and fill me up.

No matter if it's at a yoga studio where everyone's ujjayi breaths sound like Darth Vader descending into the room or if it's at the gym with blankets and eye pillows, I hope you'll give it a try.  Remember that yoga is a practice; no one expects you to hit and hold the poses perfectly.  As with most things in life, we are continuously practicing.

If you'd like to get a start at home because you cannot imagine trying to get yourself into downward facing dog in front of strangers, I recommend the YouTube channel "Yoga with Adriene".  She has videos on all of the foundational poses of yoga, and her "30 Days of Yoga" challenge is a great direction from there.  Plus, her catchphrase is "Find What Feels Good", so you know you're with a chill yogi.

For an introduction to meditation, search for guided meditations by Deepak Chopra on YouTube. I found him through Oprah, so there's an endorsement for ya!

Literary Travels, Part IV

The final leg of my trip to Europe provided a return to somewhere I had visited my freshman year of high school (in other words, a couple of decades ago!): Amsterdam.  I have to tell you, visiting Amsterdam as a chaperone versus as a student is an entirely different experience!  But that's another conversation.

During our two days in Amsterdam, we were able to see much of this beautiful city.  We took a canal tour that provided us with history as well as a description of Amsterdam's modern buildings and contemporary way of life.  I found the emphasis on bicycle riding particularly inspiring.  Bicycles are everywhere in this city.  In fact, whereas we were used to seeing car parks as we traveled throughout Europe, in Amsterdam, we saw bicycle parks!

The canals of Amsterdam, the architecture of the buildings, and the emphasis on flowers and greenery are what truly lend charm and beauty to this city.  There's an interplay of natural and man-made elements--a harmony--that is unlike any other major city I have visited.

As you may recall from my earlier posts, I had several comical disappointments on the trip (and I write these words with full, authentic gratitude for the opportunity to travel abroad), beginning with my attempt to finally commune with Thomas Hardy in Poet's Corner.  The trip began this way, and it ended with another "You've Got to Be Kidding Me" moment.

My favorite visual artist is Rembrandt.  Since my first visit to Amsterdam in 1995, I have been entranced by his work, particularly his use of chiaroscuro.  In high school, we studied him in my American Literature class as part of our Scarlet Letter unit (discussing Hawthorne as a painter with words).  I even had a print of what is referred to as "Self Portrait with Disheveled Hair" (my favorite!) hanging on my wall as a teenager.  So imagine my excitement when we walk up to the Rjiksmuseum and see a huge banner proclaiming the "Year of Rembrandt", a year in which every Rembrandt piece the museum holds will be on special display!  Let's just say I was overcome.

So here's the scene:

We enter the museum and I am so giddy I'm like a kid on Christmas morning.  I can barely stand still as we're given instructions and reminded of the time we're due back.  At last, we're released, and I run--literally run--to the special exhibit where I learn I need a special ticket.  No problem; this is absolutely worth the extra money.  I go to the ticket counter where I see "Rembrandt Exhibit Sold Out Today."  Our last day in Amsterdam.

But that's okay.  Ever the optimist, I know that my favorite Rembrandt--"Self Portrait with Disheveled Hair" (I really love that title) is on permanent exhibit, so while this is disappointing, that's the way things go.  And so I follow my terribly confusing map for the next half hour as I desperately seek the Rembrandt permanent exhibit.  I see "The Night Watch", which is great and all, but I'm after the hair!  Finally I find the room, tucked between two larger galleries (I also ran into Van Gogh on the way, which was utterly amazing!).

I enter the gallery, calm my breath (I've eaten way too many pastries on this trip), and leisurely walk about, playing it cool while freaking out inside.

I don't see a single Rembrandt.

I check the map again.  I am definitely in the correct gallery.

And that is when I see the small, freshly printed sign: "The Rembrandt pieces usually on display have been moved to be part of 'The Year of Rembrandt Exhibit'".

Seriously, y'all.  You have to decide: do you cry or do you laugh?

Trick question: you buy goat cheese pie and hot chocolate and throw yourself a pity party at the museum cafe.

But once fed and sugared, I made my way with an understanding friend to the museum library.  This exists!  And it's beautiful!  It looks like the library in Beauty and the Beast with a second floor overlooking the research desks where scholars are reading about the artists whose works are on display inside the museum.  I may not have gotten to gaze upon the brushstrokes of Rembrandt, but there's little in this life that standing in a beautiful library cannot (at least temporarily) fix.

Yet the most outstanding experience in Amsterdam--literary or otherwise--had to be our visit to the Anne Frank House.  I had visited this site in high school as well, and it has certainly expanded since then with a large visitor's center in the building adjacent to the house.

I'm not sure how to convey the power of this place.  It's somewhere you simply must enter for yourself.  Walking up stairs tucked behind a bookcase, the same bookcase door and stairs that Anne and her family entered to take refuge in the secret annex, is a powerful experience.  Gazing upon her postcards, the "stars" with which she adorned her walls and that are still there, though now behind plexi-glass, breaks the heart.  Gazing upon the actual diary, the ink with which she wrote the words that have connected with so many fellow humans over these years, is almost unreal.  I had to walk out when the video of her father began playing.  The idea of this being my child was too much.  I stood outside with a friend (and fellow mom) and wept.

I won't do it justice, so I will not try to describe the visit here.  Yet I urge you to get there and experience it for yourself.  You cannot go inside that building and come out without feeling compelled to do whatever it takes to prevent further atrocity in this world.  We must--we must demand peace and kindness everywhere.

My literary travels complete, I flew home the following day, still processing everything I had seen and experienced.  As we flew away from Europe, I saw a farm of solar turbines in the waters of the Atlantic, turning beautifully in the morning sun.  There was something about that sight that touched me.  Maybe you'll find this silly, but they brought me hope.  Hope that we can do better.  Hope that we can use our experiences to improve life for all of creation.

Words matter.