tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22434531020247307172024-03-20T08:28:06.215-07:00The Nebulous Passage of Dreams and BaconA blog about cyberpunk, feminism, and finding myself
Lyndsie Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15472917597591219932noreply@blogger.comBlogger86125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2243453102024730717.post-83420689580022305982019-11-04T16:10:00.002-08:002019-11-04T16:10:40.295-08:00Why do I do NANOWIRMO?<br />
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<o:p> Hello!</o:p></div>
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<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
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Another November has arrived. This means, another year of
NANOWRIMO has begun. This is the 20<sup>th</sup> year, I believe. <o:p></o:p></div>
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For those who don’t know, NANOWRIMO (or more officially NaNoWriMo
for those who want to take the time to type the acronym out correctly) stands
for National Novel Writing Month. This is a month where writers are encouraged
to write a novel (or a novella) of 50k or more words in 30 days.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The goal of NANOWRIMO is to encourage
aspiring writers to produce a complete work, get in the habit of writing every
day, and to give them a community of other like-minded individuals for
encouragement and support. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I know there has been some controversy around this event. I’ve
heard career writers say they do not participate because they are writing all
the time anyway, so why would November be any different? I’ve also heard from
new, self-published, or yet-aspiring authors that it has helped them produce
content and/or get into a writing habit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>NANOWRIMO as a non-profit organization has set up various resources to
help writers of all ages (including creating a teen/young writers track) and provides
information and tools to help guide you through the whole novel creation
process. And yet, they also partner with a lot of products, sell merchandise,
and probably profit a bit from some of that. <o:p></o:p></div>
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While I have participated in 8 NANOWRIMOs, I haven’t really
paid attention to the other events they hold. This post, specifically, will be
about the rules for winning and why I do it. Let’s start with the rules. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Writing starts at 12:00: a.m. on November 1 and
ends 11:59:59 p.m. on November 30, local time.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">2.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->No one is allowed to start early and the
challenge finishes exactly 30 days from that start point.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">3.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Novels must reach a minimum of 50,000 words
before the end of November in order to win. These words can either be a
complete novel of 50,000 words or the first 50,000 words of a novel to be
completed later.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">4.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Planning and extensive notes are permitted, but
no material written before the November 1 start date can go into the body of
the novel.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">5.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Participants' novels can be on any theme, genre
of fiction, and language. Everything from fanfiction, which uses trademarked
characters, to novels in poem format, and metafiction is allowed; according to
the website's FAQ, "If you believe you're writing a novel, we believe
you're writing a novel too."<o:p></o:p></div>
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This seems like a lot of work. Why on earth would anyone
want to do it?!<o:p></o:p></div>
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Well…<o:p></o:p></div>
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Someone told me this year that a former participant of
NANOWRIMO said that “it doesn’t matter what you write, as long as you win.”
While I will be the first to say that the goal <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">should not be</i> to write just a bunch of garbage, hitting that 50k
word finish line is exhilarating. During the first year of NANOWRIMO, the organizer
actually asked to verify that participants actually met their word goal (7 of
the 21 entrants actually finished by the way). Nowadays, the “winning” is more honor-based
(yes, there’s a tracker, but you can lie to it).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, the word count “win” is really just
the visual representation of what you, the writer, is trying to accomplish.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Of the rules above, I have broken a number of them; whether
it’s not starting a NEW project on day 1, or counting other writing projects
done in November as part of my “word count”, or using the month for final
editing etc. But for me, of the NANOs that I have participated in, I have won 7
of 8. Did I write my 50k words each time? More or less…but the main point was that
I did what I told myself I’d do: <o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Finish the novel, even if that’s after November
end<o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Edit the novel even though the “new words” I wrote
fell under 50k…). <o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Write 50k+ words and get some of those unpleasant
asshole scenes on paper (which is harder than it sounds)<o:p></o:p></div>
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The most important thing about NANOWRIMO for me is that I
was able to use the combined energy of the event and the participants to
motivate myself to *<b>do the work</b>*.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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Let’s break it down a little…<o:p></o:p></div>
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To successfully complete NANOWRIMO, unless you are a writing
machine, you really need to write a little every day. Because the standard 1667
words/day is a lot easier than 10000 words each weekend day plus and extra 10k
on the final day of the month. This “writing every day” thing, as I have heard
from many professional authors, is the only way to really be successful as a
writer. NANWRIMO is pushing that. For me, in doing NANOWRIMO, I’ve been
successful at writing *<b>mostly</b>* every day. However, while I have proven
to myself that I *<b>can</b>* do it, NANOWRIMO has also showed me that I don’t
want to do it all the time. <o:p></o:p></div>
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You see, writing every day is tough already. It becomes
infinitely tougher when you have a day job where you are on a computer every
day. Or when, in your off time, you’d rather do anything other than sit on a
computer more. Or when you crave social interaction after a day of burying
yourself in headphones and music, emails and Word files.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or when, you realize you’re in your mid-30s
now and need to go to the gym occasionally or your clothes stop fitting. Or when
you have a family or a partner or a pet that also needs attention. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or when…<o:p></o:p></div>
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TLDR version: It’s hard. <o:p></o:p></div>
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It’s just as hard as getting to the gym every day. Yes you <b>can</b>
do it, but you may be doing it at the expense of something else. Sometimes that
expense is other hobbies like video games or sewing or fencing, but other times
that expense is your partner, health, or sleep. This is a common struggle for a
lot of us who have not yet made a career of writing, but who desperately want
to. And until my partner can support me while I “work for money” 10-20
hours/week, this is going to be my reality.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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But back to NANOWRIMO. It definitely has helped me with some
of these issues. It gives me social interaction, even if it is just writing
near other people and saying, “Hey, how’s it going?”. It gives me a reason to
get out of my house. It puts the fire and that little edge of competition under
me which helps guilt me into keeping it up. It gives me solidarity with other
writers, sharing frustrations and triumphs. It gives me inspiration, excitement
and pride at being a writer.<o:p></o:p></div>
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It gives me an excuse. For one month, I CAN do it. I can
make arrangements to write a crap-ton and (hopefully) finish a project. (Then I
can use the next 11 months to refine and promote that project and work on other
projects sporadically at my own pace…). <o:p></o:p></div>
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I know some people may turn their nose up at this approach
and say that I am not a serious writer, but I will disagree. If I weren’t a
serious writer, would I still be writing after 25 years? For a while, I allowed
those naysayers to get the best of me. You will see that in my NANOWRIMO
participation years: 2002, 2008, 2009, 2012, 2014, 2015, 2018, & 2019.
Those big gaps were when I stopped believing in myself (most notably 2002-2008.
I was in college and while I knew of NANOWRIMO groups getting together on campus,
I tried to pretend that I didn’t care).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I stopped believing in myself because I did not have the resources and
connections to convince me to keep it up. If I was not doing it “the serious
way”, what business did I have even trying? <o:p></o:p></div>
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The last 3 NANOWRIMOS I’ve participated in have changed all
that. I decided to seek out “write-ins” (where writers get together at a coffee
shop or library and write together for a few hours). I joined writer
communities, giving the NANO forums, Scribophile, CIPA (Colorado Independent
Publishers Association), Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers, Toastmasters and other
online groups a try. I had mixed success sticking with these communities but what
it did show me, was that there were a lot of people out there writing. Some
were snobby, and some were encouraging. Some were driven toward publication and
some were just doing it “for fun”. Some were like me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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I didn’t find my current writer “group” specifically from
NANO, but NANO has helped bring out all those writers that I already know (many
of whom I didn’t know wrote!). The relationships I’ve built have carried on
after NANOWRIMO was over. NANOWRIMO gave me access to a community that was
already in my world and to a world that I had no idea how to break into
otherwise. These groups, these individuals, encourage and push me to do better.
They help me up when I am falling. Because of them I am still moving forward. Still
making progress. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because of them, I have
been pushed to attend more conventions, writers’ groups, and writing workshops.
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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So for me, whether I make the word count or not, it doesn’t
matter. My participation in this event is one of the big ways I will work
(sometimes slowly) toward my ultimate, grander, goal: to get published. <o:p></o:p></div>
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And to all of you writers, my advice for you is to definitely participate in
NANOWRIMO. Even if you don’t think you’ll make the 50k. What is important, is
for you to think about what you really want to do, set an achievable goal, and
then run with it. Even if that goal is just to reconnect you with this love
you’ve had for as long as you’ve owned pencils.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4K5Zl4hLmic-sKz7k-ifv7ia_Hil78MQ3IjRlwll3CjE5iUrUb7xeUwuj7lESf3b4Q1-82x2CrUML7Tnop-agOl0a78osGQn3BCLCNkCyjyqJ3nH5jdL6oun4YodtJI3y1qji7Wghx18/s1600/NANOWRIMO+2018+Cert+Pic.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="880" data-original-width="1162" height="302" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4K5Zl4hLmic-sKz7k-ifv7ia_Hil78MQ3IjRlwll3CjE5iUrUb7xeUwuj7lESf3b4Q1-82x2CrUML7Tnop-agOl0a78osGQn3BCLCNkCyjyqJ3nH5jdL6oun4YodtJI3y1qji7Wghx18/s400/NANOWRIMO+2018+Cert+Pic.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here is my 2018 NANOWRIMO "winner" certificate. If I can do it, you can too!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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♥<br />
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Lyndsie</div>
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<br />Lyndsie Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15472917597591219932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2243453102024730717.post-81873396081966842712019-11-01T16:00:00.001-07:002019-11-01T16:00:24.482-07:00On Beta Readers Who Are Your Friends – My Honest Thoughts <br />
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First of let me put in a disclaimer: as a writer and an aspiring author
who dreams of getting published, I want you to read my book. And I want her to
read my book. And him. And those five people over there.I want my friends, family, coworkers, and strangers to read my book. I want you to read my
book if you love sci-fi. I want you to read my book if you hate sci-fi. I want
positive feedback. Negative feedback. Questions. Concerns. I write, not just
for myself, but for you all…my audience.<o:p></o:p></div>
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That being said, one of the most disheartening things you
can do to an unpublished writer is promise you’ll read their WIP and then
never do it. It is crushing. <o:p></o:p></div>
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There. I said it. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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Recently, (and for most of my adult life) I have been struggling to get beta readers to
actually read my finalized, author-edited manuscript and provide feedback. In
April 2019, I put out a post on Facebook saying “Hey, I am looking for 3-5 beta
readers who want to read my YA, near-future dystopian manuscript.” I made a
point to note that I had a few specific questions and I only wanted interested
people who would be able to deliver feedback by August. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was blown away by the number of responses I
got - all told, it was around 20 email addresses. So I thought, “Hell, why not?”
And I sent them all the manuscript along with some questions that I wanted them
to look for as they read.<o:p></o:p></div>
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To date (November 1, 2019) I have gotten ONE response, which
includes all the “Thank you, I’m looking forward to reading it” emails (which,
in all honesty, was 0). That one response was feedback and a request to meet
and discuss it (yay!). However, think about this for a second. One response out
of over 20. Frankly, that super sucks. (Later on, I did get one apology of life
being crazy and the person not being able to get to it. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s fine. I understand stuff gets insane in
life and some people will have life intervene. And yes, I also understand that
I was not offering to pay people. Still though, I would expect more people to communicate…).<o:p></o:p></div>
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Here is why this 1 of 20 response thing sucks:<o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Between April and August, I was sitting on my
hands…waiting. I had stopped submitting Anamnesis to publishers. I had stopped
looking for beta readers or editors. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
stopped trying to figure out how I’d pay a beta-reader. I essentially wasted a
quarter year of potential progress waiting for people to come through on their
word.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">2.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Now, I had just given my novel out for free to a
bunch of people. Maybe somewhere down the line, they’ll read it. But if I get
published, would they buy it? This goes along the lines of asking an artist for
free artwork. Or a physical therapist for free adjustments. Yes, some freebies
are expected when you want to go into business for yourself, but if you want
this to be a career or at least a profitable side-gig, you can’t be giving
stuff away for free all the time.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">3.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->You offer to read it the novel because you want
to get into my good graces…or my pants. I absolutely hate it when the following
scenario occurs: Person A: “Oh you’re a writer?” Me: “Yeah I’m working on
wrapping up a novel.” A: “OH! I’d love to read it sometime.” I mean, Person A
doesn’t even know what I write or what my story is about. How can you, in good
conscience, volunteer to read something you know nothing about? This type of
enthusiasm is the carrot-dangling behavior that really crushes my spirit
because the moment we break up or Person A gets busy with something else, all
that promise goes out the window. And I am left, yet again, with no feedback,
sitting on my hands, wondering what I’m going to do with the manuscript now. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">4.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->It causes me to think the worst and then descend
into a spiral of self-doubt and loathing. Did my betas start my novel and find
it <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">just. That. Bad?</i> So bad that they
couldn’t get through it, but were too embarrassed to tell me? Was it offensive?
Or awkward? How can it be improved? This has caused me to put a novel away for
good before. And yet, I still don’t know if that novel was garbage or not…..<o:p></o:p></div>
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I’m sure right now some of you are thinking, “wow, she
sounds so ungrateful to her friends. These people are volunteering their time
and their energy to help.” Except they aren’t. They wrote words to me stating
their intention, but that was it.* They provided me with hope, that was then
let down. As writers, it’s already hard enough to get noticed. Your work falls
into piles and piles of similar projects – filled with all the hope, fear, triumph
and regret of their authors. When you submit something to a publisher or Agent,
you’re lucky to get an auto-generated confirmation of receipt and better yet, a
rejection. However, I don’t want to feel that same let down with friends. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Maybe I’m doing something wrong in my search for betas. Do
need to pay them? Find strangers on websites (though this has never worked for
me either)? Create an application process? Make them pay me? :P Join a writers’
group? What do other broke non-career authors do when they need a second set of
eyes on their work? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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So…What did I do? I jumped in for one more try of 3 beta
readers. One, I promised a bottle of scotch. One, I read his novella so now have
guilting powers. And one read my first draft and knows I have no qualms
hounding him until he completes it. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So
we’ll see…<o:p></o:p></div>
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I will now conclude this post with a PSA: Please, please,
please…don’t feel like you *<b>have* </b><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">to read my stuff if we’re friends. If it’s not your genre, or if you just
don’t have time, that’s OK! I will still love you. However, if you do
volunteer, make sure you can reasonably predict having the time and energy to
follow through. And if you have questions, or problems, or can’t finish it,
please…just let me know! Don’t make me turn a post about beta-readers into a
post about communication…</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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(And for those who have helped me out in the past and who
are currently putting in effort for me, I am grateful [and hopeful] for the
feedback you will deliver).<o:p></o:p></div>
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♥<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lyndsie<o:p></o:p></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<img alt="Image result for book" height="266" src="https://www.rd.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/11/How-Much-Does-a-Book-Need-to-Sell-to-Be-a-Bestseller-509582812-Billion-Photos-1024x683.jpg" width="400" /></div>
Lyndsie Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15472917597591219932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2243453102024730717.post-41073238396171182632019-06-27T08:53:00.003-07:002019-06-27T08:53:28.270-07:00On Chivalry & Toxic Masculinity (A Letter) - The Saga of Lyndsie - Part 28<br />
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Have you ever been with someone who you wanted so desperately just to hear you? To understand you? To step outside of their own little world for just 15 seconds and see inside your head? And feel what you feel? Me too.</div>
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Sometimes these feelings make people break. Release the bonds on their inner tigers. Lash out. Yell. Scream. Othertimes, these feelings make people leave. Drop the offender like a heavy backpack after a long day even though it hurts more than you rationally know it should. That hurt, then sits, dull and heavy and hot in the bottom of your heart - the top of your belly. It lingers in the back of your mind and you just cant let it got. You know that if they could at least understand you, your hurt would go away. You know that the relationship probably can never resume because once broken, trust never fully mends. Yet, if you could say just that *one. last. thing* and have it be heard, you would be okay. </div>
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Most of us do not ever say those things to our ex-partners. Some of us out of fear. Some out of nervousness. Some knowing it'll never help anyway. Some out of a desire to never revisit the situation. Yet those thoughts linger on for months, even years. That is why I wrote the below letter. I am tired of carrying the burden of that one. last. thing. It is not my damage, but theirs. I should not have to shepherd it. Thus, I wrote it here. I may never send this to the person, in my case because he probably wouldn't listen anyway (and explode with offense and tout to the sky that he did nothing wrong). But if it were nothing, why are there 3 pages of words below?</div>
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_________________________________________________________________________</div>
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Since you were my friend and I did like you, I am going give
you my honest thoughts in the page below. You can take it however you will, be
offended by them or use them to rise even higher to become a better you. I
apologize if some if this is said in anger. I trusted you and you betrayed my
trust. I do not know if I can be friends with you for, definitely not for a
while. But maybe someday. <o:p></o:p></div>
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You enticed me with your enthusiasm and your ideals of
chivalry and courtesy. You treated me well at first. However, when I began to
know you deeper it seemed that some of your past still lingers. <o:p></o:p></div>
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You talk about chivalry and the ideals behind it, but you
are only scratching the surface. In regards to the general populace, you are a
very good friend. You are there for your people, and always willing to help or
support. I wish I could have kept you on that level without getting closer. I
am not saying that this you is not the real you, but I am saying that there is
more beneath this that you need to work on. <o:p></o:p></div>
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You talk to talk of protecting your partner’s dignity
against men who would insult their honor. </div>
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However, you did not protect me from
this when it came to you. Your defensiveness created a cloud around
understanding and prevented you from rationally looking at an issue. Your stubbornness
in your beliefs is not an asset because it obscures clear understanding. When
called a behavior manipulative, I did not call you manipulative. You are NOT
defined by your behaviors or beliefs. These things can be wrong and they can
change. This does not mean that YOU are changing. <o:p></o:p></div>
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And to my disappointment some of your behaviors are
manipulative. They are an attempt to control the narrative of a situation
rather than actually addressing the issue at hand. Dramatically “pulling back”
from a discussion or argument does not solve the problem. Victim blaming: “Everything
I say these days upsets you” takes all of the responsibility off of your
actions and puts it on my “decision” to have emotions. If every, single, thing
you say upsets someone, then that is probably on you. Try being more sensitive
to others’ emotions and you will begin to learn what sets them off. No two
people are going to accept the same behavior. <o:p></o:p></div>
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You claimed to know chivalry yet you sexualized me almost
every day. I’ll let you in on a little secret, women do not want to hear how
much a guy wants their body every time they talk. My appearance is the least
interesting thing about me and something I only marginally have control over.
Telling me I am beautiful all the time only insults my deeper qualities which
are the ones I actually work hard at. It’s easy to posture and beat your chest
at other guys who get “sleezy” like this, but it’s OK for you to do it because
we have a sexual relationship? No. <o:p></o:p></div>
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There were still times where I felt like a possession or a
conquest. “Am I just delivering you to this guy for a booty call?” No, you were giving me a ride to a friend's because you'd offered it. Since we were open so you had no agency in whether I hooked up with him, him & his wife or did nothing. Women are not “yours”. That is why I am so against the terms “my girl” and “my
girlfriend” or any other nickname that is diminutive and implies possession or
being “lesser”.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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And lastly, you still act as if it’s all about you. Even the negative stuff. It’s not. Not everything is a personal attack and you
are not entitled to get something just because you want it. Even when we
stopped seeing each other, you still inserted yourself into my life and took
things away from me. For instance, when you decided to come up here for an event, you had our friend change his plans because of you. You
didn’t think that there were 3 other people involved with those plans that you just affected. Again. you tried to control our story, but this time you got our friends involved as well. That was the last straw, for me. A true friend would put his personal shit aside and not make others cater to it.<o:p></o:p></div>
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We definitely had some fun times and I am happy for the
adventures you took me on. If you continue to be mindful of the
present and of those around you, and do some more self-searching, you will do
fine. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<br />Lyndsie Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15472917597591219932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2243453102024730717.post-54018620825918518662018-08-15T17:32:00.001-07:002018-08-15T17:33:07.813-07:00Living in Fear vs. Living for Happiness - The Saga of Lyndsie - Part 27<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-align: center;">
A man has weakness, he's flawed<br />
that flaw leads him to guilt<br />
the guilt leads him to shame<br />
the shame he compensates with pride & vanity<br />
and when pride fails, despair takes over<br />
and they all lead to his destruction<br />
which will become his fate.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6L2xaklGm1s&feature=youtu.be">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6L2xaklGm1s&feature=youtu.be</a></blockquote>
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Today, I had a conversation with a friend over life choices (or the lack thereof). It will probably not come a surprise to most of you that life is a difficult thing to navigate through. Adulting is hard. We have to make choices that are going to be good for us - for our livelihood and our physical, mental, and emotional health. Sometimes, these choices only satisfy one or two of the above.</div>
<div>
For instance, going on a vacation may be something you want to do, which will lead you to destress and be happy. However, that vacation will put you out of a good chunk of your money and the time you need to work to make more money. While we all want to go on vacations, we know that we also need to work. Thus, we have to choose how many and what type of vacations we can take. </div>
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Some of people never travel or take vacations because they are too afraid to be in debt and not have a job. This fear leads them to inactivity, working day in and day out, without much break. And then that work, unless it's your dream job, slowly wears your spirit down until you get into a rut that you cannot break out of. Or, you lose your mind and bust out of the prison, with guns blazing, into the world - quitting your job, selling all your things, and living in an RV in the middle of the forest. </div>
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While this is a bit of an exaggeration, sadly, the reality is that most of us are living in fear. We live in fear of failure, or to be seen by the masses as a failure. However, because this fear leads us to inactivity, we are making our fears a reality which leads to our fate...we become the failures that we are so terrified to be.</div>
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Breaking out of this fear-laden mentality requires risk. </div>
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Without risk, we cannot reap reward. </div>
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Many times this risk puts us initially in an uncomfortable situation which at first, feels bad. It makes us question how we could have possibly thought this stupid idea was good. If, however, we are able to push through those bad feelings, we open ourselves up to new possibilities. Granted, this opening up is not easy. It makes one feel vulnerable, you could as easily get hurt as you could succeed. </div>
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And many times, you will get hurt. Initial hurts feel like the world is ripping out your soul and stomping it into the ground. They feel as if they are never going to get any better and you are going to spend your entire life in hurt. However, hurts fade. And with every time you're hurt, you learn a lesson.</div>
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Some will take these lessons and throw them away, allowing themselves to get bitter and continually repeat the hurt. However, a wise person will learn from these lessons and to recognize the hurt when it comes around again. Once they understand that the feeling is only temporary, it will recede. Thus, knowing this, you will worry less about getting hurt and focus more on the benefits you will receive. I believe this is the beginning of true optimism.</div>
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Optimism: This is a quality that is attributed to me so much so that even my coworkers recognize it (I've been unofficially dubbed "Optimist Prime" ala Transformers). Being optimistic does not mean that I never get sad and worried (trust me, I worry all the time), but it does mean that I am willing to take more risks because I see the positive outcome of every risk, rather than the negative. It took me a long time to get to this truly optimistic point of view, but the first big step of that was learning to work with my fear.</div>
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Fear will never truly go away, it is constantly going to be there. Even for those who think they've mastered optimism, it is possible to retreat back into fear during the darkest and most anxiety-ridden times. But the more you learn to cope with that fear of losing, fear of being seen as less than perfect, or fear of being alone, the quicker you will be able to get over it and continue on the forward motion of your life. </div>
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So, ultimately, I think the first step is to identify what you want. Be honest with yourself and dig deep into your psyche to figure out what single thing would make you the happiest. Then you should assess whether or not you are achieving that thing (I'm going to guess that for most of us the answer is "no"). This is the point where you begin figuring out what kinds of risks, what kinds of uncomfortable tasks, you will need to do to help you achieve that happiness. </div>
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When I was at the lowest point of my life, immediately after leaving the husband who abused me both emotionally and physically, questioning that I had done the right thing, I came across the below article: </div>
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<a href="https://www.thebestbrainpossible.com/are-you-living-according-to-what-you-want-or-according-to-what-you-dont-want/">https://www.thebestbrainpossible.com/are-you-living-according-to-what-you-want-or-according-to-what-you-dont-want/</a></div>
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This article asks you the question: Are you living according to what you want, or what you don't want? It was the first time that someone (albeit an author on the Internet) had confronted me to point me to the harsh reality of the situation. I had been living my life the way I had because it was comfortable, understandable, known. However, just be cause something is familiar and you understand it, does not mean that it is good for your mental or emotional health. </div>
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In fact, it's probably the opposite. Your brain, or your ego, is so used to feeling abused that it just goes along for the ride. It would rather have things be "easy" even if they hurt, than hard with potential happiness.</div>
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I would highly recommend checking out this article if you are at a point in your life where you are question whether your current path is still good for your or if you need to make some changes, however small, that may be uncomfortable yet productive.</div>
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And everyone can do this. Trust me. I believe in you! </div>
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Lyndsie Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15472917597591219932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2243453102024730717.post-15513748020614652018-04-19T13:19:00.001-07:002018-04-19T13:19:04.809-07:00Fad Diets - The Saga of Lyndsie - Part 26<br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I’d like to take this time to talk a little bit about “fad
diets” or in other words, “Why other people’s eating habits offend you”.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I had never considered myself a “dieter”. I love food. I love
eating. I love trying new things, especially “weird” things.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, I can’t say that I enjoy all food
because I have definitely tried some stuff that just tastes wrong (like natto).
However, overall, I would definitely say that I’m an eater. That is why it took
me a long time to finally admit to myself that I may have sensitivities to food
or, at the very least, that some foods make me feel worse than others. The main
offender food – whether insensitivity or no – is a food that has recently been
cited as “the root of all dietary problems”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>However I thought, that while cutting this food out may help me feel
better, it would also hopefully have the side effect of helping me lose weight.
And, when I had decided to limit this food, I knew that I was going to be
lumped into the “fad diet” crowd.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">A crowd that I will admit, used to draw scoffs and subdued
eye-rolls from myself as well.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Originally, I entertained the idea of going on the Whole 30
diet or the Keto diet, but when I proposed those ideas to the manfriend he was
like “no way in hell.” This would mean that I would be cooking all my own food
while I watched him eat his “bachelor diet” of mac’and’cheese, hot dogs,
cereal, & chips and salsa. All the while secretly hating him for 1. Not
having to deal with (or admit to) the fact that food makes him sick. And 2. Not
having a negative body image about himself. Thus, my next thought was, “what
can I eliminate that will still allow James and I to eat the same food at
home.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">So I went there, I decided to cut gluten. Or at least, the
most obvious sources of gluten in my life: pasta, bread products, & pizza.
Now, if we make hamburgers, manfriend can have a sandwich while I just eat the
meat and toppings. It works mostly OK. Every now and then I plan to cheat or
eat something with just a little gluten, but overall I wanted to see if I would
feel better: happier, more energetic, & with less gastrointestinal issues.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The week I decided to really focus on this, one of our
regional directors was visiting from Montreal and offered to buy us all pizza
for lunch. When I thanked him and apologized that I wouldn’t be able to partake
in this, one of my coworkers proceeded to lecture me about why the gluten-free
diet was a fad. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">She went on to explain to me that I will always crave stuff
like pizza because I grew up on it and I’m used to it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">And that gluten wasn’t my problem, but eating meat was. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">And how I needed those carbs because I work on a computer
and carbs fuel brainpower. This she based on a study from two doctors showed
that carbs prevent diabetes more than fat did. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Oh and that if I wanted to lose weight, I needed to count
calories rather than cut gluten.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">That I should just eat more vegetables in general. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">And that sugar is also a problem, including fruit, so I should
stop that too. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Oh and why haven’t I gone to the doctor to get tested (note:
I have an appointment but it’s not even just that. I could not biologically
have a sensitivity but can still feel bloated/depressed from eating 3 slices of
pizza.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Pretty much she gave me the impression that my choices
deeply offended her and that I was completely stupid. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">But you know what? After having spent a lot of time around
people who are “gluten-free by choice”, have celiacs, have allergies, are
vegetarians by choice, are vegetarians w/o a choice…etc. I realized something…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It’s really none of my
business what these people want to eat unless I make it my business.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Most of the people I know who have these
preferences/requirements, are generally very flexible and do not expect you to
accommodate them. But there are time when I do want to accommodate them. For instance,
in regards to SCA camping & meal plans, I have invited people w/ limited
diets to participate. This is because I want the company of people and certain
food issues, including gluten-free, are easy enough to work around. (Now, if
you have too many food allergies, you’re probably on your own b/c I don’t want
to accidentally kill you).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">So, here is my question: Why is food seen as such a personal
issue? This is one of the things that really irks me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Why do people feel the need to press you into eating the
donuts/cookies/bagels they made/bought for the office?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Why do you have to make me feel guilty for not eating those
things?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">And, why do they think they know better than you what your
diet should be? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">For me, feeding people is a joy. As an Italian, I express
love through food. Food brings community. I will admit, if someone turned
something I made down, I would assume that they didn’t like it and feel a
little bummed. However, I would feel a lot worse if someone ate something I made/offered
and then got sick from it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That is kind
of the opposite of building community. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">One could argue that people worry about the dieter. And
yeah, some fad diets are probably not good for you, but we are all adults and
thus, we don’t really need other adults telling us what we should/shouldn’t
eat. If you are really concerned for someone and their “diet” choice, maybe you
should just ask them questions to ensure that they’ve done the necessary
research. It’s kind of crummy to get all up in arms about someone doing/eating
something that don’t or won’t do. Make sure you think about how hard this may
be for them already.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">During that meeting, the one where the director bought
pizza, I was literally trapped in a room full of pizza-enjoyers, stuck with the
shittiest salad in all of creation: lettuce, shredded cheddar, tomatoes, banana
peppers & onions. I know he tried to support my choice but honestly, if one
person had given me shit for not eating the delicious-smelling pizza, I
probably would have just started bawling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I <3 o:p="" pizza.=""></3></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">So, the next time you want to judge someone’s diet choices,
please be sensitive. They may be jumping on the bandwagon, or they may be
trying to be healthier but either way, they are making sacrifices that they may
not exactly want to make. Unless they are asking for advice, or asking you to
cook for them, it really shouldn’t affect you what they choose to or not to
eat. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">For me,
personally, the plan is to cut out gluten-y things and replace it
with more vegetables and whole grains of other types. I may not look it, but I am
nearing my mid-30s and have realized that my body doesn’t play as nice as it
used to. I am not as active as I was in my 20s because I’m not hiking across
campus all day long with a 30lb backpack. I am also more financially comfortable
and YET more responsible. This means that I can afford to eat out more often,
but also that I have a lot more bills as well. Eating out is terrible for the
wallet and definitely gives you more options for temptation (fried everything,
pizza, mac & cheese at every restaurant). <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">What I want to do is build a habit of healthier
eating rather than just dieting to lose weight. I want to do this for manfriend as
well because he’s also in his mid-30s (though he refused to admit it) and it
couldn’t hurt but also because it’s easier to eat together if we eat the same
food. I’m hoping the main effect of this is that I will feel better:
less-bloated, less upset stomachs, less lethargic, less depressed. If I lose weight also – yay!
If we get used to eating ½ plate of veggies (yes, that’s 2-3 “servings” in 1
meal), then all the more successful it’ll be!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">That being said, I would appreciate support<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>for my endeavor. And, if I break down and
have a piece of pizza or a cookie now and then, please don’t judge me. We’re
all human, afterall. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p><img alt="Image result for vegetables" height="257" 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" 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<br />Lyndsie Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15472917597591219932noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2243453102024730717.post-70765302250224217302018-04-06T13:07:00.001-07:002018-04-06T13:23:56.617-07:00Adrenaline & Endorphins - The Saga of Lyndsie - Part 25<br />
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At this point in my life, every time I get to the gym, it
feels like an accomplishment. Every <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">morning</i>
I get to the gym, it feels like a great accomplishment. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Sure, sleeping is nice. Laying in bed lazily on a relaxing
Sunday morning is amazing. However, stubbornly trying to get in those last 5 or
15 or 30 minutes of alarm interrupted sleep on a dark, weekday morning is just…
Painful. Conversely, getting up immediately when the alarm rings and your eyes
and legs don’t want to work, is almost as bad. <o:p></o:p></div>
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If you knew me at all, you’d know that I am not a morning
person. AT ALL. So the fact that I’ve been working to make a routine of snoozing for 15
minutes or less Is probably about as hard a job as landing a man on the moon. But dammit, I need to start getting up to be productive. Some days, that might mean
getting into work early. Other days, it should mean being able to go to the
gym. Right!?<br />
<br />
Well I e been trying. This has happened in the last month less that I would have liked.
Ideally, I would like to have one day a week where I get up early and go. (I
know, that more than one day is probably better, and 3 to 4 days is ideal).
However, good freaking luck with that one LOL! One day, maybe at least make it
a habit I hope…<br />
<br />
I mean, when I do make it to the gym in the morning everything else
feels amazing. My body, while tired, feels energized. My mind seems to work
with more clarity and my mood definitely increases. You would think these
benefits would be enough to get me going every day. Unfortunately, not Quite yet.<br />
<br />
However, mornings when I’m stumbling
awake is really the best free time I have for the gym. After work, I’m always
running errands and trying to do something like hang out with my
boyfriend. And honestly, there really aren’t enough hours in the evening to do
all the things that I want to do. Again, you would think all of these reasons
would be easy motivation to get to the gym in the morning. It’s not like I need
sleep anyway… Unfortunately, that’s still not enough.<br />
<br />
Ugh... how do I work up my
resolve to just get my lazy ass out of bed and get gym ready? Telling myself to do so seems to be the only thing that works and only works about half
the time. Maybe I need to be hypnotized… LOL.<br />
<br />
So this is the other thing I'm trying to do...capture this amazing post gym feeling. The heightened senses, quick thinking, positive mood and energized feeling. If I could
bottle that up so I could revisit it in the wee hours of the morning, I'm sure that would help. As I can't do that, then maybe, re-reading this post occasionally will
convince me that it’s totally worth it.<br />
<br />
<br />
So, dear Lyndsie, future Lyndsie, if you’re
reading this… Get yo ass up! Do something good for your body and mind.<br />
Love,
past Lyndsie </div>
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<br />Lyndsie Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15472917597591219932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2243453102024730717.post-37935865846313391592018-04-01T11:25:00.000-07:002018-04-01T11:26:24.388-07:00Welcome to Anamnesis (a.k.a. the title change) - Anamnesis The Novel<div style="text-align: center;">
What's in a name? That which we call a rose</div>
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By any other name would smell as sweet.</div>
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- Shakespeare's Romeo & Juliet (II, ii, 1-2)</div>
<br />
As some of you may already know, I have had to make a minor (monumental) change to my completed cyberpunk novel, "Insignia". I had to change the name.<br />
<br />
Back in 2012 when I had started writing this novel, I searched the name to make sure there wasn't a similar novel with the same one. At that point in time, there was not. However, the problem with sitting on a novel for six years means that the world of literature changes and someone steals your title....Yes, I'm looking at you, S.J. Kincaid. (Ok, ok, I also bought your book).<br />
<a href="https://sjkincaid.com/book/insignia/"><br /></a>
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<a href="https://sjkincaid.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/04/cover_insignia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="475" data-original-width="315" height="320" src="https://sjkincaid.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/04/cover_insignia.jpg" width="211" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://sjkincaid.com/book/insignia/">https://sjkincaid.com/book/insignia/ </a></div>
<br />
<i>Insignia</i> by S.J. Kincaid was released as the 1st in a series, in 2013. Nice going Lyndsie, way to get on that. :-\<br />
<br />
Needless to say, not to be overshadowed by an already prolific author, I needed to find a new title. It's sad, too, because Insignia is very pertinent to my book, easy to say, and most people can figure it out. I wanted to stick to the one-word title because it captured the feel of my story - the spartan, dark world. Unfortunately, all the other more common key words just didn't have as much oomph as "Insignia". Or they were taken.<br />
<br />
Memory<br />
Timeseer (already a book with that name anyway)<br />
Humanity<br />
Savant (already a book here too)<br />
<br />
And then there were multi-word titles that I debated on though they seemed to be a stretch:<br />
<br />
The Memory Code<br />
The Mech Wars (I didn't even bother looking this one up because I'm sure there's already something out there)<br />
Being Human<br />
Bright Star<br />
<br />
Finally, I turned to synonyms of the two words I like the most: Insignia & Memory. I didn't find anything good for insignia except "colophon"which is a bookmakers symbol. Specifically,<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>a statement at the end of a book, typically with a printer's emblem, giving information about its authorship and printing.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
However, there are a lot of great words for "Memory": Remembrance, Flashback, Reminiscence, Retrospection, Cognizance, Mindfulness, <b>Anamnesis</b>....<br />
<br />
That's when I fell upon that last one and said to myself, "That seems like sci-fi." When I looked it up, it hit home even further:<br />
<i><br /></i>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Anamnesis [an-am-nee-sis] (n): the recollection of the Ideas, which the soul had known in a previous existence, especially by means of reasoning.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>-<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Platonism </i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTnzcf1wWjXlKU3cEwn3U4wiHGzuYEB5PjuWLWlIYW_Nu6MV3D7DvLzLq4PRoQa1wgWa9R6EukL4ctoGxwe6bzBjWJLlNqV6HjY1lJao3N-UdMH2VdrfFzz5RR6J5p_0t3tatsdFgp8o0/s1600/29598242_189731961813074_2386223355241754750_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTnzcf1wWjXlKU3cEwn3U4wiHGzuYEB5PjuWLWlIYW_Nu6MV3D7DvLzLq4PRoQa1wgWa9R6EukL4ctoGxwe6bzBjWJLlNqV6HjY1lJao3N-UdMH2VdrfFzz5RR6J5p_0t3tatsdFgp8o0/s320/29598242_189731961813074_2386223355241754750_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="text-align: start;">Honestly, there's no more perfect title for this novel. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So now I just need to get it published before someone else steals it.....</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Lyndsie Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15472917597591219932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2243453102024730717.post-23932881929261925362018-03-26T17:23:00.002-07:002018-03-26T17:23:57.854-07:00Indie vs. Traditional Publishing - The Saga of Lyndsie - Part 24In 2012, I began to write a book as some of you may know (ok, I am kidding. If you are one of those that still <i>doesn't</i> know that I am/have been writing a book for a while now, then you must have been living under a rock).<br />
<br />
Anyway, in 2013, 2015, 2016, & 2017, I have finished this book. Yes, I finished it multiple times because it has undergone some edits every time I want to declare it officially "finished".<br />
<br />
However, I have sat and sat and sat on this book. What was I going to do with it? The idea of submitting to traditional publishers literally paralyzed me. Though, I couldn't really place my finger on why.<br /><br />Most people would just say that I'm lazy and/or not committed enough to my writing to work really hard and do research 45 hours/day and get 1000 rejections before finally getting accepted somewhere. But in actuality, I think my feet-dragging was really related to other things.<br />
<br />
- I wasn't sure I was even <i>good enough </i>to be a writer.<br />
- I didn't feel like I was good enough to be a writer.<br />
- Thus, why put a ton of work into trying to get published when I wasn't really worth it?<br />
- Also, I was overwhelmed and didn't know where to start.<br />
- Losing control over much of my writing via contracts was not appealing<br />
- Conflicting information<br />
- This highlighted one of my WORST skills: doing research<br />
<br />
However, I have realized that NOT getting my work out there was kind of killing my self-worth too. That was when a friend of mine opportunistically started this online writer group with bi-weekly meetups. Then from that, I learned of the Angry Robot publishing open door which encouraged me to fine tune my story for publication. THEN I found CIPA (Colorado Independent Publishers Association).<br />
<br />
I have been to two CIPA meetings so far and have found them very inspiring. And I learned one very great thing about Indie Publishing - It really relies on networking. One of my BEST skills. This last meeting was a presentation on Traditional vs. Indie publishing and couldn't have been more enlightening. I have weighed this decision in my head for a long time, and think I've finally come to a decision.<br />
<br />
First of all, I am going to weigh out the Pros & cons of both styles of publishing. Now, let me tell you, this is only what I understand (and the result of 4 years of research) but it could be incomplete or plain wrong. However, if it's the latter, I would blame the websites and "respectable people" i have gotten it from.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Traditional Publishing</b><br />
<u>Pros:</u><br />
- (perceived as) More respectable<br />
- Less work in promotion/marketing for the author<br />
- (generally) Provides cover art, editing, typsetting etc.<br />
- Access to a wider network<br />
- Advances and contracts to ensure work<br />
<u>Cons:</u><br />
- Take a larger % of your earnings<br />
- Shady contracts/contracts that can affect you long term<br />
- Less control over cover art and edits<br />
- Some of the pros above are inconsistent between publishers (like some require the author to do a lot more marketing etc).<br />
- Slower to publication/printing<br />
- Competing against many other books<br />
<br />
<b>Indie Pub (formerly-known as Self Publishing)</b><br />
<b></b><u>Pros:</u><br />
- Keep more of your earnings<br />
- More control over story, art, and distribution area<br />
- Your own schedule<br />
- More overall Freedom<br />
- Faster to publication/printing/distribution<br />
<u>Cons:</u><br />
- More investment financially from author<br />
- More time required to "get big" with marketing/promos<br />
- Quality may be perceived lower<br />
- Competing with a lot of other authors<br />
<br />
So the more I have looked these over, the more I have begun to feel that Indie Pub is going to be the future. Books come out quicker and they are more to the taste of the author. And since it seems that everyone is an author these days, making a living off of it may not be as easy as it used to be.<br />
<br />
For me, I think it's the better step. I mean, don't get me wrong, I would love to be a professional writer where writing <i>IS</i> my day job. However, at this point, it doesn't feel like possibility from either route. Because, even if I did get picked up by a Trad Pub, it is no guarantee that I will be able to live off that. In fact, it's almost guaranteed to be the opposite at first. I would still have to work my day job while simultaneously churning out works to stay relevant. That seems more stressful than I would like.<br />
<br />
Right now, I just want my story to be read. To be loved (and hated), shared and talked about. I want to hold a copy in my hands and say "This...this is mine". So, I have taken the initial steps to become a published author - I bought business cards, a web domain, and have begun thinking about crowdfunding for cover art and editing fees.<br />
<br />
I WILL have a finished, fucking, novel. Even if it takes me 10 years to do so.<br />
<br />
P.S. OMG YOU GUYZ, I'm super excited about my business cards.<br />
<br />
<br />Lyndsie Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15472917597591219932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2243453102024730717.post-64328227137899182442018-03-20T12:10:00.001-07:002018-03-20T12:28:17.730-07:00Fight Like A Girl (and Kick Butt!!) - The Saga of Lyndsie - Part 23I had written this post in honor of International Women's Day, but have not had a chance to post it until now. Better late than never, I suppose!!<br />
<br />
This day has been significant for me since I was living in Italy at the age of 20. I remember walking around Perugia during my lunch break from school, shopping and getting coffee, and a couple of men handed me some flowers. It was a bunch of purple flower and something else that reminded me of a daisy.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
At first I said, “No grazie. Non ho soldi.” (No, thank you.
I don’t have money.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But the man insisted, “Prego, prego. <span lang="FR-CA" style="mso-ansi-language: FR-CA;">É la festa delle donne.” </span>(Please,
please. It’s Women’s Day. )<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At the time, I didn’t understand. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had never heard of “Women’s Day.” I had to
ask a shopkeeper what Women’s Day was. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You Americans don’t know International Women’s day?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And I hadn’t known. It was never something that was ever
mentioned when I was growing up (or if it was, it wasn’t made enough of a big
deal that I remember it).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remember
thinking at the time how great it was to have a day that is recognized
internationally to celebrate women. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As there are many influential women in my life, I would
spend some time celebrating them here. Please be aware, this will not be an
exhaustive list because time and practicality dictate that I will not get to
them all. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
However, before I start, let me briefly share a short
history of International Women’s Day from Wikipedia. The first women's day was
observed in February 1909 when 15,000 women marched through the streets of New
York demanding improved pay, shorter hours and voting rights. The day was
mostly celebrated by socialist movements and communist countries in the
following decades. In 1975, the United Nations proclaimed the year
International Women’s Year and christened March 8 as Women’s Day. There is a
much richer history of this event, but you can find all that information on the
Interwebz.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<u>Influential Women to me: <o:p></o:p></u></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<u><br /></u></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><u>My Grandmother, Leslie Jagiello:</u> All the women in my family are amazing and I am proud to know them. However, if you
want to see someone that has a fire burning inside her, you just need to turn
to my grandmother. She is over 90 years old and keeps saying she’ll live to be
100. She is stubborn, silly, intelligent, a hard worker, and very loving parent
& grandparent. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She loves babies and
bourbon. She took me on so many adventures when I was a child from cruises
through Annapolis harbor, to farther away retreats in the Bahamas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
She has showed me just how strong a woman
can be even after enduring heartbreaking hardships. She inspires me every day
with her actions – she never acts her age – and her (sometimes) outspoken-ness.
She is never afraid to be herself. And, even at 91, she is beautiful. I am
looking forward to being a feisty, whisky-drinking, laughing, travelling old
lady, just as she is. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">2.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><u>My Mom, Marian (Jagiello) Clark</u>:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If knowing my grandmother wasn’t enough to
understand the strength women have in my family, then knowing my mom would hit
it home. She is definitely one of the strongest women that I know. I mean,
after all, she had to deal with ME as a child. :P As ½ of the pair that raised
me, I learned a lot from her including how to be open-minded, tolerant, kind,
loving, fashion-forward, and to take care of myself (emotionally, physically,
and in life).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her continuous challenging
has made me strive to be a better person and has set my own expectations of
myself high. She’s silly as hell and I kind of love it when she gets drunk at
social gatherings and dances.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She’s also
seriously good at sewing – a trait that I unfortunately didn’t inherit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Again, she’s beautiful. I got good genes!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">3.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><u>Women Fighters:</u> I want to say first that
I am always in awe of women fighters (fencers, heavies, martial artists, MMA
etc.) but I would like to highlight three in this post from the SCA.<u><o:p></o:p></u></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: .75in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><u>Tatiana Bonieux (Goss):</u> Tatiana is an
inspiration for so many reasons. She is a five-foot-nothin’ fencer who is just
totally fierce.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She will stab you in the
face before you realize she’s even moved. More than once she’s stabbed me and I
have fought on for a few moments before I realized that I was dead. Much how I
imagine a real sword fight going with her in fact…Recently, she got her Master
of Defense peerage and since then she has just exploded. I am so excited to see
her living up to the role with both her mentoring and her personal growth. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not that she didn’t have these qualities
before – she always has – but since the MoD-ding she is no longer just a (very)
skilled fighter but has grown into a peer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Her support of the fencing community and fencers individually is
inspiring. Every time she says “Good job, Lana!” I know she means it. And every
time she apologizes for maybe missing something, I know she means it. Tatiana,
in addition to being fierce & fast, is also earnest, humble and very
positive. All of these qualities are those that I fully admire.<u><o:p></o:p></u></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: .75in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -.25in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: .75in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><u>Mahara Vandale (Jennifer Thomson):</u> Mahara
has been an inspiration, not only for me, but for an entire household.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>House Vandale was formed in 2013 but the
formation was really only official in name. Before that time, people flocked
around Mahara and her husband, Tom, and they created a community. Any who knows
me, would know that community is something that I value very highly. Mahara is
inspiring because she is always welcoming to anyone who wants to be a part of
her life. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She is also a talented fencer
and artisan. She’s always willing to help and support her friends and even her acquaintances.
The most notable thing about her personality is that she is easily delighted and
excited about the cool things in the world, and that her friends are interested
in. I have learned a lot from her in her prowess and positive attitude. <u><o:p></o:p></u></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: .75in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -.25in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin-left: .75in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><u>Yazida bint Zarif (Yaz Ostrowski):</u> A true
renaissance woman: talented, creative, martial, generous, sarcastic, and kind.
She taught me so much when I was a punk kid just starting out. To this day I
still have some of her hand me down garb! She showed me the joy that was the
SCA with a healthy dose of reliquaries, cooked babies, cat training, and other
shenanigans.<u><o:p></o:p></u></div>
<br />Lyndsie Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15472917597591219932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2243453102024730717.post-44225899717868081652018-03-20T11:41:00.000-07:002018-03-20T12:35:06.196-07:00Future Blog Topics1. <strike>Shut Up and Let People Enjoy Things</strike><br />
2. No means No<br />
3. Livin' the American Dream<br />
4. Why do We Hate Ourselves?<br />
5. She/Him/He/Her/It<br />
6. Just Label It!<br />
7. You Should Dance<br />
8. Culturally Mis-Appropriate Post<br />
9. People are All Secretly Voyeuristic - they want to know shit about your life<br />
10. Talk Dirty to Me<br />
11. Food Talks - Why are people so offended when you refuse food from them?<br />
<strike>12. Say it to my face - Sarahah and all its bullshit</strike><br />
13. SCA Vs. Steampunk vs. Cosplay<br />
14. Lunch breaks<br />
15. My first camping event<br />
16. My first midwinter<br />
<br />
<br />Lyndsie Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15472917597591219932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2243453102024730717.post-61117580393121261052018-02-22T16:31:00.001-08:002019-04-29T11:55:43.802-07:00Life Before My AoA - The Saga of Lana (SCA Newcomers addition) - Part 1<div class="MsoNormal">
Lately, I have been thinking a lot about newcomers to the SCA and how to recruit and retain them. In trying to come up with ideas on this topic, I have started thinking back to when I was a newbie. I have also been analyzing conversations I've been having to people not in the society. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, I have decided to write a series of blog posts about my experiences as a newcomer in the SCA and my thoughts around the subject. Here is part 1!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I recently got in touch with an old friend through Facebook.
After a brief exchange of pleasantries, “Where are you living now?” “What do
you do?” “How’s life?”, I started talking about the SCA. After a few messages
where I rambled to her about events, fencing, and the arts I was doing, I had a
striking realization.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What I do for fun isn’t normal.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Normal people play baseball and make quilts. Normal people
watch football, sing in choirs, go to shopping malls, collect knick-knacks from
vacation, and read books. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Normal people do not dress up in “funny clothes” that they
made with their own hands and hit their friends with sticks on the weekends.
Normal people don’t research historical recipes for glue and then go make it in
their basement after buying exotic material on the internet. Normal people don’t
even realize that something like the SCA could exist. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My physical therapist is one of those normal people. She likes
skiing and travelling. She reads non-fiction biographies. She is also incredibly
fascinated by my pursuits in the SCA. So much so that she asks me about it almost
every time I see her. And while she
always is excited to hear my tales, there is something about how all the pieces
interact that doesn’t quite register with her. To her, the SCA is this gigantic
exotic thing that people don’t really do—like being in a play all the time. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The individual aspects of the SCA seem to be easier for her
to understand. For instance, fencing. That’s a sport in the Olympics, so she
can picture it. There’s also costuming. Everyone has done Halloween, right? But
the moment that you put costumes together <i>with</i>
fencing…the imagination starts to become stretched. Then add costumes + fencing
+ medieval rapiers + alternate names & personas + honorific titles + fictional
place names that overlaps a real city? Mind. Blown.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You know what? I bet this is how newcomers feel when they
dip their pinky-toe into the Society. Thinking back to my own beginnings in the
SCA, I realize that I was a much more reticent participant than many newcomers
these days. I fenced for a year—a year—before I went to my first event (Caer
Galen Midwinter!). This means one year in a Triplette fencing jacket. One year
with a French grip, cup-hilt epee. One
year without garb. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Before my first event, I realized that I needed a medieval
dress and name. I had no idea how to make any of that stuff. Or even where to
go to <i>learn.</i> Luckily for me, my mom
liked to sew and had years of Halloween-costume experience. So we went out and
bought a bunch of the prettiest synthetic fabric we could find and a McCalls or
Butterick pattern and set to work making the epic dress.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBLwmSEqpGBgydKm0xOtVz7XL41bk88Venq6l1R_BzY6PkU2jT5ACP56Pz4Wj0QICqQVWkVBMeKG4bUbSlx2BidNtMIfBDeKzzRecJJk7PKHyKHNGRt7Y7Vbx5tWtB0weWJw5fO7KQ6mY/s1600/Dresses.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="567" data-original-width="417" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBLwmSEqpGBgydKm0xOtVz7XL41bk88Venq6l1R_BzY6PkU2jT5ACP56Pz4Wj0QICqQVWkVBMeKG4bUbSlx2BidNtMIfBDeKzzRecJJk7PKHyKHNGRt7Y7Vbx5tWtB0weWJw5fO7KQ6mY/s320/Dresses.jpg" width="235" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is me and a friend in my first 2 SCA dresses that I ever made (she's in #1, I'm in #2).</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh26OFawtF_GdaCF0KtVo6lxuJXRtC1GWizErkWcsEO-Cmkf2jaTiyuBwPcNhlT8P00CY8HH1NweDpoAXsbApXHZ00qudBixcAnMXp7oY40vCzyEFff8_4Mlst6G4gzZl33U9h0HKCx2nc/s1600/Dress1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="630" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh26OFawtF_GdaCF0KtVo6lxuJXRtC1GWizErkWcsEO-Cmkf2jaTiyuBwPcNhlT8P00CY8HH1NweDpoAXsbApXHZ00qudBixcAnMXp7oY40vCzyEFff8_4Mlst6G4gzZl33U9h0HKCx2nc/s320/Dress1.jpg" width="210" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Note: Not actual boyfriend</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
For a name: I spent about 5 minutes researching a period
version of “Lana” because it sounded cool. And I wanted a tiger on my device. Cuz
Tigers. Also swords. Cuz Swords. I didn’t
think at all how hard that would be to reproduce or even that I would do such a
thing, because…who does these things?</div>
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Apparently people in the SCA! <o:p></o:p></div>
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I have come a long way since then (currently one of the heirs to the baronial coronet of Caerthe) that I have almost forgotten what this
beginning feels like. That is, until I talk to anyone outside of the SCA. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I appreciate these interactions because it allows me to
almost see the SCA from an outsider’s perspective. It helps me come down to
their level (not implying that they're stupid but it gives me compassion for their
lack of understanding) and explain things in a way that a non-Scadian would
understand. This comes down to even the wording that I use. Instead of saying “baron/baroness”
I will start with “local leaders” etc. until the concept of <i>medieval reenactment</i> actually begins to
sink in. <o:p></o:p></div>
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In the SCA’s drive for recruitment and retention, I will ask
all members to do one thing. Think about your first time in the SCA…your first
5 times…your first year. How overwhelmed did you feel? <o:p></o:p></div>
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Then, take those understanding and apply them to newcomers.
The next time you are talking to a newcomer or potential recruit, be mindful that
this could be their first time hearing about any of these concepts. Even if
they have been coming around for a little while, the Society is so vast that
there are probably parts of the SCA that will still be completely new. Have
patience with them. Understand that their questions on topics you’ve already
explained are not because they don’t care or are lazy, but because they may not
have grasped it the first time around. <o:p></o:p></div>
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We want to set up all potential members with enough
knowledge to entice them back but not with some much that they feel like they
can’t commit to it all. Save that for their peerage. ;-) <o:p></o:p></div>
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Lyndsie Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15472917597591219932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2243453102024730717.post-42421507636179469922018-02-22T16:22:00.000-08:002018-02-22T16:22:46.394-08:00I Don't Owe You Anything - The Saga of Lyndsie - Part 22Have you ever noticed that some people think that they're entitled to something from you, just on the very nature of who they are? Or, conversely, who YOU are?<br />
<br />
We've been seeing all the stories of misogyny lately where men think women "owe" them something. A lot of the time this is sex, but more often it's a smile or a conversation because "Geez, they were just trying to be nice."<br />
<br />
Today, however, I'm not going to talk about misogyny since I don't currently have anything new to say. Instead, I am going to expound upon a subject that may be seen as even more controversial in my friend group. I will tell you upfront that if you are a parent, especially a mother, you are likely going to think I'm being stubborn, over-reactive, or just plain cold. However, hear me out, because please understand that there is always two sides to any story.<br />
<br />
I have not met J's ex-wife yet. The first time I had the opportunity to do so, we weren't living together yet. She was picking the boys up at J's house and was waiting there. We were late driving back from Colorado Springs. I was feeling pretty car sick and decided that I just wanted to lay down and didn't want to exchange some fake pleasantries. I could have been very blatantly rude and rushed past her without a word or nod, or I could have stayed in the car to recover. I chose the latter.<br />
<br />
The second opportunity was on Christmas Eve 2015 when she came over to J's grandma's house to pick up the kids. I was talking to J's brother, J2, and he kind of pulled me aside when she got there. He needed "help" and I think he was attempting to spare me from the awkwardness of meeting. Which I appreciate because I didn't really want to meet her anyway.<br />
<br />
After that, she told J that she wanted to meet me (for coffee maybe? or something?). I said, "No." I was not going to go out of my way to meet her. I have no desire to be "friends" with her and honestly most of what I've heard about her is how she took advantage of J and treated him crappy. And, I mean, I <i>know</i> who she is so it's not like I really need to <i>meet</i> her.<br />
<br />
Well, that kind of unleashed a shitstorm where she pretty much laid into J about it. Because, yeah, that makes me want to meet you more....uh no.<br />
<br />
Why did she want to meet me? She wanted to know the person who her kids was living with. Ok, I kind of get that. You're a mother, you're protective of your spawn, you want to make sure that they are getting what's best for them. Oh wait...but the kids also have a father. Who is all the same things as the mother - protective, loving, encouraging. A father who has the ability to use his own judgement about who he allows around his kids.<br />
<br />
Apparently I'm not too much of a weirdo, because J agreed to move <i>with his kids</i> into my house. He has as much good judgement as the mother does. Let's face it, his ex trusted J's judgement enough to marry him and have kids with him, so I really think she needs to trust his judgement now.<br />
<br />
What is meeting me going to decide anyway? Does she think she gets to "approve" me?<br />
<br />
What if she doesn't approve? What if she looks me in the eyes, "sees the darkness within me," and decides that her kids can't live here anymore? Does anyone else see how much like BS that sounds? Even if she did decide upon a "hello", handshake, and stare-down session, that I was not good enough for her kids to be around, J is still a grown man <i>and</i> a father, and will be the one to make the final call based on what's best for him and his children.<br />
<br />
I'm sorry honey, but when you told J that you didn't want to be married anymore, you lost whatever perceived control you had over him...<br />
<br />
Maybe she doesn't trust J because she is projecting her lack of trustworthiness onto him. But, at this point, that is not a decision she has the right to make. She and J both have separate lives. Lives linked by children, yes, but otherwise - completely separate.<br />
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<br />Lyndsie Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15472917597591219932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2243453102024730717.post-8521720439524359552018-01-15T13:22:00.000-08:002018-01-16T08:56:08.494-08:00Don't Tell Me I Look Tired (A PSA) - The Saga of Lyndsie - Part 21At the end of a long day, a coworker said to me (as I was intently reading something on my computer), "You look tired."<br />
<br />
My response was flippant. "Oh, no, I'm fine. That's just my face."<br />
<br />
The other coworker said, "Yeah, you've got some serious bags under your eyes."<br />
<br />
I responded, "No, seriously. I'm not tired. I sit all day staring at an LED screen under harsh fluorescent lights. Any natural light that does seem to reach my corner does so by the reflection of unforgiving UV rays right off my monitors. I'm not tired. I just have a body ravaged by the toils of office work. In other words, I'm old."<br />
<br />
Now, this was said sarcastically and in a kind of joking manner but in all reality I was pretty bothered by the comment. Telling me I look tired or that I have bags under my eyes says 1 of 3 things to me:<br />
- I look like hell.<br />
- I look old.<br />
- I suck at doing makeup and inadvertently smeared black eye shadow on the wrong side of my lid.<br />
<br />
None of these are good things. None of them stokes the fragile ego. Each one of them just brings insecurity down onto me. Self-doubt. Self-loathing. I've always been a minimal-makeup kind of gal (unless costuming or being fancy), thinking that my face was pretty enough (and I'm lazy). However, I find that as I get 30-year-old skin, I am using more and more makeup. Why?<br />
<br />
So. That. I. Don't. Look. Tired.<br />
<br />
Do people think this is a compliment somehow? Or an expression of concern?<br />
<br />
Well, let me tell you something: to me, it doesn't say to me "hey, I care about you." It says more, "hey, I am judging you." If you're worried about me not feeling well, then I would prefer you to not contribute to my possible bad mood by talking about my (bad) looks. If you really think I look like hell and are concerned for me, then why not just say:<br />
<br />
"Hey, are you doing OK?"<br />
"How are you feeling?"<br />
"Can I get you anything?"<br />
"What's up?"<br />
"ARE you feeling OK?"<br />
"Are you tired?"<br />
"Let me know if you need anything."<br />
<br />
There are probably a slew of other things as well that would be leaps and bounds better then essentially telling me that I don't look good. Because, ok, I get that you're not outright telling me that I'm unattractive, but your essentially saying that all the effort I put into my makeup today didn't do me any favors. And let me tell you, "tired-chic" is not a thing right now.<br />
<br />
This doesn't just apply to me, however. I am fairly certain that no one - male, female, nonbinary - LIKES hearing this phrase directed at them. Seriously, I don't know the origin of it, but it needs to die. Like, right meow.<br />
<br />
So, if you are one of those well-meaning friends, and find yourself concerned for someone because maybe they don't look like they're having the best day ever, here is a handy cheat sheet:<br />
<br />
Times it's acceptable to say "You look tired":<br />
<br />
1. I'm falling asleep on the couch, with my eyes half closed.<br />
2. I'm falling asleep in the car, with my eyes half closed.<br />
3. I just went to the gym, ate a bunch of dinner, and am falling asleep at the dinner table with my eyes half closed.<br />
<br />
Times it's not acceptable to say "You look tired":<br />
1. Any other time.<br />
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Let's please try to shift the focus in our language away from looks. Let's avoid the joking talk of: "OMG you annoying, but at least you're pretty." Let's take some time and actually learn something about each other that goes deeper than just the skin.<br />
<br />
Yes, we all want to look good. There is nothing wrong with that. And we all love to hear compliments about our looks but that is not all we want. We also, all of us, want to be treated with concern, care, and a bit of sensitivity. We want to be more than just our looks.Lyndsie Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15472917597591219932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2243453102024730717.post-90993767599032658752018-01-12T16:24:00.002-08:002018-01-12T16:24:44.907-08:00We All Die the Same - The Saga of Lyndsie - Part 20<div class="MsoNormal">
Today, I can’t seem to get over the deaths from the Ventura
County mudslides in California. It was only 17 out of how many thousands live
there? Five are still missing. So it’s like, no big deal, right? Natural
disasters happen all over the world all the time. Even now, as I was scrolling
through articles about the mudslides, I came upon one that said “Hundreds Die
from Mudslide in Sierra Leon.” But I didn’t even click on the link.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Yet…these 17 deaths still bother me. It’s not like I knew
any of them personally. But still, each one of these deaths was a <i>person: </i>a child, a parent, a twin
sister, a mother, a lover, a family member, a friend. Those close to the people
are reeling with these deaths. To them, 17 deaths is 1 too many. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Hundreds is WAY more than 17, right? Why didn’t that give me
the same sinking feeling as these California deaths? <o:p></o:p></div>
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Is it because the people who perished in Montecito had lives
very similar to mine? In looking at these photos and stories of the deceased,
these deaths, these <i>people,</i> come
alive for me. One person who died was a
12 year old girl with a beautiful freckly face, braces, and slightly disheveled
blonde hair. In her memorial photo she was holding up a picture of a anime character she drew. This girl could have
been me or one of my friends. Another
photo shows an older couple, retired, living in their dream home, holding their
dog. A third, a woman, just a bit older than my mother had a big ol’ smile,
floppy hat and sunglasses. They were all
described as wonderful, kind, happy people. People who were the life of the
party or who loved their friends and family. People with hobbies and histories.
People who died suddenly, before their
time.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Maybe it’s also because these people were given the warning
to evacuate – but it was only optional. The articles said that only 10-15% of
the people actually evacuated because they were tired of having been evacuated
only weeks before because of the large Thomas fire. And see? All that evacuation
and what happened? Nothing, their houses were spared…that time. Many people
probably felt that this was a false alarm too. It didn’t help that safety
officials didn’t call for a mandatory evac because (as I read in one article) “it
would cause mass confusion” to evacuate that many people, so quickly, again. Which
makes me angry. Angry at officials who didn’t force people to leave. Angry at
the families for putting their lives and the lives of their children (and pets)
at risk. Angry at our entitlement to underestimate nature and think “oh, it’s
not going to be me” and “I’m safe in my own home”.<o:p></o:p></div>
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We, in America, are fortunate to live in a very modern
society. Our society is full of conveniences and technologies that make our
lives easier and better. Maybe this
disaster upsets me so much because even in a society with all the technology,
all the bright minds building our infrastructure, we still succumb to mother
nature. We are still puny meatbags living precariously on a planet full of
things that will kill us – rocks, water, mountains, mud. Not to mention all the
manmade things that become killing implements by mother nature’s hand: rebar,
houses, cars, power lines….<o:p></o:p></div>
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Lastly, the news coverage. While for disasters in other countries
you may have articles, videos and even some survivor testimonial, American news
outfits covering incidents in our own country scrutinize every detail. They
dwell on the fact that the youngest person to die was just 3 years old. They
post pics of the victims and backstories. They show the social media support
trying to find the 12 year old girl. The bring us so far into the story that we
are pretty much there. Many of the details of the articles are not actually
providing more information. They are just there to jerk our emotions. <o:p></o:p></div>
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So, while the hundreds of deaths in Sierra Leon should not
be glossed over, I wouldn’t fault Americans for feeling incidents like this
more strongly. It happened in our back yard to people (possibly rich people)
but people, nonetheless, who we can pretty much relate to. <o:p></o:p></div>
Lyndsie Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15472917597591219932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2243453102024730717.post-24057497286028175242018-01-02T15:44:00.000-08:002018-01-02T15:44:40.569-08:00Obligatory New Year's 2018 Resolutions Post - The Saga of Lyndsie - Part 19<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Since I spent yesterday comatose on the couch in a
carb-induced stupor, I figure that today I’m going to do that “Welcome to
2018!” post. I’ve had these goals for a while now but January is a good time to
tell them to the world. Maybe y’all can
keep me honest. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p><o:p> </o:p> </div>
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Goal 1: Work out at least 3x per week. I want to be able
to make exercise a regular part of my routine. I now have a gym membership so,
no excuses!<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p><o:p> </o:p> </div>
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Goal 2: low carb, very low corn & wheat. This is
kind of inspired by the Whole 30 diet but modified to be more practical for my
life. While I want to make a habit of cooking mostly meat & veggies, I
am also going to add in some potatoes and rice for filler and variety. James
and I did a really good job of this for a while until we went on vacation and the holidays
happened. When we were working on it, I did notice that I felt less sluggish
and happier. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p><o:p> </o:p> </div>
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Goal 3: Drink water. I have already been tracking my
water consumption and have cut out most sugary drinks like sodas and juices,
but I feel that I still need to increase my water intake. I am going to include
tea and sparkling water because I’m a Gemini and I need variety. That being
said, a coffee in the morning will still happen b/c I can’t function without
it. Alcohol is a different goal so I
won’t discuss it here.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p> </div>
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Goal 4: Sober January. I am going to cut alcohol out for
January, starting 1/2. The goal is to not drink until James’s bday in mid-February
but if a special occasion shows up in there, I may break that for a night.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Goal 5: Consolidate my debt. Buying a house in 2017 put
me in more debt than I would like to admit. 2018 is going to be the year of
getting rid of it somehow. Paying it down, yes, but also trying to get it to a
point where I’m not getting as much interest on some of it. I’m also going to
work on not buying things or eating out if I don’t need to.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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Goal 6: Have a clear goal for publishing my novel by
12/1/18. This means that either I have submitted it somewhere and gotten
accepted, or gotten a ton of rejections and either decided that I will try to
self publish OR keep submitting it places. I would like to learn more about
this process in the upcoming year.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p> </div>
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Goal 7: Write an average of 300 words/day (Once I start
doing this, I will adjust based on how much time that takes). The writing can
be anything I do to further advance myself: blogs, Toastmasters speeches, stuff
on my novels, short stories, random journal entries. Possibly also job-related
(as long as it's not an email)! <o:p></o:p></div>
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Goal 8: Try to fix my shoulder nerve-pinch thing. If it's
not better by December 2018, I think I should work on getting a new
mattress....<o:p></o:p></div>
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Goal 9: Lasik....pipe dream perhaps and goes counter to
my Goal #5 but it may be worth getting in a bit of debt to do away with
glasses/contacts furever....</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p> </div>
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Goal 10: Improve my fencing. This means going at least
1x/week (which is part of Goal #1) but possibly 2x if time allows. Grow more
comfortable with all the off-hands, starting w/ dagger.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p> </div>
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Goal 11: Make or trade for new SCA garb. I'm going to
start w/ a Persian coat and Norse Apron Dress. Probably need a couple more
under tunics and pants too. Then, if I get all THAT done, work on a new cote
(in purple).<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p> </div>
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Goal 12: come up with a plan to replace the carpet in my
townhouse. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p> </div>
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Goal 13: The once-per-week thankfulness jar that I keep
seeing on Facebook. I already attempt a daily gratitude journal (mostly on
weekdays) but I love the idea of writing
down 1 thing you're thankful for and putting it in jar to read on 12/31. Maybe
I can get James to go in on this with me and we can both do it! <o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p> </div>
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So that’s it…I don’t think those are too ambitious,
right? And it's not like I haven't already started some of these things... But,
I guess we’ll just have to see! Here’s to 2018 being another year of growth!<o:p></o:p></div>
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Lyndsie Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15472917597591219932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2243453102024730717.post-2805974162979488832017-12-30T19:27:00.003-08:002017-12-30T19:31:08.027-08:00The Internal Conflict of Every Writer - The Saga of Lyndsie - Part 18Welp, I did it!<br />
<br />
I submitted Insignia to Angry Robot's open door publishing
event. This event was for people who don't have an agent or who aren't
published already. I can still submit it to other things but if I get accepted
somewhere else, or get an agent, then I'd have to withdraw I think.<br />
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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I really feel like there should be fireworks or a dancing
bear at this point, so I am putting one in below.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="Image result for fireworks and dancing bears" height="360" src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/2EOW1gHzM7M/maxresdefault.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></td></tr>
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Now on to the hard stuff. I'm feeling pretty apprehensive
that terrified that it's going to get automatically rejected b/c of the teenage
character since they said they don't want YA stories. However, I don't really
feel like my novel is YA because it doesn't have many of the elements of YA.
Like: No love triangles and no sparkly vampires. In all seriousness
though...it's grittier and fouler than a lot of YA novels that I've read and
there are other main adult characters plus an overarching theme of revolution
and terrorism which is probably more adult than teens can handle? On the other
hand, the biggest theme is the growth and development of the main character who
is a teenager and his teenage friends.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Anyway, this blog post wasn't specifically about whether
Insignia is young adult or not...that may be the subject of a further post
after I do extensive research.<o:p></o:p></div>
The main point of this post was: "YAY! I submitted a thing!" and "OH shit! I might get published but PROBABLY will just get a rejection letter, so don't get your hopes up, Lyndsie." Yeah, you're probably right....this will just be the first submission for this novel and I will have to try again and again.<br />
<br />
That being said, I have learned a lot in this process and I thought I'd share some of it here. It will likely be interspersed with my insecurities and doubts, put-downs, and agony over how I'm still not good enough at writing to claim to be a writer. Which seems like a good place to start.....<br />
<u><br /></u>
<u>Insignia - The Saga </u><br />
<u><br /></u>
I began writing this novel for NANOWRIMO 2012 after reading Neuromancer and becoming frustrated that the world was so cool, but the characters were lacking. Case was a whiny, drugged-out hacker lowlife who was neither likable nor especially unlikable. Molly Millions was a razorgirl, who should have been an undeniably badass cyborg chick that would slice the shit out of anyone who crossed her, but ended up getting in trouble in essentially her first job in the book and needing to be rescued by that burnout, Case.<br />
<br />
I wanted more. I wanted to learn more about these people - the guy who was addicted to drugs who could hook his brain into a computer, the chick who had her eyes replaced with mirrored lenses and razorblades under her fingernails. I also wanted a slightly more relatedable world. Some of the technology was almost too obscure or inexplicable for me to follow (Which I find is the case with many 70s/80s sci-fi).<br />
<br />
However, I liked the gritty, dirty world. The criminal- and assassin- main characters. I liked the odd juxtaposition of 80s tech with futuristic tech. The depiction of file folders manifested in a physical form. The idea that your brain could go somewhere that your body couldn't.....so I wrote Insignia, focusing a bit more on character development and at the same time adding social commentary about the evils of consumerism and the hope revolution brings (think Star Wars!).<br />
<br />
Then, life happened at the beginning of 2013. My marriage exploded, I moved out, got divorced, lost my job...and while I had *won* NANOWRIMO by writing the requisite 50k words, I hadn't finished the novel. It would take me another year+ to actually complete it. "Winning" NANOWRIMO 2013 again with another 50k. Novel still was not finished. NANOWRIMO 2014 was the year when I actually completed the novel, which sat around 103k at that time.<br />
<br />
It took me yet another year, NANOWRIMO 2015, to edit that sucker, adding another 14k of content in the process, re-writing the prologue, brutally hacking it apart, only to rebuild it from its ashes better, stronger. Then...I left it to sit for two years.<br />
<br />
I did this for a variety of reasons. The one I would tell people is that I was busy with my job, the SCA, home-ownership...but the one I didn't admit, even to myself, for the longest time was that I was self-conscious. I didn't think my writing was worth anything. I thought that only non-writers liked my stuff because they couldn't see all the holes and flaws in it that I could see. That publishers would see. That would cause me to never get published.<br />
<br />
I let my novel linger in "near-finalized limbo" for so long. I could tell myself, "Yeah! I am a writer! I wrote a novel! I edited that novel! I did what many, many writers can't do! Go me!" I could ride that wave of perceived success for.....eternity. Except for the fact that what I wanted, what I <i>really, really</i> wanted, was for people to read it. For people to love it, as I loved it.<br />
<br />
That wasn't ever going to happen if I didn't <i>do something</i> with it. In 2015, a good friend put my novel on one of those sites where you can buy an informal-yet-physical copy of something. Seeing it in this fake-published state made me think "You know, maybe I can do this." Yet I still did nothing. I polished it up more. Thought about self-publishing. But still, did nothing.<br />
<br />
Then, in October of this year, my friend Dana Wodke, a massage therapist and life coach, invited me to this writer's group. The goal of the group is to go from zero to book in a year. Very shortly after that I saw a post on Facebook from Carrie Vaughn, a friend and author, calling out this publishing event. Finally, <i>Finally</i>, I said to myself, <u style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">"I. AM. GOING. TO. DO. THIS!"</u><br />
<br />
So, I invested money in Scribophile, where you can get feedback from other authors. I perfected my first 2 chapters. I wrote and rewrote my 2-page summary. I thought critically about where the holes were and how I would fill them. I probably neglected James by staying up way too late on a school night writing and perfecting. I submitted the novel @ 6:30PM on 12/30/17. I got a confirmation email that it had been received. I had done it.<br />
<br />
One thing that Scribophile taught me is that editing is endless. I could get critique on a piece of writing, fix it according to the critique, and then get critique that essentially wanted it to go back to the way it was. "Does this mean that my work will never be good enough?" I ask myself. Maybe. Though I've been really trying to ignore that voice. I can't please everyone.<br />
<br />
I am probably not the next J.K. Rowling.<br />
<br />
But, as long as some people like it. As long as I have an audience, whether that audience is hardcore sci-fi lovers or teen YA readers, then I will consider myself successful.<br />
<br />
At this point, I am trying very hard to remain positive about this whole thing. It's very unlikely that I will get an acceptance this time. I mean, it's the very first time I've ever submitted anything. EVER. And I am not that lucky. I mean, even J.K. Rowling was rejected something like 100 times before getting picked up. However, I have taken the first step. And, to quote every obnoxious motivational meme:<br />
<br />
<img alt="Image result for great journey starts with one step" src="https://www.askideas.com/media/54/A-journey-of-a-thousand-miles-begins-with-a-single-step.-Confucius.jpg" /><br />
<br />
So that was my first step.<br />
<br />
Here's to 999 more!<br />
<br />
Note: I have posted some resources for writers on the page of the same name within this blog. Feel free to visit it if you want to see what I have found helpful! Also, if you have any other good resources, let me know and I will add them!<br />
Lyndsie Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15472917597591219932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2243453102024730717.post-9644525956727312902017-12-19T10:06:00.001-08:002017-12-19T10:59:01.400-08:00Insignia - Novel Summary - SPOILER ALERTI am posting this summary here in case anyone wants to give me feedback on the summary.<br />
<br />
Please keep in mind that, as this is something that will be going to a publisher, it is the full story of the novel condensed to 2 pages (minus subplots). If you want to read my full novel and don't want to know the ending, then go ahead and skip this one :) However, if you would like to provide feedback on the summary, I would love to know the following:<br />
<br />
1. Is it interesting?<br />
2. Does it make you want to pick up the book?<br />
3. Does it have intriguing characters?<br />
4. Is the world vivid enough?<br />
5. Can you tell that it's a near-future, dystopian, sci-fi?<br />
6. Anything else...?<br />
<br />
Thanks and happy reading!<br />
_____________________________________________________________________<br />
<br />
<br />
SUMMARY - Rev. 3 (realized it was bigger than 2 pages. So I had to trim it).<br />
<br />
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">It
is the year 2267, less than 100 years since WWIII destroyed democracy and many
parts of the continental United States. The TRIUMVIRATE, the reigning corporate
oligarchy, controls the population with dangerous cybernetic implants. Those
who deny these implants are forced to live in slum cities infested with drug
use and crime.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">SAMSON,
a teenage hacker living on the streets, has dreamed of escaping the
corporations and living a life free from the ever-present pressure of
consumerism and greed. When he is hired by a mysterious stranger to hack into a
secure network and steal video footage, he catches the attention of an assassin.
Sam escapes the assassin with the help of MARA, a genetically modified human
known as a savant, but not before the assassin seriously injures him. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Mara
brings Sam, now an amputee, to her headquarters where he becomes part of The
Company, a group of contract killers. Sam shares the data with Mara and they
discover that it contains proof of terrorist attacks performed by other savants
rebelling against the corporations. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Sam
meets the other members of The Company which consists almost entirely of
savants: the Captain and his non-savant brother, a teenage pilot, a former
assassin, a doctor. He also discovers his savant Skill: to see several seconds
into the future. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The
Company is hired to assassinate a prominent member of the Triumvirate in
mega-city of New York. Before they can complete the job, they are exposed to
the Memory Code by the rebels, a genetic implant in all savants that allows
them to experience the memories of their ancestors. During the job, Mara learns
that their mark was an undercover rebel agent, rather than a corporate goon,
but not before she accidentally kills him. Their job bungled, the group
fractures, barely escaping from the security forces of the Triumvirate. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Armed
with the Memories of their ancestors, Sam, Mara, and TRENT, the pilot, flee the
city in search of these revolutionaries who are calling themselves the Starkill
Army. The ordeal in New York has taken a toll on Sam and Mara, physically and
emotionally. Sam’s amputated leg is rejecting the prosthetic and he fights
blood poisoning. Mara wrestles with her conscience over killing a man who
didn’t deserve to die. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Once
at the rebel’s compound, the trio meets the general and his contingent of
soldiers. They also reconnect with the doctor and the former assassin from
their former Company. Here they learn
that the rebels have set up an attack on the Great Sea Wall of California with
the intention of kick-starting a revolutionary war. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Mara
and Sam join the others in planting bombs in the Sea Wall and televising the
event to the world. However, the rebels are betrayed by the former assassin and
suffer heavy casualties even though the destruction of the Sea Wall is
successful. California floods. Sam assists in the rescue mission while Mara
flees the encroaching water, meeting back up with the Captain and Aiden.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Sam
is able to save Trent, though the latter is critically wounded. Mara and the Captain
never return to the rebel compound but the Captain’s brother relays this
information to Sam who assumes, much to his anguish, that Mara is dead. The
Starkill Army slowly begins rebuilding their forces with new recruits drawn by
media attention of the attack.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">While
Sam grapples with the loss of his mentor and friend, another member of the
Starkill Army, a former savant-turned-mech named HAWK has come upon a
miraculous discovery. He found that when all of his cybernetic modifications
were forcibly removed during the attack, his savant Skill to read auras
returned. He understands this phenomenon as the return of his humanity. This
belief is taken up by the Starkill Army as a mantra. It becomes the reason why
the savants and those downtrodden by the corporations will continue to fight
against the totalitarian rule of the Triumvirate.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
Lyndsie Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15472917597591219932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2243453102024730717.post-31628417245001108642017-12-11T15:44:00.001-08:002018-03-28T15:10:23.525-07:00Anamnesis - Chapter 1 - Consider It DoneOk. I have edited, re-edited, re-re-edited, & re-re-re-edited this chapter but I need to stop because this process could be never ending. SO...Here it is. Any final feedback is good, though unless it's show-stopping, might not be heeded :-)<br />
<br />
***************************************<br />
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<h1 style="margin-left: 0in; text-indent: 0in;">
- 1 -<o:p></o:p></h1>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Three
hundred years ago, human bodies were merely functional. Adequate. They were
just as nature designed them. Boring. Then we came in with technology and made
them remarkable.</i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Memoirs
of A. St. Claire</i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The
man with the handlebar moustache and plush burgundy waistcoat stood in the
doorway of the cyber cafe.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>What
does he want? </i>Samson thought,
cocking an eyebrow in half-hearted interest, his mind more focused on the man’s
fast-food bag. He was <i>so</i> hungry.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Life
on the dirt-smeared streets of the slum city had been more difficult than the
teenager had anticipated. While he <i>was</i> free from his mother’s heavy
hand, this freedom was accompanied by the sharp knife of hunger that constantly
sliced beneath his ribs. Newly-found independence tasted like the squalor of
the abandoned warehouse where he sheltered with other homeless children. In the
midst of these disenfranchised youths, no sense of solidarity arose, no kindred
spirits. The bitter winter left them shivering, fighting over the meager scraps
of food or combustible material.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He
never imagined that hunger would stalk him like a predator. The upset of a
grumbling stomach was an all-too-familiar feeling.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A
year on his own had made him lean, gaunt, and desperate. His meals mostly came
from dumpsters: greasy, overcooked protein from the one-star Asian restaurant,
soggy sandwiches that were barely edible when fresh, and half-rotten fruit
crawling with insects he couldn’t even identify; it was nourishment that stank
with the rancid fumes of yesterday’s garbage.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Some
days, no matter how hungry he was, he just couldn’t stomach it. Sadly, begging
for the mildly stale remnants of a stranger’s half-eaten hoagie or the
occasional mystery-meat kabob was barely better than the refuse. At least that
stuff didn’t smell rotten…<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>No.</i>
<i>You are smart</i>, he told himself, <i>You are better than garbage</i>.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sam
had always had a talent with data: computer navigation was like a sixth sense
to him. Most of his free time had been spent in dingy cyber cafés. A haven
where he escaped the world: crouched over an ancient typepad, hunched in a
cheap fiberglass chair, with eyes straining at a dimly lit LED. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He
was slowly filling a fraudulent banking shell with real money – money that
could only be spent outside of the city walls. Traveling in the security
networks of big corporations, he stalked through the underground tunnels of
their cybernet space. Worming his way into firewalls and secure shields like a
cockroach made of bytes, he scrounged for scraps of cred that he put into in
the virtual market. <i>Win. Lose. Win.</i> The CORPs never caught him. He
couldn’t risk getting caught.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He
snagged only bytes at a time. A little here. A little there. <i>Keep a low
profile</i>. <i>Don’t get noticed. Can’t get caught. </i>The teenager didn’t
fancy spending the rest of his short life on the inside of a CORP prison,
serving time for a severely punished transgression.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He
had too much to lose. Had to make money, not for food, or clothing, or mech
mods. It wasn’t for him but for Charley; to get his sister out of this
hate-filled shitthole of a city. To a real city. East, west, north – he didn’t
care. All of them had promises, potential. A real life.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The
man, who had, in their first encounters only observed him, began to speak. The
cybercafé was empty, even the proprietor had gone for a smoke break. “You are
not an easy kid to track down,” he said.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What
do you want from me?” The teen asked, tones of curiosity vying with hostility.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The
man took a drag of a long, mud-colored cigarette and handed Sam a data chip. “I
need you to hack a shopping mall’s security system and snatch the locked files.
Payment is ten-thou.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Hack
a system?” The teen asked incredulously, eyes bulging at the offer, “That’s it?
You followed me around for months just to ask me to hack something?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I
needed to see if you could do it. It’s not as easy as you might think, kid. And
trust me, you weren’t my first choice for the job…” The man trailed off. His
business-like demeanor returned quickly. He explained, “It’s an AI security
system. Makes what you’ve been crawling through look like a toddler’s game.
This takes <i>Skill.</i>”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Oh,
I got <i>skills</i>,” the boy responded arrogantly, a strong desire to comply
with this man’s request suddenly smoldering in the hollow of his abdomen even
though he only had the vaguest idea what an AI system was.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The
man barely smirked and cocked his head. Nonetheless, he tapped a metal plate on
the chip. There was one line of text:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-indent: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-indent: 0in;">
JR. Avenue 5. Independence Plaza.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-indent: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“This
is where you can find me to deliver the goods. Payment upon delivery,” he said,
nodding.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I
haven’t given you an answer yet!” The teenager called after the gentleman who
was striding purposefully away.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He
paused, looked over his shoulder and said, “You didn’t have to.” His smile was
arrogant. Knowing. “Your face said enough.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
*
* * * *<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The
mall’s computer was ancient. The teenager made a face. If the ones in the
Internet café were 2220 models, this one must be from the mid-2000s. The server
room hummed gently, the warm air heavy with sonic vibrations carrying waves of
data. Colored LEDs blinked ominously, like so many eyes, watching him.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
*tap*
*tap* *tap* *tap* *tap*<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Skills
indeed,</i> the teenager thought angrily, still fuming at the man’s smug smile
from a few days ago, <i>This bastard’s complicated as shit.</i> He scowled at
the screen.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Maybe
he had gotten in over his head. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and his t-shirt
was becoming damp under his arms. <i>No, </i>he thought, it didn’t really
matter. The money was too good, enough to get him and Charley out of the slums.
To get to freedom.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
*tap*
*tap* *tap* *tap* *tap*<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The
lines of code taunted him. Flashing their glaring green deep into his strained
retinas. His stomach growled. <i>It’s just a shopping mall!</i> He railed to
himself silently. <i>What could be on here? </i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
*tap*
*tap* *tap* *tap* *tap*<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
An
AI system, the man had said. What <i>was</i> an AI system? It couldn’t be a new
software because the boy <i>knew</i> all the security systems. However, he’d
never heard the term before. Maybe it was an old word? An antiquated security
system? Maybe that’s why it was so hard to crack?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
*tap*
*tap* *ta—<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He
was in, he stared wide-eyed. The files suddenly were zipping themselves onto
the storage device. Bits flashed by in a whirr: zeroes and ones. Replicating
with the precision of high-speed data, submitting to his hand, no longer
taunting him, but almost screaming.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Screaming...
Red lights flashing. Something had triggered an alarm. <i>How, though? </i>He
had been so careful!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Shooting
to his feet, he yanked the chip out of the mainframe just as a boring-looking
man strode almost casually into the office. The man’s eyes, however, were not
boring. They were dark, and angry. And they were looking straight at him.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Fuck!</i>
He ran like hell.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
*
* * * *<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The
mall was a hub of activity at this time of night. In the center of it all, sat
a woman in her early thirties, with the chestnut brown hair and olive skin of a
mediteranneo, nursing a dark brown beer. She was wrapped in black leather pants
the shade of an octogenarian’s favorite easy chair, worn in just the right
places, and a dingy white tank top under an equally loved leather vest.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The
electrical humming of cold fluorescent lights could almost make her forget that
the sun had long since set and all sensible people were in their homes, their Virtua-visions
blaring some obnoxious live broadcast. Garishly colored storefronts looked out
into the atrium, silently hawking their wares of manufactured diamonds and
cheap plastic toys. On one side, nothing but top-of-the-line sex toys, the
cylindrical outlines of countless male members shivering a welcome to all who
were brave enough to cross the threshold of their inhibitions. And on the
other, a front of a more sinister nature, where tatted rat boys hunched over
too-white operating tables offering up the newest in body mod trends.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Here,
some juiceheads sat at a table bristling with folds of muscle so large that
they barely looked human. And over there, fashion sisters, their frozen smiles
and stretch-tight skin the result of too many trips to the laser salon. A
schizo trolled the floor in faded hospital gowns, begging for credits or junk
or whatever you had on you, deftly weaving between the tables too fluidly. A
pair of security guards rolled slowly back and forth on one-wheeled scooters,
their lurid uniforms thinly disguising the mods encompassing their limbs that
pulsed with the synthetic rhythm of black motor oil.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The
woman carried no weapons here, as was the rule of all serious establishments. <i>Not that it would matter</i>, she thought, moving
her dark glasses over to the juiceheads. Many were themselves weapons these
days. However, it still felt strange, Mara thought, to be away for so long from
her anlace – a rapier that was part robot and rarely ever left her side, though
she carried it more for comfort than safety. She glanced coolly around the
room, trying to project the demeanor of the stoic calm that she could barely
hold on to.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The
twins had told her that <i>he</i> would be here, on this night, getting into
more trouble than he’d ever bargained for. She trusted the twins, they weren’t
programmed to lie and even if they’d tried, she had other ways of keeping an
honest cyborg honest. They lived in the alleys and had enough street cred to be
in the know for just about every interesting pair of feet that crossed their
patch of asphalt. But Mara had more street cred, and she’d pulled some strings
and flexed a few muscles – the right muscles – to lead her to this frozen heart
of commerce in the Sink.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The
boy was only fourteen and much too young to be pulling off a heist of this
magnitude. Mara could only guess how he’d planned it, how long it had taken him
to devise a strategy that would actually lead him to this very spot on this
very night. And she wondered even harder how he had expected to escape...unless
he wasn’t aware of the danger he was in. That’s where she would come in.
Clenching her teeth, she forced herself to trust that the right opportunity
would present itself.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A
commotion arose on the second floor balcony. Mara looked up through the tacky
indoor skylight to see an achromatized pipe banister quiver in response to the
sound of slapping feet. Her vantage point was such that, across the cafeteria,
she could only see a corner of the long hallway with its custard-yellow walls
scratched and faded from years of apathy. An adolescent with shaggy hair the color
of sand was barreling toward the banister, heedless of bodily harm, eyes wild
and breath pounding in and out like a bass drum. Following behind, almost
unhurriedly, was a rotund, balding man in an obnoxious band T-Shirt from a
decades-forgotten rock group. He wore an expression of boredom as if to
indicate that he had already seen the attraction and had found it lacking.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Mara
stood up and downed the last of her lukewarm ale in one frenzied swig, gagging
as the grainy dregs slid down her throat. She looked up and froze. The kid had
made it to the banister and reached out to it with one desperate hand, vaulting
over as if he were at a track and field event. Scuffed boots with frayed laces
kicked wildly. He seemed to hang in midair, his left leg tucked under him, his
right thrust out, grabbing at an ethereal purchase that only he could see. The
man held out his hand where Mara could see a shiny metallic square on the
inside of his wrist. He flipped that wrist toward the sandy haired acrobat and
one rectangle broke off and flew with unnerving speed.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
*
* * * *<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Samson
was frozen, <i>literally</i> frozen. <i>No,</i> he hastily corrected himself, <i>not
frozen. </i>He was in the air, floating…or falling incredibly slow. His boot
had scraped off a layer of paint from the banister and it puffed out behind him
in a small cloud. Below was a glass “skylight” – one of those tacky creations
that had been popular during the decade before he was born. Even though it had
never been subjected to the elements, years of smoke, dust, and dead insects
had crusted its edges, giving Sam a blurred, cinematic view of the first floor
cafeteria.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The
patrons paid little attention to him, too wrapped up in their coffees, booze,
or the undoubtedly witty conversation with their modded-up, super model dates.
There was one exception, dressed in all black, she stared openly at him with a
startled frown, lifting her dark glasses away from her eyes. A heavy beer stein
was clutched in her white-knuckled fist. Sam’s confused expression met hers and
held her within the trance.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sharp
stinging on his knee was the only indication that he had crashed through the
bug-smeared skylight. He barely felt even that pain as glass fragments gently
twirled around his face, falling like weightless snowflakes toward the
yellowing linoleum. A hair-like wire glittered at the corner of his vision,
lazily undulating like a serpent. <i>What was that thing? </i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The
dark woman had moved. Arm arched behind her back, she launched the mug in his
direction. It gracefully slid past his ear as the aroma of spoiled barley
assaulted his nose. Closer to the ground now, he felt his left leg tucked
sharply into his chest, and his right leg…he wasn’t sure.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Something
was on the floor below him, it looked like a limb. A leg. <i>His leg?</i> He
shook his head. He was in shock, he told himself, gazing at the eerily-familiar
boot toe, resting in a pool of blood. <i>His blood? </i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Everything
is too clear,</i> he rationalized, <i>I’m fine. </i>Red droplets surrounded
him, mimicking large jewels or small marbles. He could see the surface of each
one dimple and shift as the circular shapes became amorphous. There was too
much red around him, he thought, as the metallic tang shot through his taste
buds. His chest fluttered as he forced himself to breathe.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
His
left leg was tucked underneath him, but his right…the floor reached him.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
*
* * * *<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The
boy’s face changed from an impetuous grimace of rebellion to a frantic <i>O</i>
of surprise as his right leg plummeted to the floor. The rest of him followed
in a pallid heap of shock and fear. The silver rectangle recoiled into itself
and a faint iridescent thread shimmered in the artificial light. Razorwire.
Mara had chucked her mug at the assassin with a force disproportionate to her
size. It crossed the linoleum desert of the food court, and shot straight
through the broken window into the man’s face, shattering into a hundred
unforgiving shards of glass. The assassin clutched at his eyes, but slowed only
a little.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Digging
into her pocket, Mara pulled out another item. It was the size of a strawberry
and gunmetal grey. Rolling it between her fingers, she held her hand out flat
and the little ball floated imperceptibly over her palm. Pulling her arm back,
she whipped it at the assassin with blinding speed. It flew true, past the
falling boy, through the hole in the shattered skylight, and directly into the
assassin’s chest.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
An
explosion followed: noxious green-yellow gas blossoming from the rift between
the two halves. The gas enveloped the assassin in a clinging, stinking cloud
more tangible than ethereal. He roared out in rage, his flailing, ducking
figure obscured by the squall. <i>That should keep him busy for a while</i>…She
thought.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She
rushed over to Samson, who was curled up on the floor in a convulsing heap,
blood pooling around him. Ripping off a piece of her shirt, she tied a
tourniquet around Samson’s leg, the crimson spreading over it so quickly you’d
think it animate. Then she flung the now-unconscious adolescent over her
shoulder, and barreled out of the modish jungle. Juiceheads, fashion sisters,
rats, schizos and security guards looked on with only mild curiosity as if a
young vagabond being maimed by a highly trained, but innocuous-looking,
assassin happened every day.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Mara
pounded through the streets, carrying the teenager as if he were a sack of
rice, before flinging him into the back of a low-flying, rusted transport.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Where
to?” A slight voice echoed quietly from the front.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Back,”
Mara replied tersely, climbing into the passenger seat.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The
young pilot’s eyes grew wide as he saw Mara’s blood-spattered appearance.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“That
bad, huh?” He grimaced and began to turn around.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Don’t…”
Mara put a hand on his shoulder, “Don’t turn around. Just fly.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As
the transport rose into the air, the pilot’s voice was heavy, “Back it is.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Mara
really hated violence.<o:p></o:p></div>
Lyndsie Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15472917597591219932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2243453102024730717.post-21811317011651055592017-12-08T09:32:00.000-08:002018-07-19T08:19:11.189-07:00Anamnesis - Prologue - FINAL!!I have rewritten the prologue of Anamnesis for the 3rd time. Please take a look below. Any feedback is appreciated.<br />
<br />
Cheers! (And sorry about the formatting...Blogger does weird things with copy/paste).<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<br />
<div style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border: none; mso-border-bottom-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-element: para-border-div; padding: 0in 0in 1.0pt 0in;">
<h1 style="margin-left: 0in; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">
-Prologue-<o:p></o:p></h1>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalIndent" style="margin-left: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalIndent" style="margin-left: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<em>Anamnesis
[an-am-nee-sis] (n): the recollection of the Ideas, which the soul had known in
a previous existence, especially by means of reasoning.<o:p></o:p></em></div>
<div align="right" class="MsoNormalIndent" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: .75in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-align: right; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><em><span style="font-style: normal; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span></em><!--[endif]--><em>Platonism <o:p></o:p></em></div>
<div align="right" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: right; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="right" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: right; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
In its heyday the
Sink had been a bustling metropolis full of life and all that technology could
offer. These days, it was just another scrap city, albeit a large one, made of
trash and reused concrete. Metal was precariously crusted onto the skeletons of
formerly respectable buildings that had been retrofitted with a combination of
modern conveniences and vintage tech. It was ruled by undesirables: crime lords
and drug cartels. The corporations only had tenuous control here, but it was
enough.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<em>The assassin arrived home bleeding, sick, and seeing
double. His front door was ajar. His place, a mess. The city was simultaneously
loud and silent around him: bustling with the hum of traffic but his house
sounded dead. No one was home. He checked every room just to be sure, gingerly
stepping over pieces of broken furniture, garbage, and strewn-about clothing.
But still, no one was home. </em><em><span style="font-style: normal; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><o:p></o:p></span></em></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<em>Then, it started coming back to him, slowly blinking in
his memory like an ancient film reel. Hot blood ran down his hands.</em><em><span style="font-style: normal; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><o:p></o:p></span></em></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormalIndent" style="margin-left: 0in; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">
* * * * *<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<em>His next target. A woman. A scientist. A brilliant
scientist working with the XCGen Corporation.</em><em><span style="font-style: normal; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><o:p></o:p></span></em></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<em>“We have confirmed that this woman is conducting secret
genetic research outside of the company. She has been threatened to desist, yet
she denies involvement. However, we cannot take any chances,” the security commander
told him.</em><em><span style="font-style: normal; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><o:p></o:p></span></em></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<em>“Okay,” the assassin replied, forcing a calm demeanor,
“Who is this woman?” He had a sinking feeling in his heart. He knew very well
who this woman was, but needed to hear his commander say it.</em><em><span style="font-style: normal; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><o:p></o:p></span></em></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<em>“Bella Kinney.”</em><em><span style="font-style: normal; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><o:p></o:p></span></em></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<em>The most beautiful woman in the world. His wife.</em><em><span style="font-style: normal; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><o:p></o:p></span></em></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<em>“No.”</em><em><span style="font-style: normal; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><o:p></o:p></span></em></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<em>“You have no choice,” his commander explained, “Your
contract states that you cannot say no.”</em><em><span style="font-style: normal; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><o:p></o:p></span></em></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<em>“Well I’m saying…no.” The assassin said, punctuating
each word.</em><em><span style="font-style: normal; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><o:p></o:p></span></em></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<em>The commander gave him an impassive look.</em><em><span style="font-style: normal; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><o:p></o:p></span></em></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<em>“You will be decommissioned. Someone else will take your
place.”</em><em><span style="font-style: normal; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><o:p></o:p></span></em></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<em>The assassin glared but continued his even tone, face
impassive. “Then let them.” </em><em><span style="font-style: normal; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><o:p></o:p></span></em></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<em>The commander just shrugged.</em><em><span style="font-style: normal; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><o:p></o:p></span></em></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<em>“But first,” the assassin continued with slow
deliberateness, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You will have to catch us.”
He gripped the small metal tube implanted into his left forearm and tugged,
fingernails digging into the dark skin around it. Pain, he thought, but it was
only a shadow in the very back of his mind. His greatest fear was in the
forefront: losing Bella. </em><em><span style="font-style: normal; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><o:p></o:p></span></em></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<em>The air in the room became thicker, charged. The
commander’s hair began to float away from his head as energy overtook the small
office. Sharp pops echoed just at the edge of hearing. The assassin dug his
fingernails deeper into his arm, howling as he ripped the tube free, tossing it
aside.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the same time, he sank his
consciousness deep into his core, into the very center of his self and pulled
the sparks. It took almost all his breath to force his aura out in an
ever-widening circle, crackling. </em><em><span style="font-style: normal; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><o:p></o:p></span></em></div>
<div class="MsoNormalIndent" style="margin-left: 9.0pt;">
The commander sat, half on
his desk, stunned. He stared at the assassin, who had begun to work on removing
the second tube, with watery eyes. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">More
pain, </i>the assassin thought, feeling his heart flutter. He gasped and
swallowed hard as his forearms were coated in a hot, sticky fluid. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Blood. </i>He ignored it. The second time he
reached into himself to grasp at the energy, it came easier. Flowing through
his veins, his muscles, and then his limbs. Bursting outward with visible blue
flashes, electrons flowed freely around him. He could almost see them dancing
and rejoicing at their freedom.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalIndent" style="margin-left: 9.0pt;">
With a definitive, primal
roar, the assassin sent the electrons flying in all directions as he finished
excavating the last bit of metal from his arm. The electro-magnetic pulse
radiated around the room, passing violently through the commander, knocking him
off the desk. He crumpled to the floor like a doll. <span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalIndent" style="margin-left: 9.0pt;">
The room went dark. The dull
chortle of machinery had been suddenly silenced. The air, so thick and heavy
only moments ago, was still. Almost light. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalIndent" style="margin-left: 9.0pt;">
The assassin fled.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalIndent" style="margin-left: 9.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalIndent" style="margin-left: 9.0pt;">
He wasn’t fast enough. That
had never been a problem before so his mind was struggling to wrap itself
around the possibility. He had always been fast. However, something had
changed. He was no longer himself. Or, rather, he was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">again</i> himself – the self that he was before the mods. Before the
razorwire and fiops cables that had run through his nervous system like
parasites. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalIndent" style="margin-left: 9.0pt;">
The assassin was as he used
to be – human. No longer mech. And not fast enough.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalIndent" style="margin-left: 9.0pt;">
They must have come for her.
For Bella. He knew how it would have all played out: burly mechs with shiny
limbs, clamoring like armored elephants through the house. Taking Bella. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Was she alive?</i> He had no reason to
believe that the company would let her live. However…<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalIndent" style="margin-left: 9.0pt;">
If they had killed her,
wouldn’t there be blood? A body? <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalIndent" style="margin-left: 9.0pt;">
He checked through the house
twice, feeling his heart, his insides, twisted by barbed wire. There was no
blood. No body.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalIndent" style="margin-left: 9.0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Was she alive?</i> He didn’t know. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalIndent" style="margin-left: 9.0pt;">
She was…just…gone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He raced out the door, hoping to see her
arriving home. Nothing but the cold eyes of the dark skyscrapers greeted him.<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> Gone.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormalIndent" style="margin-left: 9.0pt;">
The assassin screamed, face
upturned toward the starless sky: a raving, crazed animal trapped and yet
motivated by fear. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“I will find you!” <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormalIndent" style="margin-left: 9.0pt;">
If anyone heard him, they
didn’t answer. The city bustled around him.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalIndent" style="margin-left: 9.0pt;">
These days, crime was just
another part of life. If you wanted to stay alive, you didn’t get into anyone
else’s business. If you were determined enough to mess with the CORPs, then
you’d best be prepared to defend yourself. The sociopathic citizenry would not even
blink when you disappeared. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br /></div>
Lyndsie Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15472917597591219932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2243453102024730717.post-31651498248746201662017-09-30T21:16:00.001-07:002017-09-30T21:23:35.350-07:00What defines "Family"? (Battlemoor Recap Part 2) - The Saga of Lyndsie - Part 17If you missed my first post about Battlemoor VIII, you can find it <a href="http://leeloolyndsie.blogspot.com/2017/09/that-one-person-saga-of-lyndsie-part-16.html">here</a>.<br />
<br />
I've been trying to finish this post for near a month now, having been derailed when I first wrote it. I have decided that tonight, September 30th, I am going to make my last edits and publish it. It may not be perfect, but this is something I have really wanted to talk about (to everyone) and it is making me sad to hold this post hostage.<br />
<br />
During Battlemoor, I officially joined a new family...<br />
<br />
(For those of you wondering, yes I still have my Vandale family. They are great, and I still love them all!)<br />
<br />
This is a bit different, however. I joined this new family by becoming a cadet (for the 2nd time) to a Don Antoine de Vallier. This man is a don, the captain of the mercenary company Mourning Glory (who happens to own a ship) and a member of the Order of the True Sword.*<br />
<br />
This is a lot of people. I mean it. In fact, at this point I am not even sure that I understand the extent of the family. Though I think it's larger even than my biological extended family (which is quite big).<br />
<br />
However, before I elaborate on this large family part, I would like to go into a bit of my past as a cadet. Initially, I felt ashamed to share this, but let's be honest - This is always going to be a part of my SCA history and it played a huge role in helping me develop into who I am today.<br />
<br />
I asked to be a cadet when I was 18. By that point, I had been learning from the don I chose for 3 years. He was the one who that welcomed me to my 1st fighter practice, and put the rapier (epee at the time) into my hand. He'd also been involved in some of my early garb and fencing jacket creations, had physically gotten me to practices and events, had fed me countless meals, had introduced me to the <i>weirdest </i>movies you can imagine, and had introduced me to scores of people. There was no question that he was the one I wanted to cadet to.<br />
<br />
<i>Note: I have seen this go both ways - some cadets know who they want to work with and ask that person, but conversely, dons can see a promising student and offer to cadet them. </i><br />
<br />
When I cadetted, sure, I did want to be a doña, but that possibility seemed so far off in the <i>way future </i>that it wasn't actually my goal. I wanted to learn to fence, obviously, but I also wanted more. I wanted to learn "to SCA". And there was so much to learn.<br />
<br />
My don seemed to know everyone and had held all manner of officer positions in the SCA. He had been responsible for some great developments for the betterment of the game. He had some freaking awesome stories of badassery and mischief. And I wanted to be a part of all of those things: garb-making, meeting people, fencing, games, service, arts stuff, impactful happenings, event-going, badass stories...everything!<br />
<br />
In my mind, he was more than just a fencing teacher, he was a mentor and an influence for an impressionable teenager. (Notice that I didn't say "good influence" as he was quite fond of mischief, punk rock, and fire, but...ya know...). ;-)<br />
<br />
For a bit over 10 years, I was his cadet - through college, grad school, marriage, and divorce. There were several breaks in there from 6 mos to 3 years but the intention was always to return. However, when I began playing after my longest break, at 27, just after getting engaged, I found the culture of the SCA changing. Evolving. Since the game has been around for ~50 years, I feel like every 10-ish years or so, it is likely to go through a shift in mindset, structure, and rules. As the game grew in popularity, different types of people started joining. Different ideas.<br />
<br />
In my observation, this time of change was spurred by one very significant factor - population change. The median age was getting older, younger people were not sticking around and now, many of the long-timers stopped playing or moved away.<br />
<br />
I was different as well when I came back in 2011. I was no longer a shy, naive teenager who has no idea what she's doing half the time. I was an adult, with a master's degree, who was married and then was going through a damaging divorce. (And still had no idea what I was doing half the time!) In essence though, I had leveled up. In addition, the fencing family I had been part of had also become different - lives changed, careers changed, priorities changed. After 10+ years, this is only natural.<br />
<br />
My don and I decided, mutually, to end our don-cadet relationship officially in 2014. We were now set upon different paths. And because of all the changes in the society and the population, I was not actually sure which way I was going. <br />
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This decision was, by no means, easy. It took much deliberation but ultimately, it was necessary. I have learned so much from my don and his family. So much of what I am (in the SCA and outside of it) is built onto the foundation that he provided to me. That is something that I will always value.<br />
<br />
I debated ever cadetting again, thinking that I had failed my don by not becoming a white scarf. By not doing more. Being better. Diving in with both feet even though I had no life vest or floaty ring. Was I even desirable anymore? What was I looking for?<br />
<br />
For a while, I just thought I would muddle my way through without a don and just, kind of, become badass on my own. However, I began to learn that it was really hard to get noticed if you don't have that red (or white) piece of cloth on your arm. I was still able to get teaching from all the fabu teachers that I had surrounded myself with, but I didn't exactly have that one person in my corner who could give me unsolicited advice or that little edge of confidence needed when going into a tourney. I decided that having someone looking out for me in that way was a valuable part of the SCA.<br />
<br />
So with Antoine, I was looking for someone who:<br />
<br />
1. Attended many of the events that I attended but was also outside of my geographical circle (the Boulder/Denver area). I needed motivation, in a sense, to attend stuff but I also wanted distance to be able to do my own thing. I have worked super hard over the years to be me, so I want space to be able to continue that. With many things, I can (mostly) do just fine. ;-)<br />
<br />
2. Was very knowledgeable in rapier combat and could give me unsolicitated advice and commentatry on my fencing. I also was interested in both old-school, new-old school, and new-school perspectives.<br />
<br />
3. (and I hate to admit this one) Would help me navigate the turbulent and shark-infested political waters of the SCA - in general and in rapier-combat specifically. I have always thought that I would be happier in the long run if I stayed out of SCA politics. However, I've learned that it depends on what you want to do. If advancement is one of the things - then unfortunately, playing some politics is kind of unavoidable. Additionally, if you want to make a positive impact and changes on the community, having some political clout is incredibly helpful.**<br />
<br />
4. Could help me really learn what it means to be a don/doña and help me work toward that goal. Because, let's be honest, very few people cadet without the hope of one day, putting that white scarf on their shoulder. ***<br />
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Ugh...I can feel a "part 3" coming on because I'm soooo sleepy. So, without further ado...<br />
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Appendix:<br />
* For those of you that don't do SCA, let me explain. Essentially, this means that I have become "apprenticed" to a respected teacher in the SCA fencing community (a "don" or "doña") This type of bond is usually more than just a teacher-student relationship but a mentor-mentee relationship. In taking on this role, I have become a part his large SCA family. This includes his "real-life"family (his wife and 2 biological children), his lineage (his doña, her don), his legacy (his other cadets - a "brother" and 3 "sisters"). I have also become a part of Mourning Glory (which is like a household) - the members of his crew as well as all those with whom his crew has "allied".*<br />
<br />
**For some people, playing the political game is easy. These people are charismatic as fuck, just the right combination of brazen and arrogant, probably a bit crazy, and maybe a little stupid. They can walk right into a room or party and just own it. Those people are not me. For all my sociability, I am internally shy and unsure (still working on this). Which is why, if I'm going to attempt to make an impact, I need it to be teamwork. Therefore, having a family, household, or allies that have your back is pretty crucial.<br />
<br />
*** I know we now have the Order of Defense as well which is technically a step up from the Order of the White Scarf. However, that's a peer-level award and I understand it even less. So I will not talk about that one here.Lyndsie Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15472917597591219932noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2243453102024730717.post-12131334346812409722017-09-10T18:37:00.001-07:002017-09-10T18:37:24.695-07:00That One Person.... -The Saga of Lyndsie - Part 16As we drove home from Battlemoor VIII, I began thinking of the "Battlemoor was great!" post that I was going to make on Facebook like I do every year. but this event was too complicated for a mere Facebook status. There has been a lot to process, both positive and, unfortunately negative. In the realization that this blog post on Battlemoore could become the longest post I've ever written, I have decided to do it in segments.<br />
<br />
And, as I was trying to write sequentially, two negatives surfaced first because they occurred on Thursday. One involved fencing which will be touched on in a different blog post, and one involved people. As I have done for many posts before this, I have debated posting anything about this which has delayed my recap of Battlemoor as a whole. However, I have decided that I should post because...<br />
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This type of thing should not be minimized or kept silent. </div>
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It is silence that allows these things to occur repeatedly. It is silence that really breeds the fear and anxiousness. Knowledge is power, and this power is potent. It is a power that the whole community needs to have so we can protect each other. </div>
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On Thursday night, at a crowded, bustling party, someone roofied a woman. She stopped breathing. </div>
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Thankfully, there were several medical professionals nearby and she was able to get help. She is doing alright, physically. (I will not presume to speak of her mental state as it was not me in this situation). </div>
<br />
Unfortunately, the SCA no longer feels as safe as it used to. I mean, I have always been wary at larger events like Pennsic, or even Estrella - events that draw people to them from outside the SCA who may not hold onto our ideals of chivalry and honor. Even at these larger events, I felt confident enough in my strength and independence that I am have not been afraid or too wary of strangers.<br />
<br />
And, at an event like Battlemoor, which is a mere ~1000 people strong, it never really worried me. I was never afraid of walking around alone in the dark, or setting my drink down to go to the bathroom. Now, while I still will defiantly assert that I'm able to take care of myself, I give the side eye to unknown people. I guard my drinks more carefully, and I may or may not have walked clutching my knife, alone in the dark.<br />
<br />
That someone would do this to a person makes me sad, and very, very angry. I don't want my girlfriends to be afraid...not in mundane life, or at an SCA event, or ever. I don't want to see the already fragile bond of trust shattered, yet again, by another sleezy man (which, sadly as it is assumed). I don't want us to have to grip our belongings so tightly that it seems like we are desperately holding on to whatever dignity we feel that we have left. Dignity and self-respect should be a right, not a conditional reward for "staying safe" or protecting ourselves. I don't want women to feel that if they make that one mistake, set their drink down, look away for a second, maybe even make a poor choice in friends, that it is their fault and they are no longer "strong" or "independent" or "respectable" or "smart".<br />
<br />
I have been there, continually asking myself, "What if I had just done something differently?" or "Why did I do the stupid thing that all my women mentors always warned me about?" Each discretion, mistake, oversight or piece of misguided trust that I have made over the years comes back to haunt me in a series of ever growing questions. I knew the "rules", I was told how to protect myself. Keep myself "safe". And yet I "broke" them, over and over, sometimes even unknowingly. I've been told, "well if you had don't X, Y, & Z, that wouldn't have happened."<br />
<br />
What about the other person involoved? What if they'd been taught to be a decent human being? That it was not "natural" or "normal" to do what they did for revenge, pleasure, or some extremely misplaced sense of "what's right"? There are two people - TWO PEOPLE - at least, involved in any interaction. Why is it that the women are always the ones being held accountable?<br />
<br />
Now, I understand that there are lines. There are certain situations that are clearer than others. For instance, going for a run at 3AM in an area known for predators. Or accepting a drink from a total stranger at a frat party from a college that was notorious for sleezeballs. But hanging out in a place where you know the majority of the people, where it's loud, yet crowded and well lit, and where you're surrounded by your friends? Excuse me if I let my guard down a little and trust in the people around me.<br />
<br />
Sadly, now, many won't. At least not for a while. Hell, I had a friend refuse a sip of the cider that I had clearly been drinking out of myself which was in its labelled bottle. This type of fear is nothing to dismiss or minimize. It is very, very real. And that fucking sucks. <br />
<br />
Additionally, shit like this also affects those of the male persuasion. I feel like this is going to be very controversial, but I think it's worth noting. Guys, who are good people, are now being forced to live under the shadow of awful people's actions. Their trust, and their sense of self-worth may also be damaged because now they feel that they not only have to prove themselves, but stand up for their gender. They question their friends as well. And they may feel that they are not doing enough to prevent these things from happening. Maybe, in a way, that is good. Everyone SHOULD be more diligent, more aware, more cognizant that the world - even our small SCA corner - does contain shitheads.<br />
<br />
Those shitheads can just go fuck right off. Let's hope I never find out who you are or find myself in your vicinity. And yes, that was a threat.<br />
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<br />Lyndsie Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15472917597591219932noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2243453102024730717.post-50992103007042915512017-08-15T23:37:00.000-07:002017-09-04T18:52:24.525-07:00Why I Fence - The Saga of Lyndsie - Part 15Tonight after some discussion with several people and a slightly misguided tourney in the rain, I realized that I may have AN answer to why I keep fencing, even through negative experiences, self-loathing periods, and pointed douchebaggery from a few past members.<br />
<br />
I also faced a philosophical discussion that could have delved deep into my feelings of the SCA in general. The discussion never got that far, which I'm sort of glad about because there are cans of worms that you <i>don't</i> want to open and soapboxes that I, personally, don't feel like jumping on to right now. However, a lot of those potential paths of discussion have been playing over in my head and I have come to one, striking realization.<br />
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I was really looking forward to Mikey's tourney because the format was sword and buckler, which is my favorite form to fight. Due to the rain, the tourney was being rushed through and those not insane enough to put metal on their heads and wave around their lightning rods, didn't really want to hang around. I don't blame them...it was wet!<br />
<br />
However, at one point, there stood a choice for me - I could either continue my discussion or I could fight my bout in the tourney. I had seconds to make this choice, and I chose to fight. This choice may have been a detriment to me and probably made me appear rude. And, while I do feel sorry for cutting the conversation short, I also do not regret my choice.<br />
<br />
My opponent in the tourney, I had never met before and he was wearing loaner armor which led me to conclude that he was either new or a transplant. The person I was talking to was important, had titles and influence. I chose the underdog - the newbie - the person whom I didn't know. Because this person and those like him, are the future of our community. They are the ones who will carry innovation and enthusiasm with them into the game, and that is what I want to encourage. (To cement in my mind that my decision was right, after the fight, the new fencer came up to me and was like, "That was my first tourney. Thank you!" which made me smile).<br />
<br />
Sure, it would be nice to win tourneys. And I definitely would not be unhappy to do so, but there has to be something else that I'm riding on. Of all the tourneys, only one person can win - out of everyone - so even if I'm really, really good, my chance of winning is slim because there are many fencers that are really, really good.<br />
<br />
So...<br />
1. I want to be the fencer who is a joy to fight. I want to share my love of the game with others - and I want other people to actually understand how much the game means to me. The SCA cannot live without a community behind it - without new people with ambition to pick up the torches where the seasoned veterans leave them laying. There is always something new and unexpected to experience in this game, whether it is your first year or your fiftieth, because there will always be new people. And that is the joy. So, I want to make sure that those new people are encouraged to come back. I don't want new people to show up once or twice and think, "oh that girl in the purple looks like she knows her shit, but didn't give me the time of day so they are clearly a bunch of assholes."<br />
<br />
2. I want to get better, improve my skill, yes, but also a a person. I want to build the type of relationships that encourage me to grow on many levels. The better I feel socially, the more confident I am, the better my fencing gets. Community and the game go together. That feeling of being a part of something, something bigger. So, even if I don't win everything, or become the best fencer in the Known World, I can still feel satisfied that I am learning and growing every time I come around. And I want other people to feel that way to. I want them to feel 10 feet tall and bulletproof.<br />
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3. My History. I have spent a lot of time in this game and have had a lot of experiences. Not all of them have been good, some were fairly negative. However, I have powered through those and have been able to find the joy even still. Each negative experience has helped me understand how to see the positives. I can now no longer count my blessings because they are so many. I have been influenced by some very great people, that I love dearly, and even if relationships change and grow apart, the affect they have had on me will remain. If I quit SCA and leave forever, then I am not properly honoring the lessons they've taught me.<br />
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4. Fun. Fencing is fun. Stabbing my friends (and even getting stabbed) is fun when you have great interchanges and one of you does a really cool move. I feel like a badass bitch and it's been something I've been doing for so long that it does feel *right*. And, it does feel great when you notice your skill improving. When you actually achieve something that you were trying to do and not all of your hits were just slop. When you see a move and successfully counter and you hear your opponent grumble. THAT is fun.<br />
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This game that we play is a game that transcends just one person - me or a knight or even a king. It cannot work on the backs of a few alone, so I want to be one of the people to draw others in. I want to teach those new people to draw other new people in. Because, honestly, the more people I have to play with, the more friends I make, make this game feel more like a giant party with swords and funny clothes. And to that end, if I had to choose between the community as a whole and my own personal advancement, I would choose the community. Since, without members, none of the other stuff would even exist.<br />
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<br />Lyndsie Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15472917597591219932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2243453102024730717.post-683038173816476752017-08-15T22:50:00.000-07:002017-08-15T22:50:10.137-07:00Say It to My Face - The Saga of Lyndsie - Part 14<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">As I write this post, I feel I need to have a disclaimer: I am not trying to talk badly about anybody who chooses to use an anonymous messaging service. I mean, whenever you want to do is your prerogative. If you are my friend, I love you regardless. But, I wanted to give my opinion, b cause, that's what the internet is for...rite? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">It seems that there has been a lot of controversy over this new anonymous messaging service and I've been thinking a lot about it. </span><span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">It's called Sarahah and I think it started somewhere in the Middle East and spread through Europe. It's messaging service where you can sign up as a user and put a link out there and your friends or the general public can comment to you anonymously. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">As I understand it, originally it was created as a way for employers to receive feedback from their employees anonymously. I get why this would be a thing. I mean, I'm not always 100% comfortable about telling my boss exactly how I feel about some things. My company, or at least my boss, is fairly open and I do feel that I can provide my opinion on the big things, but when it comes to stuff like promotions or if I really really hate something, I don't want to sound too negative because I don't want it to sound like I'm not motivated in the job or that I want to quit. Even recently, I have seen how a certain employee could be very open with their negative feelings about the company as a whole and yet they still don't get fired on the spot. However, I know that most companies aren't like this, and some employees fear too much for their jobs that even say anything remotely critical could compromise their position. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">Therefore, I can see how a service like this for a company could be really useful. It could gauge employee happiness, it could note where there are improvements to be made or it could be ensure you that you're not doing such a bad job with your company after all. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">Recently, Sarahah has gotten new life in social media for people that are not in an employee/employer relationship. You an even old get feedback from people you don't even know like, if you say, write a blog for instance. And honestly, in that case, it might be nice because I feel like my friends may not want to come out super negatively on my Facebook, and maybe even here on Blogger it they disagree with something that I'm writing. I mean, I don't really care if you say negative shit because one of my big goals of this blog is to get a convo going so if civility can reign, I'm totally ok with it. If you're going to throw that out the window and just be a troll, then you will just get your comment deleted and I may reconsider my respect for you. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">Now, let's talk socially. I'm a fairly frank and upfront person (wait...really?). If you're being a little punk and it's enough that I feel that it will affect me, I will say something to you. And if I disagree with you, I will find a way to politely let you know how I feel IF I want to talk about it. If I'm not willing to talk, I will just shut the fuck up. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">If</span><span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;"> you are just bothering me, I weigh the benefits of saying anything or just letting it go. Usually the criteria consist of one of two things:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;"> 1. Will my saying something really help this person or improve my relationship with this person? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">2. Does it really need to be said or will it just cause more trouble if I speak up? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">Generally the first one would be, for instance, if someone gets a really bad haircut or if their perfume is overpowering. And even in these cases, I would weigh my feedback with their feelings. Do they seem on the fence about their haircut and my feedback will help them determine if they're going to do it again? Then yes, I may say that it's not their best haircut. But...Are they super in love with it and just fucking adore it? Then no, I'm not going to shit on their dreams. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">For the second bullet point, I generally only do those things if I may not be too worried about the friendship with being retained because a person has crossed so far into my no bullshit on that I just don't care anymore or b. If they are being directly ticket to me. If someone is being a cunt to me I will tell them that they're being a cunt. And a third a bonus point, I have something good to say to you, then I'm going to tell you. Even if the thing is that I'm super jelly because you are so much more beautiful and successful than me and I kind of hate you sometimes. Because, honestly, my friend to know me should know that's a compliment. And my friend to get too sensitive? Maybe I should rethink having them as friends.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">And for myself, I should really hope that if you have something to say to me that you say it… To me… Or, make sure I never hear it. If you want to talk shit about me that's your prerogative but I can't stop you but if you don't have the lady balls to come up and say it to my face, then I don't want you to say it to me anonymously. Anonymity gives people A false sense of security that, I really don't think they should be allowed to have in a friendship. In a job or professional relationship, I get it. You have jobs you don't love because you need the money because you need to health benefits and that's what people do. But you have friendships directly to enrich your life's so if you're friends with toxic people that feel the need to complain to you anonymously about yourself and can't even own up to their own feelings, I'm not people that are really going to enrich your life anyway. They may just be hangers on my friends with you because you do something for them, because they think they can get influence in being your friend. And that, is a super shitty friendship and not worth the two fucks that I have to give to it. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">So, I have to say, I will not be doing Serata because it's the trendy thing to do right now. I will say, that if you want to talk to me I am open. If you want to say bad shit about me, that's fine, just know that if you do it to my face you would get a better response if you can approach it in a polite and logical way. If you just want to spew vitriol, I hear there's probably a website for that.</span></div>
Lyndsie Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15472917597591219932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2243453102024730717.post-40873412764094511872017-07-18T00:01:00.000-07:002018-04-02T22:43:44.661-07:00No Knight in Shining Armor - The Saga of Lyndsie - Part 13Unlucky number 13 - a fitting number for the unlucky life event that I am about to relate.<br />
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This is a story that many of you probably don't want to hear. Hell, even I don't want to hear it and I am the one writing it! I had never intended to tell this story to most people in my lives, much less the entirety of Facebook and the internet. This story calls attention to my weaknesses and express a vulnerability that will make a lot of folks uncomfortable. So, I have two disclaimers:<br />
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1. If you are the type who wants to live in blissful ignorance or doesn't want to know this much about me, I would say that you should turn back now.<br />
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2. I'm not looking for pity or attention. (And the whole fact that I even have to make this second disclaimer points to just how fucked up our society really is.<br />
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Now, for the story. Sit back. Relax. Put your seat belts on. It's going to get rough.<br />
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When I was growing up, I can say that I was sheltered though not from any direct intervention from my parents or my community. Ok, I did go to a Catholic school, but if you knew my friends (and some of you do know them...or are them) that didn't really mean much as to how you did or didn't develop socially, romantically, and sexually. At least, not if you went to a Catholic school in Boulder. However, for reasons that I will never know, I didn't really join my friends' interest in boys and dating as early as they did. Sure, I kind of played along because I didn't want to feel left out, but until sometime in middle school, I focused my energy on creative pastimes, intellectual pastimes, and fantastical adventures. (Please note, I'm not asserting any opinion that an interest in the opposite sex and dating was inferior in any way, just that it wasn't where my head was at when I was 11, 12, or 13). Romantically, I had these completely unrealistic standards only found in Disney movies and people in real life were, well, immature and underwhelming. There were way more exciting things at that point than dating.<br />
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My first kinda-sorta-boyfriend was when I was in 7th grade and he was in 6th. Chubz was the brother of my friend's boyfriend and she kind of set me up. I was so super clueless about boys and dating and about myself being a sexual object in any way. I was also painfully shy. I only dated Chubz through notes. When my dad wouldn't let me go on a double date with Chubz, my friend and her BF, I decided that dating was stupid and broke up with him. On the day of the Valentine's dance. Over the phone. Through my friend.<br />
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In high school, my first sorta-boyfriend was a senior when I was a junior. We dated for two months all he could talk about was how he and his previous girlfriend would have sex all the time, but I wouldn't fuck him. Sexy, right? After about 2 1/2 months, he broke up with me right before spring break to <strike>fuck</strike> date my friend. Once he fucked her, he broke up with her. Super classy.<br />
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After him, I dated a guy in my friend circle for a bit...not because I was particularly interested in him (or even really in dating) but because he was there. I was still oblivious to the fact that I was at all pretty or desirable. Honestly, aside from a brief mourning period over the one trick pony guy, I didn't feel strongly either way in terms of my desirability to men. And I didn't fucking care. I was me, right? That was what my parents had always taught me. That no one else was going to be me, so I had to be. And screw the rest! (But not literally).<br />
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Then, my first serious boyfriend happened. I met him as I had always imagined I would:<br />
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<i>Across a green field, she saw a man. He was standing with his profile facing her, hands stretching up toward the sky, reaching for the sparkling sun. His blonde hair reflected every ray - a dance of oranges and yellows - and his smile was a radiant white. His eyes were some magical color, but striking nonetheless. And he was holding..a boffer.</i><br />
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<i>He could be my prince, my knight, my king on a golden stallion. He would live in a rich castle in some far-off land and would only ever treat me to the finest things, the most flavorful food, and the highest chivalry and honor manageable in the human race. </i><i>I was 17. He, 19. </i>(Yes, I met him in the SCA).<br />
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However, reality was hardly that. He drove a beat-up Datsun T-top, that was broken more often than it was working. He lived in his friend's garage: dim light, malfunctioning heater, a filthy thin layer of carpet on the floor. He had a decrepit waterbed and a blue collar job. He'd never finished high school. And he raped me.<br />
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Yes. You read that right.<br />
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We dated for two years and in that time, he stole my already tentative teenage ideas of self worth and replaced it with feelings of inadequacy, outsiderness, and doubt. And that is how I remember me.<br />
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Before this moment in time, I don't really remember how I thought of myself as a person. I'm sure if you asked my mom she'd say something like, "She was precocious, tenacious, fierce, emotional, and brave." Or my dad may say that I was smart, unruly, tomboyish, and difficult. But downtrodden? Insecure? Uncertain? I would guess no more so than your average hormonal teenager.<br />
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No, not before...but after.<br />
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When you're a teenager, you already struggle with who you are. With here you belong in life. Things that you thought you knew about yourself come crashing down as you transition from a child to an adult. What? I can't play with dolls anymore? Why the FUCK am I bleeding from my lady parts? Why did god have to curse me with the Y chromosone? What do you mean I "will someday want children even if I don't right now?" Who the HELL are you (all adults in the world) to tell me who I am?<br />
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I was so intent at rebelling against the adults in my life, that I didn't see what was happening right in front of my face with the young adult closest to me. I was told things to make me feel worthless: "Good thing you have me. No one else would want you.", "You're not that pretty, but you'll do for me. Good thing I have low standards." "A person like you generally can't find a boyfriend." And oh, my very favorite one:<br />
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"You turned me on because you chose to sleep without pajama pants, so now you have to get me off."<br />
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Somehow two years of this crap went on before I got asked out by a guy in my Italian class. <i>Wait...what? Someone else is attracted to me?</i> <i>Well what am I waiting for?</i> Then it was over...this man was over...I was 19 when we broke up. I left the physical thing behind.<br />
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I don't remember much of our "relationship" except a few words and the feelings. Emotionally, though, it shaped my everything. I had decided to hide my past sex life from everyone including myself. I re-virginized myself until I was 21. I dated only superficially, not wanting to get close.<br />
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**Before I continue, I think it's worth noting that at this point, in 2002, I did not think that what had happened was rape. I legitimately believed that it was my responsibility to pleasure my boyfriend and that it was OK for him to expect it because that's what guys did. Also, I didn't want to say anything about it to anyone because I didn't want to be "that girl" who says she's raped just to get attention. I didn't want to accidentally ruin a man's life with the accusation, even though he essentially ruined mine. I also didn't think anyone else would take my trauma seriously me because we were dating and exclusive etc. Namely, however, I didn't want my feelings diminished, or for anyone to stand up for him (or to him). I didn't want pity or for anyone to think of me as being damaged or broken...though I was.**<br />
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OK...back to it...At 21, I began feeling like a complete and utter failure for not wanting sex or having it. I then decided one night that the first cute guy I saw, who was interested in me, I would take home and just get it over with. As if my re-virginity was something that needed to be ripped away, like a bandaid. It happened as I had planned, except for one horrible thing - he didn't use a condom. That was terrifying. I felt betrayed, again, and ashamed that I was so careless.<br />
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However, after that, I started dating normally-ish. Sex, was still something to just get through. Something I did because it was what was expected of me...and because I wanted to like it. I wanted to understand what was so great about it. But I didn't. That fear, that feeling of inadequacy, was always there in the back of my mind. I could never enjoy or relax during intimacy so I probably faked 99% of my orgasms...for the next 8 years.<br />
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There was then the rock climber boy. Also handsome. Also met in a fairytale way.<br />
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Another boy who had issues of his own (of which I could write a book about some other time) who then also got me, and all my baggage. All of my sadness, my shame and my silence made me an awful romantic partner. It made me a terrible adult too - so much uncertainty. Downplaying anything I could have been worth. Then when I finally opened up to the rock climber, he took my past and turned it back around onto me. Part 2 of "Lyndsie isn't good enough for anyone else" which evolved into "Lyndsie is completely used up and will never be of any use to any other guy, so it's good that I'm here so she can get something."<br />
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Lyndsie isn't worth anything.<br />
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Lyndsie isn't worth anything.<br />
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Lyndsie is only worth what her body can give.<br />
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And even that had been taken away from her a long time ago.<br />
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<i>Lyndsie isn't worth anything. </i><br />
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Again I realized way too late, that that relationship needed to end. Eventually it did and I tried to get back on track again. This time, my approach was different. I wasn't ever going to talk about my past to my next partner. Nothing. Not ever.<br />
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I met my ex-husband at 24, and did just that. Refusing to acknowledge my history out loud was an attempt to move forward. To create myself anew as the person that I wanted to be. As me. As someone who was worth something. What was it to him, anyway, that I'd had bad experiences in the past? That I had dated and lived with some super shitty guys that ruined me for sex and love? I would just play it off...play the sex game...the love game...fake the orgasms...how was he going to know anyway? I remember lying in bed one night just thinking to myself..."If I never had sex ever again in my life, that would be fine. I can take care of myself and that's all I need.<br />
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However, even he, too, began guilting me for not fucking him often enough. Not, "wanting" it enough. It was always such a to do for me and i really had to psyche myself up for it so....it didn't happen often. But somehow, me not wanting sex with him every night, or every other night, was a failing of him. His precious ego was damaged because I had my own concerns.<br />
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Again, I was worth nothing if not for my pussy. And my pussy was responsible for shepherding his ego. Sex was for him, for validation. Not for me. It wasn't for my pleasure....he didn't care that I loved to cuddle or watch The Office or eat steak. He cared that I didn't fuck him enough.<br />
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Why did it have to be about him not being arousing enough? Why did I have to comfort him constantly and say "No, it's not you. It's me. I'm just not that horny tonight." Or "Trust me, if there was something that you could do right now to make me want it, I'd tell you. I promise." Stupid, insecure men...how about you talk more about your feelings when it DOESN'T involve your penis? For once? Just this once? Pretty please?<br />
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Again, my past - ~10 years backward..was haunting me. Even though my ex-husband didn't know anything about him. It was still ruining my life. Those old fears, the insecurities, began creeping up again out of the deep cavern that they had been banished to. I wasn't good enough to please my husband. What good was I then? What other positive qualities could I POSSIBLY have if I can't even satisfy a basic male need given to him by nature?<br />
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I wasn't worth anything.<br />
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I was a pussy, a vagina, a womb. Breasts, a pair of legs, hips, an ass. Lips, hands, and tongue would also do just fine. I was my hair. The only inside of me that mattered was the one that was tight, hot, and wet. All of the other things that contributed to my failed relationships were small bills to the one the fundamental building block.<br />
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This was the part of me that came crawling in when the lights were off and the world was silent. When the day had been worn away, and all that was left was the night. And even being one of two people, laid bare before each other in that simple biblical state, I had nothing left to give the other.<br />
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All of it had been taken from me, and I was nothing.<br />
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--To Be Continued --Lyndsie Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15472917597591219932noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2243453102024730717.post-67080559391332437292017-06-20T07:03:00.002-07:002017-06-20T07:06:45.498-07:00Mansplaining 'Splained - The Saga of Lyndsie - Part 12Mansplaining - lately this term has been quickly growing as a trendy buzzword in the feminist and gender-equality movements. Initially, people (especially men) may get defensive or think that this is just an incidence of man-hating lesbians being overly dramatic. And then there will be the "not all men" excuse that surely most men aren't like this.<br />
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Since I have heard this term circulating with ever more frequency, I have been reaching into my past and spreading my senses out in the present to see, if this stuff really does happen in real life. I mean, surely <i>my </i>friends are more enlightened than that and don't participate in this type of gender division. However, they actually do and I will illustrate 3 examples below.<br />
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Now, it is worth noting, that some of these things are likely so ingrained in society, in ourselves, that we don't realize what a negative impact we are having on our friends; on the people around us for whom we care the most.<br />
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The "official" definition of mansplaining is below:<br />
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(of a man) explain (something) to someone, typically a
woman, in a manner regarded as condescending or patronizing.aa<o:p></o:p></div>
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Also interesting are the Urban Dictionary definitions, none of which I can take seriously, but they do in a way show the defensiveness that I have just noted: <a href="http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=Mansplain">http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=Mansplain</a><br />
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<u>1. Showing superiority/knowledge </u><br />
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Recently, inspired by the Wonder Woman movie, one of my friends on Facebook asked people to list out other women actions heroes in Blockbuster movies. Some of the examples were Katniss from The Hunger Games, Leeloo from The Fifth Elemet, Alice from Resident Evil, the Bride in Kill Bill (and the female villains as well), Red Sonja, Lara Croft, Kate Beckinsale's character from Underworld (sorry it's early and I'm tired) etc. (Side note: I also looked up to many of these characters. They have definitely inspired me to be stronger, more badass and more martial in my own life).<br />
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While most people of both genders were providing example, on man went on to note: "I don't really think many of these women are heroes because they are motivated by revenge, anger or selfishness whereas Wonder Woman is the true hero because she's motivated by righteousness." Um...excuse me? Should I begin to list out all the awesome male action heroes that aren't motivated by righteousness, yet are still admired? Oh wait....I don't have that much time this morning. 'Splained like a true man...<br />
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<u>2. Taking credit for other's accomplishments in the form of words</u><br />
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I'm sure if I polled women, many of them would come back with experiences like this next one: You're telling a story of something crazy, scary, awesome that happened to you and a man keeps talking over you to explain the same story. This includes your opinions, feelings or even <i>words</i> of the story when you told it before. This is one of the most frustrating things that I experience. I am telling a story, trying to get to the big reveal, and <i>someone</i> keeps talking over me and ruins it or gives away the reveal before I get there.*<br />
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Now, on some levels, I get this - if you share an experience with someone you both want to talk about it. But I have had times where <i>I </i> did something cool and as I was trying to explain that to someone, a guy would totally butt in and explain the cool thing that <i>I did. </i>Way to steal my thunder.<br />
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This is also relating to women in the professional field who have had their research, articles, proposals, or accomplishments explained back to them. There are some great articles online like <a href="http://www.cosmopolitan.com/lifestyle/a9171951/mansplaining-tweets/">this one</a> that lists examples of these.<br />
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*Note: This is not just exclusive to men, however, I have found that guys do it more. Especially past boyfriends.<br />
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<u>3. Explaining your feelings to you</u><br />
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This last one is probably the most personal AND the most insinuating. It happens primarily in relationships, but also possibly in mentor-student relationships or elder-younger ones (parenting), and again, is not exclusive to men. However, in my past relationship experiences, I have seen this happen A LOT and it took me a long time to realize what was happening.<br />
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This is when a partner tells you how you should/need to or shouldn't/needn't feel. I say that this is very characteristic of men because when a heterosexal couple argues it frequently goes something like this:<br />
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Woman: "I feel X. I need X." or sometimes (not the best strategy but) "You make me feel like X".<br />
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Man:<br />
"You don't need me to validate your opinion."<br />
"You should not have to be told you're beautiful to believe it."<br />
"You need to feel more OK with yourself."<br />
"You shouldn't need to hear 'I love you' to know I love you."<br />
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The more I was told this stuff in my early relationship life, the more I internalized it. Then, the more internalized it got, the worse I began to feel about myself. When I finally realized what was happening, it took me a looooooong time to crawl out of the hole I dug and admit to myself, "you know what? I have needs and these are what they are...."<br />
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Yep, I was lying to myself. <i>For years. </i>As it turns out that I <i>do</i> need validation. I need you to tell me that I am beautiful and to be excited for me when I have a good idea. Even if you don't care. A good partner will understand that and a bad partner will tell me that I am overreacting. This is now my test. (And yes, in case you are wondering, James passed.) :-)<br />
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Funny thing, as I was writing this, I started to wonder if I was womansplaining this whole issue (is that really a thing?) but then I realized that I don't care. This is something that needs to be said because, as I said in the beginning, I firmly believe that not a lot of people really realize they are doing it.<br />
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So, pay more attention - if you are a woman and see this happening, call it out! If you are a dude and see this happening, call it out! And if, as a guy, you catch yourself doing these things, just <i>stop. Apologize. </i>And move on...while not doing it again.<br />
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PSA over.<br />
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<br />Lyndsie Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15472917597591219932noreply@blogger.com0