Since I’m getting ready for some new projects I thought I’d pump myself up …
Gotta be fierce!
Since I’m getting ready for some new projects I thought I’d pump myself up …
Gotta be fierce!
I know you’ve been in love, the gut wrenching, aching in your bones, 80’s Movie kind of love that blinds you into taking a leap of faith — a plunge — because when you’re young you believe in the power of teenage, college, or in-your-20’s love.
So when the break-up happened, by your locker, after school, or on the phone with the 50-foot curly extension chord you used to pull all the way from the avocado-green wall phone in the kitchen and into the closet for “privacy,” it blindsided you.
There you were laid out on the floor, in agony, crying the slow cry, the I-can’t-breathe-right-now cry, the ugly cry, the hyperventilating cry, the silent cry. You suffered through in an epic way. And you’re there, alone. You know “others” who had broken up, but did they really understand?
No. No they didn’t.
Phil Collins got the picture. For sure.
But, there was one guy that really understood. He was feeeeeeeeling me. He got me. This dude … Man he kneewwwwwww what I was feeling. He knew the kind of love that I loved. He knew my heartache and when I listened I was like … Yeah … He knows exactly! He knows exactly what I’m going through and it was like I was having a conversation with him.
Now if you are one of my peoples there is no need for introductions. Juanga was the man. So when he passed away on Sunday morning, I felt it. Huge loss to me and my community. I never met him, but sure felt like he knew me deeply, personally with the songs he wrote about my love life, or the songs I wanted someone to invent because of me.
However I was lucky enough to have gone to some of his concerts throughout the years, stand up in the aisle dance, clap and sing, even luckier that I went to one just a couple of months ago. Amazing.
But for those of you not familiar with him, he was the Elvis Presley, Prince, and Michael Jackson of Mexico. Sold over 100 million… Yeah million albums and wrote close to 2000 songs.
He was The Man, and he passed away unexpectedly at the age off 66 from a heart attack.
And so I’m sad about that, about losing someone so talented with such heartfelt emotion, truth, and humility. I didn’t even know him, but it hits me because I connected with him through music. Someone who understood my heartbreak, he knew, he sang about it. He testified really. He knew the loooooooooove that I loved and so it was sad to say goodbye.
So in his honor, it was a Juan Gabriel mixed tape marathon on Sunday, with multiple text message exchanges between girlfriends who were just as shocked and broken up about his death. In our disbelief we tried to comfort each other and talk through our sadness. As I listened to my favorites I thought I’d try to narrow it down to The Top Ten … I know, almost 2,000 songs. He really needs a top 100. But I tried.
So I encourage you … If you’ve ever been in looooooooooove love, click and take listen. He’s got my stories in there, probably yours too.
Rest In Peace Juanga.
Hasta Que Te Conoci (Until I Met You…)
Quien Como Tu (Someone Like You) Written by Juan Gabriel sung by Ana Gabriel
Siempre En Mi Mente (Always On My Mind)
No Tengo Dinero (I Got No Money)
El Noa, Noa
Inocente Pobre Amigo (My Poor Innocent Friend)
Asi Fue (That’s How It Goes)
Porque Me Haces Llorar (Why Do You Make Me Cry)
Se Me Olvido Otra Vez ( I Forgot Again)
Querida (Dear) … This one gets me every time …
Bonus Tracks … of course. Always need a bonus track…
He Venido a Pedirte Perdon (I Came to Ask For Your Forgiveness)
Buenos Dias Senor Sol (Good Morning Mr. Sun)
Pero Que Necesidad
Buen Camino my friends.
And so it begins …
Another year of firsts …
The older kids playground and then entering kindergarten. Two kids, two sets of Ticonderoga No.2 adventures and I felt both excited and little anxious about this new season. As you all know last year’s academic year with Miss Viola Swamp was a challenging one filled with bite-your-tongue-and-pick-your-battle moments so we’ll see how this year pans out. New teachers, new experiences but I’m not so much worried about teachers this time around as something different came up.
Not a bad concern, just a parenthood observation.
As a parent you know they’re getting older because their pants and shirts and socks don’t fit them quite right anymore, getting a little snug. So you make a trip to Target. You notice their little faces and the expressions are still the same, but they’re not so little anymore.
And you realize the season is about to change. Granted it’s not a giant step into middle school, high school, or college and you’re not balling your eyes out, but it’s still a step ahead and you pause because you’re actually feeling it. You’re feeling the step and the growth right in front out you. Not in a slow motion, but just right in front you and you caught it. The kind of moment you want to save in those mason jars.
Pride and smiles because they seem to be on the good path. You’ve done a good job … so far. They know when to act crazy silly and when it’s serious Crayola Crayon time. So as always, first day of school love-you-you-can-conquer-the-world-notes in their Star Wars and Minions lunchboxes and a great feel good song to start the day, the kind that rocks you into a good mood and good grove. Ready for anything that third grade and kindergarten can throw your way. Starting this year on a good note …
The Justin Timberlake kind. It was a unanimous decision, we’ve been listening to it all week. Buen Camino my friends.
I hadn’t planned on it happening … but it did.
I’ve fallen off the WordPress wagon.
I’d like to say that it was because of some amazing opportunity that has whisked me away, but no … not yet. And it’s not procrastination either as I wish I had extra time for procrastination itself.
It’s been the epic involvement of watching Michael Phelps, Nathan Adrian, Simone Biles, Aly Raisman, and every volleyball match in existence. I’ve been pumped up with this Olympic coverage and suspended all Netflix watching. I’ve gotten so carried away that I’ve forgot to post on Monday.
I’m aware that some people are so over it, but I’m not one of those people. I’m in awe of the fact that it took these people four years of sunrise and sunset dedication to get to where they are, some even longer. Whether it’s the podium, crossing the finish line, or touching the ball for a game-winning point that type of determination and sacrifice requires my full attention.
I admire that stuff in people, and like hearing about their journey. I enjoy watching the last shot, the clock winding down, or that stretch to the finish. I stand up, cheering like they can hear me. I get so excited to see their dreams come true that watching it happen, keeps the “It’s Possible” mentality alive.
They had big dreams four years ago with doubters, haters, and believers along for the ride. And in these last couple of weeks they’ve made it happen. They got there.
Believing in “it’s possible,” is always the first step. It’s an encouraging environment to be around, to watch.
It gets the writer in me juiced up. Seeing their dreams come true, to be at The Games, always inspires me to keep going, to keep the “it’s possible,” mantra at the forefront.
Four years … sunrise to sunset … thinking about your dream and making things happen in order to get there. That’s the kind of stuff writers are made of too. Although we don’t have a cheering section or medals, we still dream and work, even though some people consider daydreaming not part of the job. It is … it’s what keeps the possibilities alive.
Setting my sights high for four years.
Even on vacation, I find moments of peace in the early morning …
Morgan Freeman is back and I’m listening.
He makes me want to be an Olympian … just so he can narrate my life.
I don’t know if The Olympics are big at your house but they sure bring my family together morning, noon, and night. We get pumped over here, so when someone feels a lack of enthusiasm I must remind them that I come from a House of Sports.
Now I just don’t passively watch it. I’m an enthusiastic fan, which is why I hesitate when a friend of mine recently invited me to a quick getaway for a few days before the school year starts. Hang out. Let the kids play in the pool. Get out of the house which was desperately needed.
But … It’s The Olympics.
I’m all for hanging out and drinking wine and chit-chatting, but when gold is on the line and my country is close to the podium I’m gonna have to be glued to the television. Surprisingly not many of my friends are into sports, like myself. Only a few share my love of Peyton Manning, Monday Night Football, hoop dreams, sideouts, 400 relay teams, a love for Coach Eric Taylor, Morgan Freeman commercials, Hoosiers, Miracle, The Natural and other sports movies.
So they may not understand the importance of Olympics, they may be passive about it or maybe they’re just as excited as I am when I hear the tannnn-tannnnn-ta-tannnn-tan-tan-tan-tan-tan-tan tannnnn. Don’t know.
But what I do know is that come night time, when all the kids are in bed and some of the girls want to get to chit-chatting or drinking, I’m gonna have to steer them towards the television and remind them that I come from a House of Sports. And Michael Phelps will be swimming, Aly Raisman will be taking the floor, and Kerri Walsh Jennings will be hitting the beach. So NBC will probably be blaring from the TV or iPad. But I’ll encourage them to bring their treats.
It happens … shitty things happen to make your story more interesting.
At least that’s what I tell myself to help get through the nastiness that I encounter. Most people have to really use their imagination and dig deep for dramatic crappy things to happen in their plots.To some it comes natural, they have awesome imaginations … Stephen King.
My imagination is good, but not that great. But I’m lucky in other ways. I guess I’m lucky because I can just reach for what happened on a random Wednesday and it would make for an epic drama on any network.
I used to worry about revealing the crappy parts of my life and the shitty things that people said and did to me.Insecure of myself. I used to think it was a reflection of me. But I realized … it wasn’t. It’s never been about me, it was always about them and their own broken parts they were trying to project on me.
Writing things out and being raw, with dialogue or dramatic events was not only therapeutic for me, but made for some of the best moments on the page.
I realized that writing my truth out struck a chord with people and made a connection, because they’ve also had crappy moments with family, boyfriends, girlfriends, husbands, receptionists … whoever. They get it.
The stage play that was recently produced got so many nods and high fives because so many people that I didn’t know could relate to what happened to the young mother. They were like … I felt like you were talking about me.
My dark moments were also someone else’s, but I helped them not feel alone on the journey, plus I made them see the funny in the not so funny situation.
As writers sometimes the worst moments, the toughest moments, end up giving you the best parts of the page. And although I wouldn’t want to wish you crappy times, I do want to remind you that even when you’re at your lowest, no moment in your life is wasted. There’s a silver linings playbook with your name on it, and it will help bring something positive out of such a terrible experience. Sometimes it’s hard to see that right away. But eventually things shift.
Write out the crappiness and see what happens.
The purpose of the Insecure Writers’ Support Group is to share and encourage. Writers can express doubts and concerns without fear of appearing foolish or weak. Those who have been through the fire can offer assistance and guidance. It’s a safe haven for insecure writers of all kinds. To see a full list of IWSG authors, click here.