This Is Who I Really Am.

I made this myself. IN ALL CATS.

Tried and Tired and True.

You are tired (I think) of the always puzzle of living and doing;
and so am I.
Come with me then,
and we'll leave it far far away.
(only you and I, understand) 

I was living in a big city, the kind of city people move to from all over the country to try and make something of themselves. I was running just as fast as everyone else, and spending all my energy, my life force, on trying to make things happen. I was doing all the rights things and all the hats I set out to collect results in were coming back empty. I was recovering from big, apocalyptic events in my personal life. Everything was harder than hard, rougher than rough, impossible and straining. The lonely set in so fast, so strong, and became my new companion, forever by my side. I dragged myself along, stumbling, being beat about the head by the race still running on, oblivious to my fall.

You have played,

(I think)

And broke the toys you were fondest of,

And are a little tired now;

Tired of things that break, and—

Just tired. So am I.

Oh, I had friends. I had community. I had happy things and people rooting for me. But I felt myself slowly slipping away, and I began to fear that the core of me would soon be gone for good, vanished into the ether, evaporated completely, never to coalesce fully again. I began to know, the kind of way you know things that are beyond true, beyond certitude, the way the knowledge just bubbles up inside your being and it is as real to you as the flesh of your body, that if something did not change, I would lose who I was forever. I would become something smaller, lesser, than what I was created to be. If something did not change, I would disappear, to be replaced by a harder, coarser being, one I would not be fond of if I met her on the street. I was so tired, so eternally tired, in body and soul and mind, and I knew I would not fight it. I'd let the change come over me, slow and roaring, and become a shell of myself.

But I come with a dream in my eyes tonight,

And knock with a rose at the hopeless gate of your heart—

Open to me!

For I will show you the places Nobody knows,

And, if you like,

The perfect places of Sleep.

So I moved. I put all my things in a rental vehicle and I drove myself hours and hours on end, all alone, to a new place, a new town, a new configuration of persons. I drove to a place where people I love call home, and I stood on ground both new and familiar all at once and told them it would be mine too. Everything I own is here, now. I am starting over again, all over. I didn't want to let myself disappear in the rush, so I came to where it is quiet and the stars shine much brighter.

Ah, come with me!

I’ll blow you that wonderful bubble, the moon,

That floats forever and a day;

I’ll sing you the jacinth song

Of the probable stars;

I told them that here, now, this place, must hold good things for me. I feel there is a law of this universe, and it dictates how long you can take what you must take before it lessens the onslaught, turns it into gold dust in your hands. The universe knows our breaking point when we do not - we often think it's far sooner than the universe decides. So I lived past what I believed was my breaking, and I believe I did break, but it doesn't come all at once. I broke down in pieces, dry clay crumbling slowly. But here is where I have come to be rehydrated, reformed, remade. I will not lose myself in the racing and the pushing and the heat.

I will attempt the unstartled steppes of dream,

Until I find the Only Flower,

Which shall keep (I think) your little heart

While the moon comes out of the sea.

--"Tired," by ee cummings

I tried, I lived, I am trying, I am living, I will try, and I will live. And I will be fuller and brighter than before.

Rules of Engagement: Common Sense Edition.

I'm resurrecting my dating/marriage/girl-boy-relations series, Rules of Engagement. I'm here to talk to you about a thing that many of us (including myself) lack while in the relationship market: common sense.

I know, I know, love isn't about logic, you get swept away, the feelings are so important, etc. I get it. It's no fun to be the Debbie Downer and be like "Um, he told you that girl in that picture is his cousin? She doesn't seem to know it, judging by the way her tongue is in his ear.." but don't worry, I'm super great at being a Debbie Downer. It was my nickname in high school (not even kidding. It was usually accompanied by the "wah wah waaaah" noise and a joke about cat AIDS. I'm sorry, I was very passionate about the environment and keeping my friends free of STDs.) so I've got this covered.

So, for when you forget that you're a person of value and deserve to be treated as such, here's a list of things you sometimes forget when a boy (or girl) says those magical three words: "You are hot." (or I love you, whatever)

Common Sense Things to Remember When Enamored or Romantically Entangled, an incomplete list:

They should never make you feel small. I mean, physically, yes, that's fine, but they should never make you feel like less of a person. If you leave their presence feeling crummy about yourself and you don't know why, that's probably a bad sign.

They shouldn't give you reasons to not trust yourself. I don't care how nice a boy is, if he's ever told you "You're overreacting" or "You're just being emotional" or anything else that insults your ability to be both logical and in full grasp of your emotional state at the same time, UGH. Get rid of him. Preferably with a line that goes like this: "I'll show YOU emotional! We. are. over." and a dramatic exit.

They should want to be with you. Now, this part is key, because sometimes we don't pick up on it. "But he called and wanted to hang out!" No, he called and wanted to make out. There's a difference. If you feel yourself constantly grabbing for his attention, time, and conversation, move on. Cause it's just not worth it to try and force someone to want to be with you when they're being lukewarm.

Remember: YOU. ARE. AWESOME. This is very important to keep in mind at all times during dating forays. You're cool. You're sweet. You're funny. They should want to be with you. If you're ever feeling like, "Oh my god, I can't believe this boy/girl actually wants to be with me, I am so lucky, I hope they don't leave me, why are they even dating me, any day now they'll walk away," you need to tape a sign to your forehead that says "REMIND ME I AM AWESOME" so that every person you see during the day will spot it and be like, "Hey girl, you pretty awesome" until you remember this. It's possible that this is a shame-based tactic to force you to acknowledge your own awesomeness, but whatever. I bet it works.

They shouldn't continuously disrespect you. Mocking you in public (in a cruel, laughing-at-not-with fashion). Telling you your ideas/thoughts/opinions are stupid. Not listening when you speak. Disregarding your opinions on things. Talking over you while you're talking to people. Insults that make you feel belittled (bonus points if after you confront them, they use "you're overreacting/emotional" in which case, see above). These things are things that would seem obvious, but I know SO. MANY. PEOPLE who just live through them, accepting it as though that's all they deserve.

Lines that should signal an automatic break-up [or at least give you some pause]:

• "I'll try not to sleep with other people. Sometimes I just can't help it, though. But I'll really try." --when you ask that they not, you know, cheat on you (may or may not have experienced this line in real life, may or may not have stuck around despite it, ohmygod).
• "Oh, there's no internet there...or phone service...or mail...or satellites..." --when you ask that they keep in touch while on their next trip to like, NYC. Yeah, that doesn't sound fishy.
• "It was only tongue." --when confronted on partying photos you found online.
• "Here's a photo of my poop." --are you a criminal, because you're DEFINITELY dating a twelve-year-old.
• "Let's just like, live in the present, you know?" --when you ask where they see this relationship going. Bonus zinger to respond with: "I'm sorry, since when are you a zen master?"
• "I really want to date you, I'm just so messed up." --when they are confessing they like-you-like-you (also may or may not have lived through this one IRL. like, at least my dating faux paus are here to help you learn to avoid them).
• "I really like you, I'm just...too afraid of your dad to date you." --I mean, maybe he's right. Maybe your dad is crazy. Or maybe he's just trying to convince you to make out with him in the back parking lot of the church.
• "It's complicated." --when you ask them why they're hitting on you when, last you heard, they were in a relationship.
• "Don't tell your parents." --two seconds after them asking you to be their girlfriend. 
• "Can we just keep it on the down-low? No one needs to know our private business." --they want you to be their SECRET GIRLFRIEND. Aka, they don't respect you enough to take your relationship public, so you shouldn't respect them enough to stay in the same car for longer than 5 seconds after this statement has been released from their mouth. Bonus points if you say "I'm no one's secret girlfriend, asshole!" and slam the door on your way out.
• "I don't really like to talk about my STD's." --........... I just.....do I even need to say anything more about this....
• "Girls are so annoying. All my exes were crazy." --when he's discussing past girlfriends. Yes, because I'm so sure that the problem was them, not you, in every single previous relationship.
• "I liked kissing you, it just didn't mean that much to me." Presented without comment.

Linkage Round-Up (& Bonus Vlog)!

Here are some posts I've been writing when I'm away at my other writing home, HelloGiggles.

Student Arrested for Science Experiment Gone Awry: "However, Kiera’s story is different. She did not bring a gun to school. She didn’t phone in a bomb threat. Kiera’s crime? Performing a science experiment in her school’s chemistry lab. She mixed a few household chemicals together in an 8 oz bottle, causing the top to blow off and produce some smoke. No one was injured, and no school property was damaged. The principal described it as an accident. But Kiera was still arrested, expelled and will now have to face a felony record for the rest of her life if convicted." Happy ending to this story, BTW - the charges were dropped.

The Art of Complaining: Could We Use a Break? 

10 Insects You Can Totally Eat: I am a SERIOUS JOURNALIST, people. I did legit RESEARCH for this. Leech pasty chips, nom!

8 Obnoxious Trends on Instagram: "Number 6: The moments in which the Kelvin filter can unironically be used are virtually non-existent. Tread carefully."

And now, as promised, bonus Vlog (video blog, ahem). A reader asked me to expound on why you oughtn't use the neglected Kelvin filter on instagram, and here is my response: "What's the number one name of sexual molester gym teachers across America? Probably Kelvin."

What to Expect When Writing on the Internet.

It always weirds me out when people email/tweet/FB me asking me for advice on how to "make it" as a blogger. My first reaction is to go, "Who, ME?" and look around to be sure they're actually talking about me, blogger me. My second is to laugh and be like, "Whoa, dudes, I'm not a big deal." But then I come back down to earth and realize that just because someone's asking me for advice on writing for the internet doesn't mean I'm all swanky or whatever. I also am reminded that several years ago, I was the person asking for advice from internet people more famous than I am/was.

It's not that I'm not flattered by the question. I totally am. It just took me a while to get used to the idea that I was actually worth the asking of it. I'm not a bigshot blogger, by any means, but I do have a small measure of success in writing for the internet world, and it's something I'm proud of, grateful for, and have worked really hard at. So if someone wants to ask me for my advice on the subject, advice about the field I've worked so hard to break into, I'm honored by that. And here's my answer.

What to Expect When Writing on the Internet: An Incomplete List.

--Success doesn't come easily. Until it does.
The game of who becomes a "successful" blogger and who does not really has no rules, no rhyme, no reason. You'll find some bloggers who make your jaw drop with how great they are, and they toil away in obscurity, noticed by none. You'll find others who are boring, bland, cliche, and non-original, regurgitating the same posts countless others have posted before them, yet they'll have millions of hits. You could be good, you could be dedicated, and you could still never "make it." Or you could be good, dedicated, and garner an almost instant-following the second you boot up a wordpress account. I've been blogging in complete and total obscurity for seven years, and I'm now in a place where I can be deemed "successful." It could take seven years for you, too. Or it could happen overnight. Or it could never happen. You won't know til you try.

--You will be misunderstood.
People will read your article headline, designed to be attention-grabbing, and assume that's your position/statement on the issue, when in fact the actual writing you wrote speaks to the complete opposite. People will read your blog post, and leave a comment claiming that you're wrong and you'll think, Waaaait, you're saying exactly what I was saying in paragraph three. What? Someone will take something you wrote as a light-hearted thing designed to make people laugh and attack your personality, completely misreading it as a serious post rather than a humorous one. You will be misunderstood.

--People will be people.
Commenters can be cruel. We all know this. It's a psychological fact that came with the advent of the anonymity of the internet age. People will say things to you on the internet that they'd have a much harder time saying to your face. The personal attacks I've had leveled against me would horrify you. People take offense at the slightest thing. Just today, an article I wrote for HelloGiggles about obnoxious habits of Instagram users garnered a lot of attention. One commenter told me to "grow the f**k up" because they took issue with my description of frog legs as "gross." It shouldn't hurt me to read that. I know the fickle nature of the beast. But it still stings. When I've written about gay marriage and the fight for gay rights from a Christian perspective, I cannot tell you how many people have said I'm not a "real" Christian, I'm going to hell, etc, etc, etc. Hurtful, mean, slanderous comments? They come with the territory.

--People will also be freaking amazing. 
I've made true, real-life friends as a result of my writing on the internet. It goes usually something like this: a reader comment, my response, a twitter interaction, some DM's, a gchat, and then the ultimate test of online friendship - the Facebook request. This happens because some people are genuinely wonderful, awesome human beings, and when they reach out to you (or you to them) it's like reaching half-way across the globe to find a new friend, a kindred spirit. And sometimes, people will just be really nice to you. Maybe you won't end up besties, but I've received numerous encouraging emails and comments and tweets from total strangers. I love my readers. Seriously. They make my life so much happier and they are constantly encouraging me. Whether it's one comment, a tweet, a fb share, or an email chain--people will be kind to you.

--This too, might pass (Do it Cause You Love It)
There's no stability in writing for an internet audience. There's no guaranteed book deal. Sometimes it feels like all we hear are these success stories, but they're not normative. Anyone, literally anyone, can start their own space on the internet. If you're in it to "go viral" and get a series book contract, tv show based off your tweets, and celebrity fans all dumped on your doorstep, get out. Seriously. The ups and downs of the blogging life aren't worth it. The percentage of the people that happens to is so inestimably small, it's like...it's just really small, okay?
 I can't tell you how many times I've been discouraged by lack of readership, by trickling blog stats, by feeling unnoticed and unwanted. A friend of mine, during one of my many, many slumps in which I was telling her "I'm gonna quit blogging FOREVER!" asked me why I was doing it. Was it to gain fame and notoriety and all its accoutrements? Or was it just because I loved doing it? Do this because you love it. That's all.

Brief Nuggets of Wisdom to Remember:

1. Be kind. Always be kind to people. Don't badmouth others, whether they be fellow bloggers or real-life humans. It just pays off to be kind.

2. There are no rules. People will tell you "write shorter!" "Write longer!" "You use too big of words!" "You don't use enough big words!" "Every post must have a picture!" "Your pictures are crap!" "Tweet the link 10 billion times!" "Never tweet the link!" Just ignore the noise. Blog how you blog. Write from your deepest self. The rest will come.

3. That being said, Don't be an Idiot. Just follow general online etiquette and courtesy. If you don't know what that is, observe the blogging community that you want to get involved with for a while. You'll figure it out.

And bonus numbers four and five: respond to emails. Unless they're from crazies, in which case, spam filterrrrr. Just keep in mind that it's professional to respond to emails in a good fashion. Be careful with location. It makes me nervous when people tag themselves in locations all the time. Crazies are out there, and they will use that. Seriously. You think it's a joke, until it happens to you. Be careful with giving out your locations.

Alright, that's all for now. Questions? Concerns? Thoughts on the state of modern-day dairy farming? Me too. 

The Floor.

I laid face-down in the grubby carpet, nose and cheeks all smushed and ingrained with the beige patterns.

photo: my own

I breathed in and out and in and out and told myself Okay, now. Now. Now. Get up...now. 

I didn't get up.

I was home alone this week, after classes, after chapel, after a test and turning in my senior thesis. I had to get up and go out the door and head to work at my second job, you know, the one I work most nights and every weekend.


There was just one problem: I didn't want to go.

I know, I know, most of us don't always want to go to work, right? But this was different. I had collapsed to the ground for the second time that day (the first being my epic trip/fall/tumble in the parking lot on the way to turn in my thesis, in which I yelled a variety of creative non-cuss words) and everything in me did not want to get up.

Can I just lay here forever? Would that be so bad?

I don't know if I can describe to you the utter exhaustion I have. It's lived with me so long, it seems like it's always been a part of me. Part of it is depression, sure. But I just have come to the end of my rope, and I guess what the end of the rope looks like is me, face-down in my carpet, not wanting to move anymore. It felt like my body would shatter into a million pieces and scatter all over this industrial, many-stained-college-dorm-style carpet if I tried to get up. It felt like I just couldn't. I just wouldn't. I wouldn't try anymore. I'd tried, and look where it'd gotten me. Working every single weekend, sometimes two and three shifts, never having a day off from work, school for twelve hours a day three times a week. Friendships? Hah. I stopped being able to maintain those to any satisfactory level long ago.

I bet if you asked my fellow English majors about me, this is what they'd be able to tell you:

1. She has pink hair.
2. She's a great writer.
3. She's a flake.

I'm not being all pretentious or whatever when I say that I am one of the best writers in my program. Classmates have told me that, professors have told me that, I've been published, I've won awards and cash prizes, I've been invited to public readings. My heart always swells a little when another English major tells me "I'm in awe of your writing" or "I can't even critique this, because you go beyond our skill level," or whenever a story or essay comes back with an "A" and the professor's comments of "Excellent." I am, as it were, a big fish in this collegiate pond.

But I'm never around. I'm hardly in class. I'm always flaking, always wishy-washy, always late. Whatever scrap of genius I might possess, it quickly pales in estimation when contrasted with my obvious issues. 

When I was laying face-down into the smelly carpet, this was partially the cause of it. A professor had emailed me, asking about my absences, worried because technically he could fail me for them. It doesn't matter that I've turned in my assignments and they have all been A's. I'm flunking the attendance policy. Probably in more than just that class, too.

It doesn't matter how well I write, how my work makes people laugh and then cry. It doesn't matter that on my days when I'm functional (oh, sweet, sweet functional days, how I love thee so) I can debate memoir tactics and authors and styles and feel energized and engaged in discussion.

What matters is that I show up.

Really, this is a handy thing to learn for all of life. Nobody cares what talent lies inside you, innate and untamed. They care if you show up.

I have a million reasons why I haven't been able to show up. I have been trying my very hardest, and that's the truth. But what's also the truth is that my very hardest, my best, isn't good enough. My best isn't the same level as my best from two years ago, back when I had a 3.7 GPA and the dean's list came easy. I don't know if I'll ever will be there again.

Trying hard, it seems, isn't enough.

So I laid there, pressed up against the carpet, crying, in what I'm sure would have been a very disturbing scene, should anyone have come across me in that moment. I laid on the carpet and wished I could just melt my body right through to the floor, meld with the concrete and drywall and never move again. I cried because I was confronted with the harsh reality that it doesn't matter how hard I've tried, it doesn't matter how much I've run myself down, all those nights and weekends don't count, because I could fail right at the finish line, and it'd be their right to do so, because I failed to show up.

I cried because I knew, then, more keenly than ever, that my best, my very hardest, wasn't good enough. My efforts to keep going didn't matter.

And I laid there crying and breathing and wishing until I remembered. I remembered this time, a little over a year ago, in which every single night I was crying on the bathroom floor and wishing to a different tune. A year ago, I wanted to die. I just wanted to never have to wake up again. I didn't care about classes, I didn't care about graduating, and I didn't care about living. Yet somehow, through some crazy hard-headedness, I set one foot down in front of the other each morning and I made it through that year.

And here I am now, a year later, crying on the floor, so tired all the time that all I can think about all the time is how tired I am. But the difference is, now? Now I want to live. I want it so bad and so desperately it hurts. I want to live. 

I thought about this, the journey of a year. And it occurred to me that if life and desire and happiness were a spectrum, last year I was on the farthest end away from it. It occurred to me that I had reached the middle ground, where things get even harder and where you want to give up even more, but the middle ground is where you start to want things, and the desire kicks in, and the desperate will to live and be happy is what keeps you grinding away, drillbits at cement, bricklayers in the summer heat, building a stone castle with bare hands.

And if here, here is the middle ground for me, the sticky molasses and the hardship and the struggle, the turning point of desire, of wanting to reach for it, for life and life abundantly, then --

In one year from now, what if I get to the opposite end of the spectrum? What if future me is really, truly, well and happy? What if my yet-to-be self is really going to live? 

How did I get from the bottom to the middle? I got up off the floor every morning. I kept showing up. So it stands to reason that the only way for me to get from here, the awful, exhausting middle, to the promised land, is to--

I stood up. I went out the door. I walked to work. I stopped crying. I emailed my professor.

And I got up off the floor.

Extras from My Interview with Laurie Halse Anderson for #Speak4RAINN

I recently had the opportunity to speak with New York Times bestselling-author Laurie Halse Anderson. We talked about rape culture, her book Speak, and her involvement with RAINN's #Speak4RAINN campaign. You can read all about that in my HelloGiggles column.

As a writer and aspiring novelist myself, I couldn't help but ask her a few writerly-related questions during our interview. Due to length constraints, these questions didn't make the cut on HG (especially because I wanted to really focus on our discussion of rape culture and what RAINN is doing to both combat that and help survivors). So I'm posting a few snippets of what Laurie had to say about writing, spirituality, a potential sequel to Speak, and the possible superfluousness of MFA programs. Read on to be inspired, and also to perhaps cringe a bit with me at my lapses into a fangirl.

Becca Rose: So, you’ve said before that you’re not entirely opposed to the idea of writing a sequel to Speak. Have you made any progress in that area, or are you still just kind of letting it, you know, rest?

Laurie Halse Anderson: Well you know, I’ve been writing a lot of other books. I just finished one about a young girl who’s dad is a vet, and the family is struggling with his PTSD. And I do feel, you know, my dad’s a minister, and I’m a pretty spiritual person, and when I look back on the writing of SPEAK, I really feel like the story was given to me. The best kind of writing feels mystical. You know, cause whenever you’re really being creative I think you’re connecting to that larger creative spirit, however you choose to interpret that spirit. Um, and my concern about writing a sequel to speak is if I force it, it really won’t work. So I’m being patient, and if the story’s supposed to be told, I’ll figure it out. But I’m not gonna push it just because.

BR: And the book was published in 1999, wasn’t it?

LHA: Yes, it was.

BR: And it’s still got such a wide readership today, so I think that any time you choose to publish it it’ll be happily received.

LHA: (laughs) Thank you, I’ll take that under consideration.

BR: I’d be remiss if I didn’t ask you what advice you’d give to aspiring writers today, as well as people who are trying to write about this topic.

LHA: Oh, thank you for that opportunity! I really appreciate it. I think that the best thing I could give to aspiring writers is perseverance. You know, it’s really tough to be a writer. I always encourage people to have that back-up day job because for as hard as it is to write, I tell young people that you should count on needing ten years of other kinds of work. It’s sort of like getting a PhD. You’re gonna work at another job for a decade while you’re building up your portfolio and working on your novel and becoming a better writer. But I truly believe that if you have the passion to write, you have the talent that’s necessary, so don’t ever doubt your talent. But what you have to do as a writer is develop your skill set. Every August on my blog I do a kind of write-fifteen minutes a day writing exercise that we’ve had a lot of fun with. The other thing I tell people to think about, I’m not a huge fan of MFA programs.

BR: Really?

LHA: Yeah, I think they can be wonderful if you go into them with the right intentions. I think too often in the United States we feel that, too many people that I know at least, feel that if they graduate with an MFA that that’s gonna make a difference to the publisher somehow. And The truth is, the publishers don’t care. They don’t even care if you went to college or not, they care about have you written a wonderful book. The secret is stay true to yourself, stay true to your story, and don’t give up.

I hope you enjoyed reading Laurie's insights, and please remember that RAINN is accepting donations throughout the month of April, to be matched by Macmillan up to $20,000. Donate now!