Pet Issue

I'm not a dog person, though I'm not sure what that means, really, because I'm not a cat person either. I would say I'm anti-animal, but that sounds way more harsh than what is intended and truthful. I guess what I'm saying is I'm not really an animal lover as it pertains to my life. Well...or anyone else's life, really. Which also sounds more harsh.

Isaac and I made a pact when we were first married. No other living things (plants, animals) in the house. Period. Neither of us want the responsibility for their care. Honestly, other than my sister's cat, I'm not even sure Sammy understands that some people have animals live with them. They are a pretty foreign concept to him. Especially because our neighborhood isn't rife with pets. So, the other day, when we were on a walk, it was surprising to us to find two little yippy dogs running toward us. We never encounter that. I HATE yippy dogs. More than anything. Well, not frogs.

When I was younger, there was a yippy dog that lived at the end of our street. And hated me. And would chase me while on my bike. Hate, hate, hate. Brought me to tears more times than not. And clearly, I never got past that. During our walk, I froze. I seized up and could not move. Isaac had to get in between us, while I grabbed Sammy's hand, to walk past. I shuddered and half pulled Sammy to the end of the block; memory pictures of that dog of my youth haunting me.

I hate yippy dogs.


(animal, neon trees)

Tweet This

Do you know what it's like to have a BLINDING EPIPHANY about your life only to have it turn out to be the most incorrect life path?

Twitter has been a blessing, it turns out. I've been talking to my bloggy friends and building relationships and tweeting up a storm and then. Poof. Epiphany. Forget writing! It's not working out! Blog branding is the way to go! Get the followers! Go to the conferences! I started following people who were doing this for a living. I started reading what they wrote. I talked to my pro-bloggy friends a lot; got advice on with whom to network. And jumped in. Jotting ideas. Plotting plans. And adding a lot of people on Twitter.

And then I started looking at who I was following and who was most interested in following me back. And then I started looking back at my conversations with my bigger deal blogging friends. And then I remembered who I was and what I'm doing all this for. It turns out, bloggers weren't high on my twitter list. On either side of it. It was authors and publishers and agents. It turns out, that every time I got uncomfy with a conversation about branding myself and getting my blog OUT there, it wasn't a comfort zone thing, but a "This Is Not Me!" thing. It turns out that I'm a writer, not a big deal blogger. I don't WANT to turn this blog into a brand. I don't WANT to go to conference after conference to learn how to market myself. I just forgot that. Momentarily.

I want to write. I always have. And while this blog is terrific for allowing me to flex that muscle on a day to day basis (and, let's face it, ignore my notes for my books and stories), this isn't my end goal. And trying for the past six months to force it was wrong of me. For a lot of reasons. The biggest, however, is that great time suck that I should be using on my actual writing, I've been devoting to blogging and twitter. Not that I'll stop, but maybe a little prioritizing is in order, here. Or, at the very least, finally stop messing around and take it seriously.

I talked to one of my oldest friends. We've known each other since...first grade? and she is one of the only people pre-college I honestly miss. We're both writers and I just really lean on her opinion. She asked me if I was happy with blogging as an outlet for writing overall. I didn't know what to say. I was happy I had an outlet. I was happy I could sit and write when I wanted about what I wanted (but, then, wouldn't I just finish my book of essays?) I was happy to have an immediate audience. Most of the time. Giving me feedback and interacting. But...no. I still wanted more.

And my conclusion that I came up with, for my friend, was that I have lost confidence in my voice. And use this blog as a crutch. That there is so much good out there and blogging is so helpful in a lot of ways, but it can be all consuming. There is TOO much to read online, and I think that is contributing to my lost voice. There is advice galore floating around about how to write, what to write, how to brand, how to market and I read it all. And I just need to stop. Scale back. Remember what it is I'm doing. This epiphany was a good one. A detour that made me see. But, in the end, it wasn't me. It was simply me trying to get away from doing the work and putting in the time.

On second thought. Just go read this. It sums it up for me perfectly. (Or was that just more reading and not doing?)


(no tears to cry, paul weller)

How My Mind Works

For some reason, my mind links musical artists based on when I heard them, if they had songs out at the same time, etc. Right, wrong, somewhere in between, it is what it is. And is why the following will forever be married in my mind...

Terrance Trent D'Arby's Wishing Well = Tracy Chapman's Fast Car



Or, why (before I became Jack obsessive) Jack Johnson and John Legend are linked.



Or, inexplicably, why Camouflage (hee! best video EVER!) = Anything Box. I love them both, but forever linked they will be...



Those are the main ones, though I know there are others. I just cannot hear one, without at least thinking of the other...

Evil Thy Name Is...

I worked with a girl once who was...evil. She did everything possible to make my life miserable. She was petty and jealous and the worst of the worst. I honestly didn't like her and avoided her when ever possible. This girl sucked the life out of a room faster than anyone I've ever known. Every six months, like clockwork, she would try to get me fired. Fortunately, she used the exact same tactics every time, so I got very good at dealing with them, but unfortunately, she kept trying. It was one of the more difficult things I've dealt with in my life. I would often come home in tears, prompting frustration for Isaac. I couldn't understand why anyone would dislike someone just for the sake of dislike (and it WAS just for the sake of dislike). Why anyone would discount the good in someone, truly baffled. And it was difficult to take, being the first time someone hated me so openly and blatantly and seemingly without any cause rooted in logic.

We saw her, again, last fall on our trip. The feelings that came over me when she tried to be too familiar with us was...well, it was something. And I know I was less kind and gracious than I could have been. But all I could see, with her standing there, was the lies and the person who hated me. Nothing else.

Luckily, six-ish years later, I'm still not incredibly skilled in the art of "those who hate Tawnya", though I'm sure they are out there (I KNOW they are out there!). And, so, as I'm seeing and watching it happen again, I'm just as baffled as I was in Portland.

Lately I catch myself wondering...do I respond or acknowledge it somehow? (No, of course not) But, then, what do I say to something I just do not understand? (Nothing?) Do I ignore it and pretend I'm still in the dark about how they feel when I'm around them? (Definitely the smartest course of action!) And try my darnedest not to act as awkward as I'm sure I'll be feeling inside? (One of the more difficult things for me to do!) Ok. So I KNOW what to do. Ignore it, live my life, let them deal with whatever it is they need to deal with. It's just the last time this happened to me, a quit date loomed happily before me; teasing me with the day I would be free of the evil. There is no quit date for this. This is life. My life. And I can already feel this high road getting tiresome and long.


(that joke isn't funny anymore, the smiths)