What do the lonely do....at Christmas?

Allow me to answer that question. I can only speak for myself, but I think I speak for the majority of us who will be "lonely" on Christmas.

What do the lonely do?

Ans: We promise ourselves that the next Christmas holiday won't find us in the same predicament.

Here's to "us." Wherever you are, here's to you. Merry Christmas. I hope you are loved...by someone.

Times are never that hard

In the past I've made blog posts of the comments I've made on my favorite message board. The last one I posted was in July, about a professional woman whose ex-con boyfriend murdered her. I was very sympathetic to the victim because I knew this guy wasn't her first choice, and that perhaps, she had inadvertently made it very difficult for herself to find a mate because she 1) she desired a mate of the same race; 2) was over 30; 3) didn't look like a model; 4) had a college degree or two; and 5) had a good career and, more than likely owned her own home. While initially, these traits scream "ideal woman," for so many women (myself included) they can render you damaged goods because you aren't damaged goods.

As you can see, when I'm passionate about something I tend to go on and on. So back to the point of this post. I decided to make another post to show that while I'm very sympathetic to some women who, because of societal circumstance, decide to date down and settle, I also become quite enraged at others who settle for seemingly no good reason at all. Of course, I realize that I'm bias, and that I don't know these people I make assumptions about. Honestly, I just get a vibe about what's going on.

The reply below came from a thread about a woman who decided to live with a man she'd known less than six months (I don't know whether she moved in with him, or he with her, but I assume the latter because this is a typical female thing to do). Anyway, this woman didn't know where her live-in worked. That's right. He has not told her. Yet she continues to live under the same roof and live each day in ignorant bliss as though she isn't a straight up and down fool. Here's what I had to say:


This is so ridiculous that I'm angered. They actually moved in together and she doesn't know where he works. Does she call him at work? Nothing in her is curious enough about this man she sleeps with and has opened her life up to insist he tell her where his money comes from? I want to say mean things about her and her upbringing because I'm so mad. This is so foolish.

The only thing that would make this acceptable is if he has told her and it's so classified and dangerous that she can't tell anyone else. But then again, she'd just say I can't talk about it. This woman actually doesn't know. I can't believe that men complain they can't find a woman. Look at all these stupid foolish women walking around that will accept anything, anything at all and actually love you for it. I see why it's so hard for men to not take advantage of the stupidity that persists in women.
So yes, while I'm often sympathetic to the plight of women in this cruel dating world, there are others who make me deeply ashamed that other men may look at me and assume that I too am an absent-minded, desperate idiot like the hoards of others who look like me. *sigh* Unfortunately, proving them wrong has been to my detriment. For I stand among only a few women who look like me who stubbornly cling to the belief that accepting BS is a job best suited for the plains on which said bull roams.


Signing off,

Jennifer Singleton

He's Just Not Into You (Love and Basketball)

So I tuned in to watch the Cavaliers-Heats game tonight. Not because I'm a die hard b-ball fan, but to witness for myself the childish, hateful antics I heard some of the Cavaliers fans would perform. And they didn't disappoint. Boos, vulgar taunts, chants, holding up signs with nasty messages on them, giving the middle finger, just about anything they could legally do to make Lebron James feel as much hurt as they felt following "the breakup." It amazed me that some of these people had no clue how petty they looked, how unstable. Or perhaps they didn't care that the rest of us found their attachment to this man—a basketball player—and continued anger over his leaving something that required a hug, and for some, counseling.

Looking and listening to their reactions over the past few months made me think about the power of rejection. Most people associate rejection with romantic interests, and are usually quick to tell the rejectee to "get over it" or "it's not that serious" or "don't sweat it." However, when that rejection comes in other forms, let's say a basketball player leaving your city, prolonged angry feelings are encouraged.

No one likes to be rejected, no matter the situation. The stuff hurts, and if you've experienced it, you know it's a feeling that calls you to question whether you'll ever know the happy feeling of acceptance. But if the poor, rejected lonely hearts are told to toughen up and get over it, shouldn't other rejectees, who may not have had their romantic feelings rejected, but their sense of entitlement to, let's say, a basketball player, yanked away?

I looked at the forlorn faces in the stands of the Quicken Loans Arena and couldn't help but make the comparison between them and the millions of hopeless romantics who wait for returned phone calls, texts, and emails that will never be, only to have to force themselves to process through their grief very quickly and finally come to the realization: he (or she) just isn't into you. Move on. Your "soul mate" certainly has.

My heart goes out to those Cavs fans who feel anything close to "real" rejection. That's a hurt I wouldn't wish on anyone. Everyone should know they have someone who will never leave.

Peace to all.

Check out my creativity at work with my teddy bears who graciously volunteered to illustrate how much rejection sucks. Observe the great acting, look at both the happiness and pain on their faces. Look at the talent I have around me. Thank you bear-y much guys.

In happier times



And then......

When the thrill is gone

What a Difference a Day Makes!

I felt great today, imagine that. Based on yesterday's post you'd think I was just about through. But nope, I survived. And I had a great day at work today. I was so productive and it felt good. For days now I've let some negative thoughts consume me. But I've moved through my stages of grief, let some things go in my mind, and finally allowed myself to believe that it's not my fault.

Ahh yes, the mind and imagination can bring such joy, yet such sadness. It's all about having balance. Life is like a roller coaster. When you begin to learn your cycle of events and occurrences, you tend to enjoy every drop of the good times because you know that a down time may come. And when it does, you were expecting it (because it's a part of life), welcome it, process it, and send it packing. For some good times are on the way and you need to make room.

Peace, all.

Dinah, take it away.

Ms. Understood

Hello,

My name is Ms. Understood, and hence the name, I'm a very misunderstood person. My mother understands me *shout out to mommy*. My close friends sorta get me. And for that I'm very grateful. But outside of these entities, I'm often assigned a personality I do not own, intentions that are not mine. And I apparently possess an aura that I wish would stop following me everywhere I go. Well, let me not wish that. I imagine it's doing some good things that I as a mere mortal am incapable of comprehending.

When I'm not being labeled as "quiet and shy," I'm accused of being "boring" (by people who have no desire to prove themselves right or wrong) or "innocent and naive" (by people who have no desire to prove themselves right or wrong). What I really love is when I'm placed on a pedestal of purity, and if I dare step down and become "normal," am met with an astonished disappointed that can be summarized with Jennifer, you?

I would never have guessed that at my age, I would still be treated as if I were a child, incapable of understanding the cruel ways of the world; an asexual being with no desire to experience the pleasures of the flesh; a quiet mouse who only squeaks every now and again; a sweet little thing who'd never ever curse; a young woman who despite growing up in the 80s and 90s is somehow ignorant of popular culture, particularly rap music. It goes on and on.

Well you know what everybody?

I'm a woman!!!!!! A normal woman!!!!! A regular adult!! My god, may I step down off this pedestal and have an alcoholic beverage with you, I can take it you know!! May I curse without a news crew being called because it's a big deal? May I get upset or have any normal reaction to life’s ups and downs? May I squat and shake my hind part to a booty bounce song without someone fainting from the shock? Sir, yes you over there, voulez-vous couchez avec moi ce soir?

Wow, this feels really good. I’m just tired of being misunderstood. I’m just tired of shocking people by doing the most normal, mundane things. I’m tired of being told I’m too nice by men. I’m tired of being told I need to get out more, but having to do it alone. I’m tired of being taken for granted. I'm tired of not being given a chance. I'm tired of the timing always being wrong. I'm tired of all the good ones being taken. I'm tired of the leaves in my yard. I'm tired of my commute. I’m just tired.

I would like to drink a glass of Chardonnay right now. But I must do it alone. Wouldn’t want to have more than one, become merry, start to act like the real me, and shock someone who had such high hopes for me.

Oh yes, before I forget, I hope you enjoyed a wonderful Thanksgiving holiday. I’ll be back with another post soon. Though November was busy, a paltry two postings is unforgivable. I’m sorry about that. Love you all. Forgive the rant. Just being normal. May I?

---Ms. Understood

Nina, take it away.

When You're Not "The One"

When you're not "the one" you seem to remember all the little things you shouldn't remember about him. When you're "the one" he remembers all those little things about you. When you're not the one, you pick yourself apart and ask yourself why. When you're the one, you have no questions at all. When you're the one, you can rest assured. When you're not the one, you're assured a restless night.

Yeh, I just freestyled that myself. I'm sitting here, sipping coffee and doing some freelance work. I decided to take a break and unload a little of what I've been feeling since I left work. I was on the train coming home when the hopeless romantic in me reared her neglected little head. She reminded me about "Tony," my last crush that went nowhere. (Why is this the story of my life?) I remembered that the year anniversary of my meeting him was coming up, November 14th to be exact. I then smiled a sad smile because I knew that he would never ever remember the date he met me.

I pulled out my cell phone and sent this text to my friend who's very familiar with how much I adored him:

Nov 14 is the day I met Tony. I still remember what he had on and how much I looked forward to seeing him again. I was so nervous 2 ask 4 his # but did anyway. I actually prayed that he'd feel the same about me. I prayed because I like him so much. Still do. Even though I'm not "the one."

Kinda deep right?

I had dinner, danced to work off the cookies I ate earlier, did some work, and then came to my blog. Where I discovered my thoughts of unrequited desire were still hanging around, demanding to be tended to. And so I'm tending to them. Through my words.

I have no shame in admitting that I rarely forget the people who've crossed my path. I remember them all. I wonder where they are; if they ever did that thing they wanted to do; if they ever bought that thing they wanted to buy; if they ever went to that place they wanted to go; if they've fared well in this roller coaster ride of life. That's just the kind of person I am. I know Tony will never read this. But here's to you anyway, Tony. Thanks for coming through, at least when it really mattered. Whenever you're ready again, and either find or reunite with "the one," I'm sure she'll feel very loved.

All the best to everyone.

About the couple up there: This beautiful scene was part of a calendar I bought over 6 years ago. The artwork was so beautiful I cut out most of the months and framed them. Gazing at their embrace puts a smile on my face; just like the smile on hers. I won't lie, there have been many nights where I wished we could trade places.


Signed,

The Hopeless Romantic on behalf of Jennifer Singleton

iRobot: Because it's Halloween

Here she is, the most realistic humanoid I've ever seen. When I saw her dressed like a librarian it made me realize how they can be walking amongst us now. Technology has advanced so much, it's amazing. I would sit next to her on the bus or train and not even look twice. She blinks, uses a variety of facial expressions, and has an eerily calm demeanor.

I know these humanoids will one day play a major role in our lives. I'm curious though, will they demand the same rights and freedoms as humans? Will there be advocacy groups working to prevent their exploitation? Will they take away the jobs of "real" humans? Think about it, no sick leave, no maternity leave, no need to enjoy an outside life.

These questions and more are what we must ask.

Happy Halloween!!!!!!!!!!!!

My Review Isn't Done Yet

One month ago, I wrote that on October 1st I would post a review of The Outsider by Richard Wright. Well after reading the 400+ page book I became intimidated and unsure of my ability to give it justice. I was so impressed with Wright's writing style, the book's theme, and the protagonist Cross Damon, that I kept putting off the review while I thought of the best way to proceed. And now as October nears an end, I still haven't done it. This is my confession. I still believe in my writing ability, but honestly, I just think my review will suck. But I suppose I should let others be the judge of that, right?

I'm creative. I can string together a sequence of words to create an interesting read. I've done it before, and I've had my share of compliments. Don't give up on me, gentle readers. Perhaps it will help me to not give up on myself.


Oh yes, about the tree:

It's a tree in my backyard that is going through "the change" in anticipation of winter. I was inspired by it. Without fail, the leaves come and they go. So much of that mirrors human life. We gain and we lose all the time. Our defining moments are how we choose to act on what is happening. I've lost some leaves myself, leaves that may never return. But my hope is that in their place will erupt new and wondrous buds to restore me to what I used to be.

Continue to look out for that review. It's coming. I promise.

"This isn't the neighborhood for that."

These are the words that came from the mouth of a woman I rode with on the bus this morning. She had been talking to another woman about kids, music, and what their plans were for the weekend. As most people on public transportation, their voices were elevated so that everyone around them was forced to be a part of the conversation. As we approached a Starbucks and its "Coming Soon!" sign, the woman began expressing her view that a Starbucks wouldn't do well in the neighborhood. My new neighborhood. I was very offended, but not for me. I was offended on behalf of the neighborhood's residents who are very grateful that a Starbucks has come. In the midst of budget furniture stores, fast food restaurants, nail shops, and an auto parts store, I'm sure the residents are pleased that a Starbucks, something different, has come.

I got the impression she meant the residents of the largely minority neighborhood would not frequent a Starbucks, and it struck a nerve. Why wouldn't we? I wanted to reply to her "So, would a liquor store and payday loan establishment be more acceptable for the neighborhood? Because the people here would rather spend their money on a wing special than a iced latte, right?" What her view of herself and the people around her must be, I pondered.

I found myself feeling grateful that she wasn't a city planner, or the person responsible for approving building permits or granting contracts to investors and companies seeking to gentrify an economically distressed neighborhood.

But then I realized that I had no idea what she did for a living. She appeared to be on her way to work just like me. The likelihood of her either working for the local DC government or the federal government was strong. How were her perceptions of "certain" kinds of people and places influencing her decision making. What did she mean? The residents were too poor to afford a Starbucks beverage or food item? Or did she mean the residents didn't have sophisticated enough palates to appreciate Starbucks products? Why was she so certain that the business would fail because "this isn't the neighborhood for that"?

Lady, what is the right neighborhood for that? And if your neighborhood is not good enough for a Starbucks, why do you live in such a place?

I certainly hope she's wrong. I'll visit this Starbucks when it opens. And I hope I'm joined by other residents who want to show "upscale" establishments like Starbucks that we do spend our money on products other than fast food and other products of the poor and unenlightened. I know I'm kind of rambling here. This isn't meant to be a perfect post with proper sentence structure, topic sentences, cohesiveness, and cadence. It's just a rant in reply to an ignorant statement I heard on the bus.

Mind Sex

Should I be embarrassed to admit that I'm in the mood for this right now? Should I be even more ashamed to admit that I'm rather famished from lack of this emotional food? Well, I'm not. Mental stimulation at the mind of another person is crucial for human development, creativity, happiness, and fulfillment. It's such a shame that not enough of us realize its importance.

My sympathies to all of the bullying victims

I wasn’t popular in high school. There are a number of reasons I wasn’t. I didn’t wear name brand clothes; I didn’t associate with any cliques; I didn’t live in a nice subdivision like the majority of my classmates, but in an apartment in the city’s housing authority; I created my own unique hairstyles that didn’t conform; I was quite; and just didn’t fit in. However, during my junior year, I transferred to another school where I met some great people who accepted me the way I was and actually liked me. I wasn’t such a loser anymore. It was a great feeling.

Mine is considered a success story compared to the suffering that many other kids go through. I wasn’t obese; considered unattractive, or conversely, too pretty; didn't wear dirty, tattered clothing; and as far anyone could tell, was a cookie cutter heterosexual. Passing these big hurdles allowed me to pass through my middle and high school years unscathed. Not so for many others.

Bullying has dominated the news in recent weeks. A 12-year-old girl's father made headlines after he boarded a bus and yelled at his mentally challenged daughter's tormentors. A 13-year-old girl hung herself after nude pics she texted to her boyfriend ended up in the hands of menacing classmates. A Rutgers University freshman killed himself after his homosexual encounter was broadcast over the internet by his roommate. My sympathies to all who have and who will be the victims of taunting and bullying from either an acquaintance or an anonymous attacker.

The old adage "kids can be cruel" has taken on a different meaning as technology has advanced. Even before these stories hit the news, I pondered what today's grade schools were like. What was it like now to be an unpopular, bullied kid. Back in my day, if someone didn't like you, they told you to your face, there weren't any social networking sites to hide behind. Mean notes were written about you and passed around; a bully may have told you to meet him after school—all awful things to experience. However, back then, when a victim of such actions went home, they had escaped, at least for a little while. And if it got too bad to endure, they could transfer schools, and start over. Now, victims are forced to face their hurt 24/7. And these hurtful things, be them malicious blogs, Facebook, and Twitter pages, or humiliating camera phone videos and pics, can follow them for years.

Technological advancements are amazing and inspiring and have changed millions of lives for the better; and with each year are becoming a necessity rather than a luxury. However, these very things we rely on to entertain, educate, and motivate ourselves are the tools of torment for far too many. To you, gentle readers, and anyone else affected by such cruelties, my deepest sympathies, and wishes for you to stay strong and hold on.

In closing, I want to share an article I wrote on cyberbullying for the December 2009/January 2010 issue of Educational Leadership, published by ASCD. Read it here.

Ramblings About Seasons and Something Else

I have these "seasons" of inspiration and productivity that visit me for a while. Sometimes for a few days, others time a month or two. During these times I feel like I can accomplish anything I set my sights on. I find myself writing more, traveling more, planning more, daydreaming more, just doing more of everything that makes me feel better about myself. I'm in a season right now, but something "ain't quite right" with this one. I'm not reaching the full high that I've come to expect. While I'm somewhat inspired, I'm nowhere near as productive as I can be. While I'm writing more, it's not with the same intensity as I've experienced in previous seasons. And daydreaming? While I do that continuously, my fantasies aren't as fulfilling as I know they can be. My imagination can create some fantastical imagery that entertains me during the day and in my dreams. Lately, the thrill appears to be waning. I wonder what role stress is playing. Am I not consuming enough protein to properly fuel the electrical impulses responsible for the visions, feelings, and emotions that comprise my subconscious sleep? My imagination is not providing the good times that I'm accustomed to. Something's afoot.

Feels So Good

Every now and again I encounter an image that conjures such strong emotion in me that I have to grab the nearest writing tool to capture what's coming. This image was created by an artist unknown to me. I wish I could give him or her credit, but unfortunately this image, like so many others, is just out there, belonging to no one, but conceived by someone. I want to give the artist credit, if you know a name or website, please let me know. I want to pay my respect. I spotted this image on a messageboard and found it so serene, so striking. I felt something. The woman was telling me what she was thinking. This is what I could gather:

You wanna know something?
It had never happened for me, that whole love thing
Reciprocity, romance, security, being "the one"
But then He happened. For me.
I had accepted the fact that nobody wanted me
But then He happened. For me.
I had to ask God if he had the right person
Didn't want to get my hopes up. Know what I mean?

Mmmm, mmmm, I don't want to go to work today
Just want to lay up under this man
It's been so long, so long since I felt so good
I wouldn't be any good at any job today anyway
Not after last night, and the night before that, and the night before that

This man makes me feel so good
He even smells good too
Nothing from a bottle, just something special his pores secrete
And don't get me started on the warmth of his breath and the body that creates it
I want to savor and cherish the moment, just in case this is all a dream
Know what I mean?
I would hope life wouldn't be so cruel, but I know how cruel life can be

Life, please, I beg you, don't
Just let me relax, and enjoy his touch and the way I feel right now
I feel so good

(Copyright Jennifer Singleton 2010)

Flirty vs. Interested

A while back, I posted my response to a thread on my favorite messageboard. The thread was about a woman who met a tragic end due to domestic violence. I was moved by my own words and wanted to share them. And so, I'm sharing again. The reply below is to a thread that asked how to tell the difference between the actions of a guy who was interested in you versus the actions of a guy who was simply flirting. I'm no expert on relationships (as you may have surmised by now), but I think I have some good insight into many aspects of them.

"I think you can tell a lot by: 1) his gaze and 2) how much time he spends with you. The most obvious one is the time spent. If he doesn't make it a habit to be in anyone's face a lot but yours, there's a chance that it might be legitimate interest. Contrast that with the flirty guy who makes the rounds trying to keep all the ladies smiling and is always seen with a different one. Next up is the intensity of the gaze. If he's the office flirt, his eye contact won't be that serious or attentive, his attention span will be short as he's looking all around to see who he should talk to next. But the guy who's interested holds your gaze and you feel warm, there's something he's saying without even speaking. People can pass by and he won't even look to see who it is. You just know the difference.

Men are very difficult to figure out. Good luck."



So, do you think I got it right?

Check Out My New Article

I wrote an article titled "The Benefits of a Workplace Mentor" that will appear in Thursday Network's Fall 2010 newsletter, scheduled for publishing later this year. Thursday Network is the Washington DC chapter of the National Urban League Young Professionals. This is my second contribution to the newsletter. I wrote "Maintaining Relationships During Economic Hardships" for their Summer 2010 issue.

You can read them both on the writing and editing page of my website, www.jennifersingleton.net.

Please visit Thursday Network's website to learn about the organization's mission and community service accomplishments in the DC area.

Calling All Fiction Writers!!

A few years ago, I began submitting a couple of my short stories to every decent-sounding writing contest I could find. I wanted to know if I had "it." A writing style and story line so refreshing and intriguing that contest judges would suspend further reviews after reading what I had to say. I am a dreamer what can I say. I suppose I faired better than most, having received an Honorable Mention from the Shrine of the Black Madonna Bookstore for my story Unspoken Duty. Check it out here, under "Fiction Writing Sample." After a while I began to feel discouraged (and those entry fees started to add up). Thus began my hiatus. Today I feel I'm ready to re-enter the writing contest ring. I have some new work that I feel is competition-worthy.

I kept a list of contests I had entered in the past and looked them up so see if they were still around. A few of them were. While searching for others I realized I wanted to share some of them in the hope it would inspire someone else to want unveil a story hidden on a flash drive or on the pages of a forgotten notebook. The deadlines for these contests are coming up, so act now, or pass along to a friend who may need a little encouragement.

John Steinbeck Short Story Award
Prize: One winner will receive $1000 and publication in Reed Magazine.
Entry fee: $15 (entrants receive a copy of the prize issue)
Word count: no more than 6000
Deadline: November 1, 2010
For details visit http://www.reedmag.com/

Roanoke Review
Prize: One winner will receive $1000 and publication in Roanoke Review.
Entry fee: $15
Word count: no more than 5000
Deadline: November 8, 2010
For details visit http://www.roanokereview.wordpress.com/

Tampa Review, Danahy Fiction Prize
Prize: One winner will receive $1000 and publication in Tampa Review.
Entry fee: $15 (entrants receive a subscription to Tampa Review)
Word count: between 500 and 5000
Deadline: November 1, 2010
For details visit www.ut.edu/tampareview

The Writing Site, Arthur Edelstein Prize for Short Fiction
Prize: One winner will receive $1000 and publication on http://www.writingsite.com/.
Entry fee: $10
Word count: no more than 6000
Deadline: October 31, 2010
For details visit http://www.writingsite.com/

Narrative Magazine, 30 Below Contest
Prize: One winner will receive $1500 for a short story, essay, or excerpt from a work of fiction or creative fiction by a writer under 30.
Entry fee: $20
Word count: up to 15,000
Deadline: October 31, 2010
For details visit http://www.narrativemagazine.com/

Inkwell Short Fiction Contest
Prize: One winner will receive $1500 for up to 3 short stories.
Entry fee: $15
Word count: no more than 5000
Deadline: October 30, 2010
For details visit http://www.inkwelljournal.org/

Kore Press Short Fiction Award
Prize: One winner will receive $1000 and publication by Kore Press.
Entry fee: $15
Word count: 4000-12,000
For details visit http://www.korepress.org/


In addition to finding writing contests online, you can visit your local library and bookstore for the latest issues of literary magazines and journals. Poets & Writers magazine is an excellent resource for contests and grants. Also contact college and university English departments to see if any of their publications are sponsoring writing competitions.

A word of caution: Sadly not all writing contests are created equal. Research, researh, research, especially the reviews of previous contest entrants, before entering a particular competition; and read the contest guidelines very carefully. Be sure to ask for clarification on terminology you do not understand, particularly the term "right of first publication."

And lastly, if you enter one of the above contests and win, place, or receive an honorable mention, please come back and let me know. I'd be happy to share your news.


Happy writing,

Jennifer Singleton

Introducing "A Book a Month"

Here's how this is going to work. Each month, starting September 2010, for as long as I can muster the motivation, I will select a book that intrigues me and read it. Ordinarily this isn't a big deal, as I've been known to tackle several good reads in a month's span. What's different is that I'll publish a review of this book on my website www.jennifersingleton.net
on the first (or second) of the following month. I'll let you know when it's ready.

Why am I doing this?

For two reasons: 1) to ensure that my site contains current and diverse writing samples, and 2) to discipline myself by serving as my own editor. I've set deadlines for myself with the understanding that if I can't do right by myself, then I can't do right by anyone else. I've never challenged myself like this before, and the decision to do it has come after a long period of feeling sorry for myself and neglecting to channel the creative energy that inhabits my soul.

September's selection if you haven't guessed by the book jacket is Richard Wright's The Outsider. Two of Wright's titles, Native Son and Black Boy, were required readings in my 10th grade English class. I was so intrigued by Wright's writing style and the adversity his characters faced that when I saw The Outsider in Barnes & Noble, I knew I couldn't leave the store without it. I only hope that I can give the story's protagonist, Cross Damon, justice. Based on what I've read so far, I'm completely mesmerized. Wright hooked me from the first page and he refuses to let me go. When a writer can make a reader experience the emotions I'm experiencing, he or she deserves a standing ovation. Though in reply to this compliment, I can imagine that most of them would say, "I'm just reporting the story as my spirit instructed me to."

Wish me luck. I hope to create something you find interesting. Just knowing someone out there will anticipate it and will check back encourages me more than you know.

TMI?

Sometimes after publishing a post, I wonder if I’ve shared too much. You know, given a little “TMI” (too much information). While I don’t say anything disrespectful or controversial or extremist in nature, I openly admit to my character flaws, writing struggles, fears, sugar addiction, loneliness, and carnal desires, among other personal things. I’m not ashamed of myself, I am who I am—a wonderfully imperfect human who examines herself critically and honestly and feels as though sharing those findings with the world unburdens her soul. I’m aware that some would argue I’m merely an online narcissist, one of the millions who think the world cares about their profound reflections. Well, do you?

Should I be doing this? This whole spill my guts thing? Aren’t people supposed to keep their thoughts about themselves to themselves? Sure it’s okay to talk about other people’s lives, but to turn the microscope on yourself and proclaim to the world Look at me! With my self-deprecating sense of humor, somewhat deviant thoughts, questionable fashion sense, goofy dances, aversion to technological advances, weakness for romance and happy endings, and hairy legs.

Who’s reading this thing anyway? Aside from the very special person who reads faithfully (sending her a big >hug<). I know plenty of things about people who don’t even know my last name (thanks to my good pal, Google). Could someone who I see all the time, whose last (or even first) name I don’t know, have plenty of info on me because they read my musings? The thought intrigues me. The man I’m currently infatuated with, are you reading this? I’ll never know, will I? And neither will you. My best friend during high school, I still think of you and wish things hadn’t changed. Are you reading this? Chris, who would have made me the happiest girl on campus by saying “yes” to my movie invite, are you reading this? I could sit here all night pondering who visits me. How interesting, online anonymity protects the audience, but offers little to the entertainer.

I like that I have private thoughts and memories and feelings. Things that can’t be hacked or compromised. Things unknown to any other being. I suppose I just answered my own question. It’s okay if I share parts of me with the world, and, no, it’s not too much. For I don’t share my all, my everything, and that’s the important part. I have a secret place where the rest of me is housed. There’s some good stuff in there, stuff that fuels my every thought and action. But don’t feel slighted; the stuff you read is pretty good too. In fact, and this is between me and you, the dividing line between what I post and what I keep in my secret place is sometimes indistinguishable.

JS

In Case I Hurt Your Feelings, I'm Sorry

So I'm sitting here listening to music, pondering how to end my night. Yes, at 8:37 on a Friday night, I'm nearing the end. No nightclub; no date; no meeting girlfriends anywhere; no movies; no nice restaurant; no cuddling on the couch with a member of the opposite sex; no kissing; no yanking off my clothes in a fit of passion; no getting ready in front of the mirror to go to a party; and no "baby, I'm outside."

Tonight, my options are: 1) marinate the pork chops pictured here; 2) dance to music; 3) watch tv; 4) continue to sit here at the computer; 5) lie to myself that I'll do something fun next weekend to make up for this one; 6) buy a bus ticket for NYC for a day or two to escape what I've created here at home; 5) go to sleep early; 6) get on my exercise bike to alleviate my guilt from not walking this evening; or 7) browse Craigslist 'Missed Connections' ads to see if someone is looking for me. Oh who am I kidding, as usual, I'll do most of these things. So in a way, I guess my Fridays are pretty eventful, now that I've written out my itinerary.

But moving on. I didn't start this post to spill the details of my exciting existence. I want to apologize for some mean things I did as a kid. I was sitting here feeling emotional and suffering from cramps and bloating, when I started to feel sad for the bully I used to be in elementary school. That phase of my life didn't last long, and I wasn't a violent bully, but a more mischievous one. And besides, I got it all back ten-fold in middle and high school when I became a shy and awkward loser and a social outcast. Still, I wanted to put it out there in the rare chance that my "victims" remember my name, and Google me to see if misfortune has befallen me, and if so, to laugh. Though I'm happy to report that life has been pretty good to me.

I apologize to the following individuals:

• The girl whose shirt I blew my nose on, while she was still wearing it.
  

• The girl who I would walk closely behind just so I could step on her heels.

• The girl whose candy I stole out of her booksack during recess.

• The boy whose school supplies I stole, brought home to destroy with my mother's makeup and a pair of scissors, then brought back to school for him to "find."
  

• All the kids whose belongings I would take off their desks to place in different areas of the classroom, just to create confusion. And to laugh.

I apologize because I'm not that person anymore, and haven't been since that time. The person I am now is sensitive to the misfortunes of others; understanding; sickeningly kind; protective of others; a pushover if I like you a lot; and overall, a pretty good person and great friend. For every bad thing I did as a youngster, I assure you, I've gotten it back. I hope you all are happy, fulfilled, in love with your lives, have found "the one," have great families, careers you love, and most importantly, have forgotten all about me.

Peace to everyone reading this.

JS

Playing with My Alphabets

All I want to do in life is

Be the best Jennifer I can be

Choosing more right options than wrong

Deliberately treating others the way I wish to be treated

Expressing myself the way I know best

Finishing the projects that I start

Getting out and enjoying life

Hitting the gym or the pavement to exercise

Imagining all the things that make me happy

Joining others in an effort to make the world a better place

Kicking out all the negative thoughts that invade my private time

Learning new things

Making sure the people in my life know how much I love them

Never taking my blessings for granted

Opening my mind to possibilities I haven’t considered

Protecting my spirit from harm

Questioning what I don’t understand, but learning to let go what I cannot change

Resting my mind at night so that my body will follow suit

Sharing my creative interpretations with others

Traveling to the places that bring me comfort

Understanding that time goes on no matter how much I object

Visiting my family often

Wearing clothes that flatter my frame

eXpecting to receive the kind of love and passion that I fantasize of

Yielding returns on my investments

and Zealously enjoying the simple things in life

Bronze Thrills, Black Confessions, and a little Jive

This is a story of my first lesson in the importance of proper proofreading and editing, and how quickly a manuscript can lose credibility when a reader is confronted with easily avoidable errors.

“Moist Caverns” and “Man Tools”

When I was around 13 or 14, I discovered that nestled amongst the magazines on the stand at the Winn-Dixie grocery store, were four black romance/confession magazines—Jive, Black Confessions, Bronze Thrills, and Black Romance. (These publications were, in my words, an “urban imprint” for Sterling/Macfadden, publisher of the mainstream confession titles True Confessions, True Story, and True Romance.) An avid reader who was suffering from a severe case of puberty, I found my little discovery quite intriguing, to say the least. It didn’t take long for me to realize the salaciousness that lay before me.

He plunged his man tool into my moist cavern…

“Ma!!," hurrying excitedly, "can you buy this for me?”

My poor mother, I bugged her for at least several weeks to buy one of the magazines for me. It was the most important item in the world to me at the time. She was a tough nut to crack, as she wasn’t naïve, and knew all too well the type of stories they were. She shared her concerns that the material was inappropriate for me, and we'd go back and forth on how the stories weren't bad at all, and that I was indeed old enough to read them. I begged each Winn-Dixie visit. I still remember the night when she finally relented. I had been following her around the store holding one of the magazines, looking pitiful, of course. Knowing she’d say no, I wasted my breath again by asking if she’d buy it for me. She reviewed the cover for a moment, and then said yes! That, gentle readers, was one of the happiest moments of my teen years. Bronze Thrills was finally coming home with me (I still have this issue by the way, February 1993). Finally, I was going to read stories about girls just a few years older than me who had boyfriends and were having sex with them; girls disobeying their parents to sneak around with neighborhood bad boys; women catching their husbands having affairs; love triangles; domestic violence; workplace infatuation—Yessssss!

And so my journey began. Soon I started a summer job and was able to buy my own magazines, and I continued to do for a number of years afterward. While I always found the material interesting, and usually had a favorite story in each issue, reading these magazines was an exercise in patience. The grammatical and typographical errors were so blatant that, in my opinion, it offended the intelligence of the readers.

"Errors"

Jennifer, are you telling us that a magazine went to press without anyone bothering to make sure it looked okay?

Yes, I am. Where were the editors? I wondered. Did anyone on the payroll bother to even read one of the issues? Pure foolishness. In addition to suffering with misspelled words, missing words, and no spacing between words, imagine these other crimes against literature that faithful readers had to endure:

The "editors" in charge forced us to

· Attempt to understand text where there was either a misplacement or absence of quotation marks that rendered dialogue and the narrator’s inner thoughts indistinguishable.
· Re-read stories, as a story in one issue was sometimes a word-for-word reprint of one from a few issues back.
· Get to know a main character by one name, let's say “Nathan,” only to turn the page and find that his name had changed to “Mike.”
· Skim an issue's Table of Contents in the store, and become excited at a particular story's title and synopsis, only to get it home and discover that said story wasn’t even in the issue. I'm not kidding. Table of Contents should never lie! (This happened to me twice, and I’m still mad about it.)

"Prisoners"

Before the internet, lonely hearts commonly sought love through classified ads in newspapers and magazines. Black Romance and her sisters were no exception. When I would get a new issue, the first thing I would do is read the "Pen Pals" column in the back. Out of about 25 ads per issue, all but one would be from a prisoner seeking companionship.

"Ebony prince seeks princess for romance and marriage. I'm a writer, musician, and political activist. Will answer all. Roses for you, beautiful lady. Race and weight not important."

(Sidebar: Race and weight never seem to be a problem after all the options have been taken away. Come as you are, my queens. Funny, were they that accepting as free men?)

As an adult, I saw the ad of a guy I think I worked with at McDonalds years before when I was 16. This guy (when I knew him) had gold teeth, a jherri curl, and always wore a cow hide sun visor (of course, I had a crush on him). He had a very unique nickname, and this was the name I saw in the ad. When I saw that this individual was incarcerated in my home state, I was all but assured that he was indeed the same guy who shared fry duty with me and had gone on to make some bad choices. I used to wonder, and still do, how these men found out about these publications; was there some kind of network? I also felt some kind of way about these men possibly attempting to take advantage of lonely women. I'm sure my mother didn't know what to make of me. I was a weird one, I'm sure there were hardly any other teenage girls who found reading inmate personals ads entertaining.

"Conclusion"

Today, Sterling/Macfadden no longer publishes these black love-focused magazines. I think the True magazines are still around though. I wasn’t sad to see them go. Aside from being older and not that into them anymore, I had lost respect for the company for not caring about the quality of this particular brand. It had gotten to the point where I no longer bothered to flip through them anymore. I had spent too many nights becoming engrossed in a story, only to be snatched from the fantasy because of an error that, had anyone cared to proofread it, could have easily been corrected. It's hard to enjoy a story when the journey to get to the end is choppy and misguided. Before abandoning these magazines, I had managed to collect over 30 of them. I have them stashed away here and there. I hope to keep them for a long time because I’m sentimental, but also because I want to pass them on to someone. Most teens/young women today wouldn't find much interest in a nearly 20-year-old romance magazine, but, if one of them is like me, would greatly appreciate the piece of history. Perhaps I'll find someone someday who will treasure them as I have, offensive errors and all.

I've rambled on enough. Now I'm off to go and finish up an earlier post I started in July.

--A nostalgic reader

What Do You Do?

I’ve been doing a lot of reflecting since my last post. About the usual stuff I suppose: Am I living each day to the fullest? Have I made the right choices up to this point? Is my lack of a love life due to something horrible I did in a past life? If I lost 20-30lbs would I then receive the highly coveted Certificate of Desirability, deeming me worthy and eligible to at least enter the dating pool? Is the DC area where I should be? Or should I have tried a little harder to move to NYC where so many others like me reside? Why are all the men who seem perfect for me either a part of the “gold band” club or just not interested? Should I have more to show for myself financially?

Not a day goes by where I don’t ponder most (sometimes all) of these questions. Some have many possible answers, others none. I’m just at that point in my life where I assess myself more thoroughly, and am more aware of how my actions today can make or break the rest of my life. I guess I have too much time on my hands. A wise man or woman might say that if a person is out actually living life, then he or she won’t have time to sit around thinking and worrying about it. Makes sense, doesn’t it? And it’s a good motto to live by too, isn’t it?

Still, I counter with this—what do you do when “living life” just doesn’t feel the way it used to? When you’re missing something and you’re not sure what? When something’s happening and you can’t put a finger on it? When you no longer enjoy doing things by yourself and long for a partner, but feel invisible to those you wish would volunteer?

What do you do?

You take people’s advice. You speak and nod in agreement when people say to put it in the hands of a higher power. You try to change what you think you may be doing wrong. You ponder why, what, how, when, and where?

And during it all, you hope to find an answer. A solution to put your anxious mind at ease. A solution that rejuvenates your spirit. Some type of something to motivate you to do all the things your heart yearns for you to do.

JS

Will They Reminisce Over You?

So as you know by now, all I do is think. If not about the present, then the past or the future. I decided to take a brief walk down memory lane and share some of the simple things I routinely hear and smell that make me reminisce. (Don't laugh at me).

Scents

Cool Water cologne

This scent will always be with me. It belonged to a boy named Walter who wore it in high school. I've smelled the scent on other men since then, but Walter must have added something to it. It was intoxicating and fit his demeanor so well. Laid-back, smooth, and deep. He was so mature, seemed like he belonged in college instead of the 10th grade. I had a thing for Walter because of that smell. I'd envy the popular girls who had the chance to hug him and walk with him. I wanted to do it too. I just wanted to tell him how good he smelled.

Jergens soap
This scent reminds me of my nighttime baths as a child. The ones after mom would call me inside after I'd been playing outside for hours and demand that I get in the tub and clean myself. My memory often mixes Jergens with the smell of fried chicken. Mom would usually be cooking dinner while I took my bath.

Male sweat
Ahh yes, the smell of teenage boys. I started to notice this scent when I was in middle school. I would walk into a room and could tell boys had been there. It wasn't a funky scent, but I could smell they had been sweating nearby. Girls didn't smell like that. Funny, I don't smell it anymore. Could it be my pubescent senses were heightened for only a short time and as I matured I lost my keen sense of smell? Perhaps because we use so many chemicals to mask our natural scent? I just know I remember when boys started to smell different to me.

Sand de Sable perfume
This perfume used to be one of my cousin's favorites. It smelled so good on her that I pestered my mother to buy some for me. I remember her telling me I was too young to wear it. It took forever before I got my first bottle. I think I was so old I was able to buy it for myself.

Music

"White Horse" (Laid House)
A boy who lived in the same housing development as me had a crazy dance he would do to this song. His mother would put the song on, "White horse, don't ride the white horse..." and he would dance and entertain the adults. I don't remember how old I was, maybe 8 or so. I still see his face so clearly.

"I Get Around" (Tupac)
My biggest high school, Kenneth, was the coolest boy at school. I was a freshman and he a junior. Man I was in looooove. Anyway, he brought a boom box to school one day and was outside during lunch playing music on it. My best friend and I passed him and giggled as usual. I turned around and he was looking right at me. The realization that the guy I liked actually noticed I existed, whilst Tupac flowed "'Cause oh they sweat a brother majorly, I don't know why, your girl keeps paging me..." caused an instant memory burn.

"Before you Turn off the Lights" (The World Class Wrecking Crew)
Not too much to report other than this song would blast from everyone's car stereo. I believe it was around 1987/1988. Man that song was so hot! "Before you turn off the lights, let's get one thing understood, if you plan to make love to me, you got to do it good, 'cause I'm a helluva woman, and for me it takes a helluva man, so don't you dare turn off the lights unless this you understand." I remember riding in the car with my cousin (the same one who liked Sand de Sable perfume) and her friend during one summer she came to stay with me and mom. Listening to them talk about teenage stuff while the music played made me feel like I was one of the girls too, though I was just their annoying tag-a-long.


So, will they reminisce over you? I wonder who will reminisce over me?

A Reply From the Heart

I spend a lot of time on a particular messageboard because of the interesting discussion forums and thread topics; my favorite hangout being the celebrity news and gossip forum. Sharing my thoughts with the world in reply to "who is this with so and so?" or "is so and so sleeping with this guy?" is a fun way to relax after a stressful day of doing what I do to earn a buck. I also frequent the board's news forum, though threads in this section tend to focus on the week's more depressing news. A story tonight affected me more deeply than the others because I could relate to the victim. I didn't know her, but I've encountered women who remind me so much of her; or rather, of the circumstances that may have led to her accepting someone into her life who had no business there. She reminded me of women who have taught me that it is better to be alone than to waive a potential mate's crucial "must haves" after reaching a point where you just want somebody and no longer believe that your god ever received your pleas for a suitable companion.

I read this woman's story and wrote an emotional response that seems to have affected other members as well. I wanted to share it on my blog. Not as a musing of an editor, writer, and storyteller. But as an observation of what I see happening far too often. I can only hope that I never signal to life that I'm ready to walk in this woman's shoes.

Here's the video of the news story:



And here's the article that details the couple's history.



And last, the comments that I shared with the board:

"Such a sad thing to hear. Poor little boy. You can only hope that he blocks out his mother's death, if he saw it, and only remembers the good times and his mother's love. He'll need those memories and I wish him the best. I have more stuff to say but not everyone will understand how I feel, so I'll just say this. I just feel sorry for this woman. I'm sure he wasn't her first choice or even her 20th. I'm sure that she pursued "better" men and prayed about it through the years. Perhaps the feelings were never mutual. So you go for what you can control, your education and career. I'm sorry she got tired of looking and waiting and decided to accept this thing into her life. I won't fault her for it because loneliness is a serious thing and only those who have experienced it can understand what can make a seemingly intelligent put together person stoop so low. Not everyone is strong enough to battle with a desire to be loved."

Is that Jennifer? Girl, where have you been?

Someone very close to me told me tonight that because I had not updated my blog in a while, she in turn had lost interest in updating hers. Knowing this person very well, I suspected her disclosure was an attempt to entice me to share a few words, "musings," with the world, as I haven't published any thoughts since June 26th. Well, it worked. (Now get to work on yours, you know who you are.)

Here I am, out of hiding; though I wish I could say for how long. Lately the things I've had on my mind are not appropriate for my blog. I don't know, maybe if my name and picture wasn't all over it. They're not bad thoughts, just thoughts that not everyone understands. And for the people who know me, thoughts that would cause them to express such sentiments as "Aww, you poor thing, he's on his way" to "I thought you were intelligent, how could you write something so ignorant?" to maybe even "Wow, that's disgusting. You want to do what?"

You're curious now, aren't you? What on earth do I think about that I'm so afraid to chronicle for the world to see? Well, gentle readers, a whole heck of a lot. But, who am I to deprive you of the little tidbits of my existence. Here's a list of some of the things I've been pondering the past few weeks (in no order of significance):

• I need to lose weight. I feel as though it's keeping me from having the active dating life I deserve. And I guess the PC thing would be to say that I want to be healthier for my own good. So, um, yeh, that too.
• I'm a recent homeowner who is now wondering if I made the right decision. I'm overwhelmed by what I've done. Repairs are needed and things need replacing, and my lawn is dead. Oh, and I'm frightened that property taxes will continue to skyrocket. Where's my landlord? Someone take care of things for me again!
  
• I like someone who doesn't like me back. Will I ever not be that loser I was in high school who didn't even go to her prom because no one asked. The story of my adult life.
  
• I wear my hair natural, but sometimes I wish it were relaxed. Like right now.
• I've been worrying about old age, and whether I'll have enough money to take care of myself.
• I've been wondering what was behind Door #2. Did I make the right choices in life?
• Years have passed and my book is still not finished. Am I a writer or a dreamer?
  
• My wardrobe sucks. All I wear are black or gray pants and my choice of about 4 or 5 blouses.
• I want a vacation away from myself and all the responsibility that comes with taking care of me. I just want to be Jane X for about a week and roam about the land with no immediate needs or concerns.
• I bought some cookies after work and ate most of them. I wish I were stronger.
  

Well, there you have it. These are some of the things that entertain me during my waking and sleeping hours. Now if this is the stuff I feel comfortable sharing, imagine what's inside contained in the "X" files. *cue creepy music*

Until next time, my anonymous voyeurs. Dream of doing something wonderful; bonus points if you wake up and actually do it.


Love,

Jane

Lyrical Stimulation

I write a lot about the power of music. Its ability to lead you on various mental journeys; recall memories and feelings from long ago; create a fantasy world to replace your reality. It's Saturday afternoon and I'm writing, sipping coffee, enjoying my living space, and, of course, listening to music. I've traveled with a number of selections today, thanks to YouTube, my personal radio station. I want to share some of the music stimulating my senses this comfortable afternoon. Enjoy this sample of things that court Jennifer's spirit.



Janelle Monàe



Janelle Monàe



Michael McDonald



Curtis Mayfield



The Roots



Norah Jones and Andre 3000

It's Been a While Since I Held an Editing Class

These are just a few little nuggets of advice to use when querying the writers who rely on your direction to lead them to a polished finished work.


1. Be tactful
Address the query to "Author" or "AU" (or you can use "QU" for query, like I do). Be courteous, use "please" to show that you’re asking them to perform extra work.

2. Avoid capital letters and exclamation points in your query; be professional no matter how stunned you are at what you’re seeing.

Ex: Ronald Reagan, a democrat, believed in the concept of ‘trickle down’ economics.

Query:
[AU: ARE YOU KIDDING ME? REAGAN WAS NOT A DEMOCRAT!]

Revised Query:
[AU: Did you mean ‘republican’? Please check party affiliation.]

3. Word your query so you get the answer you are looking for.

Ex: According to the finding, men want to marry women who remind them of their mothers; however, there is no conclusive research.

Query:
[AU: "Can you please clarify this statement?"]

NOTE: I’m guilty of this one. Wording a query this way can yield two possible answers: 1) "No I can’t; and 2) the actual rewrite you were expecting. Instead, try clarifying the statement yourself and asking the author if your interpretation is correct.

Revised Query:
[AU: This may confuse readers. You cite a study's finding, but write there in no conclusive research. It may be helpful to state why the finding is not considered conclusive.]

4. When dealing with arithmetic, if you see an error, do not make changes if unsure of the author’s intentions.

Ex: 12 of the 60 respondents (50%) could not identify the State of California on a map.
It is incorrect to change the math here without checking with the writer. Unless you know whether to change the 50% to 20%; the 12 to 30; the 60 to 24; or the 12 of the 60 to 45 of the 90, query the author.

Query:
[AU: The arithmetic does not seem correct. 50% of 60 does not equal to 12. Which number needs to be changed?]

5. Make queries concise; avoid wordiness and sarcasm.

Ex: Jamie enjoyed the way Mark touched her, it was as if he loved her. Though she knew he didn’t. Come to think of it, she wasn’t so sure he even liked her. But she’d deal with her guilt in the morning. She needed Marc's touch tonight.

[AU: Wow, you’d think Jamie would have more self esteem. Guess not! Please confirm spelling of "Mark" or "Marc."]

Revised query:
[AU: Please confirm spelling of "Mark" or "Marc."]


Source: Stet Again!: More Tricks of the Trade for Publications People provided the rules; I provided the examples.

Procrastination: My Friend, My Enemy

Monday morning. I arrived at the office at 7:45am and was met with my coworkers' surprise at my early arrival. Any other workday at that time, I would be digging through a pile of clothes for something decent to wear so that I could rush out of the house and catch my 8am bus. But today at 8am I was settled in my cubicle with the soothing warmth of my coffee awakening me and attempting to open a Word document. I needed to finish editing it before a 10am deadline. However, Word decided to process at a geriatric snail's pace, and if I dared scroll too fast, freeze up entirely. As expected, this drastically slowed my editing time. At 9am I called the person awaiting my work and explained the computer dilemma. Thankfully he understood. I continued to sweet talk the Word program and caress the mouse, all in an attempt to not upset things any more than I had. It worked! Word relented, allowing me to send the document off at 9:52am. The only problem was that I wasn't satisfied with my work. I wanted to look over it one more time, to apply that last layer of icing on what had the potential to be a very pretty cake. (with coconut flakes, hmmm)

I would have felt better had I not procrastinated. You see, I could have finished it Friday, and I kicked myself for not doing so. Though it wasn't my fault that the computer had a tantrum, and that I lost my edits twice, the breakdown only reminded me how I repeatedly have these close calls. I have the darndest time motivating myself to complete something when I have ample time to do so. I am motivated by fear and all of the chemicals that are released during a time of high stress. I need to know that the 25-page document lying in wait on my desk or inbox is due at 3:30pm...TODAY. And that the time is now 10:12am! Now, don't misunderstand me. I get the job done, and I've been told that I do it quite well. It's just that I wish I was one of these editors who get an assignment with a week to spare, and finish it two days later just for the heck of it. But I love what I do--arriving to the destination of a well-written, grammatically correct something or other. I just take the scenic route to get there.

Ah yes, proscrastination, you can truly be my foe at times; though I manage to beat you every now and again, when the stakes are high. But you are also a friend, a companion when I need a mental escape from the looming responsibility of completing a task. For while I battle with you to allow me to take care of it, you fill my imagination with the images, sounds, emotion, and often intense feelings I need to write, sing, dance, laugh, desire, and reflect. I suppose I should be grateful that I know how to stop and smell the flowers. I just wish I could do that and run a perfectly organized and efficient life at the same time.

I'm Also a Movie Director

No, no, no, I haven't partnered with any Hollywood hotshots (not yet anyway). I do however create scripts, recruit talent, direct the action, and watch it on my mental movie screen. Because I'm a loser in the dating game, I feel great empathy for those poor souls who sit on the sidelines with me, waiting to be picked and given a chance. The underdogs. In homage to the "rest of us," most of my movie fantasies center around the adventures of intelligent and passionate Plain Janes who manage to get the sweet, handsome, gentle, and charming hero despite the adversities that I bestow on them. My movies are much better than what I find in the theatres. I sometimes star in them, other times I have an avatar. Depends on my mood. Here are a few of the classic "films" I’ve made in the past. I might close my eyes and watch one of them before bed tonight. (Oh, if only I could fall asleep right away like a normal person.)

1. That’s Your Husband?: An overweight, yet super sweet cleaning lady shocks an office full of beautiful thin singletons when they discover that she's married to their handsome and charming boss. He's completely oblivious to the fact that his subordinates wish he had chosen someone on his level of attractiveness; someone like one of them.

2. You've Got an Extra What?: A beautiful woman feels cursed by a genital deformity (Hey, I gotta keep the fantasy interesting right? Don't judge me!) As a result she's never gotten close with a man for fear of rejection. But then she meets a very special hero who's determined to show her what she's been missing.

3. Heart of Hearing: A cautious deaf woman who was raised in a convent, finds her way to the big city where she meets a special hero and his evil charming cousin. The evil cousin wants to rob her of her innocence; the hero wants to stop him. But does he arrive at the hotel in time?

4. The Roommate: Deciding between a sexy, music video model and her more conservative, homebody roommate should be easy right? Not for one hero who is quite pleased to learn that the roommate who's so boring (according to the model) is a skilled chess player--just like him. Oh the delicious dilemma?

Ahh yes, these and many more play each day on Jenn-Tube. Too bad I'm the only person that can tune in. Sometimes I wish that what I see so clearly in my head was on a real tv or movie screen. I would like to know if the audience would say "finally, something good to watch!" My actors are very talented and some have faces that I make up. Meaning I've never seen that exact face before in my outside life. I mix and match until I have an entirely new one. It's hard to do though, so I usually opt for people I've seen on the street, or in the store. Wanna know something? Sometimes I wish it wasn't make believe.

The Difference a Year Makes

I know I’ve been away for a while, but I’m ready to get back in the blog game. Meaning I hope to muster the right words to compose one of my “musings” at least once a week. Am I hard at work on my debut novel, is this why I’ve been so busy? Nope. In fact the transfer to paper of what my characters are shouting at me is pathetically stagnant. The only things I’ve written down lately are appointments and bill payments; and the only typing I’ve done is in reply to comments posted in different discussion board threads. I’ve allowed my commitments to other things to overshadow the promise I made to myself to have something finished by the end of ’09. But the interesting thing about time is that it keeps on ticking, and new opportunities to correct one’s wrong (in my case, poor prioritizing) come around again. At least that’s what I’ve been told.

Ah yes, my post title, the difference a year makes. Or maybe I should say two years, because that’s when this thing I’m going to talk about all started. April 2008 was a time of high-anxiety for me. I’d applied to the Summer Publishing Institute at New York University (NYU) and was praying for acceptance, as I knew this was the perfect opportunity to network with the top dogs of the book and magazine publishing industry. I’d fallen in love with NYC and wanted to live there more than anything (a dream of mine since I was a child). From my frequent trips there I’d met several fellow creative spirits and felt as though I could finally live in a place where my kind of people lived; quirky weird people just like me who wanted to be friends. During this time I was actively searching for any place to live that wasn’t a cardboard box, and had begun to declutter my apartment—all in anticipation of my big move. I even put a deposit on a room in a boarding house and had secured a move in date. I also scored two job interviews in case NYU didn’t pan out. It was so close to happening I could taste it. And it tasted sweet, like a ripened peach.

But by summer’s end, I could only sulk at the remnants of my crumbled cookie. I’d lost touch with the people I’d met there (if NYC’ers think hopping the train to the next borough is long distance, imagine how DC seemed like a galaxy away). NYU denied me; I suspect because of my age and work experience, as the program is geared toward very recent college graduates with minds ready for molding. Not an old seasoned loser like me who didn’t make the right moves when I had the chance. It may have been too hard for them to fathom my willingness to leave my job as an Assistant Editor to move to New York where the best I could hope for after the program was landing an Editorial Assistant gig (a step up from an internship), where I would most certainly need to bartend or shelve books at some bookstore in the Village to make ends meet. But I was willing to do it because: 1) I wanted to leave DC and felt that NYC was where I needed to be, and 2) I wanted to start settling down and saw this as my last chance to do something so financially risky.

Fast forward one year to Summer 2009, and I loved my job as an Assistant Editor. I was learning so much about substantive editing, content management systems, editorial and production schedules, graphic design, and was managing my own editing projects from copy submission to publication. But something was missing, the writing responsibilities I wanted, and a title that reflected it. I wanted to be a Writer/Editor. And what do you know, I soon saw an opening with everything that I wanted. A government position in walking distance from my apartment. The place I wanted to give up to live in a small room with a shared shower (and more rent). And what do you know, I got the job!! By this time, I’d even joined an organization of young professionals dedicated to community service and was meeting some very ambitious and like-minded individuals.

Fast forward one year to May 2010, and I’m a busy little bee these days. I’m now a homeowner!! My life has become quite stable here in the DMV (the term referring to the District/Maryland/Virginia area). I’m coordinating events in the community service organization; doing well at my job (at least I hope so); I’m writing and editing quite a bit (for work though, not on that brilliant novel); and am trying to make the right decisions based on what life is showing me. I still visit NYC and I still wouldn’t mind having a 212 area code someday, but for right now, the opportunities are right here, and I need to stay. For how long—well wouldn’t I like to know the answer to that. The other day, after a long hiatus I ventured back to Mediabistro.com, where I used to keep track of all the latest happenings in the NYC freelance and publishing scene. I checked out the discussion board and saw a thread from an anxious applicant to the NYU Summer Publishing Institute, asking if anyone else was feeling impatient in the wait for an admissions decision. I smiled and shook my head in kinship of what this person was feeling. Good luck, I thought. Some posters replied that they received acceptance notifications, others were still waiting. I’ll admit to feeling a sense of “what if,” but I believe that I’m where I need to be right now. But I can’t forget the disappointment I felt when they told me no. Spending those six weeks at NYU for the opportunity to step foot inside a publishing company was the most important thing in my world. Now I know how to start my own publishing company. The difference a year makes.

Psst...I Hear Other People's Conversations

So after a long work day yesterday, I found myself practically limping to the bus stop in a pair of heels more fitting a tortuous interrogation than adornment of a woman’s feet. While slowly moving along, a woman and young boy (in more comfortable shoes than I), quickly walked ahead of me. As they passed I heard the boy say “that’ll be good if she dies.” Now I’ve heard some pretty interesting things in passing, but these morbid words coming from such a young mind puzzled me. Was he referring to a movie? A character in a book? Real life? As I usually do in situations like this, I began to piece together the conversation that may have led to this boy’s sentiments. This is purely for entertainment purposes only, as I'm often plagued with depressing thoughts of reality and welcome the opportunity to get a little creative. Note: I made a similar post back in July after overhearing an interesting little snippet on a Manhattan sidewalk.

"My teacher's on to me, I think she knows."
"That's ridiculous. Who could ever conceive of something so outlandish? And besides, it's just wishful thinking."
"I'm telling you, she knows something. It's the way she looks at me, it's not the same way she looks at the other kids. And I swear I don't do anything to tip her off. I talk about kid stuff, act like a kid, pretend not to like any of the girls in class, all the normal stuff a boy my age should do."
"Well if she knows, and that's a really big if, it would be an incredible blessing, sweetheart. Then we'd be free."
"Free. It's been years. To actually walk down the street looking the way I should, to be able to do all the things I should be doing. To love you...the way I should."
"I know the curse was meant to hurt just you, but it hurts me more than you'll know. I have to pretend you're my son, when you're really my husband. To the world you're a small boy, but those eyes are the eyes of the man I married many years ago."
"Stop it now, there's people up ahead."
"I want someone to know dammit! So the curse can be lifted finally."
"But they have to find out on their own, you know the rules. They have to figure out how and why this curse was placed on me, then confront me on it."
"Or we tell them, then kill them. Then it'll work."
"Don't tempt me. But the odds of her confronting a child are zero. It would definitely be the only way."
"Do it."
"Yeh. That'll be good if she dies."