Daily Writing Prompt

When are you most happy?


I’m happy at work. I know that seems strange, but I love my job and the people I serve.

Even as I write that, I think to myself, “you should write about time with your granddaughters, or time relaxing at home, or trips to the beach,” but those moments don’t encompass my daily life. My work does. And my job makes me happy.

White dress

The white dress
The black dress
The who-wore-it-best dress.
Adorn yourselves to satisfy the
rage in men
but it is our rage they
shall find underneath.

I’m Tired

I'm tired.
Aren't you tired?
Do you feel the weight of today
under the weight of tomorrow?
America wakes up tired.
We're exhausted from
the political divide
Covid-19 or Delta
or Omicron
or whatever variant is currently
chasing us in the streets
at our jobs
and down the aisles.
'The greatest country in the world'
they say.
But don't look while
voting rights and
are stripped for parts.
Watch the privately owned
rockets touch the sky
from  your phones
before falling asleep
to dream the Big Lie
of what's possible
in the greatest country in the world.

How I Met My Husband

In 1994 I was actively involved in a local theater group. I had one year before broken up with a verbally abusive, spoiled white boy who used to say “White people are going to be the minority in 25 years!” I had the self esteem of a beaten dog at this time, so please forgive me. Feeling emotionally beaten from months in the relationship, I went to my local library to find help. As a book worm, the library is my safe place no matter what is going on in my life. On this particular day I found a book titled, The Verbally Abusive Relationship: How to Recognize It and How to Respond by Patricia Evans (Adams Media, 1992). I did not know the terms “verbal abuse” or “emotional abuse” that the book covered, but as I read through the book in the comfort of my small, one-bedroom apartment on the plush taupe-colored couch my father and step-mother bought me when I was broke and desperate for my own apartment, I saw my relationship on page after page. This woman was writing about Erik (yeah, Erik with a K that I thought was so cool that I would declare J and K are my favorite letters). He gave me attention and I gave him my credit card. He let me meet his family, who I wanted to be my family. He didn’t think my family liked him (they didn’t), and he did not want to be committed to anyone whose parents didn’t like him. My mom and sister saw right through him. I wanted them to like him so badly so that he would like me more. Read that again. I seriously was putting the sake of my relationship into my family’s hands because he convinced me that if they liked him, he would eventually marry me. He expected me to do whatever he wanted, because I did. He ignored me when he didn’t need anything. I was literally being treated like a dog by a person who thought I was cute and fun, but didn’t want the responsibility of taking care of me. Until, that is, I read this book. Suddenly the fog lifted from my brain, and I refused to be his dog or his victim. Just like that. I stopped taking his calls and it drove him crazy. He would call my phone 50 times a day. He even called my mom. He drove to my apartment and I ignored his presence just like he had ignored mine. I was finally free of him. But I was also shaken, and needed to find something to do to take my mind off of this garbage can of a man and move on with my life.

The add in the paper, found one evening after dinner at my dad’s house who subscribed to the local evening paper, The Press, advertised Acting Class by the Repertory People of Evansville only $50, or some similar amount that made it affordable and also made me assume the class had class. Classes would be held at the Old Courthouse, a beautiful Beaux-Art architecture built in 1890 designed with carvings and statues that still impress people today. Classes would begin the following Monday evening. I tore out the add and showed up the first night of class with all of the enthusiasm of a girl going on her first date.

The Repertory People of Evansville acting class was led by a man who had once lived in Hollywood and rubbed shoulders with people like James Dean and Raymond Burr. His Hollywood days were over, but his love for acting and the theater was still as strong as it ever was. I wasn’t expecting this class to take me to Hollywood or New York, but it would take me out of my head and introduce me to my future. Before our first class ended, he encouraged all of us who attended, about 15 people altogether, to come back on Friday for the opening night of that season’s play. I can’t remember the name of the play, but I remember a guy (not a teenager but not a man really) with the spotlight on him and he was chained to the floor. He was what I noticed most about the play. He wasn’t that great at acting, but he was my age and I was single and trying to move on in my life. Basically, he could have been any guy in his 20s with a decent face and body on that stage. My standards were really high at this time. I had learned nothing. Well, except to not let the next guy verbally abuse me. I was improving one bad relationship at a time.

Over the next three months, I went to acting class, volunteered backstage, hung out with the actors and poets and stage/prop assistants and found my way back to the world. I lost weight. I shared my poems. I practiced monologues. I was given the part of one of the prostitutes in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest (I did not take this personally). My confidence skyrocketed and I was ready for a new relationship. The guy chained to the floor was in my sights, and I definitely embarrassed myself repeatedly trying for his attention. Before long, we were both being cast in the risqué play, Equus. It involved a psychiatrist and his troubled young male patient who required therapy after stabbing out the eyes of six horses. I would play the female character, Jill Mason, “an outgoing and free-spirited young woman” per Wikipedia’s description of the character. The guy in chains and his actual brother would play two of the horses. In one scene, I am introducing the horses to the troubled co-lead character while brushing the imagined coat of one of the horses: “This is Trooper. He’s my favorite.” Trooper was played by Allen Murray. He really was my favorite. I married him six months later.

Today, we celebrate 25 years of marriage. We took on the roles of husband and wife, and we’ve been improving our craft ever since.

Burn it All: An Introduction

I’m a Transformation Coach, but first and foremost, I’m a writer. This is my blog.

For my first post, I’m getting political and jumping into the center of current events. Might as well get to know me with a bold introduction. But stay for the cupcakes and lemonade. I’m fierce but also funny and sweet. You’ll see.

I like staying up to date on the news and current events. This wasn’t always the case. I used to ignore the news and trust God to make everything alright. Oh, how silly and stupid I was. I literally said, when Trump was elected, “Well, how bad can it get? I mean we can always vote him out in 4 years.” See, how dumb I was, because we are now in a dumpster fire.

For most of my news information I start with Twitter, where all the smart, cool people go (and obviously, some not-so-cool people too). Then I jump to my news journalist apps like The New York Times, The New Yorker, and The Washington Post. It can take a toll on me if I stay in Twitter world too long, so I put it away for awhile then come back periodically throughout the day to see if the President has taken a fall or to find if the LGBTQ+ community, BlackLivesMatter are winning against the racism and prejudice that is currently blazing through our country’s states and streets.

When I see videos and reports of black and brown people dying under the supposed “help” of the nation’s police forces, I cry. When I see journalists and photographers being arrested and hit with rubber bullets, I fume. When I see our country on fire, I raise my fist and say, “Yes! Burn it all!” This is 2020 in what was once considered the greatest country on earth. But now there exists a battle between white nationalism and “liberty and justice for all” and the world is watching.

I am a white woman who grew up in a small town where people of color were not allowed during my childhood and teen years, but I am no ‘Karen.’ I won’t call the police or ask to speak to the manager due to white-privilege power. I will hold out my hand, offer a smile, and ask how I can help. This is a time in American history for the history books, and I want to make sure we have a victorious ending, where a person’s skin color no longer determines their future. I want to vote out all old, white men, and bring women and color into our political folds. I want to see an end to gun violence and to de-militarize police forces. I want no part of “Make America Great Again” because when you say that, you do not mean for people of color, but only for whites. You do not mean for LGBTQ+ people, but only those who follow the religiously biased Adam & Eve scenario and who assume everyone should follow their religion.

Now that you’re getting to know me, I hope you stick around and learn more. I have a lot of roles (daughter, sister, friend, wife, mother, grandmother, US citizen, Hoosier, etc.), and my role as a writer will touch on each of these other roles over time. I’ve waited a long time for the courage to be all of these at once. And now, in this shitty 2020 year , which is a combination of some of our country’s worst years ( think 1918, 1968, and 2008), I want to speak out and speak up and write like I mean it.

Much love to you, Dear Reader.



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