Here I Go Again

OK... so... well... my intentions were good. Yesterday I got home and was surfing around wondering how I could kick my own arse into sitting down and writing every day like I used to. Taking that class this spring completely threw my life out of kilter, worst idea ever.

I don't care if it is a return to my partially completed novel, or the memoir I started this spring, renewing my commitment to this blog or actually posting the first thing on my other (and basically so far non existent) blog, "The Graphic Des-winer" in which (the idea was) I pick wines for the quality of their label design then review them and rate the quality of the wine to the quality of the design on the label. I need to do something. I need to be writing. Not just want. Need.

I had been thinking about this all week, and yesterday like magic a post shows up in my Twitter feed. NaBloPoMo. It's a project on BlogHer that started as a goof off  on NaNoWriMo. The goal is to post something to your blog every day for a month. The idea is to get you in the daily writing habit.

Well, everyone knows I am a sucker for a challenge like this, and it was the first day of a new month, so I immediately sign up. At 6pm. On July 1. Before I know it, it's 10 pm, time for bed, and although I have been thinking about what to post I have already missed the very first day of the challenge.

This time, though, I am going to try a new outlook. Rather than saying "I missed the first day, why bother?" I am going to keep going and say "Well, July still has 30 days and that's 30 days of writing, repetition, and habit-making." This will be a very new approach for me, this sort of mind set. I am the world's worst "all or nothing" type person. If I am going to do something, whether it is a job,  a volunteer commitment, taking a class, or just my silly challenges, I am going to do it well. If I can't I won't do it. I won't finish. I will quit if I can't be/do/give 100%. Why bother?

I am not at all suggesting that this is an admirable mindset. In fact, it's quite the opposite. It keeps me from trying and doing a lot of things. It slows me down and stresses me out. It causes me to be unable to shortcut anything.

Now, I am not at all saying shortcuts are good or admirable. However, sometimes doing a light 15 minute quickie cleanup on your office is better than being overwhelmed and not cleaning up at all. Letting things pile up for months because you don't know where to start or don't have the tools (or skills) to organize all the junk and papers that are piling up.

It's just like with my existing non-existent blog. I have to start somewhere, but the fear that my post will be less than great keeps me from posting at all. Meanwhile it's just been sitting there. For almost a year. Waiting on me. Much like this blog has been for months now.

Well, so here we go. I plan to post every day and not just scrap the entire month because I missed July 1 posting. I will use the daily prompts if needed. Also, I will get back into the 100 Word Challenge because I enjoy it. Because I need it. And because those peeps are the closest thing to a writing group I have right now.

I look forward to seeing you all a lot more and hope to have you comment on the things I am writing. I have a lot of fun things planned in my head, most of which I may throw out half-baked just to push myself. Check out the link on the right hand column of my page for more about NaBloPoMo and a blogroll of who is participating. It should be fun!

Clearing Out Cobwebs

Once upon a time in another life, in a galaxy far, far away I was in real estate. Yes, that's right. I was a real estate salesperson. A real estate professional. A Realtor(R). (I don't know how to do the trademark thingie. It's not legal without the trademark thingie. That's the first thing they teach you in real estate school. Please, don't turn me in...)

Now, I really, really enjoyed my life in real estate. I lived in Nashville and I loved Nashville and the surrounding areas. I loved working with my clients, and I met some of the most awesome people! I got to work with first time buyers, people relocating to the area, singles, families, pretty much the whole deal.

Was I a highly successful Realtor? Well, that all depends on how you measure success, but if you're thinking six-figure income? No. If you're thinking that I changed careers, found something I loved to do and enjoyed doing it? Then yes. During my six years in real estate, I had a lot of strange, funny, scary, and interesting things happen to me. Most of which I was happy to share with my fellow Realtors, family and friends. I mean, y'all, I could keep this blog going for months by just posting my exploits.

Last week I got a phone call out of the blue from Realtor friend Debbie. And yes, I have to clarify that it is Realtor friend Debbie in Nashville, not Realtor friend Debbie in KY because, yes, I have 2 very good friends who are both very successful realtors and both named Debbie. Cause that's how my life is.

I hadn't heard from Debbie (nashville) in a long while, so I was happy to see her number pop up on my caller ID. When I answered the phone I was immediately met with this phrase:

"Well.....you'll never believe who I just got out of a meeting with." said Debbie (nashville) with a teasing tone in her voice.

Now, the thing you have to know, this girl sells a lot of homes. A lot of high dollar homes. It could be anyone. It could have been one of the Titans or Oprah or Nicole Kidman and Keith Urban for all I know.

Laughing I said "I don't know...who?"

She said his name, which I didn't recognize. When I questioned "who?" she laughed and said simply, "TOWEL GUY???"

I didn't have to think even another second. I immediately knew who she meant and I was taken back to an event that happened almost 6 years ago.

"Oh, no! Oh, my gosh!" was all I could say.

When I was a young agent, and didn't have a lot going on, Debbie would let me work open house for her at one of her listings. Since I worked mostly with buyers, this was a good arrangement for both of us. One summer, she had been telling me all about this client she had and how cute he was and his wife was blonde and cute and they were so perfect and nice and just the cutest couple ever.

She told me how he looked just like David James Elliott (from JAG) and on and on and on.  One week she asked me "Would you like to do an open house this weekend?"

"Sure!" I said.

"It's at the JAG guy's house!!!" she said

"NO! Really? Do I get to meet him???" I asked. To which she said that she hoped he'd still be there when I arrived so that I could see him.

Now, anyone who knows me well knows I have one fault. (only one I say, laughing) I am rarely early for anything. However, when I started in real estate I was totally determined not to fall into the stereotypical late-for-everything realtor, screeching in the driveway, on the cell phone, etc. So I had over the past 3 years made it my habit to always arrive at least 30 minutes prior to an open house on Sunday afternoon, just to get things set up and get myself calmed down.

So the open house was from 2-4 and I pulled up at the home a little before 1:30. Yes, of course, I check my hair and lipstick in the mirror before I walk up to the front door and ring the bell. I was expecting it to be no more than a formality, normally people were long gone by the time I arrived. I rang the bell, pulled out my keypad and was poised to open the lockbox when the door suddenly swung wide open, startling me.

Before me stood a man. A beautiful man. Wearing nothing. But. A towel. And a smile. A rather small towel, I thought, to be answering the door in.  But there he was in all his glory, and looking not at all disturbed that an older woman was standing fully clothed at his door.

"ummmm....hi.....Debbie sent me?" It was more a question than a statement. I had lost all sense of propriety and professionalism the moment that door opened. All I could think was "eye contact. eye contact. you must maintain eye contact!"


He did look like David James Elliott. If David James Elliott were 28 and PERFECT.  in EVERY way! Then he smiled and said "Oh! Hey! Yeah! Come in, please. Just come on in and wait, we're just now getting out of the shower."

note: "we're" just getting out of the shower. implying that they were in the shower.....together.....it didn't escape my notice.

"Um. Yeah. I noticed, I am SO sorry. I must be terribly early." I said, and I could feel the blood rushing to my face. "I will come back!"

"Awww, no! Just come on in, it's fiiine." he said amiably, as if nothing were out of the ordinary. "My wife is just putting her makeup on and we'll be out of your hair!"

"No." I gestured with my hands in the universal symbol for 'I'm not changing my mind' "No. I am going. I am getting in my car. I will leave. And come back."

"Are you sure? You are more than welcome to wait!"

I took one final glance at the Addonis-like body, small towel wrapped around his sculpted waist, muscular thighs exposed. Finally I raised my gaze to his beautiful eyes and sighed.

"No. I am going, I will be back in 30 minutes." And I turned around, returning to my car.

I immediately called Debbie (nashville) and told her the entire story. First, she screeched "I CAN'T BELIEVE you saw him in nothing but a towel!!!"

Then? She started laughing. And I am pretty sure she was still laughing 30 minutes later when I returned to the house at 2:01, just to be sure they were dressed and gone.

So this week she called to tell me. She had a meeting with towel guy. Who is still in his perfect marriage and now has perfect kids and the perfect house, job, car and life.

I had pizza for dinner and worried about getting to the gym to work off the extra calories. I have about 40 pounds to lose and an 8 year old car that (thank goodness) is paid for. My husband and I are not sculpted like Greek gods. Decidedly not "HWP", as they say in personal ads. We struggle with money issues. But my life? It is what it is. It's not perfect, I am not perfect. But I love it.

Sure wouldn't mind a glimpse of that guy in a towel again, though.

Birth Order

Today's post is my entry into this week's 100 Word Challenge, hosted by Velvet Verbosity. The 100 Word Challenge is an exercise in which we write exactly 100 words in response to the weekly prompt word. Click the link to read the other entries–good stuff over there! 

This week's prompt was "family". 

I was always good, completely easy, straight A's in school, home by curfew. Never dated, partied or went to dances. Attended every church youth event. Worst I ever did was mouth off.

Meanwhile, my younger brother smoked, drank, and had an out of control temper. Especially toward my mother.He consistently skipped school and dropped out at 17.

He got a car when he was 13.  

Me? I was licensed, 16, no car of my own.

Yes, he was the golden boy, still is.

Now? He's “reformed” and in church. 

Me? I'm an athiest. 

Family. Who can figure it out?

How We Roll

I am sitting on the sofa in my living room, cat curled up beside me, enjoying (as best I can without creamer) my first cup of coffee. Outside the rain is falling, wind is blowing and the yard and street are puddling up with water. Once again, a rainy day. The last 21 days have been rough weather wise. High winds and tornadoes have ravaged much of the southeast. We've been lucky here to get by with wind damage and a bit of flooding, but Mother Nature has been going wild. I've done no research on these facts, but it seems like there have been maybe 5 days in the last 3 weeks that were rain-free.

Yesterday, fortunately, was one of those days. The sunrise was amazing. I should know, I was up and out of the house by 4:45 am. The day was sunny and warm. I should know, I was outside on my feet in a parking lot from 5am until 1:30pm. I have sunburn on the back of my neck and a gash in my toe. I feel like I was hit by a train from standing, lifting, moving, setting up, taking down and everything else in between. I am 43 which means I frequently feel that way for no real reason, but this time there is a reason. A very good and deserving reason.

When I was 17 I left my hometown to attend college in Nashville. Now, our hometown is small. Less than 10,000 people in the city and county back in '85 when I graduated from high school. I think maybe there were 180 people in my graduating class. Nashville is now much bigger than it was then, but it was and is a big city. Now around 1.5 million in the greater Nashville area. After living in a small town, I enjoyed it for a lot of reasons. Not the least of which was the ability to be anonymous. The lack of interest in your business by your neighbors. And the wide availablility of things to do, see, eat and learn.

I have complained from time to time since returning to our small hometown. Mind you, I was so glad to leave Pennsylvania and the "north" in general, I am ecstatic to be here. I have a great group of friends who have welcomed me into their circle like I've been here all my life. I am still learning who everyone is and how they are connected, who they were married to, etc. (Socially, this is very important in a small town. Talk to the wrong person and it's a big deal.)

While it's nice being back near family, with aging parents like we have, sometimes it's just too close. Sometimes I am awakened by a phone call and my parents sitting in the car in the driveway ready to take us out for breakfast. While it's nice having a close group of friends, sometimes I don't need to be called and asked "What are you doing in the McDonald's drive thru right now. Aren't you on a diet?" (I was purchasing an unsweet tea, thanks for asking).  And some days it tires me to no end the "lack" of certain things here in the town. Like a good coffee shop. Or any coffee shop. Or a place to get fresh bagels or sushi.

But sometimes I am overwhelmed by the sweetness and sense of community and just the general  Mayberry-ness of living here. When I walk around the town square I feel so proud. I used to watch Gilmore Girls and tell my husband, "I want to live somewhere like Stars Hollow." "You'd hate it." he always responded. Well, now, I live about as close as you could get. We have community theatre, festivals on the town square, homecoming parades and Christmas parades, car shows, and Friday night music on the square during the summer. Everyone pretty much knows everyone and they all know your business. Or will soon enough.

BFF Amy, Me, & Brownie
(yes, I am wearing a fishing hat get over it)

But days like yesterday, the sense of community is overwhelming. Yesterday we held a benefit yard sale to help out a friend of ours who just went through triple bypass surgery. It was a joint effort between a bunch of her friends who are members of the Franklin Business & Professional Women club and some people from the local paper, The Franklin Favorite, where she works. This friend is one of the most awesome people I know, and is so involved in the community. She grew up here, graduated high school here, lives and works here. She knows everyone and attends almost every play, musical, festival, dance recital, ball game.

We all love our Brownie. Partly because she loves this town. And partly because she is just wonderful fun-loving Brownie, she is who she is. So when she had triple by-pass surgery a little over a month ago, we decided we wanted to help. She works mostly on commission, supports herself, and like everyone else around these days, works hard to make ends meet in the best of times. So a couple of friends came up with this idea. I wasn't sure how it would work, but it all came together.

Yesterday we held the sale and between 7am and noon raised well over $1000. The items donated to the sale exceeded all of our expectations, and we didn't have room for all of it. The local radio station called me to do a live remote to plug the sale (yes, I was just outside their door in the parking lot but still....). The newspaper office donated storage space and their parking lot to hold the sale. People showed up to help without us having to ask. My 75-year old momma showed up and ran the checkout for about 3 hours that morning. Brian, from the radio station stayed until the end and helped us pack things up and get them back in the building.

People bought $6 worth of stuff, handing us a $10 or $20 saying keep the change. One lady who looked  like she had next to nothing (I know I should not judge) gave me $15 for $8 worth of merchandise saying "Honey, we've all been through this medical stuff before, I know how it is, I want to do it." People handed over amounts ranging from $5 to $60 without any purchase, saying "I didn't find anything I need but this is for Brownie." Club members stopped by and purchased items. Those of us who worked bought as much to take home as we donated. I wish for Brownie's sake it had been $10,000. But I think for a 5 hour event we did really, really well. But then, that's how we roll.

These kind of things? Are amazing to me. This is the sort of thing that is so special and wonderful about living in a small town. And today I am so full of love and gratitude. For my friends, for my BPW sisters, and finally? For my community.

Unrelenting

Today's post is my entry into this week's 100 Word Challenge hosted by Velvet Verbosity. The 100 Word Challenge is an exercise in which we write exactly 100 words in response to the weekly prompt word. Click the link to read the other entries–good stuff over there! 

This week's prompt was "bathed". 

“How do you like your eggs?” he asked, smiling at her sleepy face. The kitchen was bathed in sunlight and she squinted up at the window, wide and high off the ground. 

“What time is it?” she queried, dodging a kiss and moving toward the coffee pot. He wrapped his arms around her waist pulling her toward him and kissing the back of her head. 

“Don't worry about the time.” he whispered in her ear, holding her close. “We have all day.”

“Well maybe you do,” she said, straining against his firm embrace,“but I have things to do today.”

Back to Life...

So I attended a writers' conference on Friday. Despite my best efforts, and even getting up earlier than I needed to, I was still running late. As usual. I am on this strict eating program and I had to pack a lunch, slice apples, find a lunchbox, get ice out, fill my water bottle, make sure I have my supplements, cell phone, laptop, coffee, purse, a sweater, keys, food, and water as I try to get out the door and make my way to the car. In the rain.

So I drive to the conference center like a bat out of hell. My original plan, the plan in my head (that land of the perfect me and perfect world where everything always goes...well...perfectly) was to be a little early so that I could stop at Starbucks for my 2nd cup of coffee. By the time I got there, however, I sat at the intersection debating. I could skip coffee, be grumpy, and be 5 minutes late. Or, I could swing through the drive through, get my coffee but be 15 or 20 minutes late. I hesitantly drove on through the intersection when the light turned green and continued to the conference center to park, figuring 5 minutes late was bad enough, but still looking over my shoulder longingly at the Starbucks sign that was so close yet so far.

When I arrived, there were no less than 10 big yellow school buses lined up outside the building. I had forgotten that today was kid's day in conjunction with the book fair that would take place on Saturday. So I parked, as close as I could find a spot. Grabbed my laptop bag, purse, lunchbox, sweater and notebooks and headed across the wet parking lot in my flip flops. Yes, that's right. I had also dressed completely inappropriately for the rainy, cloudy weather in a fit of wardrobe confusion and optimism for spring weather.

Once inside I made my way to the registration table. Finding the session I wanted to attend in the program, I was lucky that the room was right around the corner. Now, I had been to conferences in this building before and I knew this room. Or I was pretty sure I did. Although the next door down was labeled 113 and I was looking for 112, I was pretty sure it came into the back of the same room. I hesitated at 112 a moment, not sure, and decided just to go in 112 not wanting to risk bursting into the wrong room. When I slowly opened the door, I saw that, of course, the program had already started. At the front of the room stood a tall, lean man wearing a huge cowboy hat. "WTF?" Was all I could think, "I have got to be in the wrong room, what big ole' Texan guy writes memoirs?" blogger's note:  I did not, at this point, know if he was from Texas, I just naturally assume everyone wearing a cowboy hat is, indeed, a Texan. 'Cause I'm open that way.)

There I stood. I was inside the threshold of the door. Right in the front of the room. Yes, everyone was looking at me. Yes, the speaker too, and he was smiling and telling me it was fine come on in. He stopped speaking until I could find a seat. I was loaded down like a pack mule with laptop, lunchbox, purse, notebooks, and a bottle of water. I raised my hands in front of me in the universal mea culpa gesture and mouthed "sorry sorry" to go along with it. I immediately spied a seat on the aisle and made a bee-line for it, my flip flops making a slapping sound with every step. I was so grateful for that aisle seat so that I didnt' have to climb over people, slapping them in the back or head with my lunch box or purse or anything else.

Only as I dumped my laptop bag, lunchbox, purse, water bottle and notebooks in the floor in the aisle did I notice the man sitting next to the spot I had chosen. He looked ecstatic that a girl had "chosen" to sit beside him. He looked like I was possibly the closest he had been to a cute girl, well, maybe ever. He reached over and eagerly pulled my chair out for me and, don't think I didn't notice, in doing so pulled it a good 2" closer to his. I gave him a sideways glance and a sweet smile, silently thanking the gods that the scoop neck blouse I had chosen that day wasn't more low cut.

This guy, a hulk of a man, really, just looked for everything like the bully from the Simpsons all grown up. Or a guy who would hang in the comic book shop on Big Bang Theory. He was fidgeting and bouncing his leg and kept looking over at me randomly. blogger's note: when you read this, please think of him as having the speech patterns and mannerisms of that Office Space guy, the one with the stapler? 'Cause he totally did.

I tried to listen to the speaker who, to my relief and amazement, was really very interesting. Ad Hudler has published 4 books, one of which was a memoir of being a stay at home dad for 18 years and what happens when the chick flies the coop after graduation. He had some very relevant ideas about memoir writing, was entertaining and held our attention very well. I was taking notes and suddenly the guy next to me is frantic to ask a question.

Ad was talking about facts and how to represent them properly, what needs to be completely accurate and how timeline orders can sometimes be changed to help the story line move along. So a few people ask varying questions and then we get to the guy next to me.

He begins telling his story, about how he has had an experience in the past, he wants to write a memoir, but there is no one to confirm facts with, he never sees the people and they could be dead for all he knows, and the CIA is keeping a tight lid on all the details of what happened so he can't find any records of it happening. At least that's what I heard, I really wasn't paying attention because he rambled, rambled on for about 5 minutes. So while I am sitting there wondering if he was the victim of a UFO abduction or what that the CIA or KGB would be involved, I look over at him again. Big mistake. He starts confiding in me, while Ad is moving on, about the conspiracies and what a horrible, sad story he has to tell. I sort of nod and smile sympathetically whispering, "yeah....yeah" to anything he says because I am really not listening.

Now, y'all. Ad handled this whole situation with great aplomb and a genuine interest in what the guy was asking/saying telling. But I don't mind telling you that I couldn't have cared less. Y'all know I am nothing if not honest, and honestly? I really don't don't have time to listen to the ramblings of someone like that and their conspiracy theory that the CIA has their personal records, and is following them, bugging them, etc. I just don't care. I am sorry, I know that is awful, but it's the truth. I was basically thinking "well, this is my punishment for coming in late, sitting next to this guy."

So we move on through the lecture, which was full of great advice, and toward the end the discussion the guy next to me raises his hand. This time his concern is that his story happened a long time ago and he's afraid he's forgotten all the details. And, again, there's no one to talk to they've all apparently been killed or put in hiding by the CIA or KGB (again, just what I heard) and how can he bring back the memories. So this sparks a discussion on going back to the place, returning to the emotions, talking to people. None of which are an option in this guy's case. Again: see CIA or KGB.

Then it comes out that he spent a portion of his childhood in a mental institution. And he can't return there, of course, because the building has been shut down and he'd be arrested if he went there and the records are all missing, and he tells us his story of being there and being given medications and being locked up and he was a minor so he couldn't sign himself out, etc. Very sad thought, indeed. So trying to be helpful, others in the room start making suggestions like maybe a song that reminds him of that time or a particular smell.

And then, the lady sitting directly across the aisle from me speaks up. I had noticed her, a beautiful older southern lady sitting with another lady who I judged to be a daughter or sister because of their resemblance. She was very well dressed, prim and proper, perfect honey blonde hair done up out of the weekly wash and set. So she hasn't said a word all day, and now she is sitting there with her arms crossed in front of her chest. Without raising her hand, she speaks. And it's like the Cool Whip Queens have raised themselves out of the water and materialized at the writers conference.

"Weeeayuull, honey, yeeeww know whuuuut helllps me?" she asked in a slow southern drawl. "Ah find that a big glass of reeed wine helps unlock all sorts of memories." Giggles in the classroom. "Wheyun ah have one of those? Things just come floodin' out."

To which the man on my left responded, matter of factly, "Well, alchohol doesn't mix very well with psychotropic drugs, that's not an option. Definitely not an option." We all sort of sat in stunned silence.

Without missing a beat or blinking an eye, she casually says, "Well, honey. I cain't help that'chore craaaazy. Ahm just sayin' it wurks fuh me."

Well, y'all. The room exploded into laughter. I think the speaker may have gone to his knees for a moment. I couldn't even look at the guy next to me, I was afraid to see what was going on.

I was trying to supress my laughter, all the while thinking "My god, woman, I am sitting right next to this guy. If he's carrying a gun or knife I am gonna be between that and you. I will be the first to get it. Why oh why do I always have to sit next to the former mental patients who are heavily medicated?"

The woman still is cool as a cucumber. She's not really getting why we are all in hysterical laughter. She raises both her hands in a shrugging gesture and says over the waves of laughter, "Well, I'm sahrry, it's the truuth."

So. Awesome. How glad am I that I attended Ad's memoir writing session?

5 Lessons Learned:
1) Get your ass out of bed extra early so you can sit in the sane section.
2) Never pass up a chance for coffee-you never know what you might have to deal with that day.
3) Cool-whip queens are everywhere, y'all, and they are spectacular.
4) I am SO gonna be that woman when I am older. I am working on deepening my accent.
5) Writing memoir is tough and you have to pretend everyone is dead. At least that's what I heard him say.

Check out Ad's blog here! He's funny y'all. And not bad to look at.

You Gotta Have....Friends!

Whew! This week is finally over and I personally could not be happier. Now I just have to get through the weekend and I can start anew on Monday.

This has been a stressful week for many reasons. I had several design projects that clients wanted wrapped up and finished after months of not hearing from them. So Monday was spent struggling with that, a long day hunched over the computer keyboard in my less-than-ergonomic desk chair, which is now partly broken and pinches my leg every time I sit. This day culminated in a migraine that wouldn't quit.

Tuesday was client work in the morning then a luncheon for Equal Pay Day at a local restaurant, which was fun. But by the time I got home it was 2:30, I hadn't eaten because of my strict and ridiculous diet regulations, and I had another headache.

Wednesday I wrangled with a client all day and for the life of me I couldn't figure out why he had hired me to help. Basically all he wanted me to do was interpret his ideas onto paper, all of my creative ideas were rejected in favor of something lined up and centered on the page, something his high school kid could have done for him. I quickly dubbed the day Cranky Wednesday, because I was in no mood for games.

The high point for the week, however was receiving a voice mail that showed up on my phone from the weekend. I have this issue with AT&T, sometimes messages get "hung" somewhere. I have no idea, and it is days before I get them. My mom tells me "seems like this just happens every time I leave you a message." "No, mom, it's not JUST your messages. It happens all the time."

Anyway, the message was from a man who I interviewed while writing a story that had been assigned to me by our local paper, The Franklin Favorite.  I write for them as a stringer reporter and while it doesn't pay the mortgage, I love it and I am getting paid to write. That's a first for me, and my piggy bank likes the small donations. The part I love most is that I get to meet all kinds of interesting, wonderful, and amazing local people when I go out to do these interviews. This particular man was hesitant about being interviewed from the start. I finally got him to give me an appointment, and my friend Amy (photojournalist extraordinaire) went with me to meet him and take pictures.

He requested that I send a copy of the story to him to "approve" which I did. Apparently he called me over the weekend, and left a message along the lines of "you are an idiot and suck as a writer, how embarrassing for you". Well, ok, not exactly that. But he refused to approve the story, and rather than just saying that told me that my writing was "unreadable and circuitous, historically inaccurate, and just plain wrong."

Now, the thing is y'all? I have been through design school. I am a 43 year old woman, I can take criticism. If you tell me a sentence uses the wrong verb tense or that I run on too much or sometimes use my punctuation incorrectly, I will say "yeah, I did, I will fix it." But to say something like this to me. Y'all, it was just plain mean. And meant to hurt my feelings. And I do NOT like that. It was personal. And it hurt my feelings.

But the best thing is that I had been chronicling my Cranky Wednesday on Twitter. So of course I posted about this as the capper to my day.

TinfoilMagnolia Marsha Herndon 

And the capper on my day? Just got v/m from a guy I interviewed last week saying how sucky and unintelligible my story was.#crankywednesday

13 Apr Favorite Reply Delete

By the time I was finished crying on hubby's shoulder I logged in to find these in my Twitter stream:

JMartzall John Martzall

@TinfoilMagnolia tell him that it was maybe just his life that was that way and not your story...

14 minutes ago Favorite Retweet Reply

TLanceB T Lance B

@Tinfoilmagnolia tell that jagoff hating the media is so 2005

45 minutes ago Favorite Retweet Reply

Tara_R Tara R.

@

@TinfoilMagnolia what an ungrateful jerk he was.

1 hour ago Favorite Retweet Reply

Through my tears, I immediately had to laugh and smile at these folks. Only one of the three have I actually met in real life. The other two are 100 Word Challenge buddies. They don't know me except online, but they totally had my back. Wow. How much do I love that? 

Just to be fair, my real life friends took up for me as well. I spoke to friend Amy and apparently the man claimed to the paper's editor that I made up stuff in the article that he actually told me and thank goodness she was there to say "Yes, you did say that. I was there." She told the editor that everything I wrote was accurate according to what he told me that day and the editor stood up for me and had my back. Thanks, Amy and Charlie.

This is what life is about, guys. Things don't always go our way, do they? Maybe my story did suck, I am a novice after all. Maybe he just thought that I would write some sort of Architectural Digest article with complete historical documentation from 1901 until present. I don't know. I just think it was thoughtless and mean to say those things to me. But I love the fact that I have friends who stick up for me.

Friday I attended a writing workshop locally and my creative batteries are again charged up, I need to be able to do that kind of thing more often. You know I listened to one of the speakers, Ad Hudler, and realized that life isn't always what we expect it to be. Or want it to be. Sometimes we ourselves aren't what we want to be. Sometimes our own actions surprise and disappoint us. All we can do is just move on and keep living life. Thanks, Ad for your perspective on this. 

I have friends who take up for me, whether I am right or wrong. And I have friends who call me on it when I am wrong, telling me to snap out of it. That's what I love about life. Everything, everyone we need is right here. We just need to reach out for it. 

My week ended with some really really good news, and some really bad news. Neither of which I can talk about here right now. But when I can, I will. Because the best support you can have in life is that of the people who care and love you.