Four things You Can Do To Stop Worrying.

It will come as no surprise to many of you that I am a worrier. I worry about my family and world peace. I worry about my reputation and my professional success. I worry about my health (a terrible predicament for a near-hypochondriac). I worry about global warming, COVID-19, and job security. 

I try very hard to NOT worry, but it’s complicated. Worthwhile ventures often are, but you can learn from my trial and error. Here are four things you can do instead of worrying.

1. Do something creative.

Science tells us that creative action lowers cortisol, the stress hormone. When cortisol is reduced, we feel more relaxed and gain a greater sense of perspective. It also increases dopamine, the “happy hormone.” Increased dopamine, in turn, can make you more creative. Consequently, it’s difficult to worry and engage in something creative. The really great thing is it doesn’t matter what creative endeavor you pursue. I write. I also crochet, scrapbook, and dabble in graphic design.

2. Listen to music.

Particularly music you love. Research tells us that when we listen to music that moves us, the “happy hormone,” dopamine increases. A lot of music moves me so much it makes me cry tears of the joyous and melancholy variety. I’m pretty eclectic in my tastes. While Prince is my number one musical favorite, I listen to Florida Georgia Line, Justin Bieber (Don’t hate. He has a fantastic voice.), Nine Inch Nails, and Rachmaninoff. 

3. Eat Chocolate.

Both dark chocolate and milk chocolate have been shown to reduce stress. Dark chocolate, however, is the king of stress relief. It has been shown to reduce cortisol (the stress hormone), and it contains magnesium (known to reduce symptoms of depression). The benefits don’t stop there. Dark chocolate contains flavonoids, which have been shown to improve cardiovascular functioning. You’d gain extra advantages if you eat your chocolate slowly and mindfully. It’s something called Chocolate Meditation.

Chocolate, not your thing? Try a cup of chamomile tea (those flavonoids again) or green tea (contains theanine, which may increase serotonin and dopamine). Learn more about these food items and more here.

4. Breathe.

There are so many sources online that support the use of breathing exercises to reduce stress. During a recent, persistent episode of worrying, one of my favorite medical people reminded me that deep breathing triggers the parasympathetic nervous system, promoting calmness. He instructed me to take five deep breaths. It worked like magic. I immediately felt calmer. Dr. Andrew Weil has a lot to say on the subject and offers these exercises.

I think worrying is a part of my basic personality and, as such, it’s difficult to stop. I’m not even sure I’d want to since worrying has occasionally saved me from making big mistakes. But sometimes, I worry about things I have zero control over. It’s in these times I use this list.

Let me know if you try any of them. Also, if something not on the list works for you, please do share.

Poison Ivy

If I haven’t already mentioned, my philosophy about all things green or flowering is “grow if you want to.” Sometimes it works in my favor. For instance, I once bought a discounted plant. It was priced at 75cents because the few remaining leaves were brown and scraggly. You couldn’t even tell what it was supposed to be. It was clearly dying. I felt like it needed a home. At least its final days would be happy. That was five years ago. It’s now a thriving philodendron.

Of course, sometimes my philosophy fails me, and a plant takes advantage of my kind disposition. Like poison ivy. I suppose I should call it MY poison ivy as it’s taken up residence in three places in my yard. If it had been content to stay in one area, it could make itself comfortable. But it decided to push the envelope.

Now, this plant has me hostage. I can’t kill it. There’s nothing I know of that will destroy this menace that won’t also kill everything else—in direct opposition to how my garden grows. What to do?

I have no choice but to suit up in long sleeves, gloves, a face mask, and long pants and try to extract it with my bare hands. Wish me luck. If, by chance, you have a better idea, please share.

A Quest for Organization

Time is slowly creeping toward the end of summer. Unlike most people I know, September marks the beginning of a new year for me. I suppose it is ingrained in me from my youth, or habit from my kid’s schedule, or even from the years of working in organizations in sync with the academic year. Time to shop for a system that holds the key to organizational Nirvana.

Sadly, I have decision fatigue. It happens every year—There are just too many choices. Do I want a classic calendar or a planner? Digital or paper? What are the must-have features?

I typically like a funky way to track my personal goals. Lately I’ve been into this honeycomb design. I also need a great amount of space for my professional tasks, as I tend to have many every week. Some bullet journal space is nice, too, as these make for good, functional to- do lists.

Determining layout includes another set of decisions. Portrait or landscape? Weekly, monthly, daily, or some combination? Twelve months, or fifteen, or eighteen? And what size? That’s particularly critical for non-digital systems.

The absolute hardest decisions, however, are about the design. I like too many pretty, peaceful things?Beaches or lighthouses? Pink or multiple pastel? Or maybe flowers? This alone accounts for my purchase of at least two systems. I won’t admit to you how many I bought last year.

What about you? What system do you use?

I Am Not the Alpha.

My dogs are a little insane. Rescue dogs, they have terrible separation anxiety. If we go outside in the yard without taking them with us, they cry. Toby is afraid of lightening and thunder but also runs at the sound of a bag hitting the floor. Even in very warm weather, he prefers to sleep under blankets. And you can see how he is leaning from the top of the sofa to eat, despite the fact that there was plenty of room next to his bowl. And oh yeah, he won’t eat on the floor.

Molly will eat anything, anyway. She too is afraid of thunder and lightening, but even on a quiet day she stretches on the floor with her head under something. Always. Under. Something. She also manages to twist her body in crazy ways.

Crazy as they are, they are as lovable. They love to cuddle, seem to know when one of us isn’t feeling well, and are happy to come when called. I’m pretty sure they love me…but they love my partner more.

When they hurt or are scared, she is the one they cling to. I mean cling. Molly will walk so close to her, that Molly’s nose touches the back of her knee. Toby sleeps against her back, an unmovable object. I’m the second choice.

For instance, the other night it was raining pretty hard. Actually, it had been raining for several days, with intermittent thunder. My partner was in the basement organizing something. Trembling like a bridge in an earthquake, Toby sat on my lap staring at the basement door. Molly was laying on my feet. They both clearly knew they could find safety with me, but the second my partner came up the stairs, they leaped toward her.

She is also the Alpha. Okay, fine, I’m the Beta. When Molly, my constant eater, gets a hold of something she really shouldn’t have, I cannot get her to put it down. She’d rather swallow whatever it is whole before giving in to me. But a stern word from my partner and boom, she drops it and she’s off sulking and missing the leaf of kale she’d rescued from the floor or whatever it was.

It’s fine. As much as we both love them, she’s their primary caretaker. I wish I could be, but the unfortunate truth is I’m either working out of the house or slaving on the computer in my office. But they follow her around all day.

Okay, yes, I’m a little jealous.

But I’m working on it. I get plenty of kisses and snuggles. What more could I ask for?

Duck, Duck....Cow?

My partner and I headed out today to pick up our CSA share—Community Supported Agriculture. This means a couple of times a year we invest in a local farm, which in turn provides us with vegetables and fruit during the summer and fall. The official temperature was 88 degrees Fahrenheit, which is hot enough. The heat index, however, was a whopping 97. It was brutal but we carried on.

By the time we lugged our bounty to the car and went back into the farm market for some eggs and a few other staples, we were hot, bleary-eyed, and our pulses were elevated from the heat Fortunately, once in the car, it didn’t take too long to cool off.

We took the scenic way home, meaning we drove a number of random streets that we hoped would get us to our destination. We do this a lot. Finding new streets and landing in strange places is fun for us. Today’s journey took us by a pond. It captured our attention because it was right in the middle of a residential neighborhood. Driving by, our conversation went something like this:

Me: “Wow!” I point at the pond. “Cows are in the water!”

Her: Looking at me with a puzzled expression. “Those are mallards. They’re beautiful.”

Me: “Mallards? No, those were cows.” Getting concerned. “You didn’t see the cows?”

Her. “There were no cows.”

So, I turn the car around and drive by again.

Me: “See? Cows.”

Her: “I know my eyes are bad, but those are not cows. They’re ducks. Mallards.”

Me: “If those are ducks, I’m driving straight to the hospital.” I thought the heat had gotten to me and my brain was misfiring.

I turn the car around again. This time, I put on my hazard lights and drive extremely slow.

“Cows!” I point.

“Mallards!” She points.

We realize we’re pointing in different directions. Close to the road, under a tangle of tree branches, are a herd of black cows, just moseying around in the water. Across the pond under a different group of low-hanging trees is the biggest raft of ducks I’ve ever seen.

We looked at each other, eyes wide, and exploded into laughter. We were both right, but we’d been so focused on where our sight first landed that it never occurred to us to LOOK SOMEWHERE ELSE IN THE POND.

There has to be a moral to the story, right? But which one:

• You miss out on big and small things when you don’t pay full attention?

• Don’t sightsee while driving?

• Be open to possibilities?

• Heat exhaustion is real?

Oh, well. At least no trip to the ER was necessary. Has anything like this ever happened to you?

Keep Your Cool

I strive to post new blogs each Tuesday, but I didn’t have it in me yesterday. With the heat index, it was 105 humid degrees in Connecticut. It was all I could do to move. There are many other places around the country that are in far worse shape. For example, Oregon reached around 115 degrees Fahrenheit.

The extreme heat advisory is in effect through at least tonight at 10PM. It’s currently a functional 103. Although we don’t have central air, I’m fortunate to be in the position to have high capacity portable AC in the major areas of my home. But my air conditioners are struggling to keep up.

Prolonged exposure to extreme heat is dangerous. It can lead to a condition called hyperthermia, which can cause confusion, nausea, vomiting, profuse sweating, cramps, heat exhaustion, and heat stroke. Take a look at the CDC’s recommendations at the link below. You’ll find an informative infographic that includes a list of symptoms and actions you should take.

https://www.cdc.gov/disasters/extremeheat/warning.html

If you, or someone you know is suffering in the heat, you may not realize that relief is available in the form of cooling centers. A cooling center is a site with adequate air conditioning for people who are at risk of heat-related illness because, for whatever reason, a cool and safe environment is not available them. During the day, you can go to a center and read or work on your laptop, chat with others, etc. while you avoid the potential effects of the heat.

These centers are located in cities and towns all over the country, usually on public transportation routes and operated by municipalities and nonprofit organizations.

There is no cost to take advantage of this life-saving service. One way to find locations and other details about cooling centers in your community is through the 211 network. https://www.211.org

Of course, many of us love sunny warm days and no one is suggesting that you can’t enjoy them. But you have to be smart. At this very moment I’m sitting in my air conditioned living room with two ice packs (one on my head), a tall thermos of ice water, and an ice pop in the freezer with my name on it. Anything I need to do outdoors can wait until the temperature decreases later tonight. Why not do the same?

Stay hydrated, stay vigilant, and stay cool.

Five Things Every Writer Needs

Woman at a table writing in a book with a cup of tea at her side.

A ritual is a combination of symbols, actions, words, and gestures. Rituals can be spiritual, religious, or ceremonial. We also engage in rituals because of their consistency and continuity. For this reason, rituals offer a sense of calm and familiarity.

Many of us are writers. Some are published authors; some are on their way. Some people write stories for their own amusement; others journal for their sanity. Still others write for work. Over the course of my life I’ve fallen into each one of these categories. No matter the type of writing or why one writes, there seems to be ritual involved.

There are five things it seems every writer needs for their writing ritual.

1. A favorite pen. Even if we don’t use it often because we write on the computer, we have a pen that is beautiful and meaningful to us. Long before I started writing for others, a group of friends and I wrote an underground fanzine. Most of the articles/stories began their lives handwritten in a favorite journal.

2. A favorite journal. We might hold it dear because it’s gorgeous, or because of the person who gave it to us. It might remind us of a special place, too. My best friend who is also an author has several journals that she staunchly refuses to write in because they mean so much to her. There are others that are merely slightly less cherished that she uses regularly.

3. A special beverage and/or food item. Some of my author friends are coffee people, others tea. Most of them bring wine and/or candy to the party, too. In a previous life, I wrote grants. Big grants, small grants, foundation grants, federal grants. The federal ones were the worst. They were humongous and complex in terms of required research and writing. I’d write around the clock to finish them. Diet Coke and potato chips got me through every time.

4. A PlayList. A writer’s playlist is a group of songs that either motivate us to write, remind us of our story or our characters, or both. I don’t have a playlist yet for my Work in Progress, but I do have one for my first book. Maybe I’ll share it in my newsletter.

5. Totems. Totems are items that carry spiritual significance, or are symbolic of an important concept. I know two authors who have stuffed animal totems. I have several that are emblematic of serious supernatural writing—to me, anyway. Black fingerless gloves. Goth jewelry. Yellow candles for creativity. Pictures of people who remind me of my characters.

I don’t think rituals are unique to writers. My mom was a caterer who couldn’t cook without the strongest iced tea ever made. I know an artist who must use specific brushes, and swears his best work happens in a particular light of day. Do you have any rituals? What items are integral to your creative processes?

Stealth Delivery

Yesterday evening, I went outside to take my dogs for a walk. To my surprise, three boxes sat on my small porch. Three boxes from three different delivery services.

Wait. What?

Nothing had been on my porch earlier. My doorbell didn’t ring. Neither of my dogs barked and no one knocked on my door. Yet there the packages were.

Man carrying boxes for delivery.

It wasn’t the first time I was a victim of stealth delivery. Once, I went to the front yard to pick up my mail, then to the back yard to put the junk mail in the recycle bin. By the time I returned to the front, a package was on the porch! I hadn’t even heard a vehicle!

I suppose I understand why. It takes less time per delivery if you don’t connect with a person. In the age of COVID-19, it’s safer, too, especially if both parties aren’t wearing masks.

However, if you don’t let me know something is on my porch, how would I know it’s there until I accidentally trip over it? What if it rains? A book would be ruined. Perishables would fade in the heat or cold.

It could be stolen. Sometimes Amazon delivery agents take a picture and email it. That doesn’t work if it’s not always done. The inconsistency means you can’t rely on it to know if your package arrived.

What happened to good old fashioned “ring the bell and run”?

I’m irritated by stealth delivery. How about you?

A Time of Reflection and Thanks

People often confuse Memorial Day with Veterans Day, or assume they have the same meaning. They don’t.

Veterans day was originally called Armistice Day, established in 1919 by President Wilson. It was designed to celebrate the end of “The Great War”, World War I and mark the beginning of peace, good will, and understanding among nations. It later became a legal holiday (1938).

In 1954, after World War II (reportedly the biggest mobilization of service people) , and the Korean War the 83rd Congress amended the Act of 1938, changing Armistice Day to Veterans Day, with the intent to honor veterans of all wars.

Memorial Day is older. It began in 1868 when Maj. Gen. John A. Logan (of the Grand Army of the Republic) declared that Decoration Day would honor those fallen in the Civil War by decorating their graves with flowers. After WW I, it was broadened to include all those who died in American wars. In 1971, Congress declared it a national holiday.

Veteran’s Day honors all who served and sacrificed. Memorial Day honors those who made the ultimate sacrifice.

For many of us, Memorial Day marks the beginning of the summer season. We celebrate this beginning with picnics and barbecues and trips to the pool or beach. But during our fun, we cannot forget to honor those who died for our freedom and safety. As the saying goes, without them, there would likely be no us.

*Information retrieved from va.gov

LGBTQ E-BOOK GIVEAWAY: MULTI-GENRE!

WOOHOO! Another LGBTQ e-book/short-story giveaway, another opportunity to explore new authors! Can’t hurt to check it out, right? Right! (Just click the picture!)

Banner for LGBTQ e-book giveaway.

Oh! I’m looking to add to my street team. You know, a group of avid readers who would enjoy helping me get the word out about my upcoming release (August). You’d be the first to read, plus the only folks to receive exclusive swag. Sign up here!

LGBTQ Fantasy E-Book Fair!

I don’t know about you, but as an avid reader I’m always looking for new authors. Here’s an opportunity to check some out! Click the picture!

A giveaway for LGBTQ urban fantasy, science fiction, and fantasy books and short stories.

It Was Always Love

This is a slightly modified version of a post I wrote five years ago as I processed Prince’s sudden death. I’ve updated the last paragraphs, as time has given me more clarity. Reposting is a part of how I honor him today.

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I'm a writer. There has always been something cathartic in telling a story. So in the midst of incredible sadness I am sharing my story with you.

A poster hanging in my bedroom.

My partner says that she went to the movies with a friend one day to see whatever show happened to be playing and ended up seeing Purple Rain, a movie that changed her forever. From that moment on she was obsessed--still is--and thanks Prince for much of the joy she's had in her life.

My path was not as direct. He had to touch my life three times before I paid attention.

1979

Thank you for a funky time, call me  up...

On my way to high school driving the first of two cars given to me by my father, the song I Wanna Be Your Lover came on. The music was okay, but the lyrics made my head spin. Chock full of double entendres (I wanna be the only one to make you come...running), I couldn't get it out of my head for days. But trying to balance my perfectionist compulsion with wanting to fit in with my peers had turned high school into a three year long hurricane for me. I had a hard enough time holding on to my shit--I couldn't add one more thing to my burden.

1984

Somebody please tell me what the hell is wrong

The second time I became aware of Prince was when Purple Rain came out. I was newly married and in an unfamiliar place with no friends. I don't have memory of going to or being in the theater (my memory often fails me when it comes to very emotional moments), but I remember  buying a beta max copy of the movie as soon as it came out. I coveted that short, fat rectangular box (I still have it), but for reasons I can't explain, I never watched it. Not once.

The third time, as they say, was the charm.

1987

In my darkest hour, you can be my bliss

Given an opportunity I couldn’t refuse, I took a job two hours away from my home and my husband. My mom’s home was closer, and she graciously let me stay with her. I had a great time. I loved my job, had some cool adventures with my mom (like driving 45 minutes to buy a pizza that boasted cheese UNDER the sauce, not over it), and spent time with my sister and brother and their families. Moreover, every other weekend I honeymooned with my husband. Life moved along pretty smoothly.

Except at night. I started having nightmares. At first they came infrequently, and I barely remembered them. As time went on they grew more frequent and more horrifying. Eventually I had bad dreams every night. There seemed to be two themes--black roses and elevators. Black rose dreams woke me up crying. Elevator dreams were worse.

I know now that I was reliving sexual abuse I'd experienced as a child. I was in the same room, largely unchanged--the purple walls I'd begged for, music and my academic awards (evidence of my hypervigilent perfection), and the bed. The bed.

Any time I was alone with my thoughts they drifted to dying. What death would feel like. All the years of my nephews and nieces lives that I'd miss. Pieces of my nightmares started to come to me during the day. I searched continually for distractions, trying to save myself. One day I saw an ad in the newspaper about an upcoming Prince concert. Suddenly, I remembered his movie and that song, and how they made me feel. I needed to feel that again, to go to his show, but I was afraid to go alone. My sister told me her husband was a big fan (her, not so much) and that he'd probably go with me if I had my heart set. He did.

October 1988

Do you want him, or do you want me?

We had tickets in the Nosebleed Section because we'd gotten them so late, but it didn't matter. The entire arena was filled by the presence of the little, ethereally beautiful man on the stage. I was captivated--couldn't take my eyes off him. But the music transformed me. He sang of love and sensuality and peace and God and sex. His voice resonated, reverberated throughout my body. I sometimes make a joke, saying if he'd asked me that night for all of my worldly possessions I would have given them to him.

Except it was the truth. The next day I went to every record store I could find and bought every tape Prince had ever released. I drove around for hours listening to his music. He didn't become "the soundtrack of my life". He became my reason to keep living.

1991

I want to jump for joy and thank him I'm not alone

I'd gotten a bigger and better job and moved back upstate with my husband. While stalking a record store (my new hobby), I came across Prince's official fan magazine, Controversy. Not only was it heaven on the page with big, color, never before seen pictures of him, but it had a pen pal section. Suddenly, I wasn't alone. I'd found my tribe--men and women who experienced Prince the way I did.  Many of them are still my good friends. People who understand me and love me anyway. Miraculously, I also connected with the person who would become my partner. I like to say Prince gave her to me.

Present day

Can't begin to understand how I feel about you, everything I want to do I can't do without you

A wall in my living room.

I've seen Prince in concert over one hundred times. I have every song he's released, and sometimes multiple versions thereof. My partner and I celebrate his milestones--birthday, album releases, awards, performances. Our annual Super Bowl parties celebrate his 2007 award-winning appearance. Many of these dates are commemorated with concerts that hold special meaning. There is not one room in our home in which he's not evident, either in fact or by influence.

My life is filled with good friends who I connect with over songs and youtube clips, through marriages and divorce, through children and grandchildren, over the mountains that life put in front of our best efforts and under the bridges that we fell from. When we're happy, we listen to his music and watch his movies. When we're sad, we do the same. Since his passing, we cling to each other and assure ourselves we'll get through this, and that we'll find joy again. To a point, we all have.

My friends and I asked questions of ourselves and each other. Where would we go from  here? Who would we be, if not Prince Fans? How would it feel to not look forward to his next album, the next concert, the next TV appearance?

Over the past 5 long years, some of those questions have been answered. We’re still fans, and still mourning our loss of a man who remains so important to us. His estate has begun to release his music, some that we already have and some new to even us. We’re also seeing previously unseen concert performances. Bittersweet gifts. But nothing compares to having him here.

His music is an indelible part of us. It's in our very core, infused in our cells. His songs remain in the background of everything. Our experiences with him and because of him live on.

• Getting his autograph in NYC and almost fainting because I thought he'd levitated, a tiny angel dressed in white.

• Nearly being "rear-ended" by him in MPLS because he was driving too fast and we were going too slow.

• Hearing gunshot and fearing for our lives as we left Glam Slam, his former nightclub.

• Flying to England for concerts and spending a sleepless night at the only after show I ever attended.

• Going to his store in MPLS so many times the manager told his staff "Play whatever videos they want to see".

• Grieving with him, from a distance, when he lost his child.

• Meeting pen pals. (I LOVE AND AM GRATEFUL FOR EACH OF YOU.)

• Standing outside at 2am in line for a show, with some of the craziest and friendliest people I've ever met.

• Feeling time stand still when he died, and then watching the world turn purple.

Even as I think about it now, my eyes well with tears. City monuments, bridges, buildings were illuminated in purple lights. The Weather Channel App showed an illustrated picture of the sky with purple raindrops. All in tribute to him. I’d never seen anything like it before or since.

Never say the words "They're gone"

The world is off of its axis. I miss him every day. My heart aches, and in quiet moments it's hard to breathe. I'm still can’t watch the tributes. I can't even listen to more than a couple of his songs or watch a whole video at one time without sinking into overwhelming sadness.
I wish I could tell him a few things:

Dearest Prince,

I am ever grateful for the beautiful ways you've touched my life and the many ways you saved me. Thank you for the people that are in my Purple Tribe because of you, supporting each other to get through this thing called life.

I hope you find, in this part of your journey, the peace that eluded you in your time on earth. I am ever blessed to have shared the planet with you.  

I know to some this is insanity, but it is my Truth:

It was always love.

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