Sonya Elliott

Back on the Court

AUTHOR & BASKETBALL FANATIC

PEN TO PAPER: Wants & Needs

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There’s a feeling in my soul right now that has inspired me to blog again. Maybe I’m working through anger and frustration about what is happening in the world with the pandemic, the coming election and the onset of fires across the west coast. Or perhaps it’s simply the fact that I’m at home a lot these days. Whatever the case, I’m finally doing more writing. And I like it.

I haven’t felt such a strong urge to write for a while. Not like this. Other than my Thursday’s with Jenny, my writing time has been more of a grind. Sonya, you should work on your book. Sonya you should blog. I want to finish my book, so I sit down and write and rewrite and write some more, and I’m always glad that I do, but it’s been hard.

I love the feeling that I have right now, where I can’t think of much else, so I’m taking advantage of the fire in my belly and getting to work. It’s a little bit of a problem because it’s been keeping me up at night as my mind whirls with ideas, but honestly, I prefer it this way. The urge to write is always inside me, it’s just hidden at times, but when it surfaces like this, it reminds me that not only do I want to write, I need to write.

Set your goals and work like a turtle if you need to, in order to reach those goals, and when you feel the urge to write, take advantage of every minute and write on!

WRITING PROMPT #1: What are your wants & needs? Or simply put WANTS & NEEDS at the top of a blank page and start writing and see where it takes you.

WRITING PROMPT #2: She had a fire in her belly…

 

 

PEN TO PAPER: World Health

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Before we write each Thursday, my friend Jenny and I meditate. Even now, with Covid-19 Stay-at-Home orders, we write and meditate together. We connect via video chat, set our timers and breathe. It grounds us before we dive into writing. I’ve been working to integrate meditation into my daily life as it brings me a sense of calm. I’m not always great at doing it, but if ever there was a time I needed it, it’s right now. Not only are there life’s normal stresses, we are all dealing with a pandemic.

A World Wide Pandemic.

When I write it out like that, it seems f’ing crazy. A thing of novels, and movies, and maybe the distant future, but not life in real time. But it is life in real time, and unfortunately, it is the world’s new reality for a while. The thought of it is unsettling and scary, but when all is said and done, for our sanity, we have to make the best of this new reality we’re living.

My family is healthy and my husband has a job, and we have food on the table, so it might be easier for me to say, than for others. But we all worry. And I think especially us moms. Being the caregivers, we want to keep everyone safe, and with the coronavirus, this foreign invader, we aren’t quiet sure how to do it. My daughter lives on the other side of the world, where I’m not allowed travel because I’m a US citizen. What if she needs her mom? My husband and I have older parents with health issues. How long until we can really be with them again, be by their sides, giving them hugs and kisses? How will we pay the mortgages on our rental houses if our tenants can’t pay? There’s a lot to worry about, and that’s when I remind myself to breathe. I remind myself that our family is healthy, and I breathe.

Which brings me back to meditation and my experience with it today. The strangest thing happened. Normally when I meditate, I try to open my mind and focus on my breathing, which rarely works if I haven’t been on a consistant schedule, so when it’s not working, like earlier today, I breathe and (in my head) say a little mantra. Now, some writers might tell you their mantra, but I’m going to keep mine to myself. What I will tell you is that it’s nothing mind blowing and it’s just six words. I breathe in on one, two and three and I breathe out on four, five and six. Simple. Well, not always, but as I started breathing, instead of the usual distraction of my back hurting and my mind wondering to my to-do list, three specific words kept floating into my mind and butting in.

Health. Earth. World. Earth. Health.

Then World Health, World Health, World Health. Soon I was breathing in on the word World, and out on the word Health, and the next thing you know, the timer dinged. “That time FLEW by,” I said to Jenny. She agreed. I wasn’t thinking about how hard it was to sit still or about the bills that needed to be paid. I just breathed WORLD HEALTH.

It felt so good, yet felt so…woo woo. So, not me. Still, I listened. Could my ten minutes of World Health meditation heal the world at a time when it really needs it? With Covid 19 and global warming ravaging this earth? Probably not, not in and of itself, but could my meditation help spread good energy? I like to think a little. Some might argue that sending that energy into the world helps a lot. Some might say focused world meditation can manifest world peace and harmony, so of course it can help world health. Whatever the case, it can’t hurt.

So, I’m sending into the world good energy and healing, and hoping to inspire others to do the same. To take a moment to see how they can live and breathe health into this world, and bring even just a moment of calm into their lives. If I could discover a vaccine for Covid-19 or invent something that removes the carbon dioxide that’s trapped in our atmosphere, that would be amazing, but I’m no scientist. But I can make good choices, and my moment of breathing world health also reminded me of how the little things are important. That little things equal big things…. Wash my hands, use social distancing, buy local, pay bills online, take a short shower, turn off the lights, recycle, reuse…

World Health. World Health. World Health.

 

Links on how you can help world health:

Covid-19 Prevention…

https://www.cdc.gov/coronavirus/2019-ncov/prevent-getting-sick/prevention.html

Help Stop Global Warming…

https://oceanservice.noaa.gov/ocean/earthday.html

https://www.50waystohelp.com

https://www.nrdc.org/stories/how-you-can-stop-global-warming

 

PEN TO PAPER: Life

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I write every Thurday with my friend Jenny. We used to always start with a freewrite, where we would choose a prompt and then write continuously for a few minutes, not worrying about spelling or grammar or content, just simply writing what ever came through our fingers and onto the page. Last week, after a few minutes of meditation (a more recent addition to our Thursdays), we decided to re-introduce the freewrite. We opted for “Life” in poetry, and started writing. When we were done, we read to one another and breathed…we needed that.

The freewrite has been added back into our writing routine.

If you’re a writer, maybe it’s time to try another freewrite. If you’re not a writer, give it a shot, you never know what will happen. You don’t have to read it to anyone. You can simply keep it to yourself or toss it away, but the process of letting thoughts out, letting them ramble around on a page, whether they make sense or not, can be valuable, if only as a way to vent and find room for your mind to focus.

With my daughter in Asia near the Coronavirus, several deadly shooting in the Seattle area, non-stop rain and the state of our nation, it felt good to bring my feelings together on the page. I’m no poet, but who cares. My poem found it’s way to what’s important, focusing on the good in life.

 

Life

Grey skies

Fire

Heat

Congressional smoke and mirrors

Maps

Red dots

A virus gone wild

Death

Fallen bodies

Where I once walked the runway

Fear spreads

Is this the Apocalypse?

Breathe

Think outside yourself

Give

Find the sunshine

Live

 

WRITING PROMPT: If your not sure where to start, grab a pen or your computer and try writing a poem about life, as we did, or if that doesn’t float your boat, simply open a book, put your finger on the page and write about the word or picture that your finger lands on (or for more ideas try out my past Pen to Paper writing blogs).

Write On!

 

 

 

 

PEN TO PAPER: Writing To Save My Life

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Several years ago I wrote an article about how writing literally saved my life after my fiancé was killed and I felt as if life wasn’t worth living. I never published the piece, but I hand it out when I speak to grief support groups, hoping that my experience with recovery will inspire others who are struggling. And now, I hope that by sharing it here, it will find it’s way to those in need…

 

“Writing to Save My Life”

Sonya G. Elliott

I wouldn’t have thought it could happen. Getting hit by a train and losing my fiancé just days before our wedding for one, but actually recovering from such a thing seems altogether unbelievable, even a miracle. And, of course, the fact that I survived was a miracle to my family and friends, but for me it was a death sentence that left me alone and struggling to go on with life. Had it not been for my journal, my writing, I may never have found my way.

I had played basketball for the Eastern Washington University Screamin’ Eagles from 1984 to 1988, then after graduating I moved to Seattle where I began working as a fashion model. Not the typical career choice for an athlete and honor student, but I had been a walking contradiction since I was a child, when I sat alone in the tall grass picking clovers and then quietly pushed myself to a stand and began walking for the first time. In high school I was the jock that sang solos in choir and did my homework. (I thought of myself as a well-rounded person, my classmates called me a nerd.) When I met Mark, I was still living a life of contradiction. I’d spend afternoons sashaying down the runway with my long blond hair piled high upon my head, then I’d rush home to scour the dark lining from my eyes and the red from my lips, and hurry to the nearest open gym to play basketball.

When I first saw Mark, I was running my fingers impatiently over my soft leather basketball waiting to play in the next game at Shoreline community center.My stomach fluttered as I watched him move swiftly around his defender with a hesitation dribble, and take the ball to the hoop. Laying the ball gently against the backboard, he made a quick pivot as the ball dropped through the net and then sprinted down on defense. A smile flickered on his lips. I held the ball tight in my hands. My mind was no longer on basketball.

I hadn’t really noticed a man since my boyfriend and I broke up three months earlier. But Mark, with his strong build, thick dark hair and smiling emerald eyes, had an unguarded confidence that demanded my full attention. As he glided effortlessly up and down the court, he hypnotized me with his command of the game. When I stepped onto the court to play against him, Mark was wearing a white cotton t-shirt with a blue Nike across the chest, and on his face he was wearing a broad smile.

“I’ve got her,” he said, bringing his lips together and looking me in the eye.

Playing basketball against a man tells me more about him than any date. I got to know the real Mark that afternoon. He didn’t give me a break. He took me to the hoop, crashed the boards, and stole my passes. He used his body to move me out of the way and get loose balls, and then he’d flash me a smile. Mark captured my heart with his intensity and teamwork each time down the court and my admiration was deepened by the chance to be near him. His unmistakable masculine scent was enhanced by the warmth of his body and became permanently ingrained in my mind as we moved on the court together.  I craved it like chocolate. I wished the game would never end.

When it did, Mark asked me to dinner and a Sonics game. Three months later we were engaged to be married. Basketball had been my life; now there was something better to live for, Mark. Inseparable, Mark and I mapped out our future. Our wedding, our home, our family and our life together. On our way home from our last wedding shower, eight months after our first date, the car that Mark and I were driving was hit by a train.

***

GAUBINGER IN INTENSIVE CARE

Gaubinger, Former University High School and Eastern Washington basketball player, remains in intensive care at Deaconess Medical Center with injuries sustained Sunday in a car-train accident near Ritzville.

Gaubinger, 25, was a passenger in a car driven by her fiancé, Mark Overholt, that was struck by a Burlington Northern train at a crossing on Snyder Road.  She was thrown through the rear window and suffered multiple fractures and a punctured lung.  She underwent six hours of surgery on Sunday.

Overholt, 25, died from internal injures at the site of the crash.

The article from the Spokesman Review detailed the obvious; what it couldn’t tell was the real story. By the time my parents rolled me out of the hospital in a wheelchair two weeks later, my broken body and mind had withered away. I couldn’t walk, let alone play basketball or strut down a runway. All I could do was cry and think of Mark. Mark and the future we had lost. The home, the children, the life we had foreseen was gone. I was a 25-year-old unofficial widow, drowning in sorrow. I had no reason to live.

But I lived. As much as I hated it, as each day passed, I lived. However, I lived with my parents, not my husband. I slept in a hospital bed in my parents’ living room. They cared for me, fed me, and bathed me. They wheeled me from room to room. The home’s circular path – dining room, kitchen, living room, bathroom, where I once chased my brother and dogs – now became my path of grief. While traveling this path of grief, my tears wore their own salty paths. Without my wanting or knowing, with the drop of each tear, my journey of recovery began.

I spent most days in Dad’s La-Z-Boy watching vivid memories of Mark play over and over in my mind. My mom was unsure of what to say or do to help make things better for me.  When she asked if she could help, “No” was my reply. Then a day came when she didn’t ask. Instead she pulled out a small book, with blue and white floral fabric for the cover, and rested it gently in my lap. It was a journal.

“I hope you’ll try writing in it,” she said cautiously. “Remember, the counselor thought it might be a good idea.”

I looked at the journal. Skeptical. Unsure if I could write at all, but more so, unsure if I dared follow the feelings deep in my heart. I set the journal aside.

“Thanks Mom,” I said, with no intent of ever dirtying the journal’s soft white pages.I was still hoping this was all a nightmare, that I might awake one day and have my life with Mark again.

More than a month after the accident, after Mark had died, and after getting rid of the contraption in the dining room that doubled as my bed, I moved to my old high school bedroom. The first night that my dad wheeled me in to go to bed, I noticed the floral journal across the room and asked dad to wheel me to the desk and get me a pen. Dad returned with a blue Bic and gave me a goodnight kiss. The scent of pine followed him out the door and when the door was closed, I reached for the pen. Gripping the pen awkwardly with my weakened hand, I was barely able to hold the journal in place while dragging the pen across the page with my broken limb. But once I began to write, all the pain I’d held inside flooded the pages. I wrote the obvious. I wrote the unthinkable. And as tears streamed down my face, I wrote to save my life.

The truth was out. It was in writing. Mark was dead and my life was over. How could I live without him? That was a question that couldn’t be answered, couldn’t be faced; instead it was the writing and the motion of life itself that kept me moving moment by moment, day by day, in the direction of change. Swimming through a pool of vivid memories that flooded my mind, I lived in the past, as my life moved forward. But I wasn’t ready to let go of the memories, to let go of Mark. I couldn’t say goodbye. Instead, as day turned to night and I was wheeled to my childhood desk, I grabbed my pen and left my heart on the page. I wrote of the pain in my heart and I wrote to Mark to keep him a part of my life.

Days became weeks. My wheelchair, left in the corner for long excursions, was replaced by a quad-cane. I walked to my desk under my own power. I continued to write. The pain in my heart wouldn’t stop, nor would my crying. I wrote about my pain. Then I wrote about Mark. I started a list that had everything about Mark that I could remember. The list grew quickly, but it seemed stale and empty. My words couldn’t emulate the vibrancy that was so much a part of each story found on the list. But once I realized this list was the only way each beautiful moment with Mark could be remembered and forever replayed in my mind, I made myself continue to write.

In time I exchanged the quad cane for a cane. I moved more quickly and with less pain. My scars faded. And with that shift came a new reality that I struggled with daily. How would I live without Mark? No longer did I write, I cannot live without Mark, but instead asked, how will I live without Mark? A subtle shift, gone unseen by me at the time, but a shift all the same, that kept me moving forward. As I wrote of the pain, and allowed that part of me to escape, new words hit the pages that began to fill the emptiness in my heart with hope.

I said goodbye to my cane and my parents. I found a job as an apartment manager which allowed me to live alone. I modeled for clients who were willing to work around my scars. Life had possibilities. Not of happiness, of course, that was out of the question, but of living. And part of living now was writing. When I wrote, the pages were still left wet with tears. Each time I set down my journal, the writing had pushed me forward and pushed me to live.

I began dribbling a basketball. My arm hung by my side like a stroke victim’s but I dribbled the ball. It was like being seven again. An awkward seven learning a new skill, and with that “new skill” came feeling of accomplishment. I wrote in my journal, I will play basketball again. Life continued to move forward.

I filled a second journal quickly. People were surprised by how well I was coping but my journal held the truth, the pain and the loneliness. All the things I didn’t dare let go in public for fear the tears would never stop. I was walking the road of grief and it was hard.

Eight months after the accident, a friend of Mark’s invited me to watch his high school baseball team play.  “You’ve gotta see this one kid. He looks just like Mark,” he said. I went to the game. I wasn’t sure how well I could handle seeing someone that looked like Mark, but I took a chance. And when I saw the right fielder flash Mark’s smile, it was like seeing just a small piece of Mark, and it was worth it.

Near the end of the game, an opposing batter swung at a pitch and sent a foul tip flying up behind the catcher.  The catcher whipped his mask off and spun around in search of the ball.  I stared in surprise. The catcher looked just like Jason. I had met Jason in college. We were both athletes and ran into one another frequently in the corridors of the athletic pavilion. We had been close friends in college but I hadn’t seen him in years.

I thought of Jason. And because of it, I suffered. Thinking of another man weighed on my soul. And then there came a moment when I did the unthinkable, a moment when there was a lull in my guilt, and I called Jason. Talking to him was like talking to my best friend.  Weeks passed, we spoke on the phone often, until I agreed to meet for lunch. I kept Jason a secret, afraid of what family and friends might think. But slowly, without pressure or promise, our relationship grew. And as I worked through my grief and guilt, and filled more pages of my journal with writing and tears, we became a couple.

Something I believed could never happen, did happen. I had met a man who was so warm and caring that I began to hope I might find love again. And as I made journal entries, happy times that I shared with Jason appeared on the pages mixed with painful memories of Mark. When I struggled with the guilt, guilt that I had survived, guilt that I was beginning to enjoy my life again, and guilt for having feelings for another man, I turned to writing even more. And as I soaked more pages of my journal with tears, my heavy heart lifted until I began dreaming of a future, a future with Jason.

The night Jason and I entered the cemetery, hand in hand, moonlight broke through the darkness just enough so that we could read the flat tombstones that led like a garden path to Mark’s grave. We walked in silence, and then came to a stop at the spot where Mark lay deep in the ground. Tears filled my lower lids. My grip on Jason’s hand tightened. Then I knelt to the ground and placed roses in Mark’s vase. Jason knelt down next to me, and we stayed that way for a long time before we moved on to our backs. Lying side by side on Mark’s grave, our hands intertwined, we gazed into the star-filled sky.

“What was Mark like?” Jason asked. I took a long deep breath and then let it escape, unsure of how I should answer. Then I gave a lengthy answer no new boyfriend or lover would want to hear.  An uncensored description of the man I had loved so dearly and, after this night, a man to whom I would finally have to say good-bye. Jason asked about Mark until the night grew cold and the closeness of our bodies could no longer keep us warm. The stories spilled out, one by one, finally giving way to my pent-up sorrow.  Jason pulled me in against his chest and held me while I cried. Though my relationship with Jason may have come too soon and at a time that was difficult for us both, I had found another man who loved me, and now I needed to slowly let go of the past and find a way to return that love.

It was my writing that allowed me to do that. I had waded through layers of sadness and guilt each time I wrote, forging a road to happiness and to a new life with Jason. On November 8th, 1993, I wrote in my journal, and with my writing, I spoke to Mark.

 It wasn’t until just now, when I wrote the date, that I realized that two years ago Mark and I were to be married.  It came as a shock to look at the date and think back to a time that seems so far away, yet in a breath feels like yesterday.  Tears come to my eyes as I think of Mark and all I’ve been through.

      I see more than ever that my life has changed.  It will never be the same, but once again I’m sharing my life and my love with someone very special. I love Jason, and I don’t want to lose what we have together. On this day, a day that was supposed to be so special 2 years ago, it is good to know in my heart that I want to be married to Jason and I am not afraid. I love you, Jason! Life is so worth living, especially when you have someone to share it with.

     Mark, I will always love you, you hold a special place in my heart. Thanks for all your strength.

It was on that day, over twenty-five years ago, that I realized the strength of the written word. The words that filled my journals guided me toward living, to a point in my life where I was strong enough to move forward, to marry Jason, to have children, and to live a life filled with love and hope. I have never forgotten Mark, but I have learned to let go, to remember the energy with which Mark lived his life, and to use it as an example for how to live mine. I am forever grateful for the short time I had with Mark, the life I now have with Jason and my family, and the written word that helped me find my way.

The End

 

Grieving is hard.

Journaling was an important piece of my recovery, but there are many things that can help you find your way through the hard times. If you are struggling, take care of yourself and allow yourself time to cry, but also get out of the house from time to time and do things that you enjoy, or used to enjoy, because just trying them can make a difference. Write down your thoughts, take time to breathe, ask for help, and again, don’t forget to cry when you need to and even when you don’t. Be good to yourself, as with many things in life, grieving is a journey, so keep moving forward one step at a time, and you will find your way.

Has writing helped you during your lifetime? What other things have helped when you’re struggling?

 

 

PEN TO PAPER: Discover Your Story

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This last weekend I drew inspiration from my daughter. Not only did she graduate with a degree in Creative Writing, she used what she’s learned in her major to inspire her classmates in her valedictorian commencement speech.

She related the life of a college graduate, one who is stepping into a new and unknown world, to that of a writer staring at a blank page.

“The sprawling expanse of possibility lies before us, both tantalizing and terrifying all at once. Yet, I’ve found that the cure to writer’s block is to just start writing. The time has come to start crafting our own stories.”

So true. Life can be scary, whether you’re a writer plugging away at a difficult piece, a new graduate starting a career, a new mother discovering what it’s like to care for an infant or an old mother figuring out what life has in store for her, life can be a challenge.  

“The important part is that you start, and start with a vengeance. Chase dreams, chase jobs, chase experiences, chase what makes you happy. Because right now, inside each and everyone one of us, a story is waiting to be told.”

What story is waiting inside of you?

Read Charli Elliott’s full commencement speech on her blog eloquentlyelliott.com

 

PEN TO PAPER: Get on a roll

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I’ve been on a roll. A slow roll, but a roll all the same. I’ve been writing, not as much as I’d like, but the key is I have been doing it. I’m a little bit like the tortoise in The Tortoise and the Hare. I’m just plugging away, setting aside time to write, even if it’s just thirty minutes.

Whether it’s the book you’re writing, or your goal to stay in shape, or even perhaps your goal to start a business, just start rolling. Even a slow and steady pace will gain momentum and lead you where you want to go.

What helps you to get, and keep, on a roll?

PEACELOVEBASKETBALL & PEN TO PAPER: Writing Wisdom

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When I was coaching I gave journals to all of my players and to the kids who came to our summer camps. I found that writing was a good way for them to set personal goals, learn about team concepts and discover things about themselves and each other.

Some players cherished their journals and even brought them home and used them on their own throughout the season. Others simply left them in their lockers for the times when we had organized writing exercises and goal settings. But I loved that every time we wrote in the journals, noses went straight to the page and pens where scratching away. The girls had things to say, thoughts to be written. I believe that all the players and campers benefitted from the experience in one way or another as it gave them the opportunity to delve into their thoughts on the importance of teamwork, attitude and work ethic, and also gave them a space for personal introspection and self-evaluation.

For the high school teams, I had the players write down basketball goals as well as some life goals, and then I tried to give a variety of thought provoking writing prompts. I used questions like: What does team mean to you? Give three things that you can do to help our team be successful this year. Name three goals you have for this season. What steps will you take to achieve these goals? What are three goals (non-basketball related) that you would like to accomplish this year in school? What would you like to be doing in five years? There are so many options to get your team thinking.

Journaling for campers (4th– 8thgraders) was similar, I just added questions that were a little easier to answer and to discuss if the girls wanted to. I used some questions similar to the ones above and added questions like: If you could travel anywhere, where would you go? If you could be an animal, what would you be and why? What is something that you learned at camp today? What makes you happy? Write about someone who is special to you. Share a time when you helped someone. How did it make you feel?

Whether you’re a coach or a player (or anyone really), try using a journal, take time to look inside and reflect on your life and see what happens.

WRITING PROMPT: Choose one of the prompts above and get writing!

 

PeaceLoveBasketball Believe Journal $19.17

PEN TO PAPER: Working Inspiration

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Are you looking for something to write about? Try writing a list poem of the jobs you’ve had over your lifetime and see what happens.

In a recent conversation with a friend, I explained how I bought one house in a short sale and then used a 1031 Exchange to find a house in a better neighborhood. Over the evening my past as a forklift driver and a Licensed Massage Therapist came up. She knew me as a fashion model. She laughed, “I’d like to see a list of all the jobs you’ve had.”

 

My Jobs

Deli Worker

Forklift Driver

Retail Sales Person

Pizza Delivery Person

Waitress

Fashion Model

Basketball Coach

Apartment Manager

Licensed Massage Therapist

School Volunteer

PeaceLoveBasketball Design/Owner

Writer/Author

Public Speaker

Real Estate Investor/ Rental manager

Mom

 

A poem? Well, not really, but a dredger of stories for sure. Just writing the list brought back all kinds of memories, and all sorts of possibilities. Give it a try!

WRITING PROMPT 1: Write a list of all the jobs you’ve had in your lifetime.

WRITING PROMPT 2: Pick one (or two) of them and keep on writing.

PEN TO PAPER: The Process of Perfection

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Sixteen years ago I built a deck onto a rental house. It took time, I had never built a deck before. My tenants, two young women who were published authors, were in awe of what I was doing. They would peer out the back door from time to time and say, “That is so cool, I want to build a deck someday.” I was working to write my memoir at the time and thought, I want to publish a book someday. Instead I was wasting precious writing time with my nose in my Home Depot deck book, planning and building.

I love to write, yet it’s often hard to sit down and do it. Why is that? Could it be that life gets in the way? Sometimes. Is it fear that perhaps what I’m writing isn’t good enough? Quite possibly. And for me it has a little bit to do with the fact that I feel satisfaction when I’m using my body, so when I’m working on a blog or my book, I feel like I’m not “doing” anything, like I’m wasting time.

Of course when I’m writing I know I’m not wasting time, but the process can seem never-ending and fruitless. That perfect poem, that perfect essay, that perfect sentence, seems to elude me and there is a reason for this, nothing is ever perfect. Perfection is simply what we strive for but it’s not the real goal. The real goal is a story that can be shared. And when we get the results we want down on paper it’s the most amazing feeling in the world.

I’m working to appreciate the journey of creating a story. I remind myself daily that the pieces I write will not be perfect, just as life is not perfect. If I were the best writer in the world, in the universe, I have a feeling I wouldn’t be satisfied with my work, but I’m learning to fight the critic, fight the lows, enjoy the process and find strength in the possibility of story.

After I had cemented the posts, drilled into the foundation, attached the joists and laid the decking so many years ago, those strenuous hours cementing, sawing and hammering helped me to feel real pride, and though the finished product was far from perfect I was able to give myself a break and recognize the good.

Writing is the same. If you spend a month writing and editing a piece, you should look for the good and not expect it to be perfect. When I finished my memoir (after editing what seamed like a million times), I wanted to get it out there to help other people who were dealing with grief and recovery, so I was able to eventually let go of the need for perfection. But, like with many things, I often need a reminder.

Last week I was at the same rental house where I built the deck so many years ago waiting for a contractor to stop by to do some work. And as I sat in the back yard, on the deck that I had built when my son was only two (He will be leaving to college this year), I thought of all the writing I have done and the book that I’ve published since then. I thought of my husband and the kids we have raised. I thought of the basketball teams I have coached and the people who have become a part of my life since I built the small deck.

I remembered picking my son up from preschool and bringing him to the rental house and giving him a hammer so he could teeter from post to post and “help” me build. I noticed the faded boards and all of it’s imperfections, but most of all I saw a beautiful living space that for sixteen years, despite it’s imperfections, has been used and enjoyed.

So when you sit down to write, remember, writing (and life really) is just like building a deck. You need to put in the work, push ahead, find joy in the process and understand that it doesn’t need to be perfect to be worth doing. Get your words on the page and out into the world.

Write on!

WRITING PROMPT 1: What is perfection?

WRITING PROMPT 2: Ellie decided she would…

Monday’s Pen to Paper: Why Do We Write?

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This week I was reading about creating, and why we do it, and what keeps us going. As a writer, it’s easy to forget, it’s easy to wonder why the hell we spend hours upon hours jotting down words and then rearranging them into unsatisfactory combinations, until we find that we kind of like them, or we give up. Oh, occasionally there are the moments when we are truly happy with the results, but that is not often and comes with a lot of work and so we wonder, why? Why do we torture ourselves this way? And then we get a reminder. Sometimes it’s a nudge, sometimes it’s a 2×4 across the head, but whatever it is, it resonates with us, and keeps up going.

That’s what happened to me when I read this one line. “We write to share.”

Ah, yes. That’s it. And it’s also the reason we sometimes don’t write, because we are afraid that what we have to share is not worth it, but it is. What I have to say, what you have to say, is worth it, for someone, maybe not for everyone, probably not for everyone, but what we write will resonate with someone out there, therefore it must be written.

So, I’ve allowed that thought to inspire me this week, to remind me that I have things to share, stories that are always whirling around in my head. Living with wonderlust and my Blue Bomber (VW Vanagon). My scattered writing life and my battle with putting words on the page. Why a high school coach needs an attorney. Raising kids (or at least trying). My life as a not-so-famous fashion model. More on surviving death and loss. My love affair with rental houses and real estate. My thoughts about the strength and power of women and how I cry watching WNBA games just thinking about all the changes that have happened in women’s sports and all the hopes and dreams I have for the future. My desire to bring more light on the poaching of elephants and rhinos in Africa. My hope for change in politics, women’s rights and gun control.

I wonder about it all, and more. I want to share how I feel, what I think, what other people think. I want to change lives, help people grow or simply remind them to be the same. I want to entertain them with my words, my opinions and my stories. Does that sound pompous to think others would even care about what I say? It feels pompous, even wrong. Just one more reason we writers are afraid. But, like I tell myself when I go to one of my book readings, if just one person cares what I have to say (and there will be at least one) it’s worth it. Just do it, it is worth it to share what you have held tight in your soul.

On long drives I write stories. Sitting watching basketball games I write stories. Walking the dogs I write stories. And they swirl in my mind waiting to be told as my day-to-day life gets in the way, and then I scold myself, Sonya find the time, you have it, find it. And still, I make excuses, I find a house to remodel, a dish to clean, a rabbit hole to crawl down into and then the story sits. But it’s there (just like yours), waiting for that nudge (or 2×4), to get me moving, and get it out and into the world. 

What you have to say is important!

Write on!

WRITING PROMPT 1: Why do I write?

WRITING PROMPT 2: What do I want to share?

Monday’s Pen To Paper: Finding Space to Breathe

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Photo Credit: Jeff Zaruba

Wow, 2017 flew by. There were good times (those seen on Instagram) and not-so-good times, but because of the ups and downs, it was fulfilling and interesting, and a year that I wouldn’t change for the world.

However, I am always looking for ways to make life better and I believe what will do that for me in the coming year is to work on slowing life down so that I can better appreciate every moment. Relishing the positive and understanding that when shit happens, I need to breathe and take a moment to myself then move toward happiness.

It’s not easy, especially when the real bad times hit. I’ve fought to save my job, I’ve battled injuries and I’ve lost loved ones and it took a lot of strength and courage to keep moving forward. But every day life can be tough sometimes too. When terrible things happen I know I have to buck up and move on, but at time it’s the little things, the sprained wrist, the sore shoulder, the sick dog, the sick kid, the dead toaster, the flat tire, and the constant battle with laundry and dishes that drags me down. 

Life can be challenging that way, even as a half-full kind of gal. I’m not a jump up and down, happy-go-lucky, big smiles all the time type person. In fact, occasionally my husband will even ask me if I had fun at a party or something we did together, and I’ll be surprised by his question, because I’ve had a great time. I just tend to keep my joy at a whisper. I see the good in life (maybe quieter than some); still there are times when I struggle to stay positive day after day after day. If I’ve had a bad day I try to remind myself that I have no reason to be upset, that I have dealt with worse, and that helps some, but what helps the most is to breathe, to take a moment to think of the things that I am grateful for in my life. And to do that, I need space. I need time alone, time to be still, time to breathe.

My friend Jenny wrote about choosing a word for the New Year instead of making resolutions in her recent blog. I like this idea. Breathe, seems like the best word for me this year to bring calm to my life. Everyone is different, my husband loves being with people, staying busy, and being active, and though I love these things too, what brings me peace and keeps life on the half-full side, is slowing down and finding space. To do that in 2018 I’m working toward weaving more yoga and meditation back into my life (learn more about yoga in 18 Amazing Benefits of Yoga) and because my house is never empty or quiet (my husband works from home and is on the phone) I’m searching for ways to be still, even without the quiet, and what better way to do that than…breathe.

WRITING PROMPT: How will you find space this year? Is there a word that helps bring you focus for the New Year? If so, write about it.

Pen to Paper: The Power of Persistence

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Monday’s Friday’s Pen to Paper: The Power of Persistence

It took me ten years to write my first book. I’m not telling you this to depress you, I’m telling you this to let you know, and to remind myself, that if you want something bad enough and you don’t give up on it, chances are you will make that thing happen.

I wanted to write a book that would share my experience in dealing with grief and recovery in hopes that it might help others, and I didn’t give up on that dream. It was not easy, writing is not easy in and of itself and it seemed that life always got in the way, work, kids, that sort of thing, but for ten years I took baby steps toward my goal, I was persistent.

Some, like my husband for example, might use the word stubborn. Well, “stubborn” is a good thing if it can help you attain your goals. When I was 24 years old I was in an accident that left me injured and unable to work in my field, and put me back in my hometown living with my parents. I hated loosing my independence and wanted out. I knew that apartment managers often got free rent, so I decided this is what I needed to do so that I could afford to live on my own again.

Finding a management position wasn’t easy. But I checked the newspapers and made calls (There was no emailing or texting back then), and then more calls and more calls and more calls. I was persistent, stubborn if you please; I even dressed in my best clothes and showed up at a management office to introduce myself. I had the goal to be independent again and I believed this was the way to make it happen. My persistence paid off, I got a job as an apartment manager.

Whether it’s writing a book, getting the job you want or following your dreams, never doubt the power of persistence.

Write on!

WRITING PROMPT: Write about a dream that you have. What steps can you take to make this dream happen?

 

Monday’s Pen to Paper: The Awesome Sports Writing Contest

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Get your pen out and get writing and win up to $300 cash!

In the Awesome Sports Project’s continued efforts to inspire and promote voices in girls’ and women’s sports, they have launched their 2nd Annual Awesome Sports Writing Contest. Male and female writers of all ages and level of writing experience are welcome, but the submission must be nonfiction and about girls’ and women’s sports. 

Submissions will be read by celebrity judge Rebecca Lowe (NBC Sports Anchor), Dennis Norris, Leisl Veach, and me, Sonya Elliott! There are both youth (18 & under) and adult categories and the entry deadline is February 15, 2018. For more information go to the Awesome Sports Project.

Write On!

Monday’s Pen to Paper: Is Meddling With Your Work Worth it

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I’ve been editing the first few chapters of my young adult novel. It’s amazing to me how many things that I can find to change and rearrange. But all that meddling is good (within reason). My first draft was just that, a draft.

I write my drafts with my head down, with little thought to how the sentences read, I give more thought to the ideas I want to get down on paper. Often I will use parenthesis surrounding a question mark or surrounding a word that encompasses my thought, without really finishing out the sentence, and then keep writing.

For example I might write, Sandy set her (?) on the bench before she pushed Cameron in the back. Or, it was (extremely hot, smoldering, show this somehow) inside the subway station. Ben scanned the kitchen then (get character to basement here). Often I’m in a hurry, I have an idea and don’t want to loose my train of thought, so I don’t take time to find the right word or sentence, I move on. This means I have a lot of extra work to do when I move to editing.

I write and rewrite and rewrite again. And after that I read out loud and then start over. Editing can be a long and often a frustrating process (maybe longer for me than it is for others), but when you make yourself stay with it, when you get a sentence, a paragraph, or heaven forbid an entire chapter to come together, boy is it worth it.

Keep on writing!

WRITING PROMPT 1: Take a piece that you’ve been working on, or a chapter, or a paragraph, and read it out loud. What sticks out? What changes might you make?

WRITING PROMPT 2: Open to a blank page. Close your eyes. Breathe. Now open your eyes and write. Do not think. Do not stop. Do not judge. Just write. (If you find something you like, go back later, and start meddling.)

 

Monday’s Pen to Paper: Writing is hard. I give up.

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It’s hard to write. I have yet to get on an ongoing regular schedule. I have had times where I’m on task and I love it, then life gets in the way. Last year I cleaned up and sold one house and remodeled and sold another. That took up a lot of time and energy. In the spring we had extended family living with us, which bit into free time, and then during the summer my kids are both around, so I’m always busy. Simply put, finding time to write can be a struggle. 

Sometimes I just want to give up.

I have written posts about how I’m working on finding time to write, and what I have realized is that if you have a busy life, and have not established yourself as a writer in your mind, or by receiving a good paycheck, its hard to justify putting writing first. The kids, the dishes, the dogs, the groceries, work, and everything else seems to get priority.

So what can you do?

Reevaluate your schedule often. Figure out what is important to you and make a place for it in your life. Writing is important to me, but I also have other priorities. My family comes first, and then of course I love to play basketball and be active, and…and…and, this is why I have to sit down and reassess how to keep writing in my schedule.

I write once a week with my friend Jenny (that’s a given), and what has worked best for me after that is to grab my computer and go to “the office”  (a coffee shop away from my house and my responsibilities). Still, this is not easy and unless I give myself a little talking to, my writing falls away. It’s not forgotten, never forgotten, it just sits alone, waiting for my return. I feel guilty for deserting my writing, and I hate that I feel guilty because I actually do want to write and why should I feel guilty for wanting to do something that I need to do.

So I come back around and set a date with myself, to get on task. To get to “the office” and do what I love. So if this sounds familiar to you, DON’T GIVE UP! If it doesn’t sound familiar then I am SO happy for you and would ask that you share your secret with me and anyone reading this blog in the comment section, because as writers we must all stick together and give support so that we keep getting our work out into the world.

Write on!

WRITING PROMPT #1: I will make more time for writing by…

WRITING PROMPT #2: Write a poem for inspiration. If you need a prompt try one of these…

Random

Inspired

Words

…or use all three.

Monday’s Pen to Paper: Taming the Beast

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I miss paper!

Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for saving trees. But I miss my printed documents and card stock. My paperback novels. My non-fiction books and lifestyle magazines. And of course my newspaper and the feel of its pages between my fingers when I read my daily dose, not to mention the quanitative measure of it.

When I have the sports section in hand, I have a finite amount to read. I can sit down at my kitchen table, drink my coffee and know that in half an hour (give or take a few minutes) I will get basic local, regional and worldwide sports news. When on to the next section I know I will learn what’s happening in my community, then another section and I travel around the world. All over a nice hot drink, emphasis on hot.

News in the digital era runs my coffee cold, then empty. The amount of stories is infinite. A person can read about a subject, then link and read more, and link, and link and link and link. It has become a never-ending time suck.

And can I trust the news is real? I am never quite sure anymore (That is another blog in and of itself).

It wasn’t that long ago that I lived without it all. No internet. No Facebook. No Instagram. No Twitter. Just a lame excuse for an email. Ten years ago when my kids were in elementary school I was at a PTA meeting when the president suggested that the school no longer offer paper newsletters.

“What if a parent doesn’t have or use email?” I asked.

“Then they need to move into this century.” She replied.

I was one of those parents. I didn’t want to receive my kid’s newsletters via email because I knew I would never read them. But the newsletter went digital and, as suspected, I never read it. Even to this day, after coaching high school basketball again drove me into emails and texts and the start of social media and a 180 degree change in my digital world, I hate digital newsletters and rarely read my son’s high school newsletter as I sort through my loaded inbox.

It has all become a drain. Even the good parts. The fun parts. The family and friend updates and photos which are awesome, can become a time consuming monster. And what about that anxious feeling one gets of missing out. Not that I need to be doing what my friends and family are doing (though sometimes that would be nice), but the sick feeling I get when I can’t keep up with the feed. I miss most of what is posted on Facebook because I don’t check the feed often and I can never tell when or if I have seen all the posts. When I found Instagram I loved having a smaller group, one that I could keep up with and see all the photos with a quick visit to the site. Then my group grew and I started to feel stressed, like I needed to scroll more often, scroll to the end, see every photo. I hate that feeling. And then I started getting random posts, sponsored posts. What the heck!

In the beginning it was all meant to save time and connect people, but does it really do that? Do we waste time surfing on our phones when we could be planting in the garden, writing our novel, talking to our spouses or playing with our kids? Do we get to really connect with the people we watch via social media? Unfortunately, most of the time, no.

Could I go back to a life of only paper? Probably not, but how do I tame this beast? What must I do to find a calm and get my time back?

I’m going to start by limiting myself. Stick to two or three times a day for quick social media sessions. No rabbit holes. I’m going to grab my journal and write instead of surfing. I’m going to meet friends for coffee, go for walks, clean my house, have face to face conversations with people, relax, breathe and put my damn phone down.

What suggestions do you have to tame the beast?

WRITING PROMPTS: Write about what paper means to you. Write about Social Media. Write about saving time. Write about a beast. Just put your phone down and go out and write!

 

Monday’s Pen to Paper: Finding Fuel

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What fuels you to write? For me it’s open space, quiet and stillness.

Unfortunately, that is not the life I live so it is a constant challenge to keep up with my writing so I go in search of other ways to stay on task, such as meeting my friend, and writing partner, Jenny once a week, another is making dates with myself, writing them down on paper and sticking to them, another is taking long drives. Every time I go for a long drive, I spend some time with the radio off and this is when my mind goes to work, and fires up about thoughts and ideas and writing projects that sometimes loose momentum in my busy life.

I can find inspiration with a good hike or walk. Recently, I started working toward a new way to clear my mind, one that I have pondered on and dabbled in from time to time over the years. It’s an old way, a proven way to find clarity, but a method that as much as I want to follow it, has always been difficult for me, and that is through meditation.

Jenny and I, after a couple of minutes of hello, have been starting each writing session with meditation. We are both loving it. And I plan to add it to my daily routine to help relax, clear my mind and if I’m luck find more fuel for my writing.

Where do you find fuel to write?

WRITING PROMPT: Close your eyes and breathe for three minutes. (It’s easier if you set a timer) Focus on your breath. If your mind wanders, it’s ok, just come back to your breath. When the time goes off, grab your pen or your computer and write.

Monday’s Pen to Paper: Sun or Moon?

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Do you wake early with arms stretched open wide to the sun, or are you like a barn owl, a bat, a bush rat, or a possum perhaps, who prefers the light of the moon?

Before I was married I used to binge clean and work on projects into the early morning hours. Rearrange my living room, organize a closet, work on a photo album, read a book, paint the kitchen. When I first started writing my book I had young kids so I would carve out minutes throughout the day to write, but when my husband would go play basketball at night with his men’s team, as much as it would bug me that I couldn’t play with them I relished the night alone to stay up late and write. His team would go for drinks after the game so he would be out until the bars closed. And on his return I would be up in my office plugging away at my computer and howling at the moon.

These days my husband doesn’t have many 2:00am arrivals, which is good because with that comes worry, but it also means I don’t often get the long uninterrupted silence of the night. If I stay up after my husband goes to bed, he can’t get to sleep. This is not good for either of us. So now I sit in the middle, I go to bed around 11:00pm and get up around 7:00am (give or take an hour or two on any given day).

I think we are born a certain way, preferring morning or night, however with some training we can find a happy medium, a rhythm that works for us and our family and our writing. I still prefer the silence of the night when I write, and take any free evening and push it into the early morning hours doing just that, but I have learned to search for times, under the light of the sun as well as the silence of the moon, to write and be.

Are you a morning person or a night person? How do you work that into your life and your writing?

WRITING PROMPT: Sun or Moon? Write about it.

Monday’s Pen to Paper: Quiet

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When I was six months pregnant with my son, I drove 2000 miles to southern California and back in my 1989 Volkswagon Vanagon with my two year-old daughter and my boxer dog in tow. I did this all with no stereo, no phone, and no electronics and I loved every minute of it.

Recently I read the book Quiet by Susan Cain. The book hit home for me. Quiet, The Power of Introverts in a World That Can’t Stop Talking, reminded me that I’m just fine the way I am. Introverted. Of course I know that I’m okay, but in a world full of extroverts, a world that praises extroverted qualities and living with two extroverts (now that my daughter and fellow introvert is away at college), life can be trying and often I feel awkward and guilty about wanting to be lone.

To those who meet me on the street I may not seem like an introvert. But I am. Being introverted does not necessarily mean you live in a hovel warded off from the world, it means that you recharge by being alone. When I was young I never really thought about being extroverted or introverted, I was shy but enjoyed my friends and my teammates. I was active and social but over a majority of my life I lived alone or occasionally with one roommate who was in and out of the apartment, so I always had time to myself. It was not until I got married, got dogs, had kids and then had my husband start working out of the home that my need for alone time increased and the anxious feeling in my gut started following me around.

I first discovered I was an introvert when my son was in preschool. The preschool instructor gave us information to help determine if our child was introverted or extroverted so that we could better understand their needs. I don’t remember what I thought my son was at the time, but I looked at the list about introverts and thought, that is me. The number one thing that spoke to me was that I recharge by being alone. I enjoy being with people but after being around them a lot, I need a break.

To extroverts (like my husband) this makes no sense because for them it is the opposite, they get energised by people. Of course it’s not always one or the other, people lie on a spectrum between the two, introvert and extrovert, but knowing your tendencies can be beneficial.

My best friend Leslie, who I met in middle school and knows me better than I know myself, is the one who suggested that I read Quiet, she said, “It’s kind of preaching to the chair, but you’ll like it.” She was right. It was a reminder to me that I crave alone time and to be happy in a busy extroverted world, I need to find time for myself.

I’ve struggled to do this over the last few years, with a busy family schedule and a house that is never empty, so I’m always searching for ways to be alone. But most of the time means doing something as simple as taking a walk, driving my car with the radio off, or sitting alone at a track meet or basketball game. For me creating some quiet helps me to be happy. And being happy gives me the energy to write and do the things I love.

What do you need to do in order to write, to live your life in the way that you want to live it, to be happy?

WRITING PROMPT: Chose one of the following words and write about it…               Quiet. Introvert. Extrovert.

Monday’s Pen to Paper: Home Sweet Poem

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My daughter was home for spring break and we made a point to write together. She is a Creative Writing major in college so there is nothing sweeter than sitting down at my computer and looking across from me to see her poised at her Mac ready to write. We usually start with some prompts (she has a page on Pinterest gathered specifically for this purpose), and then move on to our blogs or other writing that we’re working on.

On one of our prompts we decided to write a poem. She wrote a poem recently for her college class that really moved me. It’s a poem directly addressing America as a person. I find her work so powerful, but poetry scares me. The last time I learned anything about poetry was during my grade school English class, I’m 50 now, it’s been a few years.

Oh, and I love Dr. Suess, if that counts.

Still the other day, with my daughter close by, I dove in, as one must with writing, fighting against my inner critique, and gave poetry my best shot. Our prompt was to write a poem about the texture of hope. This is what I came up with in our self allotted five minutes.

 

The texture of hope

 Fine. Slender. Forgotten.

Tendrils from a descending spider.

Fat. Round. Open.

The heart of a lion.

 

Poison and passion and periwinkle

The color of dreams.

Woven through time.

 

Now there it is, in print for the world to see and hear, and for me to cringe a little before reminding myself that this is why I’m here. To live, to write and follow the color of my dreams, and part of that means practice. Find time to practice your writing. And don’t be afraid to try new things, perhaps that even means poetry.

Write On!

WRITING PROMPTS:

  • Write a poem about the texture of hope.
  • List five things you believe in, two you don’t and one thing you would never do; combine to create poetry.
  • Write a poem addressing America as though she is a person. 
  • Write a Dr. Suess inspired piece.

 

 

 

The Writer Is In

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2017 is the year of my novel. There, I said it. Now I’ve got to get to work. I even bought myself a gift that will be my daily reminder, a new “The Writer Is In” mug. (I got one for my daughter too.) These four words are helping me to keep my writing as a priority even as other distractions (some also important) continue to pull me in other directions. I have learned that this is life, this balancing of to-do’s, wants, needs and desires, so I try to evaluate and adjust my priorities on a regular basis, and one thing I know for sure, is that in 2017…The Writer Is In!

For the perfect start to you writing day, have your coffee in an inspired mug. Find “The Writer Is In” and other inspiring mugs at The Write Life on Etsy!

For more writing inspiration check out Eloquently Elliott my daughter’s writing blog.

For the perfect jump-start to your writing year, try the 2017 Write On! Workshop put on by my myself and my writing partner Jenny McGlothern.

 

Monday’s Pen to Paper: The Fine Art of Writing

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img_2884My daughter Charli is a writer. She may not believe she is, but I know it. Not only does she love to write, she’s written a first draft of a novel, and is studying to get a creative writing degree in college. That to me is a writer. Over Thanksgiving break my husband suggested she start a blog. She didn’t know what to think about the idea. Then last week I got a link to eloquentlyelliott.com, a place of for writing inspiration. Charli had created a blog.

Charli doesn’t quite know what this new blog space means to her. But for now it is a place to get her words down and share her love of writing. Her first blog post The Fine Art of Apologizing is a powerful piece and it came from a home work assignment in her non-fiction writing class. It is the inspiration for today’s writing prompt.

If you love to write, you are a writer, so find the time to do just that, you are worth it. Write On!

WRITING PROMPT: Write a piece about the fine art of something trivial. A sigh. A sneeze. The goal is to slow down and focus on the little things. Write on!

Monday’s Pen to Paper: Spread Love and Bring the Country Together

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My dad is not a citizen of the United States. I like to tell people that he’s an Alien (a Legal Alien). He has lived in the United States, run a business in the United States and paid taxes in the United States for nearly 60 years, since he married my mom and moved here in the 60’s, but he cannot vote. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t have an opinion, he does, but it does mean, that even though my mom votes, we never got too caught up in politics. I grew up loving where I live and appreciating other countries and cultures.

I was in college when I could have voted for the first time but didn’t. I was busy with school, basketball and a boyfriend when George H W Bush was elected. I didn’t vote at the next presidential election either, I had recently been in a terrible car accident where I was injured and lost my fiancé. I didn’t care about the election. Nothing really mattered to me when Bill Clinton took over the White House. It was later, when I had kids, that I started to care about politics and voting and changes that might happen in my community and in our world.

Raising kids gave me a reason to care more about the future. As a young girl I had been in the midst of great change in women’s rights; I played sports all through school and even went to college on a basketball scholarship thanks to Title IV. And though I never thought much about it when I was young, I knew what it was like to be discriminated against. After college, when I would go to play basketball at open gyms, many of the guys would try to cut me out of games and I would have to battle to get on the court and as a head high school basketball coach, parents questioned my ability and my character, even though I came with twenty years of coaching experience and was building a strong program. I felt some of this was because I am a woman. Over the years I’ve seen discrimination against others because of the color of their skin, sexual orientation and their religion.

Once, modeling for a runway show at the South Center Mall, I entered a back stage entrance before the mall opened and as I was about to find the rest of the crew I looked back to see another model, and friend, coming to the entrance. She wasn’t allowed in. “She’s modeling in the show with me,” I explained to the security woman. Nothing. “You let me in, why can’t she come in?” Nothing. My friend was black and wasn’t allowed in for no other reason than the color of her skin. I was appalled. My friend was gracious, this wasn’t her first rodeo. I was pissed. We waited together, outside the mall, until the producer came to get us.

A great deal of my friends are Lesbian or Gay. Many are married and with beautiful families. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been in conversations with people who ridicule a gay “lifestyle”. I’m quick to give them my opinion. I make people uncomfortable at times, but I hope that in some cases I might open minds as well. Even in this world that has been creeping toward equality, life is not perfect. And I know it will never be perfect, but as a country I was hopeful.

Then the election happened, and I can only say boy did the result hurt. Not because I wanted a woman president (I just want a good one), not because I wanted a Democratic President (I just want a good one), but because I am sad to know that such a huge portion of this country would get behind someone who treats women as if they are less, who is disrespectful to other races, who has used bankruptcy (and our countries money) to build his wealth and leave others high and dry, who believes that global warming doesn’t exist, who makes impulsive childish tweets (including dogging one of my favorite singers of all time Bette Midler), and who doesn’t encourage growth and compassion and love.

As I’ve gotten older, I vote. Though sometimes I feel like it doesn’t make a difference, I do it anyway. My daughter, who recently turned 19, voted in her first presidential election this year. She too was disheartened last Tuesday. Fearful, as I am, of what might become of this country and her rights. Before 1920 women couldn’t vote, in 1963 the Equal Pay Act abolishing wage disparity based on sex arrived, in 1973 women were given the right to choose, and though things are not perfect and prejudices still exist, things were getting better.

However, when the president-elect refers to women as bitches, openly brags about f*cking them, refers to them as fat pigs, slobs, animals and pieces of ass, it doesn’t’ give one hope that things will move in the right direction, but we have to have faith in our country and do what we can to help keep a positive focus in the next four years. We need to talk to our kids (Powerful words by Macklemore on this), volunteer in our communities, and find ways to keep this world moving in the right direction. If we continue to spread love, we will find a way to bring the people who live in this country (U.S. citizen or not) together.

WRITING PROMPT: Write about what the result of the election meant to you. 

Monday’s Pen to Paper: What If The Zebras Lost Their Stripes?

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This week my writing partner Jenny and I were talking about our favorite books for kids. One of my favorites growing up was Dr. Seuss’ McElligot’s Pool. Jenny had never heard of it so I ran to the basement and grabbed it. “I didn’t read much when I was young.” I told her, “but I loved this book.” And though I didn’t realize it at the time, McElligot’s Pool is about believing. Believing and dreaming of the future. And as I listened to Jenny read little Marco’s words out loud, I had forgotten how strong and clear I hear that message. I paged through the book when she was done. I had read this book a million times, and though I couldn’t have told you the little boy’s name, the one who sat holding a stick as a fishing pole, peering wide-eyed into a tiny spot of water, I remembered his dreams. I felt them as if they were mine. After a grumpy old farmer tells him he will never catch a fish in McElligot’s Pool, young Marco is not deterred. Young Marco still believes and dreams that life is full of possibilities. Or at least that is what he taught me.

I had to run to the basement again to dig out another one of my favorites. This book was a newer one that I had read for my kids. What If The Zebras Lost Their Stripes? By John Reitano. This is a book that every adult should read. My daughter is nineteen years old now and when I told her I wanted to blog about What If The Zebras Lost Their Stripes? She said, “Oh I loved that book!” Then she paused, “Wow, I just realized the message, about racism and treating one another as equals.” The book starts with the question, “What if the zebras lost their stripes, and some lost black and some lost white?” Think about this. Would the zebras still get along? There is no reason for them not to. I love the message of love and harmony.

Just as I hadn’t understood the lesson from McElligot’s Pool when I was young, my daughter hadn’t with one of her favorite books. But if we read great books to our children, positive, fun and thought-provoking books, the words and messages they learn in their early years will stick with them throughout their lifetime and help to build a better, stronger and more generous world.

Find time to read to your kids, grandkids and all the little ones in your life.

WRITING PROMPT: Write ideas for kid’s book.

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