Wait, it’s almost what month?! (The frantic February goals)

So, January was…yea. Personally, the first month of 2017 was not all that successful for me. Between catching yet another nasty illness (seriously, I am attracting these bugs like flypaper), drinking too much of the political poison and having a constant stern face whenever I opened Facebook- I struggled find productive time for me in the last 31 days. Well, that’s not entirely true- the first few weeks were good before I fell off my little wagon and scraped my knees. But- on the bright side, I did manage to read some pretty phenomenal books when I was supposed to be writing, so I do have that going for me! Plus- the snow was awesome. And I am currently ending the month writing in my blog and enjoying a bubble bath with a blue moon because I am still leery of wine (if you know of any good ones, let me know- so far I think I am partial to sweet white wines, but I’m working my way up to the big girl drinks).

So, instead of dwelling on the month that has been, it is time to move forward and set some fresh goals to keep me focused in February. A friend of mine, Cindy, mentioned that she was going to do her Nano this month because November tends to be pretty crazy for her (cheers to that!) So I’ve decided to try my hand at it this month too. That’s right- 50,000 words slated for February! Time to stretch my fingers and get ready to type! If anyone wishes to join, please do, the more the merrier! Nano even has a goal tracker on their website for the next few months- you can plug in a project name, a time frame and a goal to track. I am going to be trying it out on this little adventure, and I’ll let you know what I think at my month-end review. I have some old projects I meant to finish in January, so I will just shift those over one month and jump in.

The goal for this blog: a minimum of four posts a week. I’ve got some ideas I’m really excited to peruse, and I am desperately needing a routine to keep me on track (and off Facebook- the bane of my existence and, apparently, my new obsession. Ugh- I am so disappointed to actually say that. I miss the days when I checked it maybe twice a year). I’m not wanting to flood the site with content just for content’s sake, right now I need to focus on quality. We will see how it goes! Any constructive criticism would be greatly appreciated.

I’m supposed to start training for a stage race I’m doing in July. And before you say it- I know, why do I keep on agreeing to these things when I know how good I am at coming up with excuses not to actually train for them. And not only that- why did I agree to a stage race where I will spend a good portion of the time in a car with other stinky runners (did I mention that I am related to all of them)? There is a possibility you will be seeing a couple of ‘lazy girl fitness’ posts geared towards the book nerd/person-who-would-rather-watch-tv-than-go-to-the-gym-so-she-makes-up-her-own-workouts-that-go-with-her-favorite-shows. Think of it like a fitness version of a drinking game. If you don’t see any mention of this in February, then that means I am still making excuses and will start panicking in a month or two. Cheers!

I am sure that I have other things on my list, but these are the ones I need to focus on. It’s time to get back to my regularly scheduled life. It’s time to start splitting my time a bit more evenly and giving myself the outlet I’ve ignored the past month. I am actually really excited to get back to some of my old projects. I was even dreaming about one last night. As it turns out, I missed my characters more than I thought. The jury is still it on whether they missed me or not.

Goodbye January, you were…umm- eye-opening. You brought me many ‘firsts,’ that I will never forget, I learned a lot within your 31 days. And again- thank you for the snow. I can’t say I’ll miss you, because I’m not a liar. But you made me a better person, you gave my some stories I’ll bore my grandkids with, and for that I thank you. Kind of. And as for February: welcome, may we find some peaceful moments to enjoy our passions! Goodness knows the world needs a few more happy and peaceful moments.

Escaping an Off-Kilter World (finding a balance when it all falls apart)

In my personal life, I am a political person (don’t worry, I can sense the tension emanating from you with those simple words- this will not be a political post, so heave a deep sigh of relief). So, as I was saying- in my daily life, I am politically minded, I pay attention and I have formed a lot of my own opinions, I join organizations or events that I feel strongly about, I donate time and money to causes that I believe in, I have even gone so far as to attend rallies and similar events to bring light to certain issues. I continually try to read and learn differing perspectives. I don’t force my views onto others, nor do I really talk all that openly about them unless the other person is willing to have a genuine conversation without letting it slip into the hateful and unproductive speeches we’ve been seeing all too frequently. Even here- if anyone wishes to have a conversation about views and opinions, I would be more than happy to share ideas in a constructive way. Though, I must admit, I am sure most won’t be too keen to take me up on this offer.

I’ll be honest, I have contemplated bringing some of my views and opinions to this blog. I have had deep internal debates on the merits and responsibilities towards fighting for what you believe in and bringing light to causes that may otherwise be ignored. I have fought internally about sharing my views so that others might feel like they are less alone, or to share the resources that I have used to personally educate myself on the issues that I care about. This has been a big struggle for me, because writing a ‘fluffy’ piece when it feels like the world is falling apart at the seams- well, it feels wrong. It feels like I’m ignoring what truly matters. And that’s part of why I haven’t been able to write much the past few weeks (well, that and a pretty rough time I have had being sick for over a week now with a fever and sinus congestion that hurts so bad I can feel it radiating in my teeth). I guess in part, it almost feels morally irresponsible to not at least mention the state our society is in. For a girl who processes the world through words, it’s been strange trying to keep myself from writing specific ones right here.

Lately I’ve been overdosing- constantly keeping an eye on my social media and news outlets to the detriment of other aspects of my life. To be honest, I never expected to live in a time like this, I never expected to face the dilemmas we are facing, I never envisioned my country looking the way that it does. It’s easy to get pulled in- after all, these issues matter. The course that we set right now can have a drastic impact on our future. And if I’m being honest, I’m scared for us. Which is why I read, why I ask questions, why I listen, why I play devil’s advocate with my own belief system, and why I fight for what I believe in when it seems like there is no other road to travel.

However, I’m learning that there must be limits. I have kept myself informed, but I’ve torn myself to pieces in the process without providing any solace to build myself back up. We all need an outlet; somewhere to go when the world gets too crazy, somewhere to hide away and recharge when we feel battered and bruised. That doesn’t mean we are being socially irresponsible or burying our heads in the sand; it just means that on occassion, we need a time out. It means that we need to remember why balance in all aspects of our lives is so crucial to our general wellbeing. We need a place to feel strong after the world has worn us down to the point we are far too weak to take another step. That was always what this blog was about; it was about finding my place in a world gone mad. It was about fostering a dream that I still carry. The novels I write in the future may be different, the words and the tone may reflect the state of the world that we are currently living in. But this spot right here is still going to be my sanctuary. True- I am not promising that my views may not occasionally slip in, that I might not have some personal insight to share, or mention of a book that helped shape me. But rest assured, every word that I write here will be one of peace and understanding. Because these are the values that I was raised to believe in. 

My friends, I am a political person. But that does not mean that I have to be one right here- and it took me months to come to this simple realization. This is where I go to hide away and remind myself of the life that I am fighting for, the dream that I am carrying, the hopes that I still hold. And truthfully, if this desire to speak up about policy and opinion persists, well, then perhaps a sister-blog may be in my future, one that is more geared towards that side of my life. But for today, I just needed to touch base with something that matters to me outside of the political sphere. Tonight I needed to remember that the written word can bring comfort, not just opposition and hatred. And tomorrow, I will be back, charged and ready for what comes next. Balance is key, I cannot forget that again.

My friends, if any of you need anything, or just want to talk- my door is always open, my inbox is always waiting. You can contact me anytime and know that I will welcome you with open arms and respect. Because that’s what we’re about here. Small acts of kindness will always find their way into our hearts and lives; that is where we will find our hope. This blog is a small act of kindness to myself, and I hope that others may feel the same way. Goodnight my friends, may tomorrow be a brighter day.

Friday the 13th: the Myth, the Legend, the Legacy

Gloom, despair and agony on me

Deep dark depression, excessive misery

If it weren’t for bad luck I’d have no luck at all

Gloom, despair and agony on me

In 1976, a New Yorker named Daz Baxter was reportedly so afraid of Friday the 13th that he opted to play it safe and stay in bed where no harm could befall him. That same day he was was killed when the floor of his apartment building collapsed. Coincidence, or is this date fated to truly exude the madness and mayhem of the unlucky?

In 1993 the British Medical Journal published an article aptly titled ‘Is Friday the 13th Bad for Your Heath?’ The goal of the researchers was to determine the relationship between health, behavior and superstition surrounding this particular day in the U.K. To do this they opted to review hospital admissions stemming from auto accidents, while taking into account the volume of traffic, on two different Fridays: the 6th and the 13th. Now, surprisingly, there were consistently fewer people who braved the roads on the 13th, and yet hospital admission for accidents was significantly higher, showing an increased risk of 52% when compared to the 6th. But is this a sign of the unlucky spirit of the day, or a simple matter of psychology where we believe we are unlucky, and therefore we fulfil our own prophecy?

There is a name for those who fear this day, a name that causes my soul to squirm and shiver when attempting to pronounce it: paraskevidekatriaphobia. Today I went on a quest to discover the origins of this little holiday that captures the imagination and inspires many horror films and scary stories. What I found was surprising, and perhaps a bit vague. So grab a drink and let’s break it down.

The infamous number 13:

The theories and negative associations surrounding this number are plentiful. If 13 people sit down to dine, the first to rise will be soon to die. The Turks had such a fear of this number that it became practically nonexistent in their language. It takes 13 witches to make up a full coven. If you have 13 letters in your name, then you have the devil’s luck. Want a few examples to think over after you have counted the letters in your own? Jack the Ripper, Charles Manson, Jeffrey Dahmer, Theodore Bundy, Albert De Salvo (the Boston stranger), Aileen Wuornos (murdered 7 men in one year and said she’d do it again), Saddam Hussein, Lavinia Fisher (the first American serial killer who poisoned guests at her boarding house), Osama bin Laden; I am sure the list goes on. The fear of 13 has even carried into our modern society; many cities do not have a 13th street or avenue, and many building don’t possess a 13th floor.

Now, not all cultures despise the number. The Chinese always regarded it as lucky, as did the Egyptians in the time of the pharaohs. Even today: I am a big fan of a baker’s dozen where I can get 13 tasty treats instead of 12. But why is there a general dislike of something as unassuming as a number across history and cultures?

To answer that in part, we have to take it back to the Egyptians. Remember how I said that they thought it was a lucky number? Egyptians believed that life itself was meant to be a quest for spiritual ascension, as do so many religions. They believed that this spiritual journey could be broken down into stages; 12 in this life and the 13th beyond, which they viewed as their eternal afterlife. As such, they associated 13 with death, but in their views it was meant as a desirable and glorious thing. As time passed and subsequent cultures rose and fell, the original association between the number thirteen and the nature of death remained strong. What weakened, however, was the light that it was viewed in. People forgot the spiritual context of a happy and glorious afterlife, and began to fill in that empty space with their internal fears of death itself. That fear bred a mistrust and general distaste for the number it was connected with.

Another theory centering around the vilification of the number 13, interestingly enough, ties into the ever raging battle of the sexes. The number 13 represented femininity and was revered within prehistoric worship. As an example, it can be seen in a Stone Age carving known as the earth mother of Laussel, found near the Lascaux caves in France and is often cited as an iconic matriarchal spirit. This carving depicts a female figure holding a crescent-shaped horn that bears 13 notches. The number 13 corresponds to the number of lunar (menstraul) cycles in a year. It is thought that the matriarchal number fell out of favor as many societies and religions found themselves leaning more towards a patriarchal viewpoint. 


The religious connotations related to the number 13 carry over into Christianity as well. The predominate story is centered around the Last Supper. There were thirteen in attendance. One of the disciples then betrayed Jesus Christ, leading to the crucifixion. To add an interesting twist, shall I mention the fact that the crucifixion itself was said to take place on a Friday? Ah yes, it appears that the plot thickens. Let us carry on with this thread.

The Fear of Friday:

Personally, I have never been afraid of Friday, nay, I revere and uphold this day as the oh-so-sacred end point of my working week, and my occasional day for lovely happy hours filled with hummus plates, cheesy tots and blue moons at my favorite Irish pub. But the love for this day has not always existed.

Old wives tales and general theory abound when it comes to this particular day of the week. It is said that if you change the bed on a Friday it will bring you bad dreams. Cutting your nails will lead to bad luck and sorrow. If you start a trip on a Friday you will encounter misfortune. Relating to this, ships that set sail on this day will encounter bad luck. There is even an urban myth stating that the Royal Navy once attempted to dispel this fear amongst their sailors so they created the H.M.S Friday. The story goes that they made a point to handle all major events on Fridays; they commissioned and named the ship, laid the keel, launched the vessel, selected the crew and captain, and embarked on its maiden voyage- all on separate Fridays just to prove the point that the superstitious fear was unfounded. The story concludes that, once it set sail, the ship was never seen or heard from again. This story survived under the guise of fact for many years and was spread through such notable publications as ‘The Reader’s Digest’ before additional research was done to conclude that the ship itself never actually existed. 

So once again, where does this fear stem from? Once again, there are deep ties to religion when it comes to the fear of a Friday. In terms of Christianity, Fridays were generally no-good, awful, very bad days. As I mentioned before, the crucifixion is said to have taken place on this day. It is also believed that Adam and Eve were expelled from the Garden of Eden on a Friday, the Great Flood, the tying of tongues at the Tower of Babel, the destruction of the Temple of Solomon; all took place on Fridays. 

It was also considered a sabbath day in many other pre-Christian religions. This meant that when Christianity took hold in many of these territories, that day became somewhat vilified by the father’s of the church due to its ‘heathen associations.’ In an attempt to discredit the day and ensure that fellow christians would not begin to follow the practice of a Friday sabbath, it was decried the ‘witch’s sabbath,’ a distasteful connotation in a superstitious era.

Another tie to the witchy word happens to stem from its very name. The word Friday is derived from a Norse deity who was worshipped on the 6th day. Depending on the story you read, she was either known as Frigga (the goddess of marriage and fertility), or Freya (the goddess of sex and fertility). These two dieties became intertwined with one another throughout the myths, and are still difficult to differentiate. The goddesses are associated with Venus, the Roman goddess of love. This association meant that those who believed in her felt that Friday was an especially lucky day to get married, as it was her day. Once again, this was to change when Christianity made it to the show. As I said earlier, it discredit the heathen practices. It was re-named the witch’s sabbath. During this vilification process, Freya herself was depicted as a witch. Alongside her, her sacred animal, the cat, was rebranded as the witch’s pet, an association that maintains to this day. From then on, Freya’s day of love was recast as a day of evil intentions and ill omens.

It was not just religion that cast a dark pallor over the day, however. These undertones existed in other cultures as well, thought wether by coincidence or design is yet unknown. It became a recognized day of death. In pagan Rome it was their execution day, which morphed into Hangman’s Day in Britain. The bloody stains could not be easily washed from the fabric of our beloved Friday.

What Brought Friday and the 13th Together at Last?

So we have two separate histories marked by fear and apprehension. But what brought these two together in solemn matrimony? That’s hard to tell, though theories abound. One, admittedly not my personal favorite, circles back to our undercurrent of religion. This concept has arisen in well-published novels, such as The DaVinci Code. The theory itself surrounds historical events, in the form of the decimation and mass arrests of the Knights Templar, which took place on Friday the 13th. Now, I’m not going to spend extensive time on this theory because I don’t find it particularly compelling or plausible. At the time, the events were not cast as a major event, and they would have had little effect over the superstitions and colloquial terminology of the day. While religion has a strong holding over the original superstitions of the two separately, I don’t think they can claim credit for the joining of the ideas.

Another belief stems from a book published in 1907, written by Thomas Lawson. It is simply titled ‘Friday, the Thirteenth,’ and is about dirty dealings in the stock market. It sold relatively well for its time, and some have attributed the origins of the real Friday the 13th to this book. Though in actuality, it appears unlikely that the author came up with the idea himself, as the context of the story nods to the idea of the unlucky day as being one already known in the public conscious. Though, there is a good likelihood that he helped spread its universality. So for that we can thank him (or curse him, depending on your personal beliefs).

Personally, I follow a simple theory, though far less romantic; that people noticed a similar thread between the two and noticed when they coincided on a calendar. Think about it; Friday’s have historically been viewed as unlucky. The 13th has been viewed in the same light. So it stands to reason that when you combine the two, you come up with unlucky multiplied by two. When viewing a calendar it would be easy to spot the anomaly, and given people’s perceptions of the two distinct ideas, it isn’t a far stretch to assume that they would then view the day as one to be doubly dreaded. After all, in the 1898 edition of the ‘Dictionary of Phrase and Fable’ there is no mention of Friday the 13th, though there are separate sections listed for each unlucky title. It wasn’t until later editions that they were combined under one heading. This seems to be a natural progression in the superstitious trends.

This year we will see two occassions to fear the day; the first is right here in January, and our next is nestled snugly in October, a rather fitting month if you ask me. So whether you are one to march boldly out your front door and dare the day to do its worst, or whether you prefer to roll up in bubble wrap and avoid public transportation for the intervening 24 hours, may you be safe and have fun. Just remember, our fears have only the amount of power we grant them. 

Adult Snow Days for the Win!

For the first time ever, I jinxed myself in a good way. If you read my post from last night, you will remember that I opted to give myself a ‘snow night’ because my work never closes due to inclement weather, and therefore, there were no snow days in my future. I was pretty confident in this statement. But today, the world conspired to make me a liar. And I’m okay with that. After several hours of miscommunication and confusion on the part of everyone involved (like I said, we never close so the  protocols were a bit rusty), the decision finally came out- essential staff only was to report, everyone else got to stay home. And guess who was NOT considered essential staff today? This girl right here!

Oh, I was quick to don the pajamas again and refill my cup of coffee, ecstatic that I found out right as I was about to go warm up the car. Originally it was just a late start, and then an hour or so later, it was changed to a full closure.

Like any self respecting adult, I drank extra coffee, excitedly sent group messages to my coworkers who were all in a state of shocked disbelief, and then I put on warm clothes and ran out into the snow with my dog, who was just as excited as I was about the wintery developments. As it turns out, snow is his favorite treat. I learned this to the dismay of the snowman I was attempting to create (Apologies to my little creation, you never stood a chance). Once I cajoled my fiancé into coming outside with me, we walked the dog down to our local grocery store, picked up soup and bread bowls, and trekked back home as more flakes fell.

We reveled in this rare day; our winter storm was dubbed ‘Jupiter’ by the mysterious powers that be, and stretched from California to the Midwest. In my area our local towns got the biggest accumulation of snow since 1980. Oregon declared a state of emergency as officers on quads buzzed around downtown Portland checking stalled cars for stranded motorists that they then transported to local precincts before providing emergency hotel arrangements. A call to arms to assist the homeless was broadcast. People helped one another and people played, enjoying the rare elements for what they were.

During the day we played and enjoyed the weather, and tonight I am taking my momentum and redirecting it to my writing as my dog and cat are cuddled up beside me, exhausted and warm after a day of snowballs and icicles. My goal for the end of January is to complete some projects that have been left incomplete. Most of them are very close to their conclusions and just need that final push before I que them up for editing. 

This week I am playing with some new writing plans to figure out what will work best for myself and my daily schedule. My goal is to get some fresh, higher quality content posted to this blog. I want to step it up and put some more time into it. But I don’t want to neglect my other writing projects in the process, so a bit of a balancing act is going to be required. I haven’t figured it all out yet, and I’m still experimenting with different options. This month might prove to be a bit challenging; we seem to be having unprecedented weather this season, and there’s a possibility I will have to go out of town for three weeks, though I won’t know until about 3 days before I would have to go. Although, who knows, perhaps a hotel room will keep the distractions at bay. Though I would desperately miss my little family while away.

If there is anything that this season has taught me, it is to roll with every punch and every storm. It will be a grand adventure if you are willing to look at it the right way.

Keeping Portland Weird, no matter the weather

Snow Nights: Never Grow Up

I don’t know when I graduated into the world of adulthood. I can’t tell you when I began to understand (albeit loosely) aggressive retirement investment plans or the fact that pizza is not always the best idea when it comes to nutritional breakfast options. No, I am not sure when I became one of those muggle-like adults who watch the weather report while biting my lip and wondering how on earth I will make it to work on time the next morning. We grow up, we lose our magic and we get a bit boring. There- I said it, the truth is out. And while there are perks to this world of adulthood (aforementioned possibility of pizza for breakfast among them), there are a lot of moments I look back on wistfully, remembering the untempered joy I found in the most mundane things.

I remember the gleeful excitement that melted my heart every time the word ‘snow day’ was uttered. Oh, how I would run to sit in front of the tv on a school morning after the flakes had fallen the night before, desperately reading through the running scroller on our local news channel that listed every school that was blessed with such an impromptu holiday, holding my breath that the dreaded words ‘snow routes’ were not trailing behind my educational establishment’s name. 

I lived for snow days, in fact, one of my all time favorite moments was that year in middle school when I swore at the end of winter break that we needed just one more week. A snow storm granted that wish. To this day I am still a firm believer that wishing hard enough will occasionally make your hopes come true.

I catch my boring adult self staring at the news when there is a whisper of a snow storm on the horizon for a very different reason than I did as a child. Now I’m watching traffic reports, planning and plotting the safest way to work, checking and rechecking how much gas is in the car and asking myself for the fifteenth time why I didn’t buy a big truck when I had the chance. As an adult, snowy flutters have become more a game of logistics and planning. Earlier to rise, listen to the news as I get ready, bundle up until I can’t put my arms down and slowly creep my way to work where I will spend the day staring longingly out the window. As an adult, I don’t get to embark on the joy of snow days. My workplace simply doesn’t really do them- I think we’ve closed perhaps twice in ten years due to inclement weather. And yet, I can never help that little flutter I feel when the first flakes fall, that ease of contented excitement as I sit by the window watching them dance after everyone is safely home. There is a magic to the snow that even my muggle-like adultness cannot quell. 

Tonight it snowed- in fact, it is still snowing. It’s windy and white and beautiful as the street lamps glow against the pale blanket that covers my little corner of the world. My nephews are thrilled that they don’t have school tomorrow, my fiancé is ecstatic that even his college courses are cancelled. Politely, they all keep trying to feed my hope and offer ‘you never know, you might get a snow day too.’ I smile, but I know the truth. There is no snow day in my near future.

But that doesn’t mean that I can’t take matters into my own hands and give myself a snow night. All of those joys that I will miss tomorrow- I took tonight. It was late, the world was dark and quiet when I pulled on my boots, fuzzy bathrobe and gloves and ran out into the world. Snow ball fights, snowmen, being chased by the energetic puppy- we ran, we played; we breathed life back into these old bodies of ours (well, they feel old at least). Tonight we forgot about the traffic reports, we didn’t complain about how long the snow plows take, we didn’t grumble because this means we have to get up even earlier tomorrow. No, tonight we remembered what it was like to feel that excitement we felt as kids. We stole a snow night when the world wouldn’t give us a day. The world was peaceful and calm, the quiet only shattered with the peals of our own laughter (sorry neighbors).

Tonight the little girl inside beamed with pride. Perhaps I’m not such a boring adult after all. Never forget to live in the small moments, my friends, choose joy and adventure at every turn. Even if it’s as simple as running into the snow on a cold night when you have to be up early to adult the next morning. Never grow up- not all the way, at least.

The voice of a writer (or: that one where I compare all writers to fish)

It’s a universal desire to be good at what we do, to excel within the parameters of our passions. As writers, this is no exception. We are all in search of that spark- the little flicker of a flame that will light our way to those we hope to reach. We hold ourselves to the highest of standards and stare in defeat at the work we continue to denounce as ‘not good enough.’ We are writers, our existence by its very nature is mired in self-doubt.

And yet…and yet…the more I immerse myself in this world, the more I realize- I’m chasing a rainbow that has no damn end. You see, becoming a ‘good’ writer is subjective. I adore Victorian classics, while my friends thinks they are only good for putting you to sleep after a long day. I have found certain books that I could not for the life of me get past the third chapter; and yet literally thousands of other people proclaim that same title to be their all-time favorite; their own copies battered, well-worn, and (gasp) dog eared. Oh yes, my friends, the dog-ear epidemic is a true horror story. And buying the afflicted readers their own bookmarks does not seem to cure their ails. Once infested, they must never borrow another book ever again. I know- Harsh punishments for harsh crimes. 

I have a slew of writers I wish I could emulate. I am deeply envious of J.K Rowling’s eye for detail. I turn green with jealousy at the easy way J.R.R Tolkien created a world almost more elaborate than our own. I lust after the idea of creating a nerdy-science-action thriller like James Rollins. And yes, I have been known to swoon for the adorable play-on-words you will discover in the lines of Norton Juster. And no, my dear friends, do not get me started on the creative concepts and thoughtful breath of life that Neil Gaiman and Patrick Rothfuss give their creations; they are deliciously diabolical in the best possible ways. 

And yet, to some of you, these names will mean nothing. Perhaps you may find them a tad overrated, or not all that enjoyable. And why is that? Because what I find to be good is subjective. We do not have to agree to both be right. 

Which brings me to my main point (believe it or not, I did have one, though I only discovered it somewhere amidst the third paragraph). Why are we constantly judging our work by other writer’s standards? We can be good and not be like them. I will never be J.K Rowling, sad fact. I will never weave elegant phrases or silly quips quite like some of the masters I adore. But does that mean that my work does not have credence, does not do me justice? No. It means that if I keep judging my fishy self by my ability to climb a tree, then I will forever live my life feeling like I am not good enough. I’m a fish. And damn it, I can swim with the whales if I want to (okay, not realistic because I’m actually afraid of deep water, but let’s get temporary amnesia and roll with the analogy).

The craft of writing is mired in the pits of self-doubt. We would not be creators if we were confident in every little bookish-beast we kissed on the head and sent out into the world. And yes, some of our work may soar, and some of it may sink deep below the roiling waves. But guess what, my friends: to someone out there- you are J.K Rowling, or Neil Gaiman, or whoever it is you love and feel inspired by. You do that for someone else. Because you love your craft and you have a distinct voice that someone out there is desperate to hear, a voice that cannot be mimicked or emulated. You are a writer because you love it, and you love it because, when all is said and done, you were meant to do it. The passion burns inside you for a reason. And you, my friend, will someday be the rainbow that another writer is chasing.

Yes, I know that I am not J.K. Rowling, I am not any of my favorite authors. But I am no longer trying to be. Because I am me: I am Kaitlynn Knable (good luck pronouncing that last name, heroes have attempted and fallen at the weighty task). These authors I wish I could be; their skills sets are not mine, and by that same token, the skills that I bring to the table are not theirs. I can do what they cannot just as easily as they can do what I cannot. We have different voices, we are singing different songs, and they are meant for different people who all need them just the same. 

For at least one night, I am going to convince myself that being this writer right here is good enough. No, not good enough. Just good. And you know what, my friends, you are too. You are inspiring. And you deserve to measure yourself by your own standards and not by anyone else’s. Because the stories that you have to share with the world are completely and wholly you. Your words will lose their power if you try to speak them in someone else’s voice. Yes- even if it is a voice you really, really like. Your words will lose their power if they don’t come from you, spoken in the only way you know how. That is what gives them meaning, that is what makes a writer inspiring.

We are writers. And we are good at it. We are fish. We do not climb trees, we swim with the whales. And that’s pretty damn cool. (Also, that fin looks really good on you. And those bubbles- they bring out the color in your eyes).

Reading Dangerously

Books have the ability to shape minds and sculpt opinions, they are as diverse as the people we share this beautiful world with. They can change us if we are willing to step out of our comfort zone and challenge ourselves and our beliefs. What we choose to read will show in who we become as people, and, as creators, it will become apparent in what we bring into this world. Whatever your chosen medium is, you have the power to make an impact with it, to become timeless and honest. I want to write books that change people, I want to pen articles that make others question what they thought, or provide them with a glimmer of hope that they are not alone, that they have an ally in a world that has too few. I want to write Dangerously, and to do that, I must read the same way.

When I was in high school we had weekly opinion pieces to write and then group debates on a myriad of subjects we originally knew nothing about, and a few key topics our teachers were brave enough to let us choose ourselves. One of their favorite things to do: make us argue a side we deeply opposed. Why? Because it forces you to learn, it compels you to challenge your own views and opinions and, in effect, discover a sense of compassion for those you disagree with.

It is no secret that we live in an interesting time; though not as unique as we may imagine it to be. We have hot button issues that compel passions within individuals that are unrivaled. Passion is a double-edged sword, and in a world of misinformation, skewed propaganda, and sensationalization: passion can be a unforgiving and dangerous blade. It seems that searching for information and challenging our own thoughts has become too difficult a task. It is far too easy to get swept away in the sea of words we have billowing out around us.

At the end of 2016 I started working through some of the books I’ve left idling on my shelf, books that ignited a curiosity and passion inside of me, some of them made me question my current belief system, and others managed to reinforce my opinions with information that I did not previously possess. They gave me a fire, and a deeper understanding of the world around me. And they reminded me of how complicated and colorful our world really is. 

I believe in tolerance and compassion, but there are many cultures and social issues I still only had limited knowledge of. I felt unable to voice my opinion in fear that I was missing something. At the same time, I feel we all have a social obligation to help one another and defend each other from unwarranted hate and preconceived notions.

It was my desire to challenge and educate myself that led to a very specific goal this year, one that I suspect will continue far longer than these 12 coming months. The challenge: to read dangerously, to confront my own views and biases and force them to make a case, to expand my knowledge and, with that, my understanding of this complicated world that we live in. It is a year to remember those long-forgotten facets of our history and find the correlation with our current troubles. It is a chance to propel ourselves to be better people.

I was originally thinking about monthly themes, and while I may eventually transition that way, right now I am simply enjoying the extensive and random selection of books I own but have been sitting unread. I have books covering all subjects: history, religion, race issues, sexuality, the sciences, biographies of strong women, athletes, and world leaders, philosophy, classics and modern tales that shape us in unseen ways. I have books that I suspect will support my current beliefs, and ones that I have a strong inclination will test them. 

Now, I have hopes that this will be somewhat interactive, though I think it will evolve a bit as we go. I have just finished Voyage of the Damned, a phenomenal book I will be doing a follow-up post on in the coming week (spoiler: I highly recommend it). If you would like to see the 2016 books that inspired this, feel free to peek here: Tipsy Typer’s Top Ten Year-End Literary Lovelies

My current selections include an overview of world history in the form of The New Penguin History of the World because, well, I am a bit rusty and I’ve tried to read this lengthy tome many times- darn it, I will do it this time! Also, I am finally reading The Quran; I’ve always had an interest in religious studies and have read the texts of other religions, but have never made it to this one. Thus far it has been very eye-opening in terms of some of its similarities to a few other predominant religions. I think a big part of understanding and having compassion stems with educating yourself on what is important and fundamental to other people. Religion is a driving force for many, and learning to respect that and understand the similarities as well as the differences will go a long way on our road to acceptance and appreciation. I also just started a promising new read that follows my underlying theme: Threading My Prayer Rug

But I want to ask you all: what suggestions do you have for me? What books have changed you, expanded your views or made you ask questions? The genre, the subject matter, geared towards children or adults- there are no boundaries, any book that made you feel something, learn something, or challenged you in some way; I’d love to hear about it and add it to my list. And if you care to immerse yourself in your own Reading Dangerously challenge, feel free to comment; I think sharing this experiment with others would only help us all grow.

Cheers, my friends, may we forever find the strength within ourselves to keep growing and changing.

Versatile Blogger Award

Well first off, I have to send a big thank you to Rachael (Rachael’s Ramblings) for the Versatile Blogger Award Nomination! It gave me all kinds of warm fuzzies to see. I love this blog and the people that I’ve met on this journey, and we aren’t even a year in yet. I can’t wait to see what else we have up our sleeves.

The rules when nominated are:

Thank the person that nominated you and include the link to their blog.

Nominate 15 blogs of your choice.

Link your nominees and let them know of your nomination.

Share seven facts about yourself.
So here we go, Seven facts about me:

  1. I am a big comic nerd; I’ve been slowly chipping away at the old Marvels, thanks to The Complete Marvel Reading Order site. The old ones crack me up, but I can’t get enough of the vintage story lines.
  2. I seriously considered working towards starting up a bakery. I especially love cake/cupcake decorating and have done some birthdays for people. Perhaps someday I will find the time for a baking blog, hehehe
  3. I have over 600 books that I own but have not read yet (which is insane because I read constantly)
  4. I am a bit of a science geek and have even been known to read certain textbooks for fun (I even occasionally take notes).
  5. Every time I see a shooting star or blow out my birthday candles, I still make the same wish I’ve been making since I was 17 (and I still refuse to tell anyone what it is).
  6. I despise onions unless they are deep fried.
  7. I grew up with odd pets; hedgehogs, chinchillas, etc. But my dream is still to have a little piggy to love.

And now for my nominees! Always tricky, because I have some awesome people that I love to read, they all make me strive to get better with my own work (these are in no particular order):

Thank you for humoring me, my friends, I know this was a nontraditional post for me, but I could not resist sending a shout out to some of the people that I love to read.

To Truly Live (A Hope for a New Year)

Happy New Years, my friends! I hope that you make 2017 one to remember fondly. I hope you walk away from this year with pride in all that you have accomplished. I hope you dare to live bravely, to challenge yourself, to find lessons in your failures as well as your successes. I hope you create an adventure that you will look back on in twenty years with a smile saying ‘I can’t believe I did that.’ I hope you slide into December 31st a little bit weary, a little bit ruffled, and with a contagious smile that just won’t quit. I hope you find joy and kindness, I hope you show the world what you are made of. I hope we all do.

I have always been a lover of New Years Resolutions, excitedly proclaiming my goals to my less-than-enthusiastic friends. I know that some don’t hold an abiding belief in this tradition, following the logic that change can and should be made everyday, not just at the beginning of a new year. And while I see the merits in their argument (I myself have decided on a random Wednesday that I had finally had enough and sought my change right them), I still can’t seem to refuse the hopeful joy I feel when that clock strikes midnight, the ball drops, and we all find ourselves collectively standing in a new time, a new day, a new hopeful beginning. It is like the first chapter in the sequel to a book you know and love. You are well aware of the pitfalls, the plots, the characters; but that does not detract from the magic of a brand new book.

There is a sparkle to a new year, a symbolic fresh start, a way to clean the slate and set tangible timelines to your goals. And while you are still the same person you were yesterday, you can look at your problem with fresh determination, even if it is only a change in your state of mind.

2016 was a year of foundations for me. It was a time for me to embrace the things I love and start tackling the maze that is the writing world. It was a year of change, of asking questions, of looking at myself in terms of my potential as opposed to my prior accomplishments. 2016 was a year of tearing down the walls that I had built, crashing through the limitations that I had set. And 2017 will be about putting on that hard hat and building on what I have started. It will be a time to view my life through a new lens, to begin answering the questions that I posed a year ago. 2017 will be a year of living and loving bravely, of baring my soul without apology. This year I resolve to take the next steps off the beaten path I have always so willingly followed. This year will be about potential.

There will be many failures; I am nothing if not deeply and profoundly human in everything that I do. I fail with the best of intentions. But this year I hope that I will not let those failures determine my path. I will struggle, and I will continue to question. I will feel discouraged and sad and wonder what the hell I am doing with my life. But my friends- that is to always to be expected. That is what it means to live a genuine life and be true to who you are. It is not an easy road, to follow your heart and your dreams. It is an unpaved adventure when you deviate from what is expected.

I have seen clearly what my life will be like if I don’t step outside of my box. I will continue to wake up at 5:30 in the morning and blearily hop in the shower to wake up. I will depend on my coffee as I drive to the same building I have worked in since I was 18 years old. I will be happy there; I have been happy there. I will bond with these people, occasionally go to happy hour with friends. I will plan vacations once a year to someplace new, saving every last penny. I will maybe have a few kids (to entertain the dog and cat). I will live a happy, ordinary life.

But when I come to those pearly gates, I will know that I did not live my life. I lived the life that was expected of me. It will be great, it will be grand; and it will be the epitome of everything I am not. I am organized chaos. I am a eternal optimist. But most of all, I am a girl full of dreams and stories that keep my head floating in the clouds. My closet is full of blazers and high heels, and yet I am happiest in my worn tennis shoes and literary t-shirts. I take pride in what I have accomplished, and yet I know in my heart that I am not living up to my potential.

We all know the dream, many of us carry it in our hearts and guard it zealously. Oh, how happy I would be to make my living with a pen in my hand and a story in my heart. And yet, I have come to a realization this past year: the outcome of my writing does not matter. If I never catch the attention of a publisher, if I never see my name on a best-seller list; that doesn’t mean that I failed. The true test is in the journey. If I keep writing, if I keep chasing that dream with wild abandon, if I still daydream about that one story I can’t get out of my head when I should really be reading the latest legal decision on that one case everyone is talking about; then I am winning, I am living my most genuine life.

This year I want to explore my boundaries. I want to re-discover what I really love and what I truly want. I want to do it for myself, not to check a box off of an ever-growing to-do list. This year I am going to be brave and start looking at the bigger picture. While I love my job, I know that I am settling by doing what I do. I am not challenged like I hope, I’ve hit the top rung of my current ladder and I am not satisfied with my view. I am capable of more than what my current task-set allows. And while I don’t think I will be plunging head-first into any new careers this year, I will start the journey to figure out what really brings me joy. I always knew that I wanted to be a writer, but I also envisioned a big glittery question mark that begged the question of ‘what else’? As I ramble down my literary road, what else out there will leave me fulfilled? I want to find out, I want to see what I can accomplish if I set my mind to it, I want to rediscover the passions that I fell in love with once upon a time. If nothing else, I will learn something new about myself and perhaps find some fresh fodder for my literary endeavors. I am forever learning, observing and soaking it all in.

These are my hopes for 2017, the dreams and adventures that I wish to look back on fondly next December as we prepare to ring in yet another year of change. While I thought about writing out my well laid plans on here with all of their lovely little bullet points and step by step directions, I think my purposes are best served with the intentions, the heart of what I am hoping to accomplish. Each month will bring with it a new challenge that I will set out to accomplish; and each task will be met in its own time.

2017 will be a year of self discovery; of learning to slow down and listen to myself, to follow my interests and desires and see where they will lead. It will be a year of taking a step back from the hold that mindless technology has taken on my brain and revitalize myself out in the tangible world. It will be a year of cultivating my mind and body, making small changes now that I will be grateful for in the future.

2017 will be a year of writing, of finishing what I started. It will be a year to explore the possibilities of publishing and facing my fear of public opinion. It will be a year to dedicate to this lovely little space that allows me to bring voice to my thoughts and feel a little bit less alone. 

2017 will be about finding myself in small adventures; whether they be as simple as the pages of a book I would normally not read or as grand as a vacation to someplace I never would have envisioned visiting. It will be about finding the good in things that I all too often spot the negatives in.

2017 will be a year of investment; exploring new cultural experiences, finding common ground with people who feel like strangers, searching for a place to fit in a world that wasn’t necessarily created for people quite like me. 

In this year, I hope to build, to grow, to look within myself and find a new perspective to color my views with. We have a world of possibilities at our feet and a choice in our hearts; to walk down the path so readily laid before us, or to take that leap and jump into the rambling woods beside us. This year I choose to live my true life; whether I succeed or fail doesn’t matter in the end. It’s going to be one hell of an adventure as we carve this road. I hope to see you amidst the trees, my friends.

A Year of Struggle, a Year of Change (goodbye 2016, I still don’t know what to think of you)

This morning I got to experience my final surprise for 2016: after six years, my little kitten finally learned how to ‘cat’ properly. By that I mean he surprised me as I was reading in bed with my cup of coffee by plopping a dead bird in my lap. I have been told that this is a cat’s way of saying ‘I love you and I don’t want you to starve, so here’s a treat I worked hard for.’ However, from what I could glean, it appeared he was more interested in using me as his table, rather than convincing me to partake of his simple morsel. Oh Oreo, you little rascal, you are full of surprises, and as much as I appreciate the thought, I sincerely hope your New Year’s Resolution does not involve regularly attempting to feed your human. As yummy as your bird looked, I am perfectly content with pizza.


2016 has been one hell of a year, I think we can all agree on that. We have seen the worst of humanity, as well as the best of it. Our hearts have collectively broken, and we have patched them back together with gold. While it has been a rough year for people in general, I can’t help but be appreciative for my personal experiences this year. I did not accomplish everything I set out to do, and yet I have still come so far. For one thing, I started this blog, which has perhaps had the largest influence on me this past year. Through this little haven I have met some amazing people and discovered a self-confidence that I was worried I would never possess in terms of my work.

For me personally, 2016 has been a year of small adventures and self-discovery. I went to Vegas for the very first time and faced my fear of heights by zip lining down Freemont street.

Made my first epic Bloody Mary (which looked better than it tastes):

We walked for MS in the summer, and in the fall we ran through downtown dressed as banana while being chased by gorillas for a smile foundation:

Spent time in nature with some of the strongest, most empowering women that I know:

Visited Halloweentown:

Tried my hand at rock hunting (a new take on geocaching where people paint rocks and hide them around town):

Tried Pokémon go (and discovered a lot of really cool places on some really long walks):

Discovered kiwi berries and chocolate ice cream tacos (do not eat together):

Finally had my name written in a cool way at Starbucks:

Glow in the dark face paint at a 90’s themed birthday party (do not get on your clothes, but if you do- hit me up, I know the trick to get it out):

Saw Neil DeGrasse Tyson speak, as well as Cavaliers Odysseo and The Nutcracker (my first ballet). Did I mention wine tasting for the first time ever? Oh yes, I am turning into a classy little lady (well, now I can pretend to be, at least):

I had my faith in humanity restored by leaving a note with a question on someone’s car at the mall- and actually receiving an answer!:

Got to dance at my brother’s wedding, to the horror of all attending:

This winter we survived an epic ice storm, rode a Christmas train, sat on a questionable Santa’s lap, and I am now the proud owner of the best Christmas Sweater in the history of life:

I started this blog:

And last, but certainly not least, I dressed up my dog…a lot (don’t worry, Link got treats everytime I made him ham it up for the camera):

So you see, the things you choose to find joy in will color your view on the past year you have lived. For 2016 I will embrace the small joys I encountered on my adventure, though there were many moments that could have crushed my spirit and hopes for the year to come. Tonight I choose happiness and hope.

This New Year’s Eve I want to say thank you to all of you, for embarking on this journey with me. I have some exciting things in store for the coming year, and I hope you will join me as we take these winding paths together. I don’t think I could have done this without the support and encouragement that I have found with you all. Not to mention the fantastic ideas many of your own blogs have inspired in me. Your creative work propels me to strive for the high bar you have set, and with that motivation, I am envigorated with the possibilities.

So tonight I will gladly reflect on a year of constant change. My wish for all of us is a happy, prosperous new year. Tomorrow I will step up and focus on those new goals (ever an optimist, I am a big believer in resolutions), but for tonight I think it is best that I appreciate the road we have traveled. We are all exactly where we are meant to be tonight.

May you all have a safe and happy New Year, my friends. I hope that the excitement of the season finds you well and ready for another beautiful day we have awaiting us tomorrow.