Blog Talk Radio: Staging Your Writing 06/27/09

Which challenges do you face in your creative writing life? Are you looking for a writing workshop, yet unable to locate one in your local community? What about starting your own writing workshop, or joining an online workshop?

Anjuelle Floyd and Morningside Writers Group founder and moderator, Kendall Williams, discuss Staging Your Writing to create dynamic and publishable personal essays, memoirs, fiction, screen, and stage plays.

We will also discuss the challenges and triumphs of starting and maintaining a committed writing workshop and community.

Join us on Saturday, June 27th, 3 p.m. (EST).

Lady Clancy : Laid To Rest

I used to be allergic to a stray bobtail cat lurking around my Granny's house. Granny's house was always a soft place to land for family and neighbors alike, and apparently stray animals found our company appealing as well.

I started kindergarten with mummified legs because I had sores between my knees and ankles. I remember my mom getting upset because the teacher wanted to discipline the entire class, but couldn't include me for an undisclosed reason.

I avoided cats from that point in my life until I relocated to the East Coast and a feline purred and cooed in and out of my legs, unbeknownst to me, as I sat in the living room of a Dominican grandmother with a Cruella de Vil white streak in her otherwise jet-black air. I jumped, certain I'd have an allergic reaction, and perhaps rushed to the emergency room. I didn't have a reaction. One childhood trauma overcome.

As I recall, I was feeling homesick, and tried to talk several grade school and college classmates back in Texas to relocate as my roommate. When that failed, my thoughts shifted to adopting a pet. I didn't have a good track record with puppies, and the thought of walking a dog in a new frigid climate wasn't on the top of my list.

I thumbed through The Village Voice, and landed on an ad from a cat rescuer in Stuyvesant Town. In my newfound allergy-free state, I wanted an orange tabby, one of the kittens she advertised.

I arrived at the apartment that undoubtedly had one too many felines, and was guided to a back bedroom with playful and meowing kittens clamoring for attention, as if they knew they were being screened for adoption. All except one. The orange tabby that I wanted, didn't want me.

Defeated. Crushed. I took my pet carrier and slinked out to the hallway. The cat lady wouldn't be outdone by a persnickety kitten. There was another litter of rescued kittens playing in the bathroom. I made my way inside and sat on the edge of the bathtub. What would it hurt to look at other kittens before I left?

My heart was set on that orange tabby, but an affectionate gray calico had other plans for me. She brushed up against me, perhaps because she was sick of auditioning for would-be adoptive parents. I scooped her up into my arms and off we went with her initial vaccination records.

Nineteen years and a second tortoise shell cat later, I was faced with the decision to euthanize Clancy after a long bout of illness. My once fat cat had lost weight, her gaunt face and hollow eyes begging me to put her out of her misery.

I procrastinated. I prayed for a miraculous recovery. Maxie, the younger cat, began avoiding her. She knew we were all preparing for a slow death march, and wanted no part of our subterfuge. Maxie did her best to keep me distracted, away from Clancy.

I accept now that it was selfish of me to prolong her pain, but I wasn't ready to let go. I logged onto the NYC Animal Shelter website weekly in attempt to steel myself for what might happen, but there'd be no way to script my emotional state and reaction. What if she died at home underneath the kitchen table? Would that be best for all involved? I'd have preferred not to have taken her to the shelter in East Harlem. I was greeted by a mixture of dying, fearful, or soon to die animals.

The shelter clerk wasn't welcoming or warm. The volunteers questioned my decision, while at the same time trying to get me to adopt a new pet before I left. I wanted to turn around. I couldn't end her life no matter how many times I had to clean up after her because she wasn't able to make it to the litter box.

I experienced an admixture of calm and uncertainty as I filled out the surrender application. Yes, I want to view the body afterward. Yes, I'm willingly ending her life. No, I won't hold anyone responsible.

I lifted her over the counter, and that was the last time I saw her alive. Forty-five minutes later, my roommate and I walked to a back room and spoke to her corpse, eyes opened, lying on her side. She looked peaceful. I tried to close her eyes with my fingers. I couldn't. They wouldn't close. I apologized. Somewhere inside me, a light turned off, a gong sounded.

No respiratory movement. No snoring this time. The Slavic vet reassured me that I'd done the right thing, that she was in pain and suffering. I picked up the soiled pet carrier, slipped on a pair of purple latex gloves, and blasted out the remaining signs of Clancy with a strong current from a water hose. It was and still remains a surreal experience. I keep waiting for someone to shake me from what seems like a nightmare or a bad joke. She was either underneath the kitchen table, lounging in the clawfoot tub, or reclining on the windowsill as I brushed her.

Empty carrier in hand, a male employee expressed his condolences as he stood cleaning out his shelter truck that I'm sure he collects abandoned and stray animals to that very location. From the bottom of my heart, he said, I'm sorry for your loss.

I'm sorry that I didn't have a backyard or pet cemetery to bury Clancy, instead of a mass cremation with other shelter kills. Everything changes from now on. I won't get a do-over, but I have an opportunity to improve Maxie's life, and when we're both ready, the life of a second kitten.

Toxic Love

Many people are in toxic relationships with a significant other, family member, friends, or with the person reflected in the bathroom mirror. We're taught as children to respect ourselves, and that love doesn't hurt. As we age and shed childish dreams and distance ourselves from our parents' protection, we slowly forget these important lessons and enter into destructive relationships that corrode our confidence and self-worth in order to hang onto somoeone we'd be better off removing from our lives.

It takes two or more to create a toxic situation. The spiritual vampire is normally at the center of the storm along with his/her willing victim. Love and/or the promise of love is seductive, intoxicating, and can be overwhelming in its early stages. I'd venture that most of us enjoy the pursuit, courtship, and initial euphoria of new romantic love or a platonic friendship.

Is love about power, egos, and manipulation? When dealing with an insecure person, certain relationships can resemble a corporate acquisition. These spiritual vampires are quite skilled in what to say and do to attract fans, admirers, and pawns to move about on their Chess board.

Manipulation is both subtle and overt, and oftentimes when we realize we've been lulled into a walking coma, it seems as if it's too late. The Kool-Aid has been digested and taken up residence in our flesh and bones. At this stage, panic sets in, and we feel woozy, stuff our clothes and last remnants of our pride inside an old suitcase, and head for the door.

The dominant one in a toxic relationship isn't always the one with strongest personality or the most intelligent. S/he is a master manipulator, skilled in guilt, and various partner dances to keep victims cheek to cheek whenever the scent of an escape wafts on the air.

All toxic relationships aren't created equal, and some can become dangerous or even turn deadly if left unchecked and untreated. The battered woman who forgives her mate after the first assault and remains in the home is asking for a repeat performance if she doesn't seek help or altogether leave.

Habitual arguments between romantic partners, roommates, or platonic friends should be examined for their root cause. Dancing with a demon isn't fun, as we rise and fall, sway back and forth in that familiar and hypnotic, addictive Tango or Waltz.

How many of us endure toxic relationships because we think we can't do better than the person we're involved with or that we don't deserve mutual friendships? How many of us keep stoking the flames of a relationship because we'd otherwise feel lonely? Rational thinking is abandoned because we yearn for attention, encouragement, and support. Granny always told us, "You can do bad all by yourself. You don't need anyone to help you with that."

I'm not advocating President Obama allocate money to research this oftentimes puzzling interpersonal dynamic, but we need an open dialogue for those who suffer, and treatment for the perpetrators.

I'd like to hear from you on how you ended a toxic relationship. Was it difficult to sever all ties? How long did it take?

Personal Twitter Guidelines

Several self-proclaimed experts have written their official Twitter rules, most of which I don't accept. When I first read about Twitter, I wasn't too sure if it was for me. I knew what a blog was, but this thing called micro blogging, I'd have to observe from a distance.

My initial and ongoing reaction to Twitter is that it's similar to merging into oncoming traffic at a busy metropolitan intersection or highway. You want someone to stop and notice you long enough so that you can join others in a conversation.

We've all rules of engagement, stated or subconscious, and Twitter is no exception. I don't like social media pundits, gurus, and experts offering unsolicited advice on how and why I should interact with people in cyberspace. My understanding of Twitter, MySpace, or Facebook, is that it's self-paced and voluntary. We're not in high school English class with a daily mandatory journal entry. However, some people feel compelled to share the trivialities and minutiae of their lives. God bless them that they have followers who enjoy reading such grocery lists. I personally do not. I prefer differences over a bleating sheep mentality any day.

The beauty of a global audience is that each person has an online signature, much like a fingerprint, whether or not they're aware of it. My opinion: it's sad day online when more people than not follow the beat of another person's Djembe, dun-dun, or snare drum.

I'm flattered when someone wants to follow me, but I don't automatically follow back. No apologies. I'm not concerned with accumulating thousands of followers. I launch Tweet Deck because I like interacting with people I might not otherwise have an opportunity because of time, time zones, and geographic distance.

Why should I automatically follow someone I've no potential personal, professional, or social interest? I don't respond well to unofficial online rules of engagement.
Back to my temporarily being flattered when someone new sends a request to follow. I think someone or something (Mr. Tweet) has advised that I'm worthy of being followed, but that doesn't guarantee I've any interest in following back. I don't want to read one-word tweets "hot", or "going home", or "stuck in traffic".

When I post a tweet, my goal is to offer news, tips, or interesting tidbits that I would appreciate reading. I talk about my personal world, but not to the point of self-indulgence or sheer boredom. Is there a mute button on Twitter? Yes, it's called block or unfollow.

A few reasons why I will not follow, block, or unfollow:

• No personal picture or avatar.
• No personal/business profile or website/blog link.
• No updates: "I've not updated yet!" (When you do, get back to me.)
• The person is obviously online to push their product or service, and has no personal stake for using Twitter.
• The person is more concerned with accumulating followers, similar to notches on a bedpost of sexual conquests.
• When there's an obvious disconnect. The person hasn't read my blog, website, or tweets, and has no understanding of who I am and why I'm online.
• Not understanding that all relationships require time, nurturing, and maintenance. Those seeking instant gratification might be in for a surprise.

Fitness Log: Metamorphosis

Working out requires time, energy, discipline, and healthy eating habits.The time isn't an issue because my trainer is punctual three days a week. I've only to set the alarm and get dressed before he arrives. I've yet to schedule time when he's not with me to guide me through a series of exercise homework. It's not that I don't like or want to work out, it's an issue of time away from work or chores. The goal in the coming days and weeks is to block out at least three to five additional hours for physical fitness.

I've posted an ad for an early morning jogging buddy so that I will be accountable to someone else, and they in turn to me. It works the same with my trainer. I expect him three days a week, so I know I have to schedule that time to work out, or it'd be a waste of his time.

I must allow time to shed unwanted pounds and inches around my waist. Even if I could afford it, I wouldn't have liposuction or a tummy tuck. I'm not a candidate for either. Cosmetic weight loss procedures are quick fixes to lingering health and emotional challenges, similar to weight loss supplements, the results are almost immediate, but the maintenance becomes the real test.

I've enough mental and emotional energy to workout, it's the physical endurance in the early stages of retraining my body and mind to perform exercises that seem to contradict with the natural flow of my body. Where does one summon the energy to exercises regularly? Caffeine? Weight loss capsules and powders that contain preservatives, additives, and caffeine?

Time and discipline work in tandem for me. Or is it the chicken and egg conundrum? What needs to happen first? If I'm disciplined and focused in my goals to workout, I'd automatically set aside time to workout alone so that I'll achieve the body I want sooner.

Working with a personal trainer is new to me, and I'm glad that Ryan has the patience, training, and experience to help transform me from sedentary to active once again. I don't remember when something shifted inside, and I became a hermit save for my attending biweekly writing workshops. One cloudy or rainy day that I didn't jog, rollerblade, or dance barefoot in Central Park can't be the sole culprit for my expanded midsection. One day quickly becomes a week. Fast forward, and I'm struggling to button my shirt or pants, which was depressing. I'd always been skinny or slim. I still have the first pair of designer jeans I bought back in high school, and until two years ago, I could wear them.

My daily food logs have shed light on when and what I eat. Water, good. Fruit juice, bad. It's better that I eat the raw fruit. Chewing kick starts digestion, and increases metabolism. Three square meals low in carbohydrates, high in protein, and two to three healthy snacks a day are necessary to decrease the unwanted increase. It might not be easy because healthy living in any economy can be expensive if you don't have the disposable income.

The plump caterpillar is gesticulating in his cocoon, rapid heartbeats, random insecurities, dreaming of chocolate donuts, cookies, and ice cream. The plump caterpillar knows intellectually that physical fitness and fresh food are keys to a better life, and that he shouldn't complain about exertion or soreness. The caterpillar, once reborn, will take to the sky and soar higher than before with his carved physique.

*Feel free to leave comments on your physical, emotional, and spiritual transformation. Spring is here. Let's get rid of excess baggage and climb the mountain together.*

Fitness Log - Where Are My Abs?

I began working with a dynamic personal trainer a few weeks ago to rediscover my previous West African dance and rollerblade physique. The first few sessions were as I suspected: huffing and puffing on the exercise mat, cursing all varities of cookies, ice cream, and chips under my breath.

I didn't know what to expect after my initial weigh-in and fitness evaluation. Ryan, my personal trainer, was patient and detailed, measuring body fat, heart rate, and other prerequisites before logging them into an elaborate computer program. I was impressed and awed. He was as thorough as any general practitioner I've ever visited, minus blood test and urinalysis. He won't need to test internal items because my daily food log will reveal what's happening on the inside.

I workout three times a week, for approximately one hour, during which time he guides me through a series of balance, cardio, and aerobic exercises customized for in-home training.

The road to renewed health won't be long or treacherous. It'll require discipline, healthy meals, and daily maintenance. I'll have to get accustomed to logging meals, snacks, and liquid beverages. I know that I don't drink enough water. I don't need a food log to show me that. The log will serve as a reminder to drink at least eight glasses of water a day.

We're off to a good start, and I expect to increase my metabolism while decreasing my midsection. I didn't expect the importance of the mind-body-soul connection. Why am I working out (beyond the obvious health or vanity reasons)?

I invite you to take the journey with me every Monday as I log my progress under the Fitness Log heading. I welcome your comments and support, because I know I'm not the only one undergoing a physical/emotional/spiritual transformation.

*Photo disclaimer: The posted image is an idealized version of the body I could have if I pursue perfection. I'm not. My aim is a healthy lifestyle, not first prize at the Mr. Olympia bodybuilding contest.

Verbal Agreements - Just Say No

Are verbal agreements binding? Depending upon what's involved, I would say more often than not, verbal agreements aren't binding in a court of law. I'm no lawyer, but let's examine. If one agrees to perform a service for another who states he is unable to afford said service, but afterward the recipient demands a change in the originally understood verbal service agreement, then no.

Oftentimes the basis for a verbal agreement is good faith because one of two parties can't afford a product or service. In recent times, I've bartered copywriting or editing services for web design, development, or CMS (content management system) help.

I recently had to deal with the ugly side of publicity, and here I am examining and reexamining myself and my intentions to perform good deeds and network with other creative souls. This analysis strips the inherent good will.

I think more artists need to take better control of their careers, which includes a thorough understanding of the legal rights in their state or country. I'd advise not to rely on phone conversations and verbal promises meant to soothe a person's fears in the heat of the moment when they're panicking about a broken heart, job loss, or being on the brink of homelessness.

I've learned my lesson: get it in writing to prevent misunderstandings, future temper tantrums, long, threatening e-mails, and text messages at all hours of the day or night. Get it in writing, even if it's on a coffee shop or restaurant napkin. Don't threaten litigation if you've previously stated you can't afford other services, because that would be tantamount to fraud or theft of services.

Invest in a Mead Composition notebook or a digital voice recorder for all important creative and business meetings. Take meeting minutes, date the entry, and mirror back to those in attendance: "What I understand is..."

Should an agreement come from the meeting, have the other person sign and date the entry until a formal contract is created and co-signed by both parties. An audio recording is easier because it would be an actual transcript of the conversation. Don't be sneaky, mind you. Ask permission to record the conversation and place the device in clear sight.

Open your eyes and ears, and pay attention to who you're speaking with, body language, and verbal ticks, if any, before going off on a tangent with unfounded legal threats that wouldn't have legs in court.