T.J. BROWN BLOG
Reflection, Gratitude and Looking Ahead
As I make the transition from a traditionally published author to hybrid author, I find myself reflecting back on the good, the bad and the ugly about my traditional publishing experience.
The Good: Getting multiple offers from agents on my first query go around and choosing one of the most powerful in NYC.
The Bad: Getting dumped by said agent three years later after one book sale.
The Ugly: Going through five agents during the course of my career (Got dumped by two, and left two).
The Good: Finding a critique group that helped immensely with my writing.
The Bad: Getting attacked by critique group because I was arguably the weakest writer in the group and yet the first to land an agent.
The Ugly: Learning to deal with real insults and perceived insults with critique partners and groups. Not easy.
The Good: Getting a six-figure publishing deal.
The Bad: Less than optimal sales on much hyped book.
The Ugly: Getting subsequently less money in advances.
The Good: Going to Book Expo of America in NYC and signing 200 books! Fancy agency party! Publisher party! Meeting R.L. Stein at a fancy children’s bookstore party in NYC! Visiting my editor, Lauren McKenna at her fancy corner office! (I’m from Alfalfa Oregon, everything about that trip felt fancy!)
The Bad: Not having enough photos of that optimal experience.
The Ugly: NYC taxi rides
A couple more peak moments include:
My daughter running into her mom’s book at Barnes and Noble circa 2013, and being featured at a tea party by the incomparable Jane Porter in 2014.
As I transition into this new venture, I am incredibly grateful for all of the experiences I’ve had as a traditionally published author. I am so very, very blessed. I’m also looking forward to all the adventures to come as I both publish my own books and continue to work with my agent on new opportunities in traditional publishing. What a wonderful time to be an author!
Introducing Powder House Publishing LLC!!!
Over the past few months, I have been working on a special project. I have hinted at it, but never explained what I’m actually doing. The reasons for that are complex, but part of it had to do with working out how I would be perceived. As an author who initially had extraordinary publishing success in both young adult and adult, I was afraid that choosing to go this route might be perceived as a kind of failure, instead of the incredibly self- empowering adventure that it is.
To recap, In 2008, I sold my first book to Simon Pulse—a light contemporary romance about a deaf teen. I didn’t sell again until 2012 during the wild and wooly days of massive young adult successes and massive advances for the next big thing. I nabbed one of those advances, as did several of my author friends. The YA novels Born of Illusion, Born of Corruption (an e-novella) and Born of Deception about Harry Houdini’s Illegitimate daughter, created a massive amount of excitement…among adults, anyway. The same year, I sold a 3-book series to Lauren McKenna from Gallery. An adult series, set in the fabulously popular Edwardian Era, The Summerset series went on to sell widely internationally. It did less well in the US and Gallery didn’t pick up my fourth in the series. I had a series of agent catastrophes, returned to school to get my degree and embarked on an excited new career… not to mention moving 300 miles from the place I lived in for 30 years. So my traditional publishing career wasn’t as robust as it once was.
I still wrote, but without the fervor of the early years, and the market changed drastically during that time. Independent publishing gained traction and respect. The publishing world tightened it’s belt, cautiously navigating the new landscape. Proposals my fabulous agent, Laura Bradford, thought would surely sell, did not. If the pandemic taught me nothing else, it taught me how to pivot so here I am: Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you…
After working through my angst about what PEOPLE MIGHT THINK (as if they really think about me that much!), I’m giddy about the possibilities this new chapter and am excited about the impact it will have on my writing life. Powder House Publishing LLC will allow me to publish the books I love and want to write without waiting for others to decide if they are marketable or not. This gives me the opportunity to branch out in unexpected ways in unexpected genres. In addition, I am learning so much about myself, my writing, marketing and publishing.
Right now, I am laying the infrastructure that will underpin and strengthen my business so I can create the work I want to share. In the next few weeks, I will have a pre-order for my dark, literary Lizzy Borden book, a newsletter sign up, and a free novella for my readers.
I hope you will all join me on this journey!
My Writers Block Unmasked
Most writers know what it is like to be blocked. For me, it’s less about sitting down to write and being unable to than avoiding the writing altogether and making up fantastical chores or tasks to keep me from BITCHOK. (Butt in chair, hands on keyboard.)
I do have to admit that I am absolutely a top-notch avoider. Like, seriously, it’s my super power. How many people do you know that would rather run thousands of miles and train for the Hood To Coast relay to avoid their muse? How many people do you know will spend thousands of dollars on a university education to keep from actually writing the thing? Not that my degree in English Lit and Creative Writing is completely useless. I have totally deepened my knowledge of my craft… to avoid plying my craft. Ha!
My block is a general writing malaise. oh, I had spurts of creativity the last few years…enough to limp a manuscript to my agent which got absolute crickets when she took it out, and several proposals for IP’s which went nowhere, but the fire that allowed me to write five books in a year was nowhere to be seen.
So last year, in between doing bouts of homework, I dug deep and learned quite a bit about my blocks and how to address them. What I discovered was that for me, the basis of most of my procrastination techniques stemmed from fear. Some of the fears were writing based and some of them were just tendrils of that age-old fear of feeling unworthy. Some of them include:
- Not having anything new to add. (My writing isn’t original enough. The courses I want to offer won’t be deep enough or helpful enough, the services I could offer are stupid, etc.)
- That I’d never live up to my early success as a novelist
- Being seen as a failure
- Being judged
- Being seen period
- Not trusting my follow through
- Not being good enough
Can you relate?
And yeah, these are just the beginning. Once I realized how much of my writing resistance was due to fear, I went about addressing those fears with the same single-minded Capricorn/Virgo energy that I bring to everything. I excavated the mini traumas that lurked beneath the fears to soothe the hurt child underneath it all. For me, it wasn’t so much as getting rid of the blocks as it was shedding light on them, integrating them and accepting those parts of myself.
So I doubled down on the habits and techniques that helped me do that. I’ll list them here, but keep in mind that just because they’re working for me, doesn’t mean that they’ll work for you. Self acceptance is pretty unique to the individual,
- EFT Scripts: EFT (Emotional Freedom Technique) This exercise combines acupressure with affirmations. Once I learned how to do it and experienced it’s usefulness, I started writing my own scripts that addressed individual blocks. For instance, I wrote one addressing intrusive thoughts about myself and my writing.
- Meditation: This is one of my go tos. It has increased my awareness of my inner chatter and helped me spot those intrusive thoughts as they arose in my mind. Awareness is deadly against my inner editor!
- I journal on the daily. It’s been crucial to seeing my patterns, as well as my growth. I love looking back at old journals to the person I was and marvel at the changes in my life and attitude.
- Movement: Since I am no longer able to run, I have gone all in on strength-training and this has been crucial for my diabetes, mood and confidence. All women should lift heavy shiz.
- Nutrition: I eat all the good things and avoid the things that I know don’t support me.
EFT tapping, meditation and journaling have directly addressed my blocks, while nutrition and movement have supported my physical healing and increased my energy levels. Energy is key to creativity.
Don’t get me wrong, the fear that I’m not good enough, that I’ll fall flat on my face or that people will ridicule my efforts, is still there, Some nights it sits on my chest, hot and heavy, grinning at me with large yellow eyes like the Cheshire Cat. Added to my general anxiety over the world at large, it’s a wonder that I can create at all. And yet, I know deep in my bones that we were born to create. That I was born to create. And that means addressing my blocks and getting to it.
More to come.
Born to Create, Conditioned to Consume
We were created to create.
In my insomnia addled brain, this concept makes total sense to me. I see little ones creating the moment they can hold a crayon in their chubby, toddler hands. Children tell stories as soon as they can string words together, their pretend worlds as real as reality, their sentences punctuated with wide-eyed sincerity. Whatever part of our brain is responsible for imaginative musings is fully alive in children, electric with vitality and stretchy possibilities.
At some point many of us lose that connection, drilled out of us by multiplication facts, the laws of grammar and the needs of a capitalistic society—we all want to eat and put a roof over our heads, after all.
Historically, communities have nurtured and nourished the artist in their midst—one wonders if cave painters were given their due. In many indigenous cultures, the word art does not exist, as beautiful things were integrated into everyday life through the exquisite craft of practical items. During 14th century Europe, artists were seen more as craftsmen and wandering musicians were given food and exposure on feudal estates. During the Renaissance, where the rich and titled fought for the privilege of having an artist in residence. Then of course, the printing press changed everything and the rise of media created celebrity artists. Campbells soup cans, anyone?
The above is a fast and incomplete take on the history of how creators were treated throughout history and I am totally cognizant of the fact that the stereotype of the starving artist was grounded in reality. But my point remains, we were born to create.
Unfortunately, we are also now conditioned to consume. That should actually be a T-shirt. Born to create, conditioned to consume. If we are all busy scrolling, distracted by adverts, funny videos and the hustle needed to buy all the things we need, as well as the stuff we are told we need, then we have little time to create. Soon, with the rise of Artificial Intelligence, we won’t need to create—it’ll be done for us. What happens to a culture where creativity has gone to die? Ironic that writers, (creators) have already told us what happens. Spoiler alert: It ain’t pretty.
So how can we, as a global collective, fight against the slow painful death of creativity by hustle culture and AI? We double down. We create more art. We share messy human art. We kick perfectionism to the curb. We celebrate artistic attempts, even if they don’t make money. Especially if they don’t make money.
I wrote a poem the other day for poetry class. Honestly, I hated it. I am not a fan of poetic structure, though I’m hoping that as I learn more, I will begin to appreciate it. Specifically, my poem was a sonnet. A very bad sonnet. A very, very bad sonnet. I’m not even joking here. As an aside, have you ever tried to read a sonnet out loud? Am I the only one who feels the clunkiness of it in my mouth? Even Shakespeare’s sonnets with their exquisite imagery, make me feel like I am chewing rocks when I try to speak them, which is odd because his plays are better understood when read out loud.
Anyway, I am sharing my really bad sonnet here as encouragement. If I can share this, maybe you will feel better about sharing your scribbles, words, imperfect crafts and de-glossied (or would it be anti-glossy?) content. Let’s create a world where both good art and bad art are celebrated. It’s all subjective anyway, isn’t it? I know that some people will cry about standards and participation trophies. I am not saying that there aren’t many people who can write a much better sonnet than I can. I am just saying that if we are born to create, even need to create, that effort should be celebrated. After all, AI may be able to write a better sonnet than I can, but it’s not real, it’s not human. And by celebrating bad art, as well as good art, isn’t it our humanity that we are celebrating?
Really Bad, First, (And Last) Sonnet By Teri Brown
Love me true across the decades of time
Our wrinkles meld together like playdough
In sickness and health and post-nasal grime
Our touch still inflames in gray-haired afterglow.
Finish my sentence and I’ll finish yours
The heartbeat of irritation so true
White teeth bitten lips and hard slamming doors
Still here, still loving like cracked yellowed glue.
Ancient and grizzled, completely in sync
Years worth of grievance plowed deep underneath
Your heart and my heart are the same, I think.
When I die, my love my heart I bequeath.
A well-oiled machine, parts grow loose with time,
I am yours, you are mine, regardless of rhyme.
Ahem. Carry on and create.
Building a Writer’s Community
One of the things I was looking for when I moved to my small Eastern Oregon town was community. I have really good childhood memories of grange events—dime a dip dinners, Christmas parties, Halloween haunted houses and dances. Like many granges, the old Alfalfa Grange witnessed a lot of changes. I wonder if it is still active or if it, like many other granges across America, fell victim to the lower rural population and the changing needs of the populace?
I get a lot of joy community building here in North Powder as a member of the library board, the Firewise Coordinator and, wait for it, a member of Wolf Greek Grange. Here are some pictures of the Grange’s chili feed from last weekend.
Our grange is small but mighty, held together by members who want to build and grow and make the grange a place of community care. Because I believe so strongly that strong, resilient communities are the only way forward, I am working hard to make the grange a place where old and young alike can thrive.
I think in many ways, my entire adult life has been in search of that long ago community. For a while, I found it in church, and I married into a strong family that celebrated everything. One of my favorite communities, though was in the writer’s group I found myself a part of in the mid 2000’s. Core members included authors Miriam Forester, Cat Winters, Kelly Garret, Jen Reese. Others came and went and added much to our small collective. Our group was also featured in the Oregon Art Beat segment on Cat Winters. You can access the video here:Cat Winters Oregon Art Beat
Community Building Tips for Writers
- Decide what you need in a writing community. I was excited when a writer’s group formed here in North Powder, but no matter how hard I tried, it just didn’t meet my needs. There were too many people and too many opposing ideas of what it should be. I left on good terms and wished them all well, but it was a lesson to me to be clear going in on what my needs were. I realized that I could never replicate the writer’s group that I had lost and my current writer’s community includes occasional virtual meetups with friends, plus editorial, mentoring and marketing help that I pay for. It’s what I need in my life.
- Understand that people are imperfect and community building can get mired in human messiness if you aren’t careful. Avoid gossip, judgements and be mindful that people are triggered by a variety of things. I once didn’t talk to an author friend for several years because of an unfavorable critique. My feelings were hurt, I lashed out and that was that. Thankfully, I am far more thick-skinned, emotionally resilient and have a better understanding of my triggers. And that friend is now one of my dearest friends.
- Seasons change. Needs change. People change. I lost that original writer’s group when I got a full-time job and returned to school to get my English Lit and Creative Writing degree. Time was at a premium and I just couldn’t swing it. One of the members had a baby. Another’s husband got very ill and she had to drop out. The group remains a shining memory of friendship and an exciting part my writing career.
Community building is a passion of mine, whether it’s in my writing life or my outside life. My day job is, ironically, all about building communities here in Eastern Oregon. It’s something I gravitate to naturally, probably stemming from those long ago parties at the Alfalfa Grange Hall. I believe that novels are also about building community building, albeit a fictional one… but that is for another blog!
Capacity Two or Perfectly Imperfect
When I first blogged about capacity, I thought I had my shiz together. Mostly. The universe had other plans and I let something I care about slip through my fingers. Boy, does that send this recovering perfectionist into a spiral. Fortunately, I’ve learned a lot about how to be both accountable to others and have compassion for myself. So, I apologized for letting people down and did my best to move on, trying not to attach stories to the mistake about how other people were judging me because here’s the thing, one, people aren’t thinking that much about me and, two, if they are judging me, that’s on them, not on me.
But the incident got me thinking about how I approach capacity, boundaries and how I manage my energy. I came across a quote from a book I just finished that really resonated for me.
“Balance your body, mind, and soul. Without a balance, you may become unhappy. Spend time doing things related to all these three aspects of you. For your body, take care of it, have fun with it, enjoy it, use it, exercise it, feed it well, rest it. For your mind, continuously feed it with new knowledge, exercise it, think properly and deliberately, rest it. For your spirit, learn about it, exercise it, meditate and get in contact with it. And for all three, listen to them and honor what they tell you, and love them.” David Cameron Gikandi, Happy Pocket Full of Money
This hit hard because being balanced, centered, and rooted is how I manage my energy and how I navigated the incident I mentioned above. Journaling, meditating, movement, nourishment and creativity are some of my favorite energy management tools. My intention is to always plan meals, move, incorporate good, solid habits into my life and use the present moment to make choices that will set me up for success in the future. That’s how I exercise my ability to hold things, to grow my capacity without shortchanging my soul and my relationships. Sometimes everything goes according to plan and works out perfectly.
And sometimes I fall on my face.
That’s when healthy compassion comes in because failure is a part of growing, learning and living and the only way to avoid it is to avoid life.
As my school career comes to a close and an exciting new chapter unfolds, I am going to have to exercise those self-compassion muscles because I KNOW I am going to make mistakes and fall on my face. I KNOW people will make snap judgements about what I write, how I disseminate that writing, where my career is at and the choices I make. Their judgement is not my concern. Mistakes and failures are not my concern. My only concern is living my own life according to my values of creativity, community and connection and that is where my energy and my capacity live.
Forthcoming!
As some of you may have noticed, I have been doing a little work here on the website in preparation of all the good things to come. I added a page called Forthcoming which is where I’ll put upcoming releases. While the covers are not completed yet, I am putting the rough back cover copy here so y’all can get excited. (So be excited!) So without further ado, I am giving you FORTHCOMING!
Fall River
Brown’s deliciously eerie page-turner is as shocking and haunting as the murders upon which it’s based. A daring, enthralling journey into the darkest depths of the human mind. Fall River held me in its chilling grip from start to finish.
—Cat Winters, Bram Stoker Award nominee for In the Shadow of Blackbirds
What if the best Lizzie Borden story isn’t about Lizzie at all?
In the summer of1878, Clara Lodge, a15-year-old orphan, is sent to live with her cousin, Lizzie Borden in Fall River, Massachusetts. What begins as an uneasy stay inside the oppressive Borden household soon spirals into a season of dread that leaves Clara marked with secrets and scars that she will carry for the rest of her life.
Now married and far from Fall River, Clara has achieved a fragile peace of mind, but when Lizzie is accused of murdering her parents, Clara is drawn back to the city she fled. To heal, she must confront the cousin she fears, the memories she buried, and the truth she tried so hard to forget.
Told across three timelines in one woman’s life, Fall River is a chilling blend of history, psychological suspense, and gothic horror—a reimagining of the Borden legend that asks: how long can the past stay buried before it comes for you?
Perfect for fans of Simone St. James, Kate Morton, and Jennifer McMahon, Fall River is a frightening and unforgettable reimagining of the Borden story.
Puppet (May, 2026)
When Azzura (Az) Collodi, an aspiring puppeteer, is asked to perform for a mysterious puppet master at the Palazzo Grimani, she’s torn. On one hand, it’s a dream come true, on the other, her grandfather, one of the most famous marionette makers in Europe, would strongly disapprove. Rudolpho Collodi might have been a brilliant toymaker, but he was also a notorious occultist and ruled the family—Az’s twin brother and their silent, beautiful mother with an iron fist, rarely letting anyone out of his sight. If caught, her punishment would be banishment from everything she’s ever known and yet the lure of proving herself on stage is undeniable and she agrees on the condition of anonymity.
Az is soon drawn into the cutthroat, competitive world of Venetian puppetry, where nothing is as it seems, including the puppet master who knows more about her than he should, and the secretive actor who plays opposite her in the play—as Pinocchio. As her 21st birthday approaches—the day a witch’s power fully manifests— she discovers that she is animator and her talent as a puppeteer is due to her ability to bring marionettes to life. When she learns that a curse has been placed on her family, she must find out who did it and why before her family is destroyed.
Filled with witchcraft, romance and betrayal, Puppet is set against the colorful backdrop of the 1895 Venetian Carnival and retells the story of Pinocchio—through the eyes of the Blue Fairy.
Covers coming soon!
Looking for Laguna (aka doing the scary thing)
I believe a couple of things that make this post possible.
1. Doing the aligned action even if it’s the scary thing. This is that scary thing.
2. Sharing your art even if it’s messy. This is that messy thing.
It’s been years since I’ve shared my art publically outside the virtual classroom. My agent and a few of my beta readers and friends have seen my writing, but I have published nothing but the occasional random bog since 2020. I wrote this piece for my publishing and new media class. The assignment was symbolism and this is what I came up with. A short story about running away and then running home.
Enjoy.
Looking for Laguna
By Teri Brown
Your phone beeps, signaling a message. Your gut clenches. Just what you need—a message from Digger.
You dial to retrieve it, tapping in your password with one hand while steering the car with the other. His voice hits your chest like a well-aimed horse’s hoof. You remember the year it changed, cracking into squeaky high notes before settling into the deep, sexy tone that still makes you weak in the knees.
“Hey Jace. I just thought we should talk. I know you said you wanted to end things, but I just can’t believe that’s what you really want.” There’s a pause, and you almost end the call, but then his voice continues. “I’m thinking that I should come out to the ranch today. I got my packet from the University for the married couples housing in Eugene. We got in.” Another pause. “Anyway, let me know what you think. I love you, you know?”
You do know. And love isn’t just blind—it’s deaf and dumb, too, because you don’t know how much clearer you could have been. Pissed off and heartsick, you text NO, hit send, and slip the phone into the side pocket of your 1970 VW Bug. It’s just as well you’ve left. Clearly, he doesn’t listen.
The message leaves you uneasy, though. How much longer can you fool your ex-fiancé into thinking you’re somewhere you’re not? Or your parents, for that matter?
You press your foot down on the accelerator, driven by a sudden need to put as many miles between you and Digger as possible. California, here you come. That’s the dream. Once you get there, you can be someone else. Someone glamorous and free.
Falling in love with Digger just confused you for a bit, that’s all.
You ignore the doubt that settled in the pit of your stomach sometime yesterday between Miles City and Billings and concentrate on the road. Wiggling in your seat, you try to stretch out your spine. Turns out VW bugs may look cool, but vintage seats were not made for comfort.
“I can drive for a bit if you want me to,” Ryan surprises you. You thought he was asleep.
“Nope. No offense, but I hardly know you. For all I know you drive like a maniac. Besides, no one drives my car except for me.”
And Digger, a little voice inside your head reminds you.
Oh, shut up.
“You’re the one who ran me off the road and killed my car,” Ryan points out.
You shrug. “Your car looked like it was already on its death bed.”
He laughs. “Truth.”
Turns out Ryan was going to California, too. You can’t imagine what Digger or your parents would say about picking up a stranger, but you felt responsible for his predicament. Plus, he’s paying for gas and the company keeps you from thinking about Digger too much.
You and Digger were supposed to get married in August and then head to the University of Oregon, where Digger had gotten a scholarship. You were going to work and go to a community college while he played football for the Ducks.
Who gets married at eighteen in this day and age?
You saw what happened to your own parents after marrying young. Hell, everyone in Resolute, North Dakota was a spectator of that particular war. You ignored it by watching old shows like Laguna Beach and The Hills and dreaming of escape. Your fairy tale is about endless beaches, blue skies, and designer clothes. Not football and rain, no matter how much you love watching Digger play.
Next to you, Ryan points to a sign. “There’s a campground up ahead. Why don’t we stop there?”
You turn and you’re instantly swallowed up in trees and brush, and you can barely see ahead or behind you. You slow even more and concentrate on missing the rocks while your ancient car lurches and sways down the road. You wish you had a clear path. You wish you could see ahead of you. You wish you had Digger’s old four-wheel drive. Then you push the truck out of your mind because so much of what was important in your life happened in the cab of that truck. You learned to drive in that truck. You learned to kiss in that truck. You watched Hell Boy at the Resolute Drive In in that truck, not caring that you guys had already been there four time or that metal speaker hanging limply in the window barely worked because the thigh pressing warmly against yours belonged to Digger.
You’re going to miss that truck.
“Watch out!” Ryan yells.
You spot a streak of gray and swerve, seconds before hearing a sickening thud against the front of your car.
“What was that?” You slam on the brakes and leap out of the car.
About three feet off the road lies a huge raccoon. He’s on his back with stiff legs pointing to the sky.
Tears sting your eyes, and you squeeze them shut. You killed an animal. You don’t kill animals. You don’t even eat animals. You’re probably the only rancher’s daughter in North Dakota to ever become a vegetarian.
Now you’ve gone and killed a raccoon.
“Jaci?” Ryan puts his arm around you. You hadn’t even heard him get out of the car. “Are you okay?”
You shake your head, tears leaking out of the corners of your eyes. You bury your face in his shoulder, glad you’re not alone. “I didn’t mean to hit it.”
“I know.”
Suddenly, more than anything, you want Ryan to be Digger. The chest you’re crying against is the wrong chest, the arms holding you are the wrong arms—even the t-shirt smells wrong. You gasp with the wrongness. How did you get on this timeline? Why did you think running away was the answer? Why did you, an eighteen-year-old country girl from Resolute, North Dakota, think that you were going to find fame and fortune in California? As if your fake highlights and designer knockoffs would suddenly change and your skin would glow, your body would morph from strong rancher girl to California beach sleek and you would be, what? Happier? Happier than in Digger’s arms? Grief guts you, as much for what you have done to you and Digger as for the prostrate raccoon.
“Jaci?”
You pull back and notice that you’re getting snot on the front of his shirt. “What?”
“I think it’s alive.”
“What?”
You turn away from him in time to see the animal shiver. You wipe your nose on your sleeve. Just then, the raccoon sits up and huffs, indignation written all over his drunken sailor face. He chatters and makes his way into the waiting arms of a skinny brown-haired girl who looks no more than ten.
“Are you okay, Hell Boy?” she asks, cuddling her pet. “Did those mean people hurt you?” She glares at you before ambling off towards the campground just beyond the tree line.
“Hell Boy”? Ryan laughs, but it barely registers.
If Digger were here, he’d toss out a quote right now. “I wish I could do something about this, but I can’t. But I can promise you two things—one, I’ll always look this good and two, I’ll never give up on you… ever.”
You laugh, even as tears run down your face. You know. You know what you’re supposed to do. Could California offer love? Laughter? The knowingness of someone always having your back? You don’t need a California fairytale. You can write your own story. “Everything’s all wrong,” you tell Ryan, hiccoughing gently.
“I’m going home.”
Thoughts on Capacity Part One
What is Capacity?
According to a quick Google search, capacity is the maximum amount that something can contain.
The problem with this definition is that I am not a thing and I only have two arms, so my capacity to hold is limited. Yet, people say my capacity is huge. What they mean is that I do a lot. I admit, I’m kind of driven. For those of you who don’t know me, I am a planner, a doer, a goal setter, a list maker. I have a tendency to juggle, drop balls and then juggle some more.
Cap sun/Virgo rising, thank you very much.
For instance, right now, I work full time, finishing up a degree in English Lit and Creative Writing, on the Library Board for my little town, a Firewise USA Coordinator, (also for my little town), and active in the grange. In addition, I am rebranding and reigniting my writing career. I also garden, can, bake sourdough and soup for neighbors and am helping my husband remodel our 1910 bungalow. I don’t say this to brag about myself, but to talk about capacity and how and why mine has grown over the years—without the chronic anxiety that I used to get. Oh, sure, I still get overwhelmed, but I am so much more centered and relaxed. Busyness is not the answer.
Alignment is.
So that’s the first secret of growing your capacity. Knowing who you are and what activities align with your core belief system. I recently did an activity with my writing coach that asked a simple question:
What do you do and why do you do it?
1. I build community because I believe that is the only way to create a better world for my grandchildren and ALL the grandchildren of the world. That’s why I am on the library board, am active in the grange, and started Firewise.
2. I move, track my food and cook mostly from scratch because I believe that health fundamental. This is also why I garden, preserve food and share good food with my neighbors and community.
3. Continuing education is important to me because it is a way to keep my brain active, go deeper into my craft (writing) and positively impact the world. This is why I returned to school, am working with a writing mentor and take workshops on everything from money management to publishing to community building.
Aligning my beliefs with my behavior is one way that I stretch my capacity. It doesn’t feel like work, it feels like my life. Sure, I get stressed… Last week, I almost missed a deadline for an important grant. It took a lot of phone calls to gather the materials that I needed. I needed some serious down time after that!
So the first thing is to figure out what you value and then let your activities arise out of those values. After that, I honestly believe the sky is the limit… with the right tools and I will write about those in the next post!
Two Years AF AF
I have been alcohol free for two years today.
One of the best things about journaling on a regular basis is that I can look back and see the woman that I was. How did I come to that decision? It’s all there. I hadn’t hit rock bottom. There wasn’t a big drunken argument with my husband. I just decided after a weekend of too much alcohol while moving into my little home in the high desert, that enough was enough.
I had been sober curious for a couple of years before that. There was this nagging feeling that in order for me to continue growing, I had to treat myself and my body better. Alcohol is without a doubt a toxin and I was willingly disrespecting myself for short term fun. Plus, belonging to five wine clubs was a tad excessive, not to mention expensive.
So I asked myself, “How good can it get if I just… stopped.
It wasn’t easy. Alcohol is pervasive and a major part of our culture. Every get together included alcohol. Entire experiences were couched in “Where should we go for pre-event cocktails?” “What wine would go with that particular meal?” Even the healthy outdoor activities I loved so much began or ended with a drink. After all, what better way to end a ten-mile hike than with burgers and beer?
But I did it. I had no idea that I was operating most of the time with a very low level hangover from that glass of wine the night before until it was no longer part of my routine. That beer was interfering with my sleep. That my mornings were better without drinking the night before. Now, two years later, I can say without a doubt that it was one of the best things I have ever done for myself.
How much better could it get? So. Much. Better. Exponentially better. To be fair, I moved, changed careers and returned to school during that time, but I have no doubt that leaving alcohol behind accelerated my personal and spiritual growth, as well as my physical health. Even though I’ve had some health setbacks in the past few months, I am stronger and more resilient than I have ever been. Quite simply, everything is better without alcohol.
So I raise glass of sparkling water to my younger self, thanking her for her foresight and sticktoitiveness. You go girl!
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