I've had a hard time thinking what to post this week. I finished the first draft of Jaisa's story and I'm just over the top elated. After two years and 207 pages, I have this body of work that I created. All of the characters are pieces of me. The words are me. The message is me. Now I'm going to take a knife to it all and start editing. Just really chop it up.

That's the funny thing about writing, you create this thing that takes you months and maybe years of time and emotion and effort. Then you edit and cut and send it to friends. They slice and dice it too and tell you where it sucks. Then you rewrite and recreate and something better is born.

Then you send it to editors and agents and publishers and get shot down again and again and again. Sometimes I wonder why anyone would do it. Then I remember you. Readers are the reason I write. I write because I want to challenge the way you think or to let you know you aren't alone. I write to find human connection with people I don't even know. I want to give you part of me because I love you.

Below is the first page of my second manuscript. I'll post the revised version after my writing buddies take a crack at it so you can see what I mean about butchering.

Hugs and thanks for being my readers!

Where I Find Me

Chapter 1: In Which I Am Angry and Swearing

I never knew that your whole entire insides could hurt just from heartache. That sounds stupid but a broken heart is truly toxic to your whole body. The only time it’s bearable is if I’m sleeping, when I can get to sleep, or when I’m running. When I run, I can take myself passed the point of being able to think, able to remember. Then I can create a whole new hurt.

This summer, the New Life of Newly Single Jaisa Jamison, has been filled with running as soon as I wake, perfecting the art of folding towels at Apex, the only gym in my hometown, Landview, Nebraska (I’ve found keeping my hands busy with brainless tasks has an awesome numbing affect as well), trying to fake a bright face for my dad, little brother, Bryce, and best friend, Lydia, and then running myself into exhaustion so that I can sleep. It’s a routine. It’s become safe, almost comfortable. Tomorrow I have to go back to high school for my senior year.

F that.

###

            I try to find my inner calm spirit in the Sunday yoga class my mom and I go to together. This is kind of the one thing that we’ve kept up from our old routine of when she lived at home. It’s been almost three years since my parents got divorced; and it’s still weird meeting my mom at the gym for yoga, rather than us just getting in the car or riding bikes here together.

            Mom usually gets to yoga before me and sets up my mat beside hers. She’s wearing a bandana tied like a headband today. Her yoga pants are light blue, purple, and white tie-dye that would make anyone but my mom look ridiculous or like they have a huge butt. But they fit her. She’s soft and pastel, small and muted.

            “Hi, Baby,” she says. She’s seated on her mat. I sit beside her on the one she laid out for me. “Look how great you look! Each time I see you, you’re more and more—” her smile falters, like if she says I’m anything less than perfect I’ll crumble. “Radiant.”

            “I look better, Mom,” I say.

            “I think you have always been lovely, but yes, today you look exceptionally well.”

            I want to roll my eyes, but I just say thank you and hope class starts.

            We close our eyes and are supposed to be readying our bodies and minds for practice; however, I can’t stop thinking about how I wish Mom would just yell at me. Why does she have to pretend like everything is flowers and fairies? I got dumped. I ran terribly in track, possibly costing myself a scholarship to run in college—my only ticket out of this boring-awful town. I barely ate, barely slept, barely talked to anyone the last few months. If I hadn’t been running and Dad, Bryce, and Lydia hadn’t been forcing more than grunts out of me, I’d have become a hermit.

            But I keep coming to yoga. And we keep having the same “oh, you’re so beautiful” hello. Why can’t she set aside “we’re all special” bullshit for her third graders and be real with me?

            I might be better, but I’m not freaking radiant.

###

    It's taken a great majority of my life to accept that I love the great state of Nebraska. When I was growing up, I thought it was so boring. Just awful. Farms and cows and the biggest city had (still has) only two "skyscrapers." Why couldn't I have grown up in New York City or Los Angeles or London or Berlin or anywhere more interesting than here? Now, I love the quiet of the country, the beauty of running on gravel roads, and I could not live far from the lake where I grew up.
     In high school, I was frustrated with the people. I couldn't wait to jump to the defense of any group I felt might be marginalized in a debate. I fought teachers on gender roles and did everything I could to make sure people knew when I felt they were overstepping a line. I know now that there are racists and sexist people everywhere, not just Nebraska.
     In college I was so immersed in academia (a far more liberal setting than I'd grown up in), that I forgot that these issues of equality were so prevalent in my state. I traveled to Europe in the summer of 2008 and in London, Paris, Berlin, most cities we traveled to, people wanted to ask us about who we thought would be elected president. I was hesitant. I wanted to believe that America was ready for its first African American president, but I was afraid that wouldn't come. The people of Europe loved Obama. At least the ones I came in contact with. And these Europeans had way more faith in the American people than I did. "Obama will be president," they told me. "Americans will make the right choice," they said.
     In graduate school, I defended Nebraska to all of my from the east and west coasts. I had friends who were sure they would be hanged--in 2012-2014, mind you--if they ever came to Nebraska because they were African American or Latina or gay, or Jewish, or anything other than white, Christian, heterosexual. "It's not that bad," I said. "Haven't you heard of Nebraska Nice? Nebraska people are very nice and we have a lot of immigrants in small towns and Omaha has a few cool gay bars and downtown is kind of diverse." Kind of diverse.
     I have come to I tell myself that history teaches us that society never becomes more conservative, society progresses. Sometimes faster, sometimes slower, but always progresses. Today we are appalled at the way African Americans were (are) treated. The way women were once not allowed to vote. But here we are today with a black president and many female CEO's of companies. Maybe history of progress is what the Europeans had better faith in than I when they told me Obama would surely be president.
     On Sunday, Nebraskan law makers lifted a ban that made gays and lesbians ineligible to be foster parents. To me that this is just now happening seems silly and archaic. If a child needs a positive, loving, stable couple/person in his/her life, I don't care if that couple or person is gay, lesbian, green, blue, whatever. Love and support can come in all different shapes and sizes. Isn't living with a gay man who loves said child better than the child continuing to live without food or clothing with his birth parents? Duh.
     Today a judge has blocked Nebraska's ban on gay marriage. I am beyond happy. Finally, we weren't the last in the nation to come to the 21st century. We aren't the last state to hide behind a vail of religion in a nation where we supposedly have separation of church and state. We aren't the last to deny part of our population a basic right to love, stability, and all of the rights that go with marriage.
     Of course the state is planning to appeal and overturn the ruling. To those trying to overturn, I say why? Why spend so much money and breath to fight something that has nothing to do with you? What is it hurting you if homosexual people are allowed to marry and thus share benefits and tax privileges, social security, and make decisions with wills and children like all other married couples. Are these people second class citizens not worthy of all benefits? I don't think any of that affects you one bit. And let's get real, what on earth could possibly be wrong with love? Because that's what marriage is supposed to be about, right? Come on, Nebraska, love the people who love you. Love all of your people equally. Isn't that what Jesus was all about, anyway? It's America the land of the free?

     On Super Bowl Sunday it snowed like crazy in Omaha. Like crazy. It was the most snow in a 16 hour period of time I may have ever seen in my life. My running buddy, Lori, and I were supposed to run in a race that morning but the race was canceled because of the snow. The temperature's real feel--with windchill--was -7, the wind was blowing 35 mph and we got about a foot of snow. My buddy and I decided to run--we didn't have anything else going on.
    Lori and her husband live about 3/4 of a mile from me so they met me and my dog and we braved the cold, wind and deep snow. Neighbors out scooping their driveways waved, cheered us on, told us we were crazy. We ran about 7 miles--Lori closer to 8. My headcover was frozen, my eyes stung with snow, my poor Yadi dog slept for 2 days after the run but it was amazing. The world was quiet and white and beautiful and the company was good, as always.
     I told one of my clients about running in the snow the week after we ran and today he told me how much he had enjoyed the story. He is in his seventies and used to run almost daily. He said hearing about Lori and me and the joy we get from running made him miss running. And he reminded me how lucky I am to have my running buddy. Running buddies are hard to find. It's hard to find someone to match your pace, but still push you. It's hard to find someone that you want to share that intimate time with. Running is therapeutic and the wrong partner can take that away. The right partner can enhance it. Lori and I have helped each other train for marathons and 50 mile races. We have seen each other recover from injury and get faster. We have talked through relationships, family, friends, work, and whatever life throws at us.
     Today I'm happy to be reminded how lucky I am.

Yadi and me post Snow Run

    I'm starting to feel like there are a few things I'm figuring out in life. I'll probably look back on this in 10 years and realize I didn't have a clue, but for now, I think I might be getting the hang of a few things.
    One of these things is dating relationships. They are scary, right? My good friend Kim says that they are scary because there are two options for dating: one, you break up and someone gets hurt or two you get married. Those are the only two options. And she's right. That's scary. Like really scary.
     Someone that I love was telling me how frustrating it is to see all these people our age getting married and having babies and my friend is not anywhere close to that. I am the same age and I actually don't find that too many of my friends/classmates are getting married or having babies. And I'm totally OK not being married yet. I think that's probably because so many people of my generation have been touched by divorce that we're even more scared and wary of relationships. Scared of getting hurt, scared of breaking a commitment.
     I'm starting to think that that's what a marriage needs to start with: commitment to the idea that marriage is for life. Ideally, I would say that marriage starts with love, but I highly doubt that you will love the person you marry every single day, because, let's be honest, in real life, there are bad days. There are days where I want to hate the world. But that doesn't mean that I will quit on my commitment to being a decent human being, right? There will definitely be days where I dislike my spouse. But if I can fall back on my commitment to him and to our marriage and our life, and truly believe in that, I believe I can stay true to him.
     So that's epiphany number one: that we must believe in the idea of commitment before we can dedicate our life to whatever it is we love. Epiphany number two? I've been wondering why we stay in relationships that we aren't happy with. Sometimes I think it's because we don't want to fail. But a breakup isn't failing, right? We feel like we invest time and effort into a relationship and if it doesn't work out, we think we have done something wrong. But, there's still something to be taken away from said relationship--right? If anything we learned what we cannot live with.
     All this being said, I think there are three kinds of romantic relationships. One: a fling. Person A is interested in Person B and visa versa, however, neither are really committed or interested enough in the relationship to change. Thus it fizzles out after a short time and no one is really too hurt. These relationships are not too bad.
     Two: a heartbreak. Person A and Person B have a lot in common. They have fun together but after a few months together, they realize there are a few fundamental things that are lacking. These can be any number of things--communication skills, differences in beliefs, different stages of life, etc. Because of the time both invested in the relationship and the initial attraction and things in common, they try to make it work. But for some reason--be it stubbornness or too strong of belief or straight incompatibility--neither person is willing to change enough to be right for the other. These people get stuck in a kind of limbo where Person A can see the person they believe Person B could be, but Person B will never be that person. And that's OK. But it's awful. It's heartbreaking to realize something isn't going to work. Many people will even get married believing that a person will change once they are married, but I don't really think they do.
     Three: lobsters. (Friends reference. Check it: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TyvRjF0NBeM) These are the kind of relationships that should last life time. You know, until your old and holding claws in your tank for life. Person A and Person B have things in common. They have their own hobbies too, but things are better when they are together. They still have things to talk about after spending 50 years together. They have the same core values and beliefs but are their own people too. They have enough love and respect for one another that they can push one another to be better, to change while still staying true to themselves. Unlike the people in heartbreak, lobsters want to change and grow together.
     I hope we all find our lobsters if you are looking for one. Hugs.

In response to my last blog post, my good friend Codie gave me some of the best words of wisdom. He wrote:

We make our choices based on what we know. One of the funny things about life is how confident we can be in our beliefs, interests and dreams without any real, definitive way to know if they are our “best” options. I’m not convinced we have an assigned plan and I certainly do not believe that we should only have or choose one purpose. In the end, we make our choices in life and make the best of it—remember it’s about the journey and not the destination.

What a smart and handsome fellow. I cannot think of more true words on the subject. However, how caught up do we get in every decision we make?

I’m kind of a stewer. I think about something and then sit on it, think and then sleep on it, talk it over with friends, write a pros and cons list, do some research, wait for the absolutely last moment and then go with my gut. I can be ordering food at a restaurant or deciding to buy a house—all the same process.

Codie is so right, though. I can tell you exactly what I believe, what my interests and aspirations are, but was my decision on where to go to college the “best” one? I don’t know. I’ll never know, I suppose. But I can say, I will own each decision I’ve made. Own them and love them. Because they are mine. And I’m in the drivers seat for my journey.

Right after every important decision I’ve made, I’ve had a big, oh-God-what-did-I-get-myself-into moment. I applied to exactly one scholarship in high school—not something I’d recommend. But I got it. It was basically a full ride to anywhere in the state of Nebraska. I hadn’t looked a single school in my home state. But taking the scholarship and choosing to stay in Nebraska helped me study abroad twice. To have 2 majors. To meet two of the greatest people I get to call my friends. Going to UNO lead to the best college job. This job was a chance to work in a field that I now call my profession and led me to my Omaha family.

My decision to take that scholarship helped me save enough money to go to grad school—another decision where I had an oh-crap moment as I walked up to my college in Los Angeles. But there I met more people I love and my writing has grown from a childhood hobby to my dream career.

While in grad school, I accepted an extra job after much stress and debate with my friend and boss and my mom about whether it was something I wanted to do. This brought me to more friends—a group of people I still talk to almost daily even though I haven’t worked there for almost a year. People I think I’ll talk to no matter where I go in life.

And I think that’s really what life’s all about. We go all these places and meet people and they’re the best part of the journey. The things you see, the conversations you have, the quality of the time you spend.

And I’m not saying that everyone you meet and everywhere you go will be rainbows and unicorns. You’ll meet some people that will impact you for a day or join you on your journey for a year. But that doesn’t mean they’re there to stay. And that’s OK. Sometimes it’s hard to let people walk out of our lives or to walk away from others, but we can’t all be on the same path. That’s no to say that these people mean less to us that those who stay with us for a lifetime. These people and places we walk away from can sometimes teach us the most about ourselves. We think nothing of using a car until it is no longer of use to us, but we tend to hold on longer to other big decisions than letting them go and moving on to the next part of our journeys—so says the girl who almost has a panic attack when the waiter asks what she wants and she can’t decide between the fajita salad and the fajita burrito.

I don’t know where any of us are going. I, like Codie, don’t necessarily believe we have a pre-determined destination, but I love the ride so far, wherever it is I am headed. Like I said though, I am in the driver’s seat on my own journey. I hope you can embrace your life as well and own that ride you’re on, making it the best. Because we only get one, right? Might as well make it yours. 

     It's a new year and I'm 26 and I'm realizing that I still don't know what I want to be when I grow up. Isn't it weird how when you're a kid all anyone ever asks you is what you want to be when you grow up?
     From the first thought that I remember, I wanted to be a vet. It was my biggest dream. I thought I'd live on a huge farm and all of the animals in the world who didn't have a home would come live with me. (My mother had this same dream about an orphanage for children when she was young).

Me, age 4 in preschool

I read everything I could about animals and vets and had exactly 8 billion stuffed animals. Then our cat died at the vet and I realized being a vet could be heartbreaking.
     After nixing vet from my future, I hung out in a limbo for a while where I truly believed if I wished it hard enough, I could become a Bengal Tiger. Don't laugh. We all have dreams.  And yes, that's a Bengal Tiger, not Siberian, not Indochinese, not Malayan, not South China. Bengal. Soon after this, I thought that I wished hard enough I would get my owl to enter the Wizarding World of Harry Potter. Bengal Tiger or a witch, I would have been happy with either.

                                                   

       When I was in sixth grade and it was clear my owl was not a year late, nor was I sprouting whiskers and stripes, I got on a crime novel kick and was convinced I wanted to be a lawyer. All the research and reading and debating and solving the puzzles, oh! I'd just be great at it. All murderers behind bars. I started researching law schools and settled on Emory University in Atlanta, Georgia--I'd go after playing women's basketball during undergrad, of course.

       Somewhere along the lines of my parents' divorce I realized that most lawyers do not get to work exciting murder cases on a daily basis. And that sometimes you have to represent someone you don't like to make the big bucks. Cross lawyer off the list. 

     So I'm fifteen, still hooked on Harry Potter, however certain that I will not become a Bengal Tiger or a lawyer, and I start to really think about the things I like to do. I like to read and I like sports. I start working at the YMCA--sports referee and lifeguard (AKA glorified babysitter, but with good breaks for reading and homework). My college basketball dreams are crushed by my orthodontist who tells me I will only be 5'8". A minute bush in my family of trees.  However, my teeth are flawless. 

     I take the greatest (and toughest) class of my high school career, AP Literature and Composition, and know that books are for me. What could be better than getting paid to read, right? So I went to college and majored in Spanish and Creative Writing--but I'm not a writer, I'd tell my classmates, I want to be an editor. 

     I taught fitness classes and wrote for a few local magazines. I loved college. I loved my job. Then I had my first desk job writing and editing promotional material and grants and it was the worst thing of my life. I hated going to sit in the same spot every day. It was 15 hours a week and I couldn't wait for the semester to be over so I could be done with it. I graduated. What to do next? I thought I'd be moving to New York to become a big name fiction editor. What was I going to do with my life if I couldn't stand the thought of sitting at a desk? I took a year. Realized I could, actually, write things that people were interested in. 

     In the last month of 2013 I bought a house, then in April 2014 I became full time at my gym. Then in June 2014 I graduated with my Masters of Fine Arts degree from one of the top 5 low residency schools in the nation. In October 2014 I taught my first online creative writing class. All things that seem so grown up, but yet, is this what I want to do when I grow up? Do I want to teach some day? Do I ever want to give up the varying routine of personal training and getting paid to work out?  Does all this crap really even matter? I mean, I have great friends, the best family, I can run, I love my job and I have time to write. But is this what I am when I'm grown up?

     It's a weird feeling not having the answer to that. When I was little I used to say with so much conviction that I wanted to be a vet. Now, as a grown up, I only know these things:

1. I want to be the best dog mom ever. 

2. I want to write. 

3. I want to run.

4. I want to be the best version of myself every day, but every day, I want to be myself. 

    I guess that will have to do it for now. Unless I finally get my invitation to Hogwarts. 

        I'm re-reading the Hunger Games in preparation for the new movie coming out soon. My boyfriend and I decided that we've been very caught up in running from place to place and people to people and we need to start taking some time to just hang together. Like together without the dog too. We love Yadi, but homeboy thinks his nose should be between our noses at all times. 

        We decided that each of us would create a date once a month. John knew just the perfect date to win me over by suggesting we read a similar book this month. Katniss for life. 

        Getting into the novel from the beginning again is so amazing. I've only been reading when on workout equipment, otherwise I'd have read the book in one sitting. I. Love. This. Book. Holy cow. 

        I'm not an expert on teen fantasy/distopian novels by any means, but I'm familiar with a few series. When I finished reading Harry Potter, which was heartbreaking, all the rage was over Twilight. I try to always, always be honest. Twilight is one of the worst things to happen to teenagers. Period. Actually, I think I've blogged about this before so I won't even go there. Then came the The Hunger Games. Hallelujah. A real girl heroine (I'd also argue that Hermoine is a rock solid role model). But then we get someone like Tris from Divergent. Another blah blah boy obsessed ninny. 

        Back to Katniss. The Girl on Fire. Back to something I love. Katniss is a girl I want to be like. Katniss is a girl who takes action and charge and stands for something even if she's scared. Katniss is the girl I hope all girls look up to. One could argue that Katniss is not a true heroine. That she does not set out looking to change her world but is rather thrown into being the leader of a revolution. It is true that she is unsure she even wants to lead this revolution. However, she rises to the occasion. She doesn't let herself become a victim (ahem, Bella). She put her family and her own survival first when she hunted to keep her family alive, when she volunteered for Prim.

        When I look at the women who parade in front of us as celebrities, I yearn for a Katniss. Instead we have Kim Kardashian posing naked, or Miley Cyrus doing drugs, or even Taylor Swift singing about adding to her list of boyfriends. Don't get me wrong, I love T Swift. And I admire her ability to not yet have any major discrepancies to her image, however, she's 25 years old. Isn't it time to, like, take some action and be somebody rather than an image?

        Katniss is moody and confused and scared and falls in love. She's also brave and smart. She's resourceful and can handle herself on her own, but she admits that she can't do it alone. Human beings need each other and one of the hardest things in the world can be to accept that. 

        And Katniss chooses Peeta. The boy with the bread. The nice boy. We never see that, do we? In all the silly rom coms we see girls fall again and again for the bad boy. Taylor Swift might not have anything more to sing about if she actually went for a guy who's not a player, but maybe true love isn't her goal in life. 

        Peeta isn't a weenie or a loser even if he is the nice guy. He's strong. He's smart--he's the one who could execute the game far better than Katniss who's hot headedness would've blown their strategy. 

       When the second movie came out, my mom, aunt and two cousins and I went to the movie. We got into a debate on who wanted Gayle and Katniss and who wanted Peeta and Katniss. Both my cousins Sydney and Darby and I were all about Peeta. My mom and aunt were appalled. 

       I wonder what this says about us. Loving Peeta. Maybe being younger and freshly dating, we are over the image of the hot bad boy and just want someone to tell the world he loves he loved us from the first time he saw us. The boy with the bread who just wants to maintain his humanity and protect the girl he loves rather than running off into the woods and pretending he can turn his back on the hardship at home. Gayle's a good guy too. I see this. He becomes a huge player in the revolution. I get it. But Peeta is a rock. He's dependable and there and funny and sweet. He sees in Katniss what the reader sees but she doesn't. He sees her as strong and independent but he compliments it by being funny and personable when she is not. He eases her tension. He completes her just by being who he is rather than being the same as her, like Gayle, or trying to conform to who she is (like Bella to Edward, Tobias and Tris). 

        Peeta also, in my opinion, has the best lines in the first book. He tells Katniss:

         “I don’t know how to say it exactly. Only…I want to die as myself. Does that make any sense?” he asks. I shake my head. How could he die as anyone but himself? “I don’t want them to change me in there. Turn me into some kind of monster that I’m not.”

I bite my lip, feeling inferior. While I’ve been ruminating on the availability of trees, Peeta has been struggling with how to maintain his identity. His purity of self. “Do you mean you won’t kill anyone?” I ask.

        “No, when the time comes, I’m sure I’ll kill just like everybody else. I can’t go down without a fight. Only I keep wishing I could think of a way to…to show the Capitol they don’t own me. That I’m more than just a piece in their Games,” says Peeta. (p 141)

        And he is. All the way through. And Katniss is herself too. They both put on an act to stay alive, but protecting their families and each other is essentially at the heart of all of their actions. Katniss doesn't change for Peeta or Gayle or anyone (ahem, Bella and Tris). She succeeds because of who she is and who she grows to be. She stands for something. In later books the rebels try to make her a rallying image for their cause but she only goes so far to be who they want her to be before speaking up and creating an image of her own. The image that she was all along. The Girl on Fire. Do you. Always be you. The good, the bad, and the ugly. But do it with fire.