The Story So Far...

I admit, I stole the title for this entry from a Battlefield Band album. But it's an apt way to describe how we're all doing, don't you think?

And I had an interesting perspective on how I'm "doing," almost five and a half years after Patrick's death, during a message I wrote to a man with whom I'm chatting on Catholic Chemistry.  Yes, I've done some dating services. No, you don't want to know how many...or that I was 7-for-7 on scammers with at least one of them...or what some of the men out there seem to be focused on when they talk about a new relationship. (It's a three-letter word. Use your imagination.) But this particular entry was an answer to his musings about whether he may have been too picky all his life, looking for a woman to settle down with--he'd never married--and the makings of "chemistry." He asked me if I believed in it, and if it was something that happened fast, or something that "grew" on you...what I thought.  And I looked at that, and just laughed.

How I answered him, I think, shows a great deal about how far I've come, where I've come to, and what I'm looking at in this new reality of mine. See what you think:

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Brace yourself, because you asked the wrong girl about "chemistry." LOL! Yes, I believe in it...boy, do I! It could be said that I kind of NEED to, as a romance writer...but I'm lucky/fortunate/blessed enough to have also had terrific chemistry on my "second time around," and I miss him every single day.

I say "second time around" because technically, I had a first marriage--but I was never married in the eyes of the Church, and I've come to refer to that relationship as my "fake first husband." Oh, we were legal and all--but we married at age 20, and we frankly didn't have a clue what we were doing. The young man was a charmer who proposed to me on the second date. (!) Coming from a father who was verbally abusive, emotionally crippled, and not the kind of "daddy" any little girl should have, I ate up the affection, laughter, and compliments of this guy, and I thought that was all it'd take. I did my best to be a good little Baptist wife, kowtowed to his preacher father, and all the rest. Seven years later, when I discovered my husband was a chronic liar, couldn't hold a job, and had a disturbing affinity to violent and/or pornographic literature...I bailed. I got a legal separation, moved out into my own apartment, and pursued full-time music study...

...and then, I encountered the love of my life.

I don't say I "met" him because, in fact, I had already MET Patrick. He was in the same music classes I was, we performed in several ensembles together (as well as performing in separate ensembles at the same concerts!), and I knew OF him. But he was a very quiet, reserved, and shy drummer, and so I never knew him, per se...until one night, (purely "by chance") I sat next to him at a choir pizza party, we started talking--and the bond was immediate. We "clicked" so well that, that night going home in the car, my hands were shaking on the steering wheel. I knew SOMETHING had happened to me--what, I wasn't sure yet!

From there, we became fast friends, then best friends....and eventually, he decided he wanted to date me. Truth to tell, I was head-over-heels for him probably about from "hello," and he claimed he'd had a "sign" early on that I was the one. But he was a very, very cautious soul, and he wanted to take his time pursuing a relationship with a divorced woman, especially since she was 7 years older. (Yeah. Just call me "cougar"! LOL)

But the chemistry? Happened like lightning. Everyone who knew both of us told me repeatedly that we had "something special." And we did. It was more than just our shared faith, our shared music, our shared weird sense of humor, or--let's face it--a whole lot of just plain physical attraction. Fundamentally, we looked at the world the same way, which is kind of my informal definition of "compatibility." And yes, we went through all kinds of trials...but we laughed almost every single day, never lacked for conversation, and came through some very rough times even more in love than we started.

Does that mean he was perfect? Heck, no. Neither am I. And there are a lot of things about the relationship, and his personality and habits, that I DON'T miss. But in balance? I believe we were absolutely meant for each other, and had been from before either of us was born. That kind of "soulmate" truly IS rare, and I know a lot of people who settle for less; I feel sorry for them. But if you may have been a bit picky about what you were looking for in terms of a wife, imagine how picky I am NOW! (LOL) Yes, I know the bar is set incredibly high, and I may never find another partner that good. As Tom Hanks' character says in SLEEPLESS IN SEATTLE, "It doesn't happen twice." It does, of course, in that romantic movie. It may not for me, but if it doesn't, I have to say....I'm okay anyway. Yes, it's lonely. But it's lonely for a particular brand of person, a particular brand of relationship...not just for "having someone" in my life. And that difference is important.

That's why I also believe that the best thing someone who's looking for a "partner" can do is to learn how to be happy alone. I did that as a single girl in college, and I'm doing it now. Put your imprint on your space. Surround yourself with things you love. Do things, as a single person, that treat YOU well. So many times in my grief-support group, people will talk about not wanting to cook a nice meal "just for one person," because it seems like it's "not worth it." To which I want to say, "Of course, it's worth it. That one person is YOU, and you deserve good food." The same applies to the rest of one's life--you deserve a place you can snuggle up and "nest" in, something far more than just a place to eat, sleep, or wash up. You want a haven for yourself, and you want to treat yourself well. Because Jesus says. "Love your neighbor as yourself..." but all too often, people forget the "as yourself" part. It has to be part of the mix, or you won't know how to love someone else well!

So, yeah. This very long answer to your long post boils down to a couple of answers. I most definitely DO believe in "chemistry," and I believe you don't know if it's there or not until you're face to face with the person. You can think it's there through such things as these messages, or even over the phone...but there's another component to it that only happens when you're physically present with the other person. That's when you know for sure. It can happen very fast, or it can build nice and slow...but for me, it has to be there, or I have to say, "Thanks, but no, thanks," to pursuing anything further.

Hope this gives you some insights!

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Thoughts?

Janny

Some Fun and Frolic for Musical Monday!

 This.  Just way too much fun, IMHO. Although it could also be said there IS no such thing as too much fun...

(as the old country tune said so well!)

Enjoy!

Janny

"Russian" Into Musical Monday!

Yeah, I know. I couldn't resist.

But this is worth the trip.

As I say in my Facebook post, I'm "T-H-I-S close" to getting this under control. And when I do, the chills that will run through my system could air-condition this house for the rest of summer.

Good chills. Trust me.

In the meantime, enjoy this version. I certainly do!

Janny

What's the Good Word?

Probably many of you are too young to remember what the question above was a common greeting...but that's neither here nor there. 😉

I've had to stop reading two books this week.

One promised to be a neat, paranormal suspense book, with ghosts and hauntings and danger and all. I was really looking forward to it.

Until I got into the book, and discovered that everybody in it had potty mouths.

Yes. Including the seven-year-old son.

But what wore on me even more was the casual gutter speech from the parents.

Specifically, Mom.

Now, it's a British book. So, I had to tell myself over and over again, "Brits are cruder in their everyday speech than you're used to."

So when she teases her husband by calling him a "cheeky bastard," I could laugh along. He was being one, as a matter of fact. 

But when she greeted her kids, first thing in the morning, by saying, "You're up early. Did you shit the bed or something?"

I stopped.

And, while I did read a little further into the book, at that point, I lost interest.

The book had many "tripping points" for those of us used to an opening that moves fast, anyhow; it delved into great and meticulous detail about the layout of this fantastic estate where that the woman was going to be live-in manager. Describing in fine specifics the lengths, and breadths, and numbers of doors, and the whole shot. Even that, I could adapt to...in a book where, clearly, the setting is as much a character as the people. I get that. I've even done it. Although not, it must be said, in such exhaustive geographic detail.

But not a mother thinking it's in any way remotely affectionate to tease her children about being up early by asking if someone's defecated in a bed.

I wonder, to this moment, what she would have responded if they'd said, "Yes."

Part of me, I confess, wanted them to. Just to see her jaw drop.

But they took that in good spirit, as if that was the kind of thing their mother said to them all the time. And the notion of that turned my stomach.

When the language of the kids didn't improve any over the next few pages...I stopped. I just had had enough of their smart-ass mouths. 

I no longer cared if the ghost got any of them. In fact, I was rooting for it.

The same has happened with a second book I started, and was quite absorbed in, because a lot out of it is funny. It's another paranormal thriller, with a black-humor bent in it that I appreciate. 

I even was heartened when, in the first several pages, the language was actually cleaner than I expected.

Unfortunately, that didn't last.

But the kicker for me? One particular scene, upon which a major incident in the story gets built. A scene in which our "hero"'s wife is being, shall we say, sexually indulged by one of her fellow workers. 

Mind you, they're only separated, she and the hero. Not divorced yet. And he doesn't really want to divorce her.

Until that moment, when he doesn't catch them directly in the act...but right afterward.

And he spares us no description of what that looks like. Body parts, reactions, smells, the whole thing.

This is piled on top of an increasingly foul text anyway, in which our hero is dealing with mobsters and semi-mobsters and people who once did business with the mob, and petty crooks, and the whole shot...and none of them, apparently, know any creative words and terms beyond "a**hole," *d***head," and, of course, the ever-popular "f**k" (and all its forms).  

A little of that, I put up with. 

When we then start to wallow, deeper and deeper, into language--be it conversation or description--that makes me want to take a shower when I'm done reading it?

I'm outta there.

Which brings up my ever-present question.

There are over 600,000 words in the English language.

Why can't people learn to use some more of them?

And why don't publishers demand better?

One time, someone posted on Twitter that he couldn't understand why people had a problem with the word "f**k." 

I said, because it's vulgar, obscene, and repetitive.

To which another respondent agreed with the first poster and said, "Oh, but there are situations in which it's the perfect word."

To which I responded, "Only if you're too lazy to find any others."

I stand by that.

I stand by that as pertains to "a**hole," as pertains to *d***head," and a host of other terms that are so peppered throughout most contemporary prose that, were they actual pepper, you couldn't consume the dish they were used on.

Which, when you think about it, is a very good metaphor.

People will say, over and over, "But this is the way people talk."

To which I can only answer, "It's not the way I talk. And it's not the way people with a grain of decency talk. Or write. Or narrate things."

Above all, it's not the way people who actually want to convey real English talk...or write. 

And before you scream protests? It can be done.

It has been. Countless times. 

You can write about the seamiest, grittiest, most down-and-dirty plot points in the world in your prose without a single one of these lazy words.

And, no, it won't sound like a Sunday school teacher wrote it.

Because there are some really wonderful words in the lexicon that can be used as substitutes for these words. And they're not just substitutes, in that you're doing some knee-jerk "cleaning up" of your writing--they're actually better words.

More descriptive.

More vivid.

One or two, or half a dozen of these other "gems," in speech? If you want to have your characters portrayed as lazy speakers, go ahead.

But peppering them throughout narrative, throughout thoughts, throughout conversation as if they're anything but the nauseating insensitivities they are?

You do that, I'm going to get tired of digging through the excrement to get to the pony. But worse than that, for your author's reputation...is that I'm going to doubt that there even is a pony in there to begin with.

And I will set your book aside.

And I will delete it from my Kindle.

And I promise, I will never recommend it to anybody. 

Do you really want that reaction from a reader? Any reader?

You all can do better. I know you can.

Give it a try.

Go ahead.

I dare you.

Thoughts?

Janny

Musical Monday for my Birthday Week!

Hey, all...time for some sweet dance music!

Enjoy...

Janny

 

 

How Did This Happen? (lol)

 So here I am, doing my Social Duty on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram...

...telling people to feel free to bop on over HERE and enjoy the writing therein...

...only to realize that with all this socializing, plus finishing the newest book, I haven't actually WRITTEN anything new in here for ...er...let's not say how long!

Added to that the fact that I'm repurposing a LOT of older material into "writing tips" every Tuesday...

...added to that the fact that I've been doing social events at church and helping a friend move...

Yeah. 

I really need to set aside a definite time to update THIS place, and my Website.

Because a lot is happening in my writing life.

I'm getting more attention now, and I might be getting that attention multiplied through a various set of social connections that even I'm having trouble keeping up with!

All this, by way of building a "platform." Upon which to do, what, precisely?

That, they don't ever clarify. It's just something they want to see, so that they'll be assured that someone, somewhere, will actually BUY your book when it comes out.

Seems to me if it's a whiz-bang terrific book, that ought to take care of itself.

But it doesn't. Because there's just plain too darn many books out there for ANYONE to sort through anymore. Thanks to the brave new world of indies, small presses, and dozens of "fan" sites upon which you can publish anything from essays to complete short stories.

And, it goes without saying, most of this is free to the public. Except for the poor indie author or small press author. Not to mention those of us trying to crack "traditional" publishing.

And waiting for "traditional" publishing to remember that there are some of us out here who ARE, in fact, traditional.  You know who you are. I don't have to tell you. 

Nevertheless, over the past four years I have written SEVEN books.

Yeah. Count 'em. SEVEN.

That includes my personal love-story memoir, which I don't anticipate ever publishing.

So SIX for public consumption.

SIX.

I didn't have six books to my name for the previous 30 years' worth of trying to crack this thing.

I am grateful.

I am also...consequently...really, really, really BUSY.

What have YOU all been doing?

Elaborate in the comments!

More to come,

Janny

Repurposing, Reporpoising, Reintroducing, Oh, My!

Yes...I know there's no such word as "reporpoising." I don't think you actually can "porpoise" in the first place.  On account of cuz "porpoise" is a noun, and all. 

Just a disclaimer. Since nowadays, you have to explain everything. 👌

But, a short note is apropos here about what's going on with some blog posts. Which, if you've been following me on any other social media, you may realize you've "seen before."

Yup. Because almost no one saw them the FIRST time...and they're good stuff. That deserves to be shared.  That people are enjoying in its new "incarnation."

I can't promise this won't occur again, and again, and again.

But don't worry. I also plan to write more NEW stuff, too. 

Which, if you've ended up here because of the material you're seeing in other sources...is ALSO a good thing.

So, don't be shy. Dip into some of the previous years' work here...and you might get a smile.

And a sneak preview of the next Tuesday Writing Tip!

Stay tuned,

Janny

A Musical Monday for the Beginning of Summer!

Since tomorrow is the Summer Solstice...some "nature music" to celebrate!

(And, because anytime is a good time for Dvořák!)

Enjoy!

Janny

Be Careful What You Wish For...Or, No Good Deed Goes Unpunished (Original post: May 2007)

The more things change, the more they stay the same. And this is still something you can run into...so I'm revisiting it here. Enjoy!

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For years, I’ve enjoyed a certain ability to help people with their writing. I have some skill in editing, some skill in storytelling, a pernicious and truly frightening grasp of spelling and grammar…and I don’t hesitate to use them. 

But I didn’t come to this spot overnight. And no one does.

Which leads me to a few words about an incident I had recently.

If you spend enough time online, you get to know people. Their styles. How they work, if they work, if they really care about writing or if they’re just hanging out. Doesn’t take much more than oh, say, three or four excursions into a chat with someone to tell where they are on the Writer Spectrum.

Some of us don’t care if we write for anything but our own amazement, and that’s fine. Many times, these people who’ve decided to do this thing for fun are among the happiest of us (!)—but also, curiously enough, they can tend to be the most understanding of the ups and downs of the writing life, and just how hard it can be to make it in this business.

Maybe that acute understanding is precisely why they don’t pursue it as a business/career. They know how hard it is, and they don’t want to work that hard. God love ‘em—they do us all a great service with their positive attitudes, their sheer enjoyment, and sometimes their safe shoulders. (Not to mention their occasional chocolate!)

Then there are all the rest of us. We want to sell our work, to progress in the craft of writing so that we eventually get a) past the form rejection postcards, into the b) realm of longer notes, encouraging and sometimes even signed by an editor…and inviting us to send something else (!), and finally, c) to a sale. Or many sales (from my keyboard to God’s ears).

Those of us in this group are also in a wide spectrum of ability and experience. We’re all over the place. But there are certain things we learn, over time. We learn that our high school English teachers didn’t necessarily know whether we could write. Those who thought we could, and those who told us we couldn’t, are often equally right. It’s what we start doing after high school that ends up counting. :-)

We learn that if we’re ever going to grow as writers, someone besides our mothers and best friends needs to read what we do and offer us feedback.

We learn that sometimes that feedback isn’t very polite, or doesn’t spare our feelings. If we’re lucky, we learn that our worst “enemies” probably help us grow the most.

We learn that sometimes that feedback is just plain wrong, but it’s still worth listening to because it can often point to a potential reader problem.

We learn which people in our lives are really good at pinpointing what will improve and strengthen our work, and which of them aren’t really good at that…yet. (This doesn’t mean they might not get good at it. This whole craft is a work in progress.)

But above all…we learn that writing is work.

Note: this doesn’t mean it’s not fun, or that it need be drudgery, or that it has to somehow “hurt” to be “real art.” Few things are more irritating than hearing either whining about how “hard” the “artist’s life” is, or how now that you’re “serious” about writing, “it’s not fun anymore.” If you’re hurting, see a helper. If it’s not fun, get out of the pool. Sometimes that’s the kindest thing you can do for yourself, not to mention everyone else.

But make no mistake about the other side of this, either. Writing is work. It’s hard work. It’s the second-most fun you can have with your clothes on (music is first), but it’s also work. Succeeding in this work takes time. And commitment. And effort.

It also takes something the athletes among us know well—something called coachability. 

And that’s where many people fall down on the job. They simply aren’t coachable.

If you tell them their writing needs work, they tell you they’ve done that work. Only problem is, the writing shows no improvement. Which means that somewhere, there’s a disconnect. Somewhere in there, they’re lying to themselves. And that special form of denial is not a good place to spend your writing life.

I had an incident one weekend that illustrates this to a tee.

A particular writer acquaintance of mine sent me a message late on a Saturday night asking for advice/help/etc. We had a long IM conversation, during which I got sent a link to the potential publisher she was thinking of…and then a second link that I thought would take me to another publishing site. Instead, it took me to a chat room where she was hanging out with her friends. 

Now, keep in mind, this is 11:30 PM and counting. And I’ve been up and on the road that day since 5 AM. I’m in fact in my hotel, winding down after Day One of some family stuff. Good family stuff, but still…tiring. I don’t mind talking writing for a few minutes before I go to bed. And that’s what I thought I was doing…talking one on one with this gal. For a few minutes. 

Instead, I end up in this room with these people yakking—people who obviously think I’m there for a visit!—and I’m wondering where the focus of the first gal went to.

So after pretty much resisting sticking around in the chat room, I exchange a few other words of advice with her, and we call it a night, okay on both sides. Or so I think, until I get home from my trip, boot up my e-mail, and discover this woman has written me to tell me that I have done something not even a destructive parent could…I have convinced her she has no talent. 

So after claiming 50 finished books, she is going to stop. She's going to destroy it all, and stop writing forever, since she obviously is never going to be published, because no one cares for anything she'd want to say. 

Boys and girls, can you spell overreaction? 

What had I said to so totally finish her off? 

That she needed to go back to her synopsis, strip back everything that wasn’t central to her story, and see what she had left. She had gone into numerous side trips, most of which were backstory, and I told her that. I also said something along the lines of, “No one is going to care about your characters unless you give us a reason to. So find those reasons. Tap into those. There’s your story, not all this detail about haunted castles and ghosts and curses and all the other stuff. Latch onto the story.”

I had good reason to say this. She had supposedly sent this material to 30 other places, editors and agents, and she couldn’t figure out why none wanted it. So I told her.

I wasn’t necessarily gentle about it, but neither was I brutal. I was frank. The way I always am…and most of all, the way this gal knows I am, because she knows me. 

And I probably was less patient with her than I could have been, had it not been 11:30 PM (when my body thought it was 12:30 AM!), had I not been basically led down the garden path into this chatroom, where I had no intention of being…

…and had this whole thing not been just another manifestation of this gal’s lack of ability to take advice and actually use it to improve.

You see, she was going to use my editorial services, not too very long ago. She was going to pay for them and everything. (!) As soon as she got a certain check she was waiting on, we were going to go for it.

That was December of 2005. She never executed that agreement.

Prior to that, she sent me a query letter and synopsis and asked my feedback. I was glad to give it. Only problem was, prior to her getting the feedback, she sent the thing off, flaws and all. And then she was surprised when it was rejected.

She has received critiques from many of us, specific, pointed stuff, aimed at helping her get better. Only when she submits her material to us again, supposedly revised…it’s no better.

This woman claims that at times she’s spent 12 hours a day at the keyboard. But 12 hours a day at the keyboard is just exercise, and not very good exercise at that, if you can’t discipline yourself to stop believing your friends who say your work is “wonderful” and start believing people who are really trying to help you, even if what they’re telling you will only “slow you down” to put into practice.

The fact that those people see the same errors over and over again should tell you something.

And that something isn’t that those people are too picky.

Nor is it that anyone is saying you have no talent. 

But raw talent does nothing for you unless you’re willing to be coached. Really willing to be coached. 

You also need to be willing to take the time to grow. Not to try to force it, to try to adhere to some timetable you have in your head, or the like. Goals are fine, but they take time to get to. And if you're not willing to give yourself and your work that time, you'll only spin your wheels. 

As my dh and I learned long ago in music school, it’s not just how long you practice. It’s how well. It’s how intelligently.

If you claim to want publication, part of that intelligence is a generous dose of humility and patience to go with a work ethic that could shame a Puritan. If you can’t muster up the intelligence, the humility, the patience, the work ethic and give it all time enough to take root, for growth to occur…maybe the answer is that you really do need to quit the "business" end of this and just do it for entertainment.

But the one thing you don't have the right to do…is blame someone else for that.

Needless to say, I won’t be trying to help this person anymore. That’s a shame, but it’s also freeing. As I said to my own crit partner, “There may be a lot of clueless people in the writing world—but boy, is it nice to know I don’t have to fix ‘em all!”

Amen, and amen. 

Life's too short to play denial games. If you aren't going to run with the big dogs, it's okay to rest on the porch. Just don't project onto other people reasons for decisions you make yourself...either by your conscious effort or by your unwillingness to do the work needed to get to where you say you want to go. 

 

Thoughts?

Janny

Reprise!--or, If They Can Do It On TV...

OK. I've written this blog for something like 16 or 17  years now, if you count all its iterations, being discontinued and then renamed and brought back...et al.

But lately, I've also become WAY more active on social media. 

To the point where, while I aim people toward this blog frequently, it has also dawned on me that I've been so busy aiming people here...that there's precious LITTLE for them to read once they get here, unless they're brave enough to venture into "Earlier Posts" or even earlier years.

And I suspect many of them don't want to do that. Or would love to, and don't have the time.

So...I'm going to do something that, on one level, bothers me...

...and on another level only seems like common sense.

I'm going to start "reprising" older blog posts here.

As I do that, I will probably delete them from the archives of earlier years--just so there's no confusion.

And so the blog front page doesn't become so crowded that it's daunting to newcomers.

In that spirit, watch this space...for new and improved content that's actually based on OLD and only semi-improved content!

Stay tuned...

Janny

A Mendelssohn Musical Monday!

A piece I'm actually working on...for today's installment.  

Stay tuned for the day when I can finally play again. In the meantime, enjoy!

Janny

Something Mellow for Musical Monday!

Check this out...you KNOW you want to!

More to come...

Janny

Happy Musical Monday!

Nothing starts a week on which I'm going into surgery (!) like a little Debussy that I'm presently working on...and was long, long years ago, when I was in school. It can be an emotional trip pulling out this music that I "know" so well, and yet had to be introduced to, and learn, all over again.  It would be a worse emotional trip for YOU all if I were to subject you to the still-rough version of this I'm polishing! 

Therefore, we'll let Aldo Ciccolini grace your ears with it instead. 

Enjoy!

Janny

It's Tuesday, and You Know What That Means...

Tuesday WRITING TIP time!

Check out this week's--and previous editions...here.

Enjoy!

Janny

Wanna Dance Your Way Into the Week?

Here you go, courtesy of Musical Monday!

Enjoy!

Janny

It's Bright! It's Shiny! It's New!

 ....it's a new book. Working title, PARADIDDLE.

And if you infer by that title that this book will have something to do with percussion...

...you're right.

Cover me. It's gonna get close to the bone soon!

More to come,

Janny

Leadership--Apparently, Ai Haz It, Part 2: Serendipity

Leadership. Some of us apparently "got it"...and that's not always good news!

Last time, we talked about one of the instances of my serving in a leadership capacity that brought about not being appreciated.

And there have been others. I won't rehash the incident (s) now, but if you're curious, check out some of my blog posts from 2006 about RWA, the "flak," and "becoming a public person"...and you'll see that I've earned some good leadership breaks along the way.

Fortunately, I've been granted those--and in some unexpected ways.

I've become vice-president of our church women's group, the St. Anne Sodality, through a process that's almost funny in itself...considering I wasn't even planning on going to the meeting at which the elections were held, for various reasons. Only the Holy Spirit nudged me to go, and the next thing I knew...

I've become a member of the Welcoming Team, part of the Leadership Team for the grief support group I attend--again, when I had no intention of stepping into a leadership role, and just wanted to sit by in the background, listen, share, and go home. (If you know how deeply my introversion goes, you're laughing even harder that the leaders thought I'd be "perfect" for sharing the responsibility of making other people feel welcome at a group!) But, to my absolute surprise, these people clearly adore me...and now I've stepped up as well to help reorganize our group's library, something that was in dire need of doing. 

All this by way of saying that some of us, no matter how we try to avoid it, seem to get tapped for leadership positions--sometimes for no other reasons but that we see something that needs doing, start throwing ideas on the floor as to how it can get done, and before we know it...we're in charge. This has happened to me from grade school on: remember all those "teams" teachers used to put you in to do projects? Yeah. Half the time, I'd end up heading those up, mostly because I actually had a plan and was willing to push for it when the other kids were trying merely to do as little work as possible.

In a way, this also explains why I'm a lousy employee but a great temp worker, too. Temp workers, after all, are usually handed bare-bones descriptions of the jobs they're going to do, and they are expected not only to Figure Things Out, but in some cases, to figure them out as fast as possible, and often in crisis situations. Like the time I walked into the administrative office of a locked psych/substance abuse unit in a mental hospital, and the counselors turned to me and said, "Help?"

My son caught onto this phenomenon in high school as well, when he shared that he was "afraid" he wouldn't get to play the position he wanted on the football team--safety. (The kid had a nose for interceptions and loved doing them!)

To which I said, "Oh? Why wouldn't you get to do that?"

"Because," he said, with a shrug. "They'll make me quarterback instead." 

Why? Because he shows the same leadership quality I have--reluctant as we are to do it sometimes. It's a combination of Having a Clue and Being Willing To Step Up.

A formidable intelligence doesn't hurt--which he also has.  

And he was right. They did make him quarterback. And not only was he really good at it, but he enjoyed it to the hilt. 

But he also got to play safety now and again...and he did pick off more than one pass.

And that's the "serendipity" part of this phenomenon: when you get to do what you want to do in addition to doing what people want to enlist you to do!

The point of all this?

All of us have a bunch of "somethings" that we know we're good at...

...and then there are the "somethings" that other people see in us, and are willing and eager to employ in their own ways.

The only time it's a mistake to give in to that "employment" is when it's something we really, really, really don't want to do...for our own reasons.

Or when it's morally or ethically wrong.

Or when saying "yes" one more time is going to completely exhaust us.

But sometimes, saying "yes" to an offer of leadership, even when we don't see ourselves in that role at all, can open up other doors for us.

Reveal sides to ourselves we didn't know we had, or were afraid to let anyone see...for fear they'd laugh at us.

The great and wonderful joke on us at that point is that not only do people not laugh--but they praise us for the effort. And that's a win, in more than one book. 

Often, leadership--even when we're not all that sure about it, or it feels thrust upon us--turns out to be enrichment, not only for the people we lead, but for ourselves. 

So don't be too quick to assume you're not a leader, of some kind, for someone.

You just might be surprised...and, by accepting, make a whole lot of other people stronger, too.

(And then you won't be tapped every time someone needs a leader! 😄)

Have you ever been "shoved into" a leadership position you didn't expect...that turned out to be way better than you expected?

Share that story in the comments!

Janny

Leadership--Apparently, Ai Haz It, Part 1: Or, Uneasy (Sometimes) Lies the Head that Wears the Crown

In my high-school days, I was famous for joining groups.

I was a member of Pep Club, a natural extension of how much I loved cheering at athletic events...and a natural extension of many of my friendships. My small group of buddies and I spent many a Friday or Saturday night at basketball games, in our uniforms of red vests and gray culottes, screaming as loud as we could for every basket and free throw...not to mention having already spend much of autumn in the bleachers cheering every touchdown and extra point. To the best of my recollection, I was never a "leader" in it,  in that I didn't hold an elected or appointed office. But that was one of the few instances in which I didn't! 

I was a member of Thespians, again, a natural match. I loved the theater, still do. And I earned my stripes through many an hour of securing props, doing makeup, and even--wonder of wonders--being one of the student directors for three one-act plays my senior year.

And I was a member of the staff of the literary magazine. By all reasonable measures, I was in line to be editor-in-chief my senior year; I'd served with distinction all four years in school, and all my peers knew I was the best there was. But then, I butted heads with the faculty advisor...and things got interesting.

First, someone submitted the lyrics to Jimi Hendrix's song "Little Wing" as a poem, signed only "J. Hendrix"...which I promptly brought to her attention. Clearly meant to mock us, to "dare" us to know where it'd come from. Well, I did. And I said so.

She pooh-poohed the concern, told me it had been submitted "anonymously" by someone who wanted to "use a pen name," and that surely I was mistaken. I offered to bring in the album cover of the Hendrix recording from home and show her, but she told me that wouldn't be either appreciated or necessary. And so, our literary magazine published--as if it were original--song lyrics for which we could have been sued, seemingly without concern or worry.

(In 1970, that didn't draw attention like it could have in 2022. Just sayin'. )

The second was my discovery of more plagiarism--of one of MY OWN PIECES of writing--submitted by a former friend who'd basically fallen out with me. She'd turned it in as work to her English teacher, gotten an A, and her teacher had submitted it to the magazine.

You can imagine my feelings when I read it...and who had supposedly "written" it. 

How did she get it, you ask? Simple. In my early teens, I was a fledgling writer whose close buddies enjoyed reading her work.  So, I'd shared it.

This piece was haunting, emotive, and pretty darned good for the 15-year-old I'd been when I'd penned it... but it was also MINE, not hers. Not even two years later, which was when it surfaced.

I squawked. I demanded to talk to both her and her English teacher. I offered to bring in other friends who'd read it, from my hands, two years before. And I kept squawking.

The advisor, faced with my adamant protests, unbent enough that she supposedly went to the other English teacher, who confronted the girl, who admitted to the plagiarism. And the piece was removed from consideration in the magazine.

But she was allowed to keep the A.  Without redoing the work.

I was livid. And I let the advisor know it. I told her, point-blank, to her face, that this was wrong. That letting this girl get away with keeping a grade was, in effect, rewarding her for cheating.

What did I hear in response? "Oh, she apologizes."

To which I said, "Not good enough."

To my knowledge, no other demand was never enforced.

And from that point on,  I was apparently regarded as "trouble."

The advisor gave the editor-in-chief job to a sophomore in one of her classes, one who had less than a tenth of the experience I had but who was one of her "pets"...and I quit. 

This all by way of demonstrating that, when I enter a group, seemingly inevitably I end up becoming a leader in it. For better or worse.

Sometimes, that leadership isn't appreciated at all. 

Sometimes, that leadership gets you publicly vilified.

But then, again, sometimes that leadership "thing" can pleasantly surprise you.

As it has lately, for me.

More on that in Part 2!

To be continued...

Janny

So What's With The Profile Picture, Anyway?

Yanno...it's dawned on me that someone may be wondering who the lovely lady, featured in one corner of my profile, is.  

Well, now, there are a couple of answers to that:

1. If you're a tall, dark, handsome Irishman who plays percussion during his waking hours, and you wonder if it's actually me, in costume...of course, the answer is HECK, YEAH!  Come on down!

2. Okay. The truth, however, is...not really. For one thing, I'm a little more contemporary in my dress than she is. (!) And there are, shall we say, a few other differences as well. Alas.

But the reason that picture is on my page is something that happened a long time ago, at my RWA Chapter meeting, when someone had an old book in which they were doing research and came across portraits of famous poets and writers--and their spouses.

And at that time, that lovely person pointed to the image you see and said, "Wow, you look just like Lord Byron's wife."

To which we all laughed--until we looked at the image. And realized that at that time in my life, yes, indeed, I DID kind of look like this woman. 

Of course, we've all changed in the ensuing years.

Lord Byron's wife is, clearly, no longer with us.

I still am among the living, but...trust me...I don't look like that fresh-faced young thing anymore. 

Although, it must be said, her expression is remarkably similar to the expression I had on my face in one of my bride-alone wedding pictures.

I was looking somewhat pensive, thoughtful, solemn, whatever you want to call it...and to this day it's a shot I think is one of the more beautiful pictures anyone ever took of me.

Of course, I was also 29 years old. So who doesn't look wonderful at 29?

BUT...

In any event...

That's the answer to the question. The lovely lady is Lord Byron's wife, Annabelle. Her story is a sad and disturbing one, with enough soap-opera elements in it to seemingly justify the old saw about artists "suffering to be brilliant." But in this picture, she's clearly enjoying a more serene moment, and I'd like to think that a little of that serenity was in my expression* when my fellow writer declared the likeness.

There you have it.

Any famous, or moderately famous, person out there that they say YOU look like?

Feel free to share in the comments!

Janny

*lest there be any misunderstandings, however, "serenity" has rarely been used to describe my temperament!

The Little Stuff--or, "Would You Like Fries With That?"

Had the TV on yesterday, watching part of a feel-good Hallmark movie as I ate my late lunch, and saw a commercial come on for the finale of This Is Us. It started with a woman singing a snippet of "Time After Time," and clearly was focusing on one of the characters whose memory was going, probably permanently, through one of the horrific mind-stealers such as Alzheimer's.  

Now, I don't watch that show. I never have, although it's been recommended to me. I got a couple of glimpses of some scenes in promos, heard some comments online about it, and decided it wouldn't be a good place for me to hang around, for more than one reason. So, in one sense, I had no context for how deeply the commercial hit me.

But it did me in.  Because the woman's voiceover was saying, "I'm not afraid of losing the big stuff. That's not what I'm worried about. It's the little things I'm afraid of losing."

And I sat in front of the TV and bawled.

Because that's what it's always, and ever, all about. 

That's what life is about.

A thousand little things. Strung together, for a few thousand days, multiplied over a few decades' worth of walking the planet...are what life ends up being about.

And it's what loss is also about, in its most painful and persistent form.

We all talk about it, after we lose someone we love.

We talk about the little things. Like missing their voice on the phone. Like longing for their smile across the kitchen table. Like expecting them to come walking around the corner any minute, carrying the newspaper, or a coffee cup, or the cat...

But they're never going to do that again.

And every time we have to face that, over and over, it's a new shattering inside.

This has nothing to do with whether we believe we'll ever see them again. For Catholics, as it says so touchingly in the funeral liturgy, life is changed, not ended, and frankly? That's the only thing that keeps most of us a) sane, and b) from offing ourselves out of sheer agony or despair. We know we'll see them again. 

But that's also what makes it so hard. 

Because when someone is woven in the warp and woof of your life, their absence leaves holes in you. And those holes often don't mend all the way. Sometimes, they snag. Tear open. 

And sometimes, the craziest things can be snags.

Like the ad for a TV show you don't even watch.

Or an ad for French fries.

Yep. You heard that right. 

There's an ad out there right now from Wendy's, touting their "Hot and Crispy Fries."

But Wendy's fries were bragging material way before this...at least in my world.

As in, early 1980.

When I first began hanging out with Patrick, one of our conversations touched on the various jobs we'd had over the years. One of those jobs, for him, was working in high school, part-time...at (you guessed it) Wendy's.

Making French fries.

Yeah, of course, tons of kids work in fast food when they're in high school. And the Wendy's connection is "just a coincidence."

Except...that the conversation we had about French fries would probably have made Dave Thomas himself proud. Because Patrick didn't just learn how to make fries; he learned how to make  them from a guy who was so good at it that people used to stop at Wendy's in Palatine just for the fries. They'd get the other parts of their meal elsewhere, but Wendy's had the best fries in town, even then. Even before they decided to call their brand "Hot and Crispy," this guy's fries were hot, crispy, and addictive.

And he taught Patrick how to make them that way, too. Something that this young pup took very seriously, indeed, because the restaurant's reputation hung on it. 

Thus, during one of my first conversations with my future husband, I learned the proper way to prepare fries so they were hot, crispy but not dry, and tender  but not soggy. Patrick enjoyed learning how to do it, and he was proud that he learned to do it to his mentor's standards.

The funny parts about this?

First, that I couldn't tell you exactly how it was done now.

But second?

That Patrick could take a look at the technique of the "fry guy" in any food place we went to, pretty much for the rest of our lives, and tell me if the fries were going to be any good or not.

And he'd be right.

Recently, I heard some sports commentators talking about working the "fry" area of a restaurant--and claiming that "everybody knew" that making fries was the worst job in the place. It was always given to the rank beginners, the guys on the bottom of the totem pole. 

Yet, at least one guy--and his apprentice--made the product of that lowly job something the restaurant became  known for, and did it with a great deal of pride.

I applauded it then, as I applaud it now.

Little things.

You never know how they may come back, years later, and touch your life.

So pay attention...now.

And appreciate that good fry guy, if you've got one. 

Because someone, somewhere, loves him.

And he won't always be around...for either of you.

Thoughts?

Janny