Well, My 50th Birthday Sucked, But Thanks For Asking

What’s that, you didn’t ask? It’s alright - you probably knew it wouldn’t exactly be a highlight of my life.  But truthfully, even I was unable to fathom how bad it could be.

Allow me to preface this account by telling you something about myself in relation to health and aging. I’m generally pretty disciplined in taking care of my body – not psychotically so, mind you, but I do run well over 20 miles per week, take vitamins and herbal supplements, keep an eye on what I eat so my weight stays roughly the same, even use Swiss botanical skin formulations on my face and neck. Oh, and as long as I’m being honest, get regular Botox treatments (not to mention I’ve tried wrinkle fillers a couple times and use an off-shoot of Miracle Grow for my thinning eyelashes).

So perhaps I’m a bit fixated on staying young, or at least looking young… It’s all healthy stuff, right?

I don’t know who let it slip to my boobs that I was about to turn 50, but low and behold, almost to the day of this egregious event, they decided to develop “symptoms” noticeable on my yearly mammogram. Uh-oh, what was up? Of course, one is dragged over this particular bed of nails via an agonizing, drawn-out process: first the routine mammogram, then a “call-back” for a closer look at the offending breast; another mammogram, followed by a week of internet-research-fueled obsession before finding out I have to have a “needle biopsy.” Just one of these words - “needle” and “biopsy” - is ominous enough, but put them together in relation to your boob, and obsession turns into contemplation of impending death.

How irritating that I couldn’t be allowed even a few months, much less a few years, of being “over the hill” before my aged and decrepit body started its downward spiral! Shouldn’t there be some grace period wherein I can get used to my new senior citizen status? But nooo, I’m practically having my 50^th birthday party in a doctor’s office! This is the thanks my body bestows on me for trying to be health-conscious? So glad I bothered – not.

I must say, however, I am blessed indeed to have three beautiful children – two of whom are even out of the house – and the world’s greatest boyfriend. Knowing I would be having a celebratory dinner with these loved ones, I was completely content to spend the evening of “my real birthday” with my 12-year-old daughter. Of course, this little plan was upended when she got a better offer from one of her middle school friends. The mere fact of my reaching a half-century milestone was an obvious no-contender for an overnight with Melissa. This was still fine, though, especially since I managed to make last-minute dinner plans with a close girlfriend. I was really in the mood for prime rib anyway, so perfecto – we would meet at a place down the street where they had it on special.

After confirming with my friend, my little one’s overnight fell through, as so often happens when 12-year-olds commandeer their own social events. In the end, I guiltily left her by herself for a couple hours so I wouldn’t disappoint my girlfriend, who seemed very excited herself about the prospect of dinner out. My prime rib turned into a chicken salad, however, when the waiter told us they had already run out of the special (probably I had been beaten to the punch by those early-dining old people who would be in bed by eight!) I resolved to arrive before five next time. At least, though, it was an occasion for that ever-precious girl talk. After a light-hearted run-down of my breast issues and upcoming biopsy, I listened as she confided about her current marital difficulties. Since I had been in her position not that long ago and a veteran of divorce, I could understand her feelings. We parted after dinner, me wishing her luck with her lazy, selfish husband, and her wishing me luck with dodging breast cancer. Oh, and Happy 50^th!

I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, really. Who can deny all the birthday perks? For me at 50, they included all of the above, plus some little extras… A pathological ex-boyfriend, who had ransacked my condo four years ago when I broke up with him, decided to text me a friendly “Happy Birthday,” making the little hairs on the back of my neck stand up as I realized that sociopathic stalkers, like elephants, never forget. Oh, and my $10 birthday coupon from Victoria’s Secret – I’m still trying to figure out how I managed to drop $50 on one bra even with their special “gift” – and so many solicitations from the AARP that I’m going to join just to make it stop!

At this point, I maintain that the number one best thing about turning 50 is when it is over. Thank heavens that I can return to my normal life of successes and problems without having them backlit by the gloriously blinding glare of my mortality. I am positive big ol’ 60 will be much better, especially since I have vowed to book a cruise to Cabo for that one. Of course, I’ll have to look into the onboard food poisoning situation beforehand.

The Cross

A local boy was killed - suddenly, instantly, and tragically - when his car was broadsided by another vehicle at a rural intersection near where I live. That was almost a year ago. November. It seems to me that this cold, dark month always brings some heartbreak or another. I’ve often thought about this. It’s the time of dying. The brightness of January’s new year has diminished like the last bit of a fire expiring. Just remove the “v,” and the month could more accurately be named No-ember.

Anyway, the father of this unfortunate boy, taken from life before even reaching 30 years of age, is someone I know, indirectly. Friend-of-a-friend-of-a-friend type of situation. I feel utter compassion for him, not even daring to try to imagine what I would be going through if this were one of my daughters. Some things are just too horrible to ponder.

Soon after the accident, a large, flower-embellished cross was erected at the intersection, directly in view of all motorists making that same turn. A warning: be careful driving right now! It was a lovely cross at first, a bright display of beauty; but at that spot on the embankment, it was doomed to evoke only visions of catastrophe, and emotions of sadness and loss.

Stories of the accident swirled about the community for a short time, the flowered cross an ever-present reminder. But naturally, as the weeks passed, the flowers adorning the cross wilted, faded, and browned. Within a couple months, the cross itself appeared extinguished, like death compounding death. It took on a macabre aspect in its pronounced display of lifelessness.

And I began to be somewhat distracted at that intersection as my imagination – I suppose - conjured a sense that the young man’s restless spirit remained at that spot, incensed at being forced to flee his earthly body so soon. One black night, I was stopped there with my car headlights directly illuminating the cross. Mesmerized by the heavy aura, I myself almost made the turn too soon in front of an oncoming vehicle. My heart pounded and I could feel the lightening rush of adrenalin shoot up my forearms as I clutched the steering wheel. Did the fitful spirit of the dead boy wish for me a similar fate, so to have company in its anguish?

From then on, I dreaded passing that intersection. I had no choice – it lay between me and a destination I visited frequently. A joyful destination: the house of my lover. But even after six months, seven months, eight months, more – that decrepit cross remained standing, drawing my unwilling attention. I became angry: why was it still there? After all, it was too homely and had been there too long to serve any further as a decent symbol of grief and reverence. It was beginning to look like a sacrilege, a desecration of its intended connotation of Holy sacrifice.

My mind began to plot a sabotage of the heinous object. I would sneak there after dark - with my lover along for moral support, of course – and push the cross into the carved-out stream bed behind it. After all, banishing it from its reign at that intersection could only be doing the unfortunate soul of the dead boy, as well as travelers who had to look upon it regularly, a big service. With it gone, the restless spirit would be free to “cross over” to heavenly peace, instead of being bound to earth by this disrespectful and withered image.

Unfortunately, though – well, perhaps fortunately – my lover was not agreeable to my plan for disposing of the cross. Granting respect to the victim’s family, and avoiding bad karma were two strong points he made about this issue. I admit that the spiritual implications of hurling that cross into the stream bed had already crossed my mind. Would I be eternally haunted by an apparition from the Netherworld – and an infuriated one, no less? Perhaps this was not somewhere I or any human, besides the deceased’s loved ones, of course, should tread. 

And so I’ve relented. The cross remains at that spot in all its wasted, skeletal glory; and I try to ignore it as I drive by. It still bothers me, though. Maybe God will send a great storm of wind and rain to lay it down. But its fall won’t be by my hand. Leave the spirits to the spiritual, I suppose. As a mere mortal, perhaps the only thing I should be concerned with is looking carefully for oncoming traffic before I make that turn. Amen.

A Sample Query Letter - Non-Fiction Book

There is so much discussion - conflicting opinions, advice, and warnings - about query letters for books. Too much, in my opinion. It makes the task of composing a query letter seem so onerous, one might delay or procrastinate doing so just because of the hype. Calm down, people. Let's just do this thing, and if it's not "perfect," oh well. A lesson learned, experience gained.

I think the best thing I've read about query letters is this: focus not so much on writing the flawless query letter as authoring a great book. Your book or book idea - if it's creative, compelling, and something people will actually want to read - will be the gem that you tout in your query letter. A smart agent or publisher knows how to recognize even a "diamond in the rough."

Personally, I learn the best by example. So here's a sample query letter I did for a non-fiction book idea brought to me by a new author. We're waiting for the results on this, but I think the letter is pretty good. I want some feedback, so don't be shy about making comments!



Dear Mr. or Ms. Agent:

Step aside, Botox, Restylane, and Juvederm. Young, ripped, sexy men wanting to please me give me a better "injection" of youth than anything available from an aesthetician! As an over-40 female and three-time divorcé, I have finally discovered the power of cougarhood. And my 60,000-word, completed, non-fiction manuscript, Cougar Season Now Open: My Path from Victimhood to Cougarhood, tells how when I changed my attitude, I changed my dating pool.

Popularized by celebrities like Demi Moore and Ashton Kutcher; Susan Sarandon and Tim Robbins; Ivana Trump and ...well, her array of young ex's, cougar dating is a hot, current relationship trend, one that's really just beginning. In Cougar Season Now Open, I share my collection of crazy, edgy, funny - and yes, at times, heartbreaking - episodes dating younger men. But there's even more for the reader than that.

Unlike other cougar dating books currently available, Cougar Season Now Open combines light, fun-and-risque stories with simply-stated wisdom and advice for healing from the past and finding out who we really are. The result is a book of rollicking escapades, by which the reader will mostly be entertained, but also "just might learn something." In addition to inspiring women to get back out in the playing field again - even if they've had too much relationship drama in the past - I reveal my post-divorce secrets for maintaining my sanity and youthful appearance. Especially relevant to women 40 years and older, my discoveries include everything from cardio-boxing and Internet dating to Tantra spirituality.

My personal experiences with men, marriage, relationships, and dating are far from being my sole inspiration for writing this book. As the owner/manager of a San Diego women's fitness club for several years, I spend most of my waking hours talking with other women - clients, friends, and employees - of all ages and from a vast variety of lifestyles. As a result, I've got a head full of know-how and perspective about females. Cougar Season Now Open is the "climax" of all I've learned, giving anyone who reads it (besides a ton of guilty pleasure) a surprising look at how women think about and behave with men.

I truly appreciate your time and consideration of this query, and I look forward to sending you my full proposal at your request.

Sincerely,
Future Best-Selling Author

 

Vanity Sanity

I think I’m beautiful. But maybe I’m not. What’s beautiful to some is not beautiful to others. The very worst thing to do – which I just did - is to say you’re beautiful, because then people will really come down on you. No you’re not! You’re bragging about yourself! I’ll bet you think you’re better than me! Whether or not they say they’re beautiful, good-looking people get a lot more flack than they deserve. They are judged by others as superficial; so “into their looks,” they don’t care about anybody else; narcissistic; “stuck” on themselves; vain; and arrogant.

Unfortunately, in some cases, this is true. But like any prejudice, condemning all on the basis of a few is simply ignorant.

I’ve always deeply appreciated beauty in any form, having been born with artistic/aesthetic sensibilities. As young as six or seven, I can remember how I admired the shining yellow locks and enormous violet eyes of the Goldilocks pictured in one of my favorite storybooks. My image of feminine beauty was likely taking shape even before that age. Always I preferred my blond-haired dolls to the brunette ones (my own hair was disappointingly brown). As regards body size, it was pretty obvious that Nancy Drew, Cinderella, the girls in The Brady Bunch, and the most popular girls in my class at school were not overweight.

Society’s beliefs about who is beautiful are evident even to the very young. At that tender age, we absorb what we see and hear, along with related qualitative judgments. With all the outside influences, it seems impossible not to equate particular varieties of hair color, body size, and skin quality with health, beauty, and ultimately, goodness and success.

Every single one of us struggles with aspects of the physical ideals. We’d like to have a clear, smooth complexion, but are plagued by chronic acne. We’d like our bodies to be thin, toned, or curvaceous, but aren’t willing to change our eating or exercising habits. Our noses are too big, our hair is thinning, and our teeth are crooked. The number or degree of our aberrations from the ideal seem so overwhelming at times, many of us give up trying to address them and simply accept them as part of who we are. Or maybe we are fortunate enough to never feel self-conscious about any of our personal attributes, or lack thereof, in the first place.

The extent to which we care – or don’t care – about our physical appearance is yet another trait, but a character trait instead of a bodily one. If we have concerns about how we look, we’ll put time and effort into modifying what we can. Obviously it follows that those who don’t put stock in physical beauty will be unmotivated to make changes. Caring and not caring about physical appearance are two different attitudes, and one is not necessarily superior to the other.

People who are truly comfortable with who they are – including those who accept themselves whatever they look like – will not criticize or judge someone who possesses more of the features society considers beautiful. It never fails for me that the more critical I am of other people, the unhappier I am with something about myself. Taking a hard look at why I’ve ever held a negative attitude toward someone because they were attractive, I’d have to admit that much of this was simple jealousy on my part.

Therefore, I might as well put my focus in the right place: on me. Sometimes all I can do about the parts of me I don’t like, is change my attitude toward them. Accept them. This also applies to unattractive character traits like jealousy, by the way. In my experience, once I air out the “ugly” and hard-to-accept facets of myself – physical or attitudinal - they begin to lose their power over me. This clears the way for addressing them, perhaps even ridding myself of the troubling ones.

I used to feel very guilty about the fact that after turning 40, I decided to get Botox injections to combat the ever-encroaching wrinkles on my face. My early programming caused me to condemn this practice as vain and unnecessary (even though I did it anyway). After all, shouldn’t I be using that money for something more meaningful or important, like household upkeep or décor, buying my kids better quality clothes, or future college tuition?

It took me a long time to get rid of the martyr mentality and change my view on investing in my appearance. Now I trust myself enough to realize that putting a reasonable amount of money toward things that help me feel good about myself is a form of healthy self-care, not self-absorption.

I treat myself to cute clothes, too, because they make me feel attractive. And by “cute,” I mean form-fitting. Since I’m blessed with the willingness to run over 20 miles per week for exercise, feeling good about my body size is a perk accompanying the bigger rewards of fitness and health. Admittedly, sometimes looking good (and eating more!) are foremost in my mind, but why over-analyze my motivations if the end result is healthy?

Self-care is a privilege for which I’m grateful, not the selfish demonstration of vanity I used to think it was. Beauty often is a by-product of self-care, but so are health and vitality. For me, “it’s all good,” as they say, so I don’t waste time with guilt about it anymore.

If I had a flourishing garden in which I took great pride because it produced a paradise of flowers, would I not invest effort into maintaining it? You bet I would! If I didn’t, I’d lose something I valued, including the pure joy of seeing those blossoms. So it is with me: if I truly appreciate the parts of me that are beautiful, I will do what is needed to maintain and nurture them. And if that means hair-coloring, exercise, Botox, and regular examinations of conscience, so be it! Because I think that beauty, like life itself – is nothing less than a gift intended for our free and limitless delight.

Deepest Wisdom and Truth

"People are often unreasonable and self-centered. Forgive them anyway. If you are kind, people may accuse you of ulterior motives. Be kind anyway. If you are honest, people may cheat you. Be honest anyway. If you find happiness, people may be jealous. Be happy anyway. The good you do today may be forgotten tomorrow. Do good anyway. Give the world the best you have and it may never be enough. Give your best anyway. For you see, in the end, it is between you and God. It was never between you and them anyway." - Mother Teresa

"To laugh often and much; to win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children; to earn the appreciation of honest critics and to endure the betrayal of false friends. To appreciate beauty; to find the best in others; to leave the world a bit better whether by a healthy child, a garden patch, or a redeemed social condition; to know that even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. This is to have succeeded." - Ralph Waldo Emerson

Recession Depression

If you write it, they will come. Perhaps…once you’ve established your list of previously-published works; contacts with successful agents and editors; upper-level degrees in English, Communication, Journalism or the like; impressive multi-page website; frequent participation in networking events; and demonstrated social media slight of hand. It hasn’t taken me long to realize that neither freelance writing, nor indeed self-employment itself, is any Field of Dreams.

Like any beginner entrepreneur, I have found that the simple ability to provide a service or product is far from sufficient to eke a living from it, even if you excel at what you do. Certainly this has never been more evident than now, during these dark days of our country’s economy. As unemployment reaches new peaks and consumer spending new depths, the number of small businesses and sole proprietors has soared, and competition among them is intense.

Cast adrift by down-sizing or defunct employers, millions of once-stable professionals – many of whom are upwards of forty years old – are now left to figure out how to survive without an adequate income or, frequently, the ability to procure medical benefits. Employers with openings naturally choose to fill them with younger applicants who accept lower pay and cost less to enroll in company medical plans. Unable to compete, the now-unemployed, mature professionals have few other options besides self-employment.

One daunting challenge to the unemployed professional reinventing him- or herself as an independent contractor is the new and generally more complex tools required to do business of any kind. Although my children have had the advantage of being raised in the communication technology era, I’m beginning to understand the sentiments of my parents, who don’t even own a computer. Sometimes it seems impossible to compete in business today unless one is wired-in 24/7 with mobile Internet access; conversant with website functionality, Search Engine Optimization, and professional networking websites; as well as equipped with an Iphone, laptop, or Ipad. The list of high-tech and even higher priced devices gets longer every day. Already struggling, how does a newly-launched entrepreneur pay for these ever-evolving business communication tools? Not only that, but I myself have an instinctual resistance towards investing large portions of uncompensated time into figuring out how to use devices that are being further upgraded even as I unload them from their packaging.

Of course, all the current sophisticated communication tools have opened up numerous new possibilities for other entrepreneurs to offer such secondary services that include designing your website, maintaining your computer, teaching you to use social media, taking your picture for your online profile, streamlining your accounting with Quickbooks, or creating a video for your business that you can use in online advertising. The companies offering these services make such a strong case for the necessity of these technological tools (how can I possibly compete with businesses that pop up on search engines before me, for heaven’s sake?), that new entrepreneurs feel they must buy them, as well as the adjunct services that come with them.

It seems to me that much of this technology and the businesses that feed off it, offer little more than expensive distractions to a sole proprietor’s actually beginning to work and earn money. But of course, I had to learn this through costly research of my own. I, too, started out with all the ignorance and naïveté of someone starting her own business for the first time.

Networking is another highly-touted way to grow one’s client base. And since the cost of print advertising is prohibitive to a start-up business – and yes, of course, I tried this anyway and lost hundreds of dollars with little to no benefit – joining networking groups appears to be a sound marketing decision. I’ve tried plenty over the past year or two, experiencing a wide spectrum of atmospheres, levels of commitment, referral requirements, and cost for membership or per event.

The members, for the most part, appear to be friendly, righteous, empathetic, and supportive peers. Abounding with “business coaches,” real estate agents, organic health specialists, and massage therapists, these groups are comprised mainly of other struggling business-people. Not exactly a great pool of potential clients, since they themselves are financial searchers. The entrepreneur making the most profit from networking groups is the person who organizes them. Starting networking groups has become yet another cottage industry that preys on needy business-people looking for clients.

One especially annoying consequence of meeting people at these groups is being the victim of their “follow-up.” Basically, this means that within about one to two days after attending an event where I meet a bunch of new fellow entrepreneurs, someone calls me or emails me to indicate they are interested in consulting with me about their idea for a book, or in some way using the writing and copyediting services I offer to promote their business. But once I am lured into a face-to-face, time-consuming meeting with them, I find out the truth. They have feigned interest in my writing in order to lure me into a selling situation regarding their own product or service!

Even trying to be direct and state to them upfront that I’m not interested in what they offer does not deter them from trying to persuade me to “meet for coffee.” They tell me they just “want to be friends,” as they ask about my family, background, and hobbies with pretend warmth and interest. I have been tricked into more coffee dates and meetings with “friends” than I care to recount. What have we come to, I wonder, when we have to lie and use manipulative ploys to attract clients? I already mentioned that I am naïve, perhaps idealistic as well, but at least I am honest. In my world, it’s preferable to live in a cardboard box than sacrifice my personal integrity…but that is me.

All these experiences I’ve had as a sole proprietor have been instructive, yet discouraging. Like the economic news and forecasts of our country in general, I suppose…  But what other option is there except to keep trying in hopes of a lucky break? One has to learn to turn a blind eye to the defeats, to the slowly or rapidly dwindling bank accounts, to the fact that a major illness could wipe out every bit of money in a heartbeat, to the self-righteous outcries of the “have’s” that we “have not’s” are a bunch of lazy, entitled tax burdens.

Whether my challenges are industry-specific or common to self-employment novices in general, I continue to look for avenues out of and up from my current situation. A lot of this involves blind faith. But faith nonetheless. In the end, whether we’re financially stable or not, this is what will sustain us as we hope for better, not only for ourselves as individuals, but for the our country and the world as a whole. 

The Idiot Stab

There are times in life where caution, premeditation, and over-consideration of consequences must be cast aside so that your goals and ideas can become realities instead of constipated brain exercises. Let’s face it, thinking something through completely before taking action could take weeks, months, or forever if you’re hung up on “perfect planning.” In many instances, therefore, I prefer to take an “idiot stab,” which means I take some form of action – ANY will do – that will start the ball rolling in the general direction of my objective.

This strategy works in those countless, annoying situations where you want to try something you’ve never attempted, or achieve some end, but there is an obstruction standing in your way. Many times, the problem is internal, and has to do with your own fears. When you think about doing something to move forward, your anxious mind starts its negative patter of what-if’s. What if I fail? What if I don’t like it? What if people laugh at me? What if I lose money? What if I’m disappointed with the result?

Unfortunately, though, your mind won’t leave you alone for choosing inactivity either. The patter in your head changes its tack, but the talk still crowds out any hope of psychic peace. What if I regret never trying this? What if I don’t try it and miss out? What if I could have been a millionaire? What if I look like a loser to my friends and family?

Yikes – by about this time, you’re headed for the nearest liquor store!

Sometimes, another person is standing between you and what you want to do. An example - the longed-for promotion you know you deserve, except that your boss hasn’t offered it and seems less and less likely to do so every day. Or the spouse who keeps promising he’ll clean the garage so you can actually park your car in it, but it’s a year later and he still hasn’t started organizing his 145-piece tool collection housed on every square foot of floor space.

Is it any wonder that I’ve been driven to the idiot stab by these frustrating quandaries? I have to say, the stab has provided me instant relief many a time. Just a week ago, for example, I noticed my boyfriend’s long pants were so worn, they were fraying at the bottom. Since he only has one or two pairs of non-jeans pants, I decided he could use a couple new pairs. However, being a guy, the last thing he cares about is shopping for pants. I got positive lip service to my proposal that we go out together to buy them, but I knew actually doing this would rank a negative on his numbered list of priorities.

So I took a stab – went to a men’s clothing store myself, and picked out two pairs of pants. Because he’s a tall man, I had them adjust the bottom hems to match the length of other pairs I had peeked at in his closet. So proud of myself, I was – I had done my research, taken action, and would now present him with two new, lovely pairs of pants!

Well, here’s the downside of the stab…it often results in calculation errors. Probably because there is basically no calculation used. Go figure! Anyway, the pants were too tight in the hips, and too short. Ugh! Why can’t these tricky manufacturers agree on the actual length of 34 inches? I wondered if my over-$150 speculative pants purchase was to go down in flames.

But here is the glory of the stab technique. Even though I blew the particulars of the project, my actions resulted in my boyfriend putting attention and effort toward making things right. We met at the store, and exchanged the non-fitting pairs for two others that fit and were even more stylish! Plus, I lost no money on the exchange. A happy ending, thanks to the stab.

I have used the stab in countless other areas that appeared too awesome to accomplish via thoroughly-planned execution: going into business for myself; writing; getting my kid admitted to and enrolled in college; going on a vacation with no particular destination in mind.

I even used the idiot stab on the example above, trying to get my husband to clean the garage. Finally, without consulting him (stab), I hired a team of maids to get the place in shape. They worked all day, organizing, dusting, mopping, and throwing away trash. Well, was my husband surprised when he came home from work! Perhaps “surprised” isn’t the word I should use. “Mortified” might work better, on second thought. He viewed this triumph of cleanliness as a conspiracy to make it so he couldn’t find his “stuff” for a year. Actually, his complaints continued for well over a year, maybe even up until the time of our divorce.

See what I mean? The idiot stab, which anyone can use (no minimum intellect required), stirs the pot and sets things in motion. More often than not, I’ve been happy with the results: I’ve either eventually reached my goal, or gotten something much better. In the case of my husband and the garage, not only did I get a clean garage, but also eventually a handsome, new boyfriend with very nice pants.

Face-Down in Facebook

Even though I don’t think of myself as a “chronic Facebooker,” i.e. someone who is compelled to post on this giant of the Social Networking Machine several times each day, I do find the site somewhat addicting. But like a drug, it can affect my moods and emotions, and not always in a positive way. As the high-tech version of a real-life community, Facebook offers yet another stage on which I can soar like a meteor or fall on my face. Only in this particular venue, everyone I know, along with many I don’t know, get to witness my hits and misses!

I resisted as much as possible to even check out Facebook, but was finally worn down by the constant references to the site, and admonitions of business advisers that if I wasn’t “visible” on Facebook, at the very least, my small writing and editing business was sure to wash up on the shores of Never-Heard-Of-It Land. What choice did I have?

Since it was relatively easy to set up and navigate, Facebook seemed interesting and potentially entertaining at first. Of course, being a grown-up adult with actual work and responsibilities, I immediately rejected any involvement with Mafia Wars, Farmville, or the other gaming possibilities. Heavens! I have enough problems keeping my kids from running amuck, food in the cupboard, and my pets from destroying our house, without worrying about managing a farm.

It was exhilarating, though, to see people I know accept my “Friend Request.” My list of friends grew in number to the respectable double digits. I am not a triple-digit-friend-list person - this I know. But I tend to be more into quality not quantity, so in my world, less can be more. My little and overly-utilized brain can only handle so much, after all.

Being the somewhat reserved type, I didn’t post anything at all for quite some time. I didn’t know what to say… I felt like the new kid on a playground, wanting to join in but not knowing any games! Observing the site’s rules of engagement took some time, but eventually, after reading what my “Facebook friends” were contributing, I became bold enough to “post a status.” I tried some Wise and Profound Quotes first, wishing I had been the deep thinker who had thought them up. To my surprise and delight, others clicked “Like” on a few of these witty one-liners.

The most exciting moment, of course, was when I posted the link to my latest blog entry, after which three people actually posted complimentary comments, and a total of five clicked “Like.” To me, that was like an audience throwing roses onto my own personal stage. Is there any more potent tonic than an artist feeling appreciated for her work?

Talk about instant gratification for a show of approval! I was hooked and wanted more of those virtual strokes. In my imagination, people – friends, friends of friends, perhaps friends of friends of friends – would like my posts so much, they’d start looking for them, waiting for them… I yearned to be a Facebook favorite.

But like the high from a sugar-binge destined to end in a crash, it was inevitable that my dreams of Facebook fame would wear off and I’d be let down. This, of course, came quickly when subsequent posts drew minimal or no response on the part of my so-called “friends!” Even my darling boyfriend neglected to bestow his virtual praise on several of my posts. More of that, I thought, and he’ll be my real-life ex-boyfriend!

Status updates, a link to a new article I had written, even my favorite Taylor Swift music video got no “Likes,” and no comments. Had anyone even looked at them, I wondered? Was I not the amusing wit I thought myself to be? Self-doubt began to seep into my insecure psyche…

And then, it happened. One of my network of Facebook friends disappeared off my list. I had been “de-friended!” What? Was it something I had posted? Maybe everyone secretly despised my obnoxious remarks! My head reeled. It was too much. I felt rejected in the Facebook world, and it hurt just as much as in the “real” world.

In dealing with the anguish over this situation, though, a tiny light of sane thinking shone through my murky haze of self-absorption. Had I been so focused on my own status that I had ignored other people’s comments and posts? Somehow I had overlooked a basic tenet of all relationships: whether in a live community or using social media, one has to give as well as receive. Translated to Facebook, that meant I needed to pay more attention to what my friends were posting, instead of focusing only on what attention my statuses were getting. The thought of contributing to my Facebook community instead of simply drawing ego gratification from it began to take hold. It was yet another experience with humiliation leading me to humility.

To redeem myself in part, I have made some other notable observations after my first year of being on Facebook. It has become apparent to me that most of my friends respond more favorably to the visual – photographs, videos, or graphics - than to the time-consuming challenge of reading. Perhaps it’s just faster, easier, and more fun to look at a nifty picture than to have to concentrate on digesting the written word.

Whatever the reason, when I’m feeling ignored, I simply post a particularly adorable picture of one of my pets, and I get plenty of “Likes” every time. So if my goal is to play to the crowd, I may as well give them what they want: cute animal pictures seem to do the trick and are far less intellectually taxing than writing something. I’ll leave my writing exploits to those who care to put in more than five seconds on a topic of interest.

Perhaps I was missing the most significant point of Facebook. Readers want it to be entertaining – and instantly so – more than anything else. Posts should be supremely sweet, shocking, or dramatic. But most importantly, short! What I need now to help my business is a colorfully animated graphic of pens dancing on a piece of paper, or books with arms and legs blowing kisses. Hmm… perhaps I can find a graphic designer through Facebook.

Insider Tips for Finding Money

Times are tough, without a doubt. The economy of our great nation has certainly seen better days, and for some, even the simple things present a challenge: eating, paying the rent, getting adequate medical care, keeping up our perfect attendance record at Friday Happy Hour, maintaining our spa membership. Need I go on?

With an eye to ending some of the whining, however, I herein divulge some of my most closely-held trade secrets of advanced money-finding. Friends, these techniques are culled from decades of hands-on and eyes-down experience.

While the salad days of finding fives or even twenties lying underneath the front counter candy display at the car wash may be long past, money-finding is still a lucrative venue for anyone with cash-flow issues.  Those of you who have been laid off or “down-sized” out of a job – put your hands in the air! You have simply been offered more time to find your money, an occupation requiring no prior training or experience, and immediate commissions.  Hours previously frittered away at some job can now be productively spent scouring the neighborhood or local mall, hitting street fairs and sporting events, or surveying the front-line check-out area at the grocery store. They don’t call this the Land of Opportunity for nothing!

First and foremost, keep in mind that with money-finding - just as in real estate - success is based on location, location, location. Go where the people are, or better yet, have just been. Anyplace where people gather is a potential cash-cow for the advanced money-finder, particularly places where people gather and get inebriated. Hello bars, clubs, and casinos! Coins thoughtlessly flung onto tables and bars hydroplane over pools of beer onto the floor. Your strategic positioning at the next table will pay off in double-decimal-digits when the group starts breaking up, and most of the coin-flingers leave for the restroom.

Another excellent spot is one I fondly call my own “automated teller machine.” But I’m not talking banks, silly! I’m referring to the fast-food drive-up window. Or, more specifically, the pavement underneath the drive-up window. Have you ever noticed how much coinage is dropped as people are paying for their tacos and burgers? And avoiding suspicion is very simple: “accidentally” let a dime or nickel slip from your hand as you’re paying the cashier, then exclaim, “Oh, that was my last dime!” Of course, you simply have to open the door of your car and reach down for it, giving you the chance to scoop up yours and everyone else’s last dime.

The second huge factor in winning at money-finding is timing. Like the old saying about the early bird, the closer to daybreak you’re pounding the sidewalks and parking lots, the less likely someone else will have already picked up last night’s spillage. Additional fine-tuning of your technique will have you scheduling your sweeps immediately after routine trash pickup and street cleaning. My personal theory is that quarters, nickels, and dimes are too small to be trapped in these utility trucks’ holding areas. They wind up filtering down through the debris, then out to the street through joints in the machinery. Ca-ching!

Another advantage of early-morning legal-tender-trekking is that as people leave for work at this hour, they move their cars from curbside parking spots. Left exposed is the money that slipped from their hands, purse, or wallet the night before; coins and bills that then bounced, rolled, or drifted underneath their vehicle. Safely out of view until you appear for the beginning of your own “work day.”

If you happen to be putting in overtime at night, be sure to make effective use of the “reflective technique,” which depends upon ambient evening light sources for illumination of round, shiny objects.  I have actually found the reflective technique a more reliable indicator of currency on the ground than a search in broad daylight! This advanced strategy is definitely one to remember, silver-scavengers. It has paid off for me in piles of found coinage under what might otherwise be considered adverse environmental conditions.

As you may be gleaning, money-finding is a science which requires good eyesight, quick reflexes, and strategic planning. Strong legs and back don’t hurt either! However, the pay-off is well worth the effort, and this industry truly imparts new meaning to “living off the land.”

What’s more, the occupation of money-finding has potential for personal growth and fulfillment. In my own case, I can proudly say that after years of experience in the field, I no longer stoop for pennies. Nowadays, nickels are my collection minimum. My higher standards are a victorious reflection of my growing self-esteem. Today (I tell you with a tear in my eye), I am worthy of more than just copper. Silver and bills are the hallmark of my new quality of life and existence.

So despair not, financial strugglers. There is a job for you, with no application or interview necessary. All it takes is commitment, effort, and discipline. The ultimate American dream of a tax-free living is indeed within your reach…literally. 

Writing For Me

For me, writing is far more than just an instrument of communication; it goes far deeper than that. Writing is the bridge between my internal life and the outside world, both the means to an end as well as the end itself. I am not a story-teller: the only story I care to write about is my own. Thus the plot is ordinary, but my thoughts and attitudes about what exists around me can be complex, deeply-seeded, and ever-changing. And hopefully evocative to some readers to see the mundane in the light of their own inner uniqueness. All becomes so much more precious and beautiful that way.

Words are my paint, paper my canvas. Sometimes I see something so striking and appealing, or ugly and disturbing, that I simply must talk about it pen-in-hand. This I try to do in my way, using language to basically describe and clarify first, then to embellish. Not much different from the painter who builds a picture, using white and pastels to highlight and draw the eye’s attention, darker colors to subdue or convey a mood. It is all art, which seeks to affect in some way the people that can appreciate its message.

Yes, I write for a living, so my skill with words and language has also had a practical purpose. Creativity is one trait I claim, but I also crave organization, and my report and marketing writing for businesses allows me the opportunity to exercise that. Or exorcise, as I’m often like one possessed when it comes to correct grammar, spelling, and word usage. I don’t know many people who proofread their text messages before hitting “send,” but I admit I am one of them.

Organization of ideas, paragraphs, sentences, and words fulfills me the way it does when I clean out a drawer. I throw out the things that are worthless and unnecessary, and try to put the valuable items in their proper place. Writing for business is a form requiring directness, with less need for description and creative embellishment; in this respect, it can be easier to compose. On the other hand, some business writing, such as marketing communication or resumes, necessitates use of specific language to glorify the subject and persuade the reader that they need to procure it no matter the cost.

But by far the most personal and necessary use of writing in my life has been to express my mental, emotional, and spiritual condition. Perhaps it is because I’ve been doing this for so long – “journaling” since I was in my teens – that writing has become almost inseparable from who I am. There have been times, and still are, when my notebook is my always-available confidante, one that doesn’t judge what I reveal nor how I say it. Generally, the only descriptive verbiage I use in this writing is four-letter words. And lots of exclamation points.

Honestly, journaling is a spiritual experience for me, because when I’m spilling my guts on paper, I’m aware that God is reading it. (Duh! Who do I think put the feelings and expressive words there in the first place?) Although I don’t understand how this happens, I get greater acceptance of all those feelings, both difficult and joyful, after I write about them. And if God and I can stomach all that crowds my head, it becomes more likely to me that other people will not be put off by it either.

Considering all the above, writing helps me to survive on many levels – financially, artistically, emotionally, and spiritually. A means not only to survive, but to thrive and grow. Although it has its challenges and frustrations, writing gives back to me according to the effort I put into it. Like so many things in life, practice is the key.

Proven over and over to me, however, is that my life is better the more I write. Or perhaps the better my life is, the more I am writing. At this point, it doesn’t matter because it is all good. And I want to write all about it.

Say What You Mean, Mean What You Say

Most of us talk – or write – a pretty good game, but where do you stand when it comes to matching what you say with what you do? The consistency between my words and behavior, or lack thereof, has been on my mind in the aftermath of a few recent, poignant experiences where insincere talk left me disappointed, disillusioned, and dismayed.

Meaningless, feel-good words flung glibly from mouths like gunfire; noble gestures made only for show; self-interest masquerading as virtue... This confusing duplicity surrounds us everyday! Consider the chart-topping singer/songwriter who croons about love, life, and peace, then makes the news ranting at the manager of a Hollywood club who can’t accommodate him with the best table in the house. Or the best-selling author who writes about successful relationship strategies, but meanwhile has been divorced twice and is still single. More than once I have put people on pedestals because of the ideas they seem to espouse, only to feel let down when I find out how they actually lead their lives.

A few tough questions might clarify how well your actions demonstrate what you profess to others. When you tell a friend or a business acquaintance you’ll “get back to him” in a couple days, how often do you actually follow through within two days, or even within a week or two? Or after accepting an invitation for a party that’s more than a few days away, how often do you wind up as a no-show when something better comes along in the meantime? Ever promise a good friend you’ll help her with some big task she’s working on, and then somehow “forget” you ever offered? The variations on this modus operandi are endless, but they all add up to one thing: lack of consistency and follow-through.

Don’t get me wrong, I have been as guilty as anyone of these type of misdemeanors. Another word for it is lying, if I want to cut through the denial and actually call this what it is. My aim here is not to provoke guilt (well, maybe a tiny bit of guilt might be in order) or point fingers, but to raise awareness of how often and easy it becomes to say things we don’t really mean.

Sometimes, making rash and thoughtless remarks or promises to others in the moment is a convenient panacea, bridging the gap of what otherwise might be filled with awkward, uncomfortable truth. Satisfying our immediate compulsion to people-please, we move on with little or no further consideration given to what we said. Later, we conveniently avoid having to put in the effort required to follow through, all the while patting ourselves on the back for being so diplomatic and smooth in our dealings with others.

The problem is, those suave statements turn into hurtful weapons unless we use them responsibly. If you are one of those who adhere to the Golden Rule, how can you justify this form of dishonesty? Have you ever been at the receiving end of this treatment, feeling disappointed because someone didn’t keep a promise? If you have, you are likely familiar with the pain of having others plant an expectation within you, then feeling hurt and disillusioned when no action follows. Resentment naturally rears its ugly head at this point, presenting another troubling emotion we are left to handle. What a mess! And a self-serving tactic for those who speak frivolously, because the resultant pain is felt by the recipient, not by the speaker.

The worst offenders are the ones who use careless words so often, they are not even consciously aware they are doing it! It has become an ingrained and comfortable habit. I would venture to guess these same people also make promises to themselves – such as vowing to stay on a diet, exercise more, spend less money, etc. – that are revered for a short time before being forgotten or abandoned. To be honest, my experience is that the people who actually say what they mean and mean what they say are far outnumbered by those who do not. It’s sad to think that perhaps this tendency is so prevalent in society, it is no longer regarded as the victimizing behavior that it is.

To make matters worse, the payoff from saying things we don’t mean reinforces our continuing to do so. After all, as humans we know that it’s generally easier to not take responsibility. And perhaps people around us, maybe even our parents, were talkers-not-doers, so we merely modeled this trait as “normal."

Whatever the reason for it, being disingenuous is best addressed by examining ourselves, not others. It is far easier to complain about people that don’t act in accordance with their words, than to look closely at our own culpability in this regard. Obviously, becoming honest with ourselves about our own inconsistencies requires that we be willing, since facing our defects is humbling and somewhat painful. However, the aftereffect is priceless: a surge in our self-esteem, development of greater emotional maturity, and higher-quality, more honest relationships with others. A note of caution, though - the more sincere you try to be in your dealings with others, the greater will be your awareness of others who cannot or will not demonstrate this quality. You may even find yourself choosing to hang around a new group of more trustworthy friends and acquaintances.

As with any personal growth work we do, we always want to remember to praise ourselves for making attempts, and give ourselves credit for even small improvements.

As I stumble through this journey myself, falling now and again into the pit of escaping discomfort with meaningless niceties, I also learn to feel a bit more compassion for all the infuriating hypocrites I have to deal with.

Um. Guess I still have some work to do.

Saturday, March 12, 2011

Charity

“Perhaps the greatest charity comes when we are kind to each other, when we don’t judge or categorize someone else, when we simply give each other the benefit of the doubt and remain quiet. Charity is accepting one’s differences, weaknesses and shortcomings; having patience with someone who has let us down; or resisting the impulse to become offended when someone doesn’t handle something the way we hoped. Charity is expecting the best of each other. None of us needs one more person bashing or pointing out where we have failed. Most of us are already well aware of the area we are weak. What each of us does need is a friend who believes in us, and believes we are doing the best we can in spite of our weakness. Whatever happened to hoping another person would succeed or achieve? Whatever happened to rooting for each other?”

~ Marvin Ashton

Friday, February 25, 2011

Writing From the Heart

A few days ago, I had the pleasure of attending a short presentation by Joan Brady, an authoress of international renown whose first book, God on a Harley, was a New York Times bestseller. Ms. Brady immediately caught my eye: an attractive woman in her late 50’s with strawberry-blond hair, wearing a top that was yellow/green bordering on neon.

Never having read anything by Ms. Brady, I sat back to listen. I had heard that God on a Harley had a spiritual theme, which intrigued me because I love to ponder this same topic in my own writing.

From the very beginning, Ms. Brady’s story was unique and captivating. But what impressed me the most was this author’s humility and authenticity. She had been a nurse for 22 years prior to embarking on her writing career, and the stories of her hospital and patient experiences were harrowing. Clearly she was no stranger to the full range of human emotions that tend to surface when people’s loved ones are sick or dying in a hospital bed. Pain, fear, anger, grief, joy, love, compassion, relief, dread – to name just a few – plus everything in between.

Experiencing life-and-death human drama nearly every day for over two decades had resulted in Ms. Brady feeling burnt-out, helpless, confused and angry at God, whose existence she questioned in light of witnessing so much suffering. Agonized by her own feelings of sadness and emptiness, she took pen to hand and began to release the pain through writing about it. Her notebook became her confidante and comfort, and in it she purged herself of all the questions she had for God about everything. And this was before she even fully believed there was a God.

Fortunately for Ms. Brady and for millions of people who have read her books, somewhere along this journey she did begin to believe in a loving and protecting God. And frequently, when faith and hope emerge from ashes, life-changing choices and miracles start to occur. Turning her back on her long-term, financially-stable nursing position, Ms. Brady packed up all her belongings and drove to the west coast to pursue a writing career. With limited money and no clear plan for her new life, Ms. Brady traveled across the country and wound up renting a small apartment in San Diego. At this point, she had penned the manuscript of God on a Harley several years earlier. However, after submitting it to numerous publishers over a period of six years, she had received only rejection letters.

Ms. Brady was nearly destitute and doomed to be evicted from her apartment when God on a Harley was finally accepted by an agent, resulting ultimately in a $250,000 advance from a large publishing house. This was the start of Joan’s successful career as an author. In addition to having several books published in the United States, she has a huge readership internationally, particularly in Spain.

In spite of her obvious prestige as a best-selling author, however, Joan Brady is a self-professed “Jersey girl,” and I could tell that she says what she means and means what she says. Direct, honest, and self-effacing, Ms. Brady impressed me by relating to all the aspiring authors in the room, including me, letting us know that she has and still does experience the ups and downs of the publishing business. What a relief to know that even a highly-regarded author still struggles at times with writing, just like me.

It is not surprising that God on a Harley, which I am now halfway through reading, conveys the simple and timeless truths that we all forget in this world of money, power, and prestige. Namely, the beauty and significance of each person as a gifted and capable individual, worthy of self-respect and respect from others. Granted, I am not done reading the book, but I suspect the main character will learn how to see herself in a loving light, the same light in which God sees us.

Ms. Brady’s talk revealed something of her personality and attitudes, and I found them fully consistent with someone evolved enough to compose a book dealing with the spiritual. Put another way, she seems like a genuinely loving person. Ms. Brady shared with us that she writes from her heart, and I will remember that piece of wisdom forever, I hope. To me, that is when we are doing our very best writing, when the words come from our heart and soul. This is expressing something of God to others, I believe, and what could be better than writing for such a purpose?

I thank Joan Brady for being harmonious in her beliefs, attitudes, actions, and words. It is rare to meet someone with the love, maturity - and in Ms. Brady’s case, imagination and talent – to pull this off.

Wednesday, February 9, 2011

Happy, Happy Flowers!

I pass this bush almost every day while taking my dog Oscar for his walk. The plant gets happier and happier - more little flowers popping out each day like miniature smiles. For months, these pink bits of perfection have continued to cover the feathery branches. It makes me wonder: when will it rest, when will it be done? The way I get swept up in its beauty, I secretly hope never.

Tuesday, February 8, 2011

Big Sister, Little Mother

What the world would have us believe about childhood is usually at complete odds with the real experience of our early years within the family unit. Unfortunately, we have no perspective on this until we’re older and most likely struggling to resolve problematic personal issues by looking back on those days.

Like all infants, my universe was the people in my immediate family. They were everyone and everything. Their faces, smiling or angry; their words, gentle or shrill – what does a child have except instinct to guide him or her to sources of comfort and security in those preverbal years? So it must have been instinct that drew me like a magnet to my big sister. I was completely taken with her, probably way before the time my mind was even capable of storing memories.

With a delightfully round face and enormous brown eyes, my big sister was gentle and harmless. But best of all, she had endless time for me! Time to talk to me, play secret hiding games with me, giggle about mean grown-ups and strange kids with me, watch TV with me, and fight with me.  She was inseparable from my world as I knew it, and from me. 

Honestly, one of the things I liked most about my sister was her size. Despite being two years older, she was still shorter and smaller-boned than me. We would spread our hands and fingers apart, then bring them together - hers against mine. Always my fingers were longer, and my hand entirely eclipsed hers. I felt bigger and stronger than she, able to dominate if it came down to fisticuffs. And with my wild and tempestuous nature, it did indeed come down to that often enough. Being physically superior to my sister gave me a sense of having some power. (It seems to me that survival within a family is sometimes no different than in the jungle, where the brawnier animals secure their position over those more frail.)

Big sister – I needed her gentleness even while sometimes taking advantage of it, a dependency that helped and hurt. But allow me to endure, she did… We gave each other comfort on those nights when we lay only a few feet apart on our twin beds, listening with fear and anguish to our parents’ yelling voices. Mercifully and reliably, she was by my side when we found out that our beloved kitten had been killed by a fan-belt blade while trying to keep warm on the engine of a neighbor’s car. And hers the first face offering consolation and the possibility of redemption when my butt was sore from a spanking and my spirit bruised from shame.

 

Mostly, though, we played and teased and made endless entertainment from nothing at all. Boring car rides were perfect for tickling and poking and uncontrollable laughter. In our bedroom, a cast of stuffed animals had names and lives of their own as they talked to each other in the voices we gave them. At the beach, adrift a few feet offshore in our “floatie,” I was “Cap-i-tan” and she was “Mate-y” as we adventured on the high seas. And how can I forget our “foot wars” as we watched television on our parents’ big bed – lying flat with the bottoms of our feet joined in the air, each of us pushing against the other with our backs arching up off the mattress?

In the later years, we would lay side-by-side on her double bed listening to “Mystery Theater” on the radio; in the darkness we talked and giggled about boys we liked, grievances with petty girlfriends, and the illusiveness of belonging to the “in” crowd at school. It was a routine I grew familiar with, until it was over forever. 

Inevitable it was that my sister - my closest confidante, partner in fun and crime – would grow past me and dive fully into fascination with her peer group. To compete was impossible, and slowly, painfully, I became aware that I was nothing more than an inconvenience to her. She drifted away and was absent from my life in what seemed like seconds. Probably this was normal and natural, of course; she was older than me. But its suddenness was acute, magnified by a tragic absence of anyone else in my life to fill the gap. Outside the family I was shy, introverted, and unable to make friends easily. How I wished for just a small portion of my big sister’s poise and social skills! Feeling abandoned, alone, and inferior, I was paralyzed with fear and choked by grief that I could not even identify.

With no wisdom or experience to draw on, I began a decades-long detour of trying to imitate what I believed to be my big sister’s superior qualities and ideals. Looking back, I suppose this made sense at the time. After all, she had done a better job of winning my parents’ and others’ approval than I ever had. My sister, therefore, became the model of whom I should be; her life the template of what my own life should look like. With my faulty illusions in complete control, I strove to fit myself into someone else’s formula for living. 

The next 30 years - though rich and fulfilling in many areas - were marked by my harsh and unrelenting self-judgment, countless disappointments and unmet expectations, and an abundance of negative drama. Inside me was an enduring undercurrent of unhappiness. It all finally culminated in the deterioration of my marriage, after 17 years together and having three children with the person I had chosen for a husband.

The wonderful thing about crises, however, is that they can result in positive, fundamental changes in a person, depending on how the individual responds to them. In my case, I finally became humble enough to be teachable. And did I ever have a lot to learn about loving myself! The lessons continue today, and I keep paying attention because they are directly related to my peace and happiness, not to mention my continued survival. Thank God.

My big sister – I love her still and more than ever! But the way I love her today doesn’t compel her to be my mother or my perfect-life model anymore. Bless her for being that when I needed it. In a very real way, I owe her my existence. Our childhood bond gave me joy that I could remember in later, sorrowful times.  It was my sister who taught me that love could be simple, could be full of freedom and laughter.

I’m grateful to God and my big sister for these early lessons in love, which I suspect are most easily grasped by a child anyway.

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About Me

Christine

Christine E. Miller, M.S. has been a professional writer for over 16 years, during which time her expertise has evolved from composing marketing and business copy to writing articles/blogs and creative non-fiction. Combining her marketing experience and writing talent, she also assists new authors in publishing their work by researching and composing effective and compelling Book Proposals to sell their non-fiction book or book idea to literary agents/publishers. In addition, Christine enjoys working with authors on ghostwriting and copyediting projects. To learn more and see some of her writing, check out www.tellmewhatyouwanttosay.com.

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