Live More, Fear Less: Passing on Our Fears

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My friend’s baby, startled by the awful grating noise of a paper shredder, looked quickly at me. Her eyes were wide, mouth open but not making a sound as she sat, rigid now, in her baby carrier a few feet from me. In that instant I knew that sweet little thing was looking to me either for reassurance or to know if she should really be afraid. She was only a few months old, but she had that survival instinct built into each of us to fear the unknown. Her mother’s back was turned to her while she fed papers into the shredder, so the baby had turned to me, the only other person in the room, to see how I reacted to the noise. I smiled and said silly things. She kicked and gurgled, her fear gone.

That’s the way it is – our children are little sponges. And if we’re not careful, as they sop up the good things we want them to learn, they can also acquire other things we’d rather them not.

Some fears are more normal than others (see my post on survival instinct). But the more vocal or animated parents are about what they themselves are afraid of, the easier it is for a child to learn to be afraid of those same things. Like if we scream and run every time we see a bug. Or if we’re overcautious of germs or afraid to try new things (whether food, a different sport, or traveling).

Our children don’t have to acquire our fears. We can pass them on or determine not to by the choices we make. The following is an excerpt from a post written by Ericka Waller for Circus Queen:

Living with anxiety left me living a half-life. Forget rock, paper, scissors – fear beats them all hands down. If fear were a trump card, it would always win the game.

The thought of my daughters spending a single second feeling how I felt for all those years, how sometimes I still feel on bad days, fills me with dread. It forces me to stand in long queues with them at zoos and parks and shops, even though the urge to run away (fight or flight response) is so strong my head spins. It forces me to drive on the motorway, even though, for me, it’s a white knuckle ride. It forces me to eat food I hate, so they might love it. It forces me to stop, to think, to censor. It pushes me out my comfort zone.

My love for my daughters stands shoulder to shoulder with my fear. It looks it in the eye and says “I’m not scared of you.” But I still bite my nails.

I will not let my girls see me struggle however. They will never know my fear. This will not happen to them. I simply shall not let it.

My mother happily handed down her insecurities, phobias and failings to me, and I, just a little four[-year-old], happily biting her nails, happily accepted them.

It stops here.

I never wanted my children to be like me, to be afraid to do or even to try. When they were young (and so was I), I loved and respected them and hoped that would be enough. With my granddaughter, I am more aware of my influence on her and more purposeful in my encouragement. I want her to experience life more fearlessly than I have.

Do you have fears that were passed on to you? Do you have fears you don’t want to pass on?

236 Candles

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The 4th of July is the day Americans celebrate the anniversary of their declaration of independence from British rule in 1776. It is not the day a peace treaty was signed or the day the last warship flying a Union Jack left its eastern shores. It is instead the day attributed to the action of 56 British subjects (and American colonists) signing their names to a document declaring their independence. It was the culmination of years of dissatisfaction sparked by the desire to determine their own destiny, to be free from oppression and tyranny, and to choose how to govern themselves.

It was not an easy choice for the signers of the Declaration of Independence to make. Their signatures would be a test of the importance of their stand, evidence of their treason. War actually began in 1775, not for independence, but as a revolt against British interference with the constitution of one of the colonies – because of their choice more sacrifice would be required, even more blood would be shed.

Everyone’s independence day begins first with the desire to be free from the influence, control or determination of another. But simply wanting to be independent is not enough. Freedom does not happen without courage and conviction, and the willingness to fight for what one believes.

The 4th of July has become a day to barbeque and watch fireworks. I hope it is also a day to truly remember and celebrate independence – won by the bravery of our forefathers who stood their ground and fought, and died, for what they believed was right. Americans, and others in the free world, still fight and die for that, and for the rights of others to be free.

Any people anywhere, being inclined and having the power, have the right to rise up, and shake off the existing government, and form a new one that suits them better. This is a most valuable – a most sacred right – a right, which we hope and believe, is to liberate the world. ~ Abraham Lincoln

Happy 236th Birthday, USA.

Structure: A Different Kind of Memoir

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I knew from the beginning, even before writing the first chapter of This New Mountain, that AJ Jackson’s book wouldn’t be a regular biography. It would not relate every bit of AJ’s life from birth onward. Instead, the book would be a memoir, focusing on her life as a private investigator, repossesor, and process server. However, it wouldn’t be a typical memoir.

AJ has a ton of stories, but putting them into chronological order (like most biographies and memoirs) was not going to work even if she had perfect recall of specific dates. Tying them together in this way or making them flow from one to the other would have been a difficult task. In my opinion, this kind of structure would not have made for good reading. I finally decided to present AJ’s stories grouped together into themed chapters. For example:

  • Chapter 7: Sin and Survival – AJ learns to lie in order to succeed in her line of business.
  • Chapter 12: Just This Side of Catawampus – AJ deals with people and cases that are just a bit off.
  • Chapter 14: Jackrabbit Mind – AJ uses her brain, and/or temporary insanity, to get the job done.
  • Chapter 19: Spit and Vinegar – AJ looks foolish, feels foolish, and acts the fool to satisfy her clients.

The stories in chapter two through six are told in the order they happened, but grouping the rest of them by theme made strict chronological order, within the chapters or the book as a whole, impossible. That meant a story about repossessing a car using a tow truck might be included in a chapter with one in which AJ has to jimmy a lock or use a key to open a car door. Or one chapter tells how and why she stopped carrying her Colt .38, but a few chapters later the .38 surfaces again.

Though This New Mountain is not put together like a normal memoir, it is structured and ordered in a way that makes sense. The stories within each chapter are tied together. And all the chapters ultimately tie into the main theme of the book, facing one’s fear.

What do you like most about memoirs – being introduced to a different way of life or following along as a person deals with her life?

Live More, Fear Less: We Are Not Alone

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Do aliens live among the stars?

What do you think of when you look into a clear and cloudless night sky shimmering with a vast glittery field of stars? Aliens? Watch Men In Black (any installment) for a hilarious look at the possibilities.

Could aliens actually exist out there somewhere? Some of my science fiction stories take place on other worlds inhabited by intelligent other-than human life-forms. But if you were to ask me if I believe aliens exist in the universe, my answer would be “possibly, but not probably.” I believe in intelligent design, and so (in my mind), if aliens are a part of the big creative design, then we will eventually find them or they will find us.

On the other hand, if aliens don’t exist, why is space filled with so much stuff? If the planets and their moons in our solar system help keep the earth in just the right position for life to be sustained, maybe all the other galaxies in space are necessary to keep all of everything in balance. Or maybe it’s not that complicated. Is it possible that God put all those stars, planets, and suns out there just to amaze us with his handiwork, as proof of his awesome power? Who hasn’t gone “Wow” when looking up at that splendor or been dumbstruck by the sheer beauty of it?

The best remedy for those who are afraid, lonely or unhappy is to go outside, somewhere where they can be quiet, alone with the heavens, nature and God. Because only then does one feel that all is as it should be and that God wishes to see people happy, amidst the simple beauty of nature. ~ Anne Frank

I imagine Anne Frank, hiding in the attic with her family, peeking out of a shuttered window at the vastness of a midnight sky, and writing the above quote in her diary. Every day she lived with the fear of being discovered by the Nazis. She certainly wasn’t happy with her circumstances. Or with her voice being held captive, except for what she released in the entries of her diary. Yet she held on to hope and her faith, even until the end.

The wisdom of a child may be just what we need when we find ourselves fearful, lonely or unhappy. The handiwork of an awesome creator is everywhere, but especially in the “wow” of an immense, inverted, star-sharp sky where we can believe we’re not alone.

When was the last time you sought peace, alone with nature and God?

Country Know-How: Testing Oil for Frying

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(From Vinnie Ann “AJ” Jackson)

Some people who like to fry food rely on an appliance like a Fry Daddy to set the oil temperature. Others use a thermometer to judge when the oil is hot enough or they toss in pieces of battered goodies to test it out. If the oil isn’t hot enough, though, the batter slides right off into the grease. But when it is ready, the batter is sealed to the food and cooks to a golden perfection.

If you’re one of those people who tests the oil until the samples cook up just right, there is a better way – and there has been ever since the invention of wooden matchsticks.

Years ago, my sister Jeane and her husband used to fish for catfish with their neighbor and friend, Frieda, who grew up in the bayou of Louisiana. The know-how to use a matchstick to test the readiness of hot oil had been handed down to Frieda, and she taught Jeane the trick. I rely on this same matchstick test whenever I get a hankering for fried anything.

Jeane’s Matchstick Test for Hot Oil

You’ll need wooden matchsticks (not paper) and oil for frying. Heat the oil in an appropriate pan until you think it might be hot enough, then drop an unused (unlit) wooden matchstick onto the top of the oil. Watch closely. The striking end will flare up briefly when the oil is hot enough, and die out right away. Remove the matchstick from the oil before frying your chicken, fish, fries, or whatever’s on the menu. And don’t worry about catching the oil on fire with the match, the tiny flame doesn’t stay lit.

I love tempura-battered veggies, what’s your favorite fried food?

Using and Choosing a Pen Name

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In many cases, using a fake name is considered illegal or at least dishonest. But doing so is a common practice among artists like actors, musicians, and writers.

Famous authors have used pen names for different reasons for hundreds of years (if not longer). There was a time when women writers weren’t taken as seriously as men, so they often assumed men’s names if they wanted to be published. Sometimes an author used a different name for political reasons, like not wanting to be imprisoned by a particular government (French philosopher Francois Marie Arouet wrote as Voltaire). Stephen King’s early publishers didn’t want to saturate the market with too many of his books, but King wanted to keep publishing so he wrote under the name Richard Bachman.

Other good reasons to use a pen name include: the author doesn’t like their real name; the name doesn’t fit the genre the author writes in (female names sell better in romance, male names in business books); and separation of an author’s works when writing in more than one genre.

This last is one of the main reasons I chose to use a pen name for This New Mountain. I don’t plan to write another memoir, but I do hope to have my science fiction and fantasy work see publication. When it comes time for that, I’ll use my married name, KL Wagoner. But I don’t want future readers to think This New Mountain is anything other than a memoir, and so I took into consideration my later plans for publication.

There is one more reason I chose a pen name – the writing style for AJ Jackson’s memoir is very different from any of my other work. See my earlier post on the voice of the memoir. Again, I don’t want readers to get confused in the future.

The process for choosing a pen name can vary even more than the reasons for using one. Some authors simply take the initials of their first and middle names and add them to their last name (Joanne Kathleen Rowling aka JK Rowling). Others use the name of a relative, a friend, a pet or a combination of any or all. Maps are a great place to find a pen name, as well as characters from favorite books. But a pen name should be chosen as carefully as choosing the name of a character. The author of a crime novel won’t pick a silly, girly name and the writer of chic lit won’t choose an uppity sounding one.

As a child, I accepted my maiden name because it belonged to my father and I didn’t have a choice, but it wasn’t long before I learned that having a last name that rhymed with tick, lick, etc. (a fact which silly boys couldn’t help remind me of on a regular basis) had its disadvantages. So using my maiden name was definitely not on my list of favorites.

For Cate Macabe, I picked a variation of my real first name. As far as the last name, I’ve loved the sound of it ever since being introduced to someone years ago with the same name. I even have a character named McCabe in one of my unpublished novels.

Settling on the spelling of my pen name took careful consideration as well. In researching, I discovered dozens of Kate McCabe’s around the world, including artists, actors, and a published author. To simplify things, I decided on a different spelling. Changing the name at the last minute from Kate McCabe to Cate Macabe caused headaches for my publisher, but a certain amount of flexibility is one advantage to being associated with a small, traditional publisher (and for this, Casa de Snapdragon deserves a big, gold star).

There is a chance I will sign the wrong name one day if someone asks for an autograph. And I might stare blankly for a moment at a person who uses my pen name in conversation with me. Maybe neither of these scenarios will come to pass if I practice my signature and try to get comfortable with being…[cue loud and inspiring music] Cate Macabe, Author.

If you had the chance to choose a new name, what would it be?

Live More, Fear Less: Aging (with Style)

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After my recent post about finding beauty in imperfection, I came across Ari Seth Cohen’s Advanced Style blog. According to a note in the sidebar, he roams “the streets of New York looking for the most stylish and creative older folks” to photograph. He shares these photos on his blog, as well as video interviews. He says, “Respect your elders and let these ladies and gents teach you a thing or two about living life to the fullest.”

In one post he explains that he “started the blog in order to change people’s perception of aging and show that there is much fun to be had once you reach 80, 90 and 100 years old. Women often tell [him] that after 40 they have started to feel invisible…girls have reached out to tell [him] that they look forward to growing old like the Advanced Style ladies. Older women have commented that [his] photos have given them the permission to dress up and feel good about themselves.”

He’s also working on a documentary film titled Advanced Style which presents “portraits of women aging gracefully with tremendous spirit [that] will challenge conventional ideas about beauty, growing old, and Western culture’s increasing obsession with youth.”

If my mother was still alive, she’d celebrate her 85th birthday this year. I like to think Ari Seth Cohen would have picked her out of the crowd to photograph, too. She wasn’t extravagant, but she loved color, walked with her head held high (because ladies should have good posture), owned dozens of purses and scarves, and never left the house without wearing a bright shade of lipstick and a spray of perfume.

There is something remarkable about people who dress in their own unconventional way, regardless of what anyone else thinks. It speaks of freedom and courage (and maybe rebellion). Seeing someone – especially an elderly someone – dressed in classic elegance or crazy colors and patterns always makes me smile. Not because I think they look funny but because I know they must be the most interesting people to get to know. They have stories to tell and something to say to the rest of us.

Do you know someone from the “wise and silver-haired set” who you’ll never forget because of their own special style?

Ten Favorite Country Sayings

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I found at least a hundred useful country sayings while doing research for This New Mountain. I included about two dozen of my favorites as part of the book’s chapter headings. Here are a few others that were new to me when I came across them and, like most good sayings, are still stuck in my mind like flies on poop:

  1. It’s hard to put a foot in a closed mouth.
  2. He fell out of the ugly tree and hit every branch on the way down.
  3. Never approach a bull from the front, a horse from the rear, or a fool from any direction.
  4. Life is simpler when you plow around the stump.
  5. Nervous as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs.
  6. Well, butter my butt and call me a biscuit.
  7. Don’t pee down my back and tell me it’s raining.
  8. If you find yourself in a hole, stop digging.
  9. Let the hair go with the hide.

The last saying is on the top of my list at the moment, mostly because it’s a very practical piece of summer advice. It also conjures up a visual that’s hard to get out of my brain.

   10.  Never kick a cow patty on a hot day.

What’s your favorite saying that hits the nail on the head?

Keeping the “Non” in Creative Nonfiction

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As I’ve written in previous blog posts, my intention in writing AJ Jackson’s memoir was to stay true to her voice and to the goals she set for the book. There is one more truth we both dedicated ourselves to in our writing journey – the telling of the stories themselves.

Several steps went into the process of making sure the memoir remained truthful. After listening to AJ’s recorded stories and imagining them playing out like scenes in a movie, I wrote them as I saw them in my mind. If I needed more information or clarification, I consulted AJ. Organizing the stories came next. And when I thought the chapters were ready for proofing, AJ read them over and either gave her approval or let me know what needed changing. I edited, revised, and rewrote accordingly. AJ then re-read the stories and give her input again. We repeated this cycle until we were satisfied with the integrity of each chapter. Even after everything seemed right and ready, AJ sometimes came back and said, “no, this isn’t quite right” or even, “this isn’t what happened at all.” Her memory and my imagination often got mixed up somewhere in the telling and re-telling of her stories.

Because of this process, portions of chapters didn’t pass inspection – couldn’t even be reworked – and had to be deleted. The following, taken from a chapter originally titled “Fools Rush In,” is one of my favorite stories we ended up cutting from the final manuscript:

            I once had two cases working at the same time that were, at first, as different as night and day. A bank had hired me to repo a vehicle, and a private party had hired me to investigate Mel, the father of their grandchild. Mel was up to no good and I needed to gather evidence so he could never get visitation rights with his daughter. Well, this repo and this private deal started intertwining. The same names kept popping up in both investigations. These were names associated with the local drug industry – and we’re not talking Walgreens. In the middle of all this complicated business, I went knocking on doors in the South Valley, handing out my business card, and asking people to give me a call if they saw or heard anything about Mel, my “long-lost nephew.”

            I decided to hit one more stucco-front business, the last one on the block, before I took a break. The mom-and-pop taco stand I’d passed a few minutes before would do just fine for lunch. Sitting in the shade of a turquoise umbrella in front of the taqueria, chugging a coke full of perfect cubes of ice sounded like heaven just about then. Even the cicadas complained about the heat.

            An old man dragged a rake across the rocks in front of the building. The landscaping was already pristine, not so much as a shadow out-of-place.

            “Looks good,” I said as I walked past the groundskeeper and headed for the front door. He stopped raking and squinted at me like I was crazy.

            When I stepped through the doorway, I knew why the guy had given me such a strange look. The inside of the place was empty, gutless, except for a card table, a handful of folding, metal chairs and the five goons who occupied them.

            “What’s going on here?” I blurted out. Two of the guys stood up. The others kept looking at the cards in their hands, smoking away, drinking their Dos Equis.

            “What are you doin’ here?” said one of the polite gentlemen with a hairnet on his head and a silver crucifix hanging down the front of his black t-shirt.

            Then my brain turned on. Take one manicured landscape outside, add shell of a business inside, plus scary – yet religious – goons, and I’ve got…trouble.

            “Sorry.” I backed up. “I must have made a wrong turn.”I went through the door, took a few nonchalant steps, and ran.

            The next day, a lady who lived across from this “business” called me. I had knocked on her door and given her my card. She was sorry, but she was too scared to give me any information, and “would you mind not coming by again?” Of course I didn’t mind. I had no intention of going back there.

            Two days later, the neighbor lady called me back. Somebody had broken out every window in her house, and “if you don’t mind, I’m just going to throw your card away, okay?”

            Not long after that, I got another call. “Lady, you stay out of my neighborhood,” a deep voice told me, “or you better be packin’ if you ever come back.” Another Dirty Harry, you-better-be-packing routine. It gets cornier every time I hear it.

            Well, I didn’t go back, thank you very much. I later learned that place was a money laundering business involving one of Albuquerque’s finest citizens. I ended up finding the repo I was looking for in a garage on the west side. And Mel ended up in prison on drug charges. I found enough evidence against him that when he got out, he only had supervised visitation with his child.

This story had potential and included elements of tension and humor. What was the problem, then? It just wasn’t true. The two cases mentioned in the first paragraph – though both real – weren’t the correct ones. And AJ didn’t find anyone in the empty building, so no goon actually confronted her. I had misunderstood and over-imagined the stories I heard and (because of these and other complications) this particular piece couldn’t be saved. If I had been writing a novel instead of a work of creative nonfiction, I would have left the scene in, expanded it and spiced it up, and had a lot more fun getting AJ out of her scary predicament.

This New Mountain uses all the elements of a fiction story – scenes, internal and external dialogue, tension, imagery, a well-developed main character – but because the stories are true (but read like fiction), the book is considered a piece of creative nonfiction. The process of keeping the integrity of the memoir intact was time-consuming but worth it to stay true to AJ and her life.

If you’ve read a good memoir lately, what did you like most about it?

Live More, Fear Less: Imperfection

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beauty in imperfectionI’m not perfect, but I want to be. I accept imperfection in others because I know no one is perfect. But for some reason, it’s hard to apply that acceptance to myself.

I strive for perfection, not in my physical appearance (that’s beyond help), but in most things I do in my life. This does not include housework, however. I decided years ago to take on my mother’s philosophy that there are better things to do than clean one’s house everyday. My nagging – no, my screaming – perfectionism deals with just about everything else.

When I do something for someone, like complete a job or make a gift or cook a meal, I strive to make sure it’s done perfectly, and beat myself up if it’s not. Perfection is, after all, what others expect from me, right? It’s taken me years to realize that people don’t expect perfection from me, any more than I expect it from them. I need to remind myself of this truth just about every day.

Now that I’m aging – the proof of it in graying hair, wrinkles, and body parts that droop (yippee) a little bit more each day – I’m facing even more personal imperfection. Oddly, this lack of being perfect doesn’t bother me so much.

I look at nature. Often, the most beautiful trees are those that have grown a bit crooked, off-centered but somehow still balanced. Their imperfect shadings of leaf and bark catch my eye. And smooth, shiny stones are certainly beautiful, but it’s the ones with cracks and interesting veins of impurity that I’ll turn over in my hands and look at the most.

If I understand the concept right, the Japanese call it wabi-sabi, which has to do with finding beauty in imperfection – those things that are simple or unrefined, not quite symmetrical, that have attained beauty or serenity through age or wear.

If we live long enough, we will all be old someday. Our youth will fade, but will our beauty, really? Or will that which we think is beautiful change? If we allow ourselves, will we see the beauty in how time changes us? We cannot be perfect but we can be beautiful.

Let us strive to accept the imperfection in ourselves and in others. What do you think is beautiful but imperfect at the same time?