A Manifesto of Sorts

Quote of the Day:
The greatest weapon against stress is our ability
to choose one thought over another.
~William James~

Current Local Weather:
Overcast but finally,
albeit after too long of a time,
hopeful for health.

Currently on my iPod:
"Takin It To the Streets"
Taylor Hicks
Do I Make You Proud

Dear Friends, Family and my Family of Friends,

I sat down at about 4am yesterday morning and wrote a letter to a friend, but really it was more for myself (yeah, yeah. narcissism...whatever) . I woke up and was extremely bothered by where I was, and not in reality (well, that would be a lie and you'll see why in the following post), but in my soul. I just HAD to get it out of me and I wasn't going to even attempt to give in to the sleep fairies hovering around my foggy glasses until it was on paper, or at the very least, electronic paper.

So, here it goes. FYI: As compared to my older posts, this post is decidedly sans kitschy photos and references to anything but the real, too-sick-to-care (both mentally and physically, and for good measure let's just add in emotionally, too) what others think of me, me.

Dear ____ (name has been changed to absolutely nothing to protect the innocent)

I guess this is going to be one of those nights where sleep teases me with fits of thought, restless writing streaks and the casual anxiety that has become commonplace in my life these days...

So, what happens when C doesn't sleep?
Someone ends up with a long letter in their inbox. Therapeutic for me, amusement for you, win-win all around.

The last month or so has lent me considerable perspective as a human being on what life means, at least in my opinion. I've been half-assed delving from time to time in the writing of my medically dramatic, not too serious memoir. But as I was laying in the bed at memorial that last afternoon, after the custody mediation, I thought to myself...why would anyone want to read shit about me?

Sure, I have a following of jazz fans, but in writing this, that's neither here nor there. I almost have to start over in my "Non-fiction book writing career" if I want to make anything of myself and in promotion of this hopeful-to-sell-before-the-second-coming kinda deal.

So I wondered and thought and thunk and kerplunked while staring at the beautiful rain, albeit cold rain, outside my window on floor 7-5 at Memorial Hospital and came up with this instead: (One of the very kind nursing assistants, a little numb in white/gray matter asked, why don't you watch TV, get your mind off things...to which I replied with a nice as I could be tone while feeling like I'm dying, I'm a writer sans pen, to get my mind off things, I decidedly place my mind on other things and write in my head for a later date...) A book about searching for life among the almost dead.

Of course my medical catastrophes will be enriched with literary license, and my critical and unfiltered potty mouth and sense of humor will also be present. But, this will largely be about my travels writing the jazz book, finding joy in cooking for dozens of people and seeing their careers blossom right in front of my eyes at the retreats and how writing and immersing myself feet first in the literary community and living through hell, has taught me to seek life among the living dead (I.e. the 9-5 cubicle, taco bell eating, pale skinned, illiterate, placated by mass media, plagued with papparazzi envy, celebrity lovin, if-it's-at-Michaels-it-MUST-be art society we're forced to live in.).

I'm so tired of professionals that live with their professionalism written on pseudo wood plaques on their little professional office desks, looking down on people like me, you and pretty much everyone in my little but loving circle of friends. As artists, we're not stupid, no matter how big or small our lives turn out to be. All art, even the bad shit, has a purpose, in turn, allowing purpose and a meaningful life to enrich the lives of those who create it.

Office professionals, salesmen, lawyers, truck drivers (a lot of them write...I could do that...drive around all day and think of things to write...) wait staff, nurses, doctors, HR administrators...they've all got potential to reach and find their purpose in life through their jobs too. However, when one allows their job to sequester them to a life where shopping at Wally World is the only activity they do and art means posters of rock bands and Debbie Gibson on their ceiling and American Idol is the only time music invades their brain, then they become, by no fault other than their own, the true outcasts of what our society should be.

Alas, this isn't the case. People like me, you...the ones that end up living under a bridge after poor sales of their first novel or book on jazz, are the outcasts in our own ways. After being told that the career that I've busted my ass on since 2006 is not a real career by a decidedly (at least in her own mind) important person in our little community known as the Springs, I felt defeated. Downtrodden. Cast among the homeless and almost-dead, invisible crowd with too much socially unacceptable hair and drool in ALL the wrong places. But I realize that this "professional" is right. I don't have a "job." Instead I took a long and winding road that is less traveled than it should be. I followed a dream and instead of it being a job (a word so deftly shared by that poor sap of a man in the bible...your friend and mine, Job) I have passion and life within me despite my situation...and this is something that shares a lion's share of hope that resides deep among my too often situational/circumstantial depression....I must...REPEAT...MUST allow this feeling to remain omnipresent in my life instead of that ho-hum complacency so many others have allowed their lives to embody.

Does this thought and subsequent thoughts that will reign upon my consciousness in the near days mean that I've fully realized my goal of becoming an arts snob? Hmmm...not so sure. But I worry. Hell, if I got paid to worry I could build adjoining cabins for all of my friends (so we never have to be too far or too close in our nonrelationships) in Telluride. These would be so grand that they'd make those celebrity dwellings look like a wanna-be architect/toddler with legos and blue prints, built them. Also, as a mother, I've learned that worrying often leads to nothing other than gray hair. (Good reminder to have my sharpie out so I can touch them up) Worry is my current major in the university of life. As a matter of fact, I'm a bonafide doctoral candidate in the subject waiting to present my dissertation any day now.

Hopefully my anxiety will allow me to graduate from worry to okay-ness with not just any life, but my life. (insert any Billy Joel song at this point in the blog and you'll have a great soundtrack)

Hopefully my imaginary paycheck forged by my worrying mind will turn into a real one. Ahhhh...one can dream, right?

So...I'm meeting with a web designer on Monday, for lunch. I've been talking with him for quite a while. Jim Lewis. (This makes the fourth, yeppers...FOURTH Jim Lewis I know.) Weird. But I spoke with him eons ago about my sites and he's never let me forget. A true salesman. He even called to check on me in the hospital. Hmmm...I hope he's not stalking me. But then again, if he is, does that make me a celebrity?

Time to put my money where my mouth is or whatever that saying is. I have friends on standby that are willing to advertise on their sites, my editorial services (1000.00/manuscript isn't unheard of, right? ...I suppose it's standard fare for someone of my stature...lol...in the literary community) and query writing services.

I'm going to fight for what I believe to be a real dream, not what anyone could quite call...a hobby. And also, fight to move up the ladder, more aggressively so, than the past. I had been quite aggressive (believe it or not) until my ass found a new home at Memorial during my preggo days w/ Miss Natty Poo. I'm going to break this ridiculous cycle of dependence/neediness/circumstantial everything that is so fucking far from my actual character that I don't even recognize who I am most days.

I suppose writing this book will help.

Writing letters like this certainly does and is more to my chagrin than yours, I'm sure.

On that note, Natty Poo is awake and in need of a bottle and changing. Ta-Ta my dearest reader...or two.

Yours in Manifestos, Magic Cups and Mostly Memorable Mommy Moments,

Cicily

Closing Shop for a While

Quote of the Week:

If being sane is thinking there's something wrong
with being different....I'd rather be completely fucking mental.
~Angelina Jolie

Current Local Weather:
Showers of too-much to do, followed
by sanity storms rising
out of the west.

Currently on my IPOD:

Crazy Bitch
~Buckcherry

Dear John,

Its been great. No, its not you, its me. Really. Don't take this the wrong way, it wasn't your mother, or your cooking, nor was it the way you acted the last night we were together after drinking twenty-two martini's.

It's just that I think you're fat. Really fat. And I also think you could stand to get a nose job, a tummy tuck and probably stand to move to another part of town because of the way you smell.

Actually, its the fact that I have TWO books going on, three if you count the follow up to the first fiction one, a retreat business to run, a household, a few billion pressing issues like dinner, dishes and the floors need to be swept, a few billion reads/interviews/reviews, matron of honor fun...

...and I'm in love with someone else.

The person I am in love with is witty, smart, charismatic, playful, writerly and is more often than not the person I should be. Instead, I have turned into a stressed out ball of red hair and tears more nights than not lately. I just need to finish up some projects, get things moving in the right direction, which they are going in now, just at an amazingly sluggish pace. So, until this side of my personality returns, I will be MIA.

Sure, email me. I have no problem with that.

Go to the retreat site: Writing Away Retreats and if you are compelled, which I think you should be as it is going to be wonderful, sign up. Upcoming retreats are going to include award winning authors, editors, agents etc. And you will have ample time for feedback and working on your craft.

I'll be back when the storm settles and my commitments have waned. Promise. I always do return. Right?

right.

Hopefully, the next time you will hear from me, I'll have an agent, a finished final draft and my sanity.

Yours in Overly Frazzledness, Over-cooked Eggs and Only One Life--Gotta Make it Right,

Cicily

Paying It Forward

Quote of the Week:

When you allow yourself to begin to dream big dreams,
creatively abandon the activities
that are taking up too much of your time, and focus your inward
energies on alleviating your main constraints, you start to feel an incredible
sense of power and confidence.
~Brian Tracey

Local Weather:

Schizo periods of sun with snow showers followed by serious
periods of contemplation and belief in this thing called Global Warming.

Currently on my IPOD:

Lost Without You
~Robin Thicke

Hello to Each and Everyone of You...

Thanks to author, Brad Meltzer, I spent most of the night not writing, but rather listening to a lecture. No, this wasn’t Brad lecturing, this was a man by the name of Randy Pausch and his lecture for Carnegie Mellon University Series titled: The Last Lecture.
But it was Brad who mentioned this man and the video and book on his blog.
So, thank you to Brad for giving the gift of this man’s words.

I have half the mind to end the blog here and make you guys spend a little over an hour with this guy. It’s worth it. Finish reading my petty words, which don’t have near the weight of his and then please, stop what you’re doing, fake sick at work. put the chapter you’ve been working on for the last few hours away and watch this guy. Please.

Alright, onward bound.

Randy speaks in his video about the power of not only fulfilling your dreams, but helping others fulfill theirs. Karma, Love, Power, Whatever you want to call it. But, I can atest to the power of paying it forward. There have been years in my life where I have been unable to help others because I needed the help in the very worst way possible: my seemingly failing health at times, twin preemie girls and a host of difficulties with their early days, out of work spouse, depression, death of family members etc. And to tell you the truth, I am amazed that I am still standing, and others who have seen me through the worst of it are probably saying the same thing.

About a year or so ago, I had a very bad thing happen to me. I collapsed at a writers conference, I wasn’t in good health when I went, and now I recognize that. For a few days I was in the hospital, on a vent, with a virus in my central nervous system. When I awoke, there was one person at my side. I won’t name who this is, as he knows who he is, but I will never forget him or stop loving him for what he did for me. And then the whole community of writers who were at the retreat who incidentally kept me in their prayers, thoughts etc after witnessing my collapse, rallied around me and to this day are some of my very best friends in the industry.

In the days following my release from the hospital, I experienced something that I have yet to experience in my life. A total breakdown of myself. Having lived through all the above stated problems, and a number of health issues, I assumed I was strong enough to deal with this too. But I was wrong. Mentally, physically and emotionally I broke down. I took approx. a month or a little more off of writing the novel because the medications I was on limited my ability to think clearly or see very well and at times I was so forgetful I even lost my way around town when going to pick up my children at daycare. And once again, had it not been for my friends in this time of my life, I wouldn’t be here today. Sharon, Travis, Alex, Mike, Ryan, Nicole, Carrie, and too many others to name, I thank you whole heartedly.

So, you may ask what the point of revisiting my sob story is...(and I have blogged on my experiences after being on the vent. Check out the months of March and April 2007 here on myspace) to pay it forward. To tell you the truth, most people I know think of me as a tenacious person. One with confidence, not afraid to conquer anything or anyone. But, when it comes to writing, it has taken me a very long time to build up confidence within myself. Not that I am overly confident, I believe there needs to be some confidence in order to write anything and to make it to those fabulous two words, THE END. But, I have worked very hard, staying up into the wee hours of most nights to try to make this industry one in which people will know my name. And day by day, minute by minute, I am getting one step closer than I had been the day before.

Part of my pay it forward movement is to do what Randy talks about in his lecture. I want to help others. No, I don’t have a publishing contract with a major house...yet...but, I think I can help other writers build up enough confidence to take on the overly negative world of literature. It amazes me that so many writers are sooo helpful and willing to work with other writers when the agents and editors are out to seemingly eat the newbies for their dinners. Look at the blogging agents like Miss Snark and then take a look at Kristen Nelson’s blog, Pub Rants.

These are two very different examples of how business can be handled. Miss Snark is well, a wee bit angry on most days and if you suck or are just learning the biz, then she will eat you alive. But, Kristen, in her blog is a very nice person, and I’m sure she feels on some days, more snarky than not, but the way she handles hapless authors and makes the industry seem a little more human and approachable is a breath of fresh air. This is what I’m trying to do. Yes, I’m going to plug my retreat.

I set out in this business with no intent on becoming a published author or even doing anything more than getting the demons out of my closet and onto the blank page before me. But now, I want to give back..I have even gone as far as starting my own business.

I am now offering a retreat for writers (*Writing Away Retreats) in Vail, Colorado, with the first one taking place in October this year. What I really want to give to other writers is a place to go and work. Not an overly crowded conference with hotel rooms, anonymous speeches that all tell you how to pitch or how not to pitch, how to get published with your epic novel on the Care Bears and how they slipped their MS under the bathroom stalls etc. That's just not my idea of fun. Do I go to these conferences? Of course, and will continue to go so I can network and meet others who have this same habit...Instead, I am offering a haven for writers to live and breathe their works-in-progress. To get away from everything and with an established, published author, editor and mentors. The writers who attend my retreats will have days with them, not 10-15 minute slots.

I want to give other writers every chance possible to succeed in this industry. Face it, Borders Stores are closing, books aren’t being put up on shelves as they should be, people would rather read signs on the highway than books. What we need to do as a collective group, is bring back the art of writing. Benjamin Franklin saw the power of books, and therefore started the public library system in this country. Where did the excitement go? There are FABULOUS writers out there who have to work day jobs such as bank tellers and Starbucks in order to make ends meet. Did you know that Ireland actually supports their artists? Yeah, anyone wanna move over there with me?

So here's my plan...Lets all get excited about writing and help one another in succeeding. Let's build up platforms for others, promote the works of people you have read and enjoyed.

Take this attitude with you: You are not my competition. You are my colleague and friend. Bond together, work together and form the human connection that is soooo lost today and you will find that people, despite the jaded reality around us, haven’t changed a bit.

This is my chance to give back. My friend Lisa Gates says that she loves how I look at the world. I take the world is flat approach. This approach works, I promise. Let’s level the playing field, learn from eachother and be better for it. Future slush pile writers unite with the rest and the best. I encourage you to check out the blog I posted on Sunday with our guest author, R.A. Nelson. He shares this philosophy and is a wealth of encouragement for other writers.

I hope you will allow me to give back to you. What can I do to help you become tenacious, positive and willing to let your real life begin? Is it attending a retreat of mine, working with you daily to make you smile and see the world a little more clearer or offering life affirming positive thoughts? All you have to do is ask. Right? If you need something, if you need to be loved, if you need someone to give you a light to carry, then ask. There is no point in being shy. I know...easy for an extremist extrovert to say.

I have an interview with Photographer and National Geographic Eco-Ambassador, Chris Jordan, coming out in Art Nouveau Magazine on May 1. I will make sure I send you the link. He talks about the same principles of reciprocation kindness, love and love for the world we live in. It seems that most of the successful people in this world share this thought process. Do you?

Instead of shunning the other people in the world, think what it is like in their shoes, love them for the culture they provide and the contributions they could potentially make to this world.

I hope this hasn’t been too preachy. I really wanted to take the time to point you in the direction of some wonderful and very giving people as well as give you the chance to tell me what I can do to help you, for you are all my friends and my family of friends.

Lots of love.

Yours in Loving, Living and Letting the World Turn Without Negative Pressure to Be Someone I’m Not,

Cicily

Twenty Percent of You, Me and Everyone We Know and the Doctors Who Try to Take It All Away

Current mood: grateful
Category: Life

Good Morning Kids,

I heard an interesting statistic the other day. Wanna hear it? Alright. Did you know that 20% of all time spent on the internet, across the world, is spent on myspace and blogger. This just proves that I am not the only one with an addiction. Like I have said before, I can stop. Really I can. Put the phone down. I will not hurt you or anyone else.

Yesterday was a little bit on the mellow side for me. Not much to report other than you can tell by the time that this blog was posted, that I haven't had much sleep.

Okay, enough of the melodramatic rambling about nothing.

I wanted to take this opportunity to offer some advice. I know, the best advice is that which is solicited and taken with a grain of wheat germ. But after all I have been through in the previous year or more or maybe through my whole life and as a closet nurse, I have something to say.

Doctors.

They can be very very nice people. As a matter of fact, most of the doctors I have worked with are very nice and helpful people. But there are a few that need to be reckoned with.

As human beings it is certain that we will fail at some point or another. We will stand back up after that failure, dust our britches off and then go about trying the same stupid human trick again until we get it right. But when you are messing with human lives you better be damn well sure about not only yourself, but the life you are tooling around with.

But, there comes a time also when us humans must admit to a certain lack of knowledge and ask others for help. I have to admit that my medical history seemingly becomes more complex with each passing breath, but this does not mean that I am impossible. It just means that I am quite unique.

I am going to share a story with you now and I think, hope...that each one of you will learn from my infallible bad karma. Last summer (2006) I needed a surgery to repair my stomach as it had herniated up through my diaphragm. I was opened up from sternum bone to pelvic area. They were able to repair me in about three hours. Afterwards, I was admitted to the hospital for about 12 days.

I was discharged in stable condition. I had a touch of the hospital acquired colitis, but that was it. Within two weeks I began to have severe back pain and stomach pain. I admit that I wasn't drinking as much as I should have been, but I was exhausted. I went to the surgeon's office and explained the pain etc. He told me that since I didn't have a raging fever and redness around the incision area that I was not infected. Basically he said to walk it out.

The week after this visit the pain was so intense, kind of a searing heat of a pain through my abdomen and back, I went back to the doc. He was very rough with me and told me once again that there was nothing wrong. He insisted that I was depressed and proceeded to prescribe me an anti-depressant. I refused to take it, as he was a surgeon not a psych. Plus there was absolutely nothing going on in my life at that moment to make me depressed. Well, other than a pain in my ass with the initials of MD and the pain in my belly.

Within a week the incision area came open. Only in a small area, but open nonetheless. I went into the ER at the hospital where the surgery was performed and they said that there was nothing wrong. I went back to see him the days following the ER visit and he said that it was just a simple problem. Deal with it.

A week later I had a fever of over 102. I went to the other hospital in town and they performed a CT scan of the abdomen. Sure enough there was a pretty large abcess. They discharged me and told me to see the surgeon the next day. I went back to him like the fool I am and he admitted me. When up on the surgical floor of the hospital he refused any meds, and since I was crying like a baby, curled up in the fetal position, he "allowed" me to have a tylenol. He repeated the CT scan and well, I'll be damned. There was that abcess again. By that night I was in surgery again, on a morphine drip and had a big gaping hole in my abdomen.

This surgery caused more infection and problems with healing. The results: 5 surgeries over a 4 month period of time. One blood clot. 6 episodes of anti-biotic induced colitis and a partridge in a pear tree.

Yep, depression is a bitch. Especially when it causes peritonitis and other infections.

So listen up kids. Just because they have more degrees than you and I could ever imagine getting or spending our money on, doesn't mean that they necessarily know what they are doing.

Unfortunately I have a similar scenario going on at the moment with my present health issues. No, they are not surgical in nature. Thank God. But, the docs are screwing around with the what-if's and not really doing a whole lot by way of figuring out what the problem is. But, hopefully the specialist will start to figure things out. I just hope it is in time. Last time I almost didn't make it due to the infections.

Yes I am young. Yes I am too young to have all of this shit going on. But in reality it is the only body I have and if I am not going to advocate for my health than who will?

Please, please, please...do not take everything your physician says as the absolute truth. If I would have listened to the quack surgeon and taken the anti-depressants instead of persisting about my treatments I would be dead.

Listen to your bodies. I know that this sounds cliche' but it is the most certain truth you have. You know your body better than anyone else.

I hope you all have learned something.

Yours in Bodies, Banter and Becoming Who I Have Always Wanted to Be,

Cicily