What's She Thinking?

My daughter took this picture using the timer on her camera. She edited it with picnik.  How I wish I had the creativity of a child.  What's she thinking?  Only two weeks left of summer vacation.

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Jump off the Balcony

Got writers block? Jump.

Agents rejecting you? Jump.

Someone said your writing is rambling? Jump.

My kids are always jumping off our second floor balcony. Don’t ring up Social Services… they land on the couch.

Today I decided to try it myself. I climbed over the railing and stood on the edge. “I was a kid once. I used to do back flips off diving boards twice this high.”

The kids cheered, “Jump Mom,” and “You can do it,” followed by, “Don’t be scared.”

And you know what? I didn’t jump. Why? Because I’m forty-two-freakin’ years old. I hung my head and took the walk-of-shame down the stairs.  I complain all the time about wanting to have the exuberance of youth, yet when faced with an opportunity to feel the excitement, I held back.

It got me thinking. Where else in my life am I afraid?

I thought about my book. Because when you’re writing, everything pertains to the book, right? I thought about the never-ending editing cycle, the queries... the rejections.  And I am afraid.

Here are examples of how I stopped being afraid and started jumping:

I’ve got writer’s block.

I forced myself to finish my chapter. Here’s what I did:
- I put my pad and paper in a baggie and rowed myself up a river in a canoe.
- I asked my kids to write the ending. Kids have magical insight.
- I wrote naked.  I wrote while eating.  I wrote while cooking.
- I took a road trip. Pen and paper in my lap.
- I set the alarm for 3 A.M. to write. I wrote some incoherent stuff about root beer and went back to bed.
 
Someone said my writing is rambling.
I considered, for a moment, that my chapter was rambling. Scary thought.  I read that chapter over and over again. I forced friends to read it too. I read a book on writing skills.  I know. I know. I’m rambling.  Finally, I gave in.  I rewrote that damn chapter and it’s glorious.

"You'll never publish a memoir unless your famous." 
I submitted my memoir to ten more agents.

Sometimes when we’re standing at the edge,
we don’t need anyone to talk us down.

We just need a push.

Sorry Eleanor Roosevelt, but I disagree

Eleanor Roosevelt said, "It takes courage to love..."  Sorry Eleanor, but I disagree. I think it’s easy to love.

There was a time in my life when I loved him and he loved another. Lying alone on the cold tile of our bathroom floor I wished I didn’t love. I wondered what was wrong with me. I wished I was her and I prayed for courage.

Many years later I can see clearly now: It’s easy to love. It takes courage to stop loving.

As a young mom I held my babies close. I memorized every freckle on their little noses. I knew the origin of each bruise and scrape. It’s 10 o’clock and I’m picking up my teens from the movie theatre. Cell phones and bras replace the pacifiers and diapers. I bite a nail for each minute I wait to see them safely enter my car. Tonight, when they’re fast asleep, I’ll hold them tight again.

Everyday my children teach me: It’s easy to love. It takes courage to let go.

I kept a journal of poems all through my life. Every now and then I would read a few to someone special, someone safe. Blogging has opened me up to an audience of passionate, intelligent, funny and sometimes crazy women. I read your blogs and I’m in love. I envy the freedom you have with your words. How can I be that funny or poetic? I hit the “publish” button and cringe. I read my post a dozen times and it never sounds good enough.

Blogging forces me to remember: It’s easy to love. It takes courage to let others love you.

This was my first guest post on: The Scoop on Poop

Ice Cream for Breakfast

Today The Drama Mama over at The Scoop on Poop gave me a shout-out and tomorrow I'll be a guest writer on her blog.

She asked me to write about the words “Love” and “Courage”.

I smuggly said, “Love and Courage. No problem. Got that covered.”

I finished my coffee ice cream then opened my journal to begin writing.  Then it happened.  Nothing.  I had nothing profound or interesting to say about Love and Courage. 

An old quote got lodged in my head.. ”It takes courage to love…” by Eleanor Roosevelt

Not unique, not my favorite quote, and not even sure I agree with it.

I insited, "Go away Eleanor" but she remained.  Finally I gave in and began reading other quotes by the amazing Eleanor (was she ever without insight?).  I stumbled across this one and my mind was free:

"You gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face... Do the thing you thing you cannot do.” by Eleanor Roosevelt

Eleanor Roosevelt gives me inspiration today to write

without the fear of judgment.

Wish me luck in finishing my guest post.

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Don’t be the victim of your own glass ceiling.

If you don’t strive to attain what you feel might be unattainable, you will never really know the limits of your potential.
I believe we fall victim to our own limitations every day.  

Wikipedia defines Glass Ceiling as:
Ceiling: “a limitation blocking upward advancement”
Glass:"transparent because the limitation is not immediately apparent”

Break the Ceiling

Shatter it, climb up and don’t look down.
Here are 5 steps to help you find that ceiling:
(after all, it’s invisible and you might not even know where you put it!)

1. Pick one aspect of your life that you want to progress or a new goal you feel is unattainable.
   (for example: money, job, family, blog, writing, preaching, coaching)
   Me:   I want to be a published author.
2. Find an example of someone who has achieved your unattainable goal.
   Me:   There are so many, how can I choose? Ok.. here are two of my favorites.  Both of these women are accomplished authors of memoirs.
   
   

   	Sarah Saffian author of Ithaka: A Daughter’s Memoir of Being Found
   	Elizabeth Gilbert author of Eat, Pray, Love

3. Tell yourself why you CAN'T do what they did.
   Me:   I can’t be a published author because: I’m not famous. I don’t have a degree in English or writing. I don’t have an agent. I don’t have the financial means for editors or publicist. I’m just a jersey girl, ex computer geek, who knows nothing about publishing a book. Wow… I feel worse now than I did before this exercise.
4. Take off the blindfold, you’ve just found your ceiling.
   Me:   Ok… All of the reasons stated in #3 are true. I can’t change them. BUT… my ceiling is that I ASSUME these are reasons I won’t get published. If I let these doubts rule me, then I won’t even try, hence the ceiling. If I let my own limitations prevent me from climbing, then one thing is certain, I will never get there.
5. What next?
   Seeing clearly is the first step to success.
   Tune in next week for: How to keep yourself from keeping you back

Now go. Find your ceiling and let us all know about it.

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A Bath, a Book, a Cup of Tea

Tonight I reserve just for me

A bath, a book, a cup of tea

My day was spent just like the rest

Job and family, I do my best

Laundry, bills, some dishes too

Come, I’ll read that book to you

Dress-up time is always fun

Kids in bed, the day is done

Fast asleep my children lay

This I’ve waited for all day

To take some time to pamper me

My bath, my book, my cup of tea

To your bedside I am drawn

Touch your cheeks, how they are warm

Reaching down to kiss your hair

I close my eyes and say a prayer

Someday you’ll be grown up too

Now’s the time for me and you

So in the bed with you I lay

My bath can wait just one more day.

                                    - Buffi  2002

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Someone said to me... (week 2)

Someone said to me, “You need to wait until you’re married.”

I said, “I’m sorry I can’t. I just turned fifteen.”

Read how I got there

Someone said to me, “You need to wait until you're married.”

I rolled my eyes and said, “I know, Dad. Wait ‘till I’m married. You’ve told me that a million times already. Don’t you trust me?”

“Trust you?” Dad replied with his fist clinched and quickly loosing blood flow. “Of course I trust you. It’s that boy I don’t trust!”

I smiled and went in for a hug, “Oh, Dad, you really are ridiculous. He loves me and he would never make me do anything I don’t want to do, so there is nothing to worry about. You are so old-fashioned! Most of my friends have already done it, you know.”

As the words were falling out of my mouth I tried to catch them, but my hands were not quick enough. That last comment was sure to get me stuck at home again watching reruns of 20/20 with Mom while the rest of my friends were at the party.

But Dad let me go that night and by 8PM I was making out with my boyfriend in a dark basement. There were only three couples at that “party” and by 9PM we were quite alone on the couch. In a very short time, I was swatting my boyfriend’s hands away from me like I was the lone flower stuck in a field of honey bees.

I tried to stay strong, but I trusted him and I loved him. He would never do anything to hurt me. His loving voice whispered, “If you love me, then it’s okay.”

That made sense because he did love me. I broke away from his lips for a second and said, “No! I have to wait until I’m married.” He said, “You have to or you want to? Because I think you don’t want to.”

I pushed him away, fixed my clothes and walked away. My mind played ring-around-the-rosy while I said, “I guess have to and I don’t want to.”

As I stood by the door waiting for him to follow, he gently motioned for me to come back and sit beside him. He looked so cute and pitiful. He had one last plea for me to consider, “Let’s pretend that we’re married.”

“Pretend? Pretend? Did you just really say that? Is that the best you can come up with? I’m not going to pretend!”

He met me at the door, gave me a kiss on the cheek and whispered in my ear, “Then marry me!”

I had dreamt of hearing those words, but not like this. It was only then that I realized Dad was right.

I said, “I'm sorry I can't.  I just turned fifteen.”

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Someone said to me…(week 1)

Someone said to me, “You need a platform if you want to get published.”

I said, “I choose B.”

Read how I got there


 Someone said to me, “You need a platform if you want to get published.”

I replied, “But you don’t understand, I have a platform.”

But they didn’t answer because they couldn’t hear me – even though I waved my hands wildly and hit my forehead with my fist. And if I really did respond to their email, I’m sure I’d be given the scarlet letter for new authors – a big letter ‘S’ for stalker, also known as ‘S’ for spam.

So I looked out my window and decided to speak to the tree that was graciously hanging on my every word. I gently pushed the curtain back so he won’t miss any of my speech.

I began, “My platform is me. I mean my platform is embracing adversity. If you read my book, my platform is clear. Hmmm.. Shit, maybe I don’t have a platform.”

Ahh… self doubt found its way into my heart again. Self doubt is a frequent visitor of many aspiring authors like me. Realizing I was not alone, I said to myself, “If you let self doubt win, then you lose. It’s that simple.”

I stood up to show the tree that I was serious now. “Look, I was given lots of hurdles; an alcoholic parent, abuse and poverty but I’m standing strong on the other side. I always thought I was so different and I longed to be the same. First I longed to be part of the normal-kid-club and then I longed to be part of the normal-mom club. You know, the ones that have it all figured out.”

The glare of the sun interrupted me. “Most of us don’t have it all figured out, you know.”

“Exactly!” I said as I threw my arms in the air. “If you know someone that has it all figured out I would bet you don’t really know them.”

The tree shook a leaf off toward me and said, “So what’s your point? You’re platform sounds more like a therapy session.”

My point is that we all know how it feels to be different. We all have our own struggles and we don’t always have the power to overcome them. I am saying, stand strong, be different, be yourself and don’t give up. My family was weird and screwed up as many familes are. That's why people relate to my story. I'm their sister, mother, daughter or friend. They will cry with me, laugh with me and in the end they will feel there is just one more person in the world that understands.

So, here's my platform:
Individuality and empowerment through acceptance of adversity.

And here's my mantra for today:

If I don’t believe in myself, I can’t expect you to believe in me. I will be published. I truly believe it. I can see it. I can feel it. I will say it out loud.

For writers in the midst of query and rejection letter hell, I say you are not alone. But you have a choice to make.

A) Let one letter from one person who doesn’t know you, determine your fate, or

B) File the letter away, shake off the self doubt and move on.

I said, “I choose B.”

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The Kids Stole my Camera

This is what you get when the kids steal your camera.

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Long Hair Breeds Bad Behavior

I've been told that long hair breeds bad behavior. So, I'm posting this for all the moms with long-haired boys that are misbehaving. If only you had known that a simple haircut would have solved your problems. No longer do you need to teach your boy to be a good person. Simply chop off those nasty locks of hair and watch the magic! Don't take any chances, cut your girl's hair too. People will think your kids are respectable and so they will be. Right?

In the article Boys hair: long or short by Christina Sbarro, her husband argues, "...boys with long hair grow up to be irresponsible, carefree, wanderers, who don't know how to hold down a regular job. Said long haired boys might join a low-life garage band, or be influenced by the wrong crowd, and in general, would be disadvantaged in the corporate world of "grown up" America." Do you think she agreed? Nope.

If it were completely my decision, I would let my young boy have whatever hairstyle he wanted. If he started to misbehave, I would grab a big can of "no more video games" before grabbing the clippers.

As an adult he may need to worry about how others perceive him, but as a child I need to worry about how he perceives himself.

To clip or not to clip? What's your opinion?

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It's only a matter of time

I was walking out of the bagel store yesterday and noticed a car parked crooked. The back end was all the way over the white line into another parking space. Don’t you HATE that? I was secretly having a discussion with the driver saying things like:

“Did your five year old park the car for you?” and “Did you get hit over the head with a baseball bat today?”

But then it happened. I realized the parked car was mine! But here’s the really terrible part – it was not the first time this week I did that. What’s wrong with me? Now I’m saying to myself:

“It’s only a matter of time.” and “You’re only as old as you act.”

This is how it all begins. First I started peeing my pants every time I laughed, now I can’t park straight and before you know it I’ll be on line for the early-bird specials at the local Perkins.

And then one day, when I’m not paying attention, I'll run one of my kids over…

OK… don’t get freaked out – I’m in a parking lot here and my daughter is acting. We were laughing so hard I peed my pants - really!

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Stopped Counting - Started Blogging

In with the NEW: I changed the blog name so that I could blog about my passion – the wonderful side of everyday life.

Here are SOME of my family’s passions:

My kids love to jump off the second floor balcony.

We love to make Gingerbread houses - even in the springtime.

We love family parties!

(Mom’s sixtieth - we all dressed like hippies – except mom always dresses like that!)

My son loves to moon us through the skylight on the roof of the house!

We love to sleep on the living room floor!

We love to cook the babies!

(This was when my sister let me babysit her son!)

What are your family passions???

-Buffi
http://www.imbuffi.com/

Please take my Poll. Click here.

The Pitch and Bitch Conference

This past week I had the pleasure of attending the NY Pitch and Shop writers conference . It was an intense four days of crafting the perfect pitch and trying it out on visiting Editors.

On the first day we were broken into groups by genre. My group was lead by Susan Breen, author of The Fiction Class . Susan worked with us tirelessly to smash our full novels into a concise 150 word marketing pitch. Susan was the perfect blend of kind, professional and intelligent. Her advice was spot-on and in the end we all walked away with better pitches.

I wrote 50 versions of a single paragraph

and still rewrote it the next day!

I will admit that I had reservations about paying for ANY conference, but I took a chance. All of my reservations are now gone and I would delightfully recommend the NY Pitch and Shop to any author with a completed manuscript who is looking to properly market themselves. I promise, Algonkian is not paying me to write this, but I will take any money they want to throw my way.

Many of us ate lunch on the steps of the Post Office and fate graced us with the best weather imaginable. The writers in my group were dynamic, supportive and intelligent. I know I will have lasting friendships with many of you!

People ask me, “Did you meet any interesting people?”

I answer, “Plenty. Want to know what happened to them?”

Well, since the conference, Amanda quit her job as a journalist to become the new babysitter for Toots, but was fired when her obsession with cyber-sex became out of control.

Our fearless leader McFearson was picked up by a major publishing house, but when they found he led a secret plot to embezzle millions from the self publishing industry, he was forced to move to Paris.

Rafael, realizing where his real talents lay, went on to become an exotic dancer, or was it Brad? No wait, I think his name was Johnny.

The raven, who was making rude jesters behind the editor’s back, was shipped off to a mental institution where he is scheduled to be released later this month as a polite blue bird, instructed only to sing songs from The Ramones and Led Zeppelin.

Emma, formerly a textile expert, is now the author of a successful blog called “But really, who doesn’t know a homosexual minister these days?”

Kip gave up his job as a composer to work on his pitch with the literary genius, Rose. But when Rose turned out to really be a bra-burning hippie, Kip escaped to bartending on the Jersey Shore.

And no one can forget the little old couple, seen swapping spit in the corner of the room. They went on to host their very own talk show entitled “Old People do IT too”. We are so proud of you!

I wish the best of luck to all of my new writer friends.

Get published or get me published!

-Buffi

http://www.imbuffi.com/

You Can’t Choose How You Die

Mom is terrified of flying, so I promised take the trip to Oklahoma with her last week. When we were waiting in the airport I didn’t tell her what “Express” means and that our plane would be quite small for our 3+ hour flight. This news would have to wait until the last possible minute.

While waiting for the plane, I could see she was nervous so I tried to find the words to make her comfortable. I asked, “What are you afraid of?” As she thought to herself, I continued, “Are you afraid of dying?” After all, the fear of flying is simply a control issue, right? If Mom can just give up control, she will not be afraid. Sounds good in theory only, I’m afraid.

I said, “Mom, you can’t control when you die. If today is your day, there’s not much you can do about it. So if you let go of the fear of dying, then maybe you won’t be afraid to fly.” Here I am trying to teach my mom about life. My mom, a woman who was a Hospice social worker for longer than I can remember, a woman who raised five children and went back for two more, a woman who carves stone statues and designs stained glass in her spare time. Okay, life -maybe Mom has me beat but flying - now that’s something I know more about for sure.

Mom just smiled at my attempt to help her and answered with a simple, “I’m not afraid of dying. I just have a lot more living to do.” So simple. Did she just turn my words around? I guess wanting to live is different than being afraid to die, which got me thinking:

You can’t choose how you die, but you can choose how you live. It’s not a unique thought, but a good one to be reminded of every now and then. I choose to live content with what I have, I choose to make a difference where I can, and I choose to write.

Mom was not happy when we entered the tiny plane, but she did it. God really smiled on us because it was definitely the smoothest flight I have ever taken. Good job, Mom.

This week I worked on my book covers to distract me from my real task of writing the book proposal, here they are, let me know what you think.

** NOTE: These covers represent 3 Different Books - A Series of Memoirs

Read more

Please support me with your honesty.

-Buffi

http://www.imbuffi.com/