Eating Life Raw - You Tube Tuesday

I'm doing something a little different today. I've decided to participate in You Tube Tuesday, adopted from Josh at It’s Tiger Time This is a day set aside for sharing your favorite video. Feel free to join in each week and see how creative we bloggers can be. Please remember to leave your link on his site in the linky-tool so that we can all visit your blog. Each month, Josh will highlight a selected video and present the winner with the 'You Tube Tuesday' Award.

Enjoy this weeks timeless selection by Van Morrison and the photo of me surrounded by my adoring fans. Hmmmm...which should I dance with?

Hiding in a Paragraph

Cover Art by Fran Murphy

I just published my 100th Blog post this week. Looking over my one hundred entries I noticed that I’ve written on scores of subjects, yet I don’t believe that I’ve ever written on the subject of writing. I guess I’ve sort of kept this topic tucked away. It’s something so personal that I tend to keep it to myself...forgetting that it’s a viable topic. I think about it all the time; probably as much as a devoted mother does her only child. Writing is always with me. So, today I intend to share some of my thoughts on writing.

Words are the expression of our souls. We speak of the things that live inside of us: our hopes, fears, dreams and passions. We often write about sensitive things…topics that we may find hard to talk about. We hide our feelings in our paragraphs like spies seeking a way to communicate--without really speaking. It’s as though by writing we create a safe distance between our feelings and our selves…a cushion of sorts.

As writers we have an immeasurable palette of colorful words and an endless supply of white paper canvases on which to create our soul paintings…this is our art.

I write because it allows me the freedom of expression without the hesitancy of the tongue…that nervousness that arises when it’s my turn to speak. I have so much to say but I’ve never been completely comfortable with the stage. Writing provides me with a stress-free stage from which to speak.

I write to figure things out. Solve the mysteries of my life. When I’m tied in a knot, and confounded, I write with reckless abandon; tearing away at my inhibitions like an erotic stripper, until I’m running naked and free, and smiling at the intimate beauty of it all.

I write because I am a full vessel whose contents have communal value. In order to remain full I must pour myself out; imparting to partake. I do this with honesty, passion and fear; showing my nakedness to the world in order for the world to embrace its own nakedness.

I don’t write for an agent’s approval or for monetary rewards. If these come I will joyfully accept them as the fruit of my labor; I don’t need them in order to validate my work. My work validates itself.

These days there is a lot of agitation in the publishing industry. Between e-pubs and a sinking economy, agents are desperately searching for that “sure thing”, and are very reluctant to take on new authors. Although frustrating, this needn’t be a negative thing. It simply is what it is. I believe that if the writing is good, then in time, the work will rise to the top…like cream.

As writers, we are the ones whose art provides publishers, agents, and a number of others with a living. These days it seems everyone is fighting for a piece of the literary pie. We now have the tools to publish our own works. We needn’t wait countless years for the approval of an agent.

My novel, Cosette’s Tribe, in spite of numerous queries and a recent literary award, still sits like a demure debutante waiting for a suitor. She needn’t wait forever, after all she’s in her prime…and ready to dance. It just might be time for mother to take things into her own capable hands. I certainly don’t intend to shelf a manuscript that took me years to create because of the greed and indifference of a desperate industry. I will lovingly present her to the world on my terms and let the readers decide her fate for themselves. Readers do have the discernment to choose what they like in spite of what the publishers may think.


If you would like to read the first two chapters of Cosette’s Tribe simply click on the link entitled “The Blotter Literary Magazine” at the top right hand side of my blog. It might take a couple of minutes to load, so go grab yourself a drink and then come back and meet my firstborn, Cosette. Her story starts on page 4.

Soaring Hearts

I began my Tuesday in the usual manner, picking up a client, (who is more like a friend) and then heading out together to run errands and maybe dig up some fun. It was a blue-domed day with wispy white clouds …a perfect jigsaw puzzle sky.

We chatted as we headed to our first appointment, or I should say that I chatted while she remained silent and somewhat somber looking. Being the consummate cheerleader I asked “What’s shaking lady?” to which she replied, “Momma died two years ago today.” I watched as her lower lip quivered, cuing the tears. “I’m sorry.” I said, handing her a napkin from the glove box, and then turning down the radio.

I remember her mother, a ferociously private woman, devoted to the care of her developmentally disabled daughter, and her duties as a nurse. I used to enjoy the challenge of engaging her in conversation, always hungry for the reward of watching her face light up as she spoke about the things that she loved: her God, her family, and her work. You never would have guessed that she was engaged in the battle of her life against breast cancer. I have no memory of her ever mentioning it or complaining about feeling ill. She was an incredibly brave woman.

“We have to do something to honor her memory.” I said, hoping for some inspiration, a Band-Aid to put on my friend’s wounded heart. “We can do balloons.” She suggested, with a hint of a smile. So balloons it was. We drove to the Dollar Store and picked up two beautiful heart shaped balloons; she insisted I get one for my mom too. We then drove to the beach, where the sky is wide open and the dependable gulf breeze could carry our hearts high up to heaven.


Standing on the pier in silence, she held onto the balloons which were now dancing in the wind, straining against their leashes like two eager pups ready for a romp in the park.

Speaking softly, as though not wanting to disturb the other occupants of heaven, she began, “Hi mom, I really miss you. I know that you’re in heaven so I’m sending you a balloon so you’ll remember how much I love you. God, I love you too; please take care of my Momma.” Her face softened; she had made contact. I then took my turn, now made easy by my friend’s willingness to go first.



Unwinding the strings from her hand she released the balloons. Our two hearts soared up higher and higher, as though answering a call to go home. Squinting into the sky we waited, smiling…until they magically disappeared from our view forever.

Warts Wrong With You?

I was thinking about genuine beauty the other day, and how, being human, we all have imperfections, or as some call them...warts. Yet it’s those very warts that we’ve been taught to despise that can often be endearing…even charming. I had a boyfriend once who had a thin scar across his top lip. Instead of viewing this as a flaw, I saw it as sexy as hell, giving him a bad boy persona which sent shivers down my spine. Unfortunately our society has trained us to hide our warts…to be ashamed of them.

There are different categories of warts; some are really obvious because they appear on the outside of us, like: extra pounds, crooked teeth, wrinkles, and birth marks. We nip, suction, bleach, and snip at our imperfections hoping to come as close to perfect as possible. But is all this really necessary? I think that we’re missing out on appreciating what makes us unique. Since when did beauty marks turn into moles? I have one on my back that’s a dead ringer for W.C. Fields that I’ve been dying to show off!

Our society worships beauty and youth. Get a look at any magazine cover and you’ll see them praising the gorgeous and humiliating the homely. Of course these beauties, whose faces shine with glossy perfection from their supermarket marquees, inspiring us to feel plainer than unbuttered toast, have all been Photo-Shopped from the top of their shiny foreheads all the way down to their bumpy bottoms.

We humans have been around for like a gazillion years battling zits, dental decay, wrinkles, and finally succumbing to death, so you’d think by now we would have learned how to embrace our imperfections. But no, instead we worship youth and beauty…what most of us don’t have, and none of us can keep. Duh! What kind of message are we sending to our kids?



Now for the other type of wart that many of us wrestle with; it is officially known as the Fatigo Wart, but most of us are more familiar with its common street name, the worry wart. Worry warts are the most versatile of warts in that they cover just about anything which may, or may not, go wrong in our lives. They cause us to worry about everything from the apocalypse to bankruptcy, foreclosure to insanity, then onwards to unemployment and finally zymosis (which ironically is the development and spread of an infectious disease caused by a fungus).

Worry warts reside between our ears and have the power to scare the ever loving crap out of us without anything bad ever actually happening. One sign that your young child might have worry warts is if he/she has a preoccupation with the Boogie Man. In teenagers symptoms may manifest themselves in paranoid feelings that nobody likes them, which in turn may lead to body piercing, filthy bedrooms, and excessive back talking.

Worry warts are harder to detect in adults. By this age most people have found clever ways to camouflage the symptoms until they honestly believe that they don’t have them any more. Here is a little check list to see if you might be infected with worry warts. Have you found yourself:

1. Returning home just to check if you locked the door.
2. Spending outrageous amounts of energy trying to please everybody.
3. Stockpiling food for the end times.
4. Repeatedly asking your friends if they’re mad at you.
5. Running background checks on all of your neighbors.

Although worry warts are among the most common of fungi, and the most simple to treat, millions of people still suffer from their effects. If you happen to be one of these people, don’t worry…oops! My bad;)

Anyway, I did a little bit of research so that I could give you an easy to follow plan on how to cure your worry warts. This is what I’ve come up with.

A. Believe in the good stuff instead of the bad stuff; it requires the same amount of energy.
B. Live happily ever after.

Join me next time folks when I will be lecturing on tape worm infestation and how it impacts the fashion industry.

ELR accepts no liability for the consequences of any actions taken on the basis of the information provided, unless that information is subsequently confirmed in blood on October 31st at 1313 Mockingbird Lane. Although ELR has taken reasonable precautions to ensure no worry warts are present in this post, ELR cannot accept responsibility for any ulcers or nervous break downs arising from worry warts.

Fearless Floating

Did you ever get an idea and then when you follow through with it it turns out all wrong? “Huh?” You say, screwing your face up into a confused mud puddle. You taste the soup and it’s too salty; you compare the photo to your painting and yours looks like a one dimensional rendition of cartoon meets real world. You date a dream boat only to find out that he has leaks. Not only is he not sea worthy… he’s not you worthy.

Then there are bigger choices…you choose your career based on economics and availability, or maybe you were pressured into this choice by an over bearing parent or a critical spouse. You sign up for classes, ignoring your gut which seems to be screaming “run!” and a few years later you’ve earned a framed document (worth five bucks) declaring you a “fill in the blank” specialist…something you never wanted to be. Now you’re thirty thousand dollars in debt with student loans, and depressed at the notion of spending the rest of your life doing something that drains you…when all you ever really wanted to do was train horses.

Life is full of choices, detours, and unexpected endings and sometimes no matter how careful we are things can go really screwy. This is where the flow comes in. I’m a firm believer in going with the flow. I’m not talking about having no direction. I’m talking about doing all that you can to make something happen and then putting it down. It is at this point that you jump into the river, and go with the flow.

We have limited vision; we can’t see the future; therefore we sometimes have limited dreams. Our plan may sound good, but it just might be less than what we are really capable of. Oprah is a fine example of this. She never would have dreamed that her future would unfold in such a grand manner. God had more in store for her than she had for herself. She did what she could and then she went with the flow.

Right now I’m in the flow with my first novel. I’m doing all that I can do to get it to an agent. I’ve also got some things lined up in case I choose to go with the self-publishing option; although at this moment I’m not ready to do that. There is a little voice inside of me that tries to make me feel anxious about the future of my book. Hell, my little voice doesn’t stop there; it tries to make me feel anxious about everything! But…I’m ignoring that little voice because I’m busy floating on this river.

The point I’m making is this: If life is keeping you guessing, sending you down strange alleyways, or setting up roadblocks, then there is a good chance that life is trying to communicate with you. Keep doing what you need to do, but don’t panic, and don’t push it. When you make decisions from a fearful place you just might end up selling yourself short. Breathe, dance, have a glass of wine, or take up yo-yo surfing! Do anything, but don’t jump ahead of the flow.

Man…I’m awfully teachy today. I must need to hear this stuff;)

Charred Confetti

Seeking sleep; the purest form of solitary comfort and escape, you toss, becoming tangled in the bed’s wrinkled accessories, surrendering again to the feelings that direct your mind’s traffic.

It’s been a long conflicted evening. Why do the soul’s deepest queries seem to emerge at bedtime; an aphotic pop quiz, asking the toughest questions at a time when you feel the most depleted and least prepared to answer.

You check the clock and moan. Time is not cooperating; he’s dragging his heavy feet again, puttering and stalling…making you wait. You change positions; kick off the blankets. Your mind stares into itself; a smoky crystal ball conjuring a vision.

Mutinous thoughts congregate like a murder of crows on a tightrope; omens of doom with jagged wings and lethal beaks. Their focused eyes are seeded with evil; they target your most vulnerable places. You try deflecting the attack, but your shield becomes too heavy, allowing the enemy to build momentum. Your mind becomes a movie reel of madness and tragedy taking hostages and burning corpses.

Your eyes snap open. It’s difficult to breathe. Your heart feels too large for your chest; it’s beating too quickly. Is this your heart? Is this your mind? The darkness fills every space like a rising flood of dirty water.

A vibration distracts you from your morbid ruminations. Youthful laughter and the thrumming bass of a stereo pull you back to the palpable. The car passes your house and you listen as the sound slowly dissipates into the endless shadows of the nighttide. You wonder where they’re going, all jacked-up on life, plowing through your phantoms; scattering crows like charred confetti.

Facing our Fears

Lately a lot of good people that I know have been getting pinned to the mat of life by some heavy trials. I’m stunned by the number of friends who are struggling in so many areas of their lives. Usually life will hit you in the wallet, or the heart, or your health. But it seems that these friends are being hit hard in multiple areas of their lives causing some to become really discouraged.

We all know that life has a cyclic rhythm, and that one day we may be sitting high on a mountain top while the next day we may find ourselves at the bottom of a very dark hole tossing ashes on our heads and cursing the day that we were born. When we’re in a dark hole we forget how amazing the mountain top was and visa versa.

I just came out of a very intense trial, where I found it hard to remember my truth. Everything seemed drained of color; being tainted with fear and hopelessness. When I was in it I couldn’t imagine being out of it. It’s like lying on the beach in July and trying to imagine a snow storm.

One of the things that I learned from this recent wrestling match with life was that the truth is always there for me to grab on to…as long as I don’t have my hands full of other stuff. This other stuff is usually fear. Fear is centered on loss and is our most formidable foe because it has the power to trigger so many emotional responses; responses like rage, jealousy, greed, pride, and even murder and suicide.

We’ve all read the headlines where some famous person, who seemed to have it all, embezzles money, screws up a great marriage, or dies in a roach infested hotel of a drug overdose, leaving us all left to wonder why. How could somebody, who seemingly had so much, come so undone? Somewhere in this person’s life they began listening to the lies of fear, telling them that who they were just wasn’t enough.

Fear likes to paralyze us so that we cease from being fruitful. It undermines our confidence and makes us doubt our gifts. You see our gifts are our weapons of love. We need them to fulfill our purpose on this earth. They enrich our lives with meaning and inspire the lives of others, lifting us high above this weary world so that we can see eternity.

I had one friend say that she felt like a fraud in her job because she felt so out of control in her own life. She said, “I’m supposed to have it all together. How can I possibly help others?” Oh really? Who has it all together? Nobody. If we had to wait to do anything until we had it all together we’d all be sitting around self-obsessing over our screwed up lives and nothing would ever get done.

I guess what I’m trying to say is this: If life has sent a renegade sumo wrestler, in need of a breath mint, and a diaper change, to kick your weary ass…don’t you dare run! It’s times like these that are known to precede the greatest victories of all. Open your hands and let go of your fears, surrender your expectations for certain outcomes and trust that the absolute best result is coming your way.

Try living one moment at a time and trust that wisdom will speak to you when important decisions need to be made. Anything more than this is delusional: a mere attempt at controlling the universe, which by the way already has a director.

You’re being here is no accident. There is a loving plan and purpose. Trust in this and your life will improve. Oh, and then pour some wine, blast some good music, and dance till you drop! What? That always helps me;)