Category: writing

adding fuel to the flame…

Published on by Mae @ Rainydayinmay

Have I forgotten what fire feels like? I mean, not real flames of fire, but the heart kind… the inside. The sort of fire attached to cliche sentiments like “pursue what sets your soul on fire”. That sort of fire, not to be confused with the harsh moments of life which feel as though they’ve burned my inner core to the ground.

What does set my soul on fire? For so long it was writing, and I think in comfortable ways it still is. Writing is that thing I need to always remain tethered to, or I simply cease to function well. Do you know what else impairs my ability to function well? Not being creative. The less I’m trying to be artistic (and listen, try as I might, I don’t do well, but I simply don’t care about that. It is the doing that is healing and life-giving, not the perfection!) the less I want to tackle the nurturing, daily bits of life…

the things that encourage me to

  • wash my face every evening.
  • go to bed when my body and mind tell me it’s time.
  • pick up a book to read instead of a remote to watch.
  • stop doom scrolling.

Attempting creativity on a regular basis corrects all of this. It insures that when I do want to listen to music or watch something, it is of a higher quality and less fast-food, mass-made consumption.

It all seems like a no-brainer sort of problem, doesn’t it? And yet… And yet I struggle.

I’m trying, in this new month and second half of an otherwise difficult year, to do better–be better. I’m also trying to release expectations because I am a chronically ill person who struggles with occasional depression. I am forever planning things that old-me could do, and then being reminded IN THE ACTUAL MOMENT that mistakes were made and I’m not that girl anymore. It makes it hard, and to be honest I am feeling a stupid amount of anxiety over my trip home next month, paired with my book launch. There’s so much pressure, especially since I haven’t been there for three years and I am just so different now.

I want to harness the fire I once felt, the flames that fueled the making and doing… the fire that motivated that girl. In truth, I’m tired. Most of us are. These past few years have not been kind to us, and yet they’ve taught us to take note of the little moments that keep life beautiful. These thirty-eight months have educated me on the vitality of being more intentional and prioritizing connection, community, and kindness.

Perhaps the flames are still there, it’s just that now they are the slow, steady burn of a well-connected and creative life.

What if…

Published on by Mae @ Rainydayinmay

So many years ago, (it’s hard to believe how many at this point) I was introduced to this growingly popular YA novel called Twilight. I wish that I’d heard it was about vampires and thought “yeah, that’s not for me” but the truth would have been (and still is) that vampires will always be up my alley. The super bizarre thing for me was honestly picking up a book to read at all, even when I had no clue what it was about. I hadn’t read for fun in years. I was testing non-fiction books for Harper Collins and blogging full-time. I was so far removed from the literary world that I had no idea what sort of fiction books existed beyond mysteries and Harlequin romance–neither of which had ever appealed to me.

After some intrigue at a few bloggers I followed raving about Twilight, I grabbed a copy. I didn’t sleep, or do much of anything, for two days. I couldn’t put it down. After reluctantly packing our family for vacation, I ran to the bookstore to purchase the second book of the (then) trilogy. While I hadn’t been much of a reader, at that point in my life, it is also important to note I had always suffered from car sickness. Even so, I read the second book, New Moon, as we drove throughout the mountainous Pacific Northwest. The Twilight world had sucked me in and I was unable to think of anything else. You’d think my family would have been annoyed, but they thought it was funny. They especially got a chuckle out of us having to detour our trip through Portland so that I could grab my copy of the newly released third book Eclipse.

It was somewhere into the first chapters of Eclipse that I found myself a passenger in a car with friends, as we navigated a mountainous road that was thick with heavy trees, at actual twilight. My mind began to wander at what was watching us, waiting, in the black line of those trees? I thought about the Quileute wolf legends existing in a heavily forested region with one of the highest “big foot” sightings… could it be?

Around this mountain side we traveled as the shadows chased the irrational wanderings of my mind.

~

Several years before, my first Christmas eve as an adoptive mom found me staring at our daughter as she slept sweetly. The magic of Christmas suddenly meant something completely new, and then out of nowhere panic plunged my insides toward the ground… What if Santa is real? What if this strange, magical being exists and comes sneaking through our home while we sleep?

What if?

What if…

Over the weekend my husband and I were inspired to have a Twilight movie marathon. It was so fun, and I was once again swept up in the memory of these life changing books… life changing because they inspired me to fall in love with reading again, and in doing so they inspired me to think deeper than the surface level I’d been handed–deeper than the very one-dimensional level I’d been writing at in my professional life.

The revisit, though thoroughly nostalgic and entertaining also made me think about that mountain drive, and that first Christmas eve. My mind began to think about fear. Then this morning I came across a news story about an asteroid sailing past earth and another report about the dangerous weather expected to kill many and render areas of the world disaster zones this summer. In even skimming each headline I felt that same fear pop its head in for a minute.

Fear.

We are living in a weird time when so many fear-motivated tragedies are happening on a daily basis. Instead of vampires and Christmas elves though, these fears are based in viruses, vaccinations, political powers, religion, sexuality, gender identity, skin tones, and on and on and on… any difference that divides us is connected to a fear-motivated tragedy that has taken place in recent days. The biggest difference between these fears and the fictional ones is it might just be a bit harder to call them irrational when the things we fear are really here. They aren’t possibly hiding in the shadows, but instead they are everywhere. Also everywhere are the printed and spoken stories about why we should fear them.

At the end of the day they are still stories. Whether it’s a fear of whats in the shadows, or a fear of something real in the world that you’ve been told is scary, we still have the opportunity to surrender to the boogeyman and let that fear control us. What if we didn’t?

What if we pushed past the fear and listened to someone outside of our normal scary-story-circle?

What if we tried to connect with someone else, something else?

What if we pushed past the usual sense of nausea we get from being a passenger in the car, and immersed ourselves in an experience so different than our normal, every day one?

What if?

on the madness of March…

Published on by Mae @ Rainydayinmay

I know March Madness refers to College Basketball but honestly isn’t March really one of the most unpredictable months? I love March… Many of my favorite people were born in March. I was born in March. Spring teases us with color in March, before Winter comes popping in to let us know she’s not quite through with us yet… But also, March has always carried this odd , unpredictable energy.

For example, while I’m not one to usually fall down the stairs, if I did, it would happen in March.

Listen, it DID happen in March and it was brutal. My tail bone was solid black and later that day I had seven hours of airplane travel to endure. Not the best day ever… We hadn’t been planning a trip, it just rapidly unfolded and suddenly we were packing a suitcase to share. My husband had just been in Idaho for a family emergency some weeks before and realized he now has air travel anxiety and would prefer to never fly again. I hadn’t flown since the end of 2019, and so my anxiety wasn’t loving the idea of it either. All of the videos filled with difficult people on planes and in airports were what I stressed about… but it was fine. It was all fine. His anxiety was a bit rocky and I felt bad for him. Also, my tailbone kept me teetering between sobbing like a small child and wanting to jump from the plane… but it was fine.

We were fine.

We made it, and life was good. And while we were traveling something wonderfully magical happened! I was able to share the book cover for my impending release Girls, Assassins, and Other Bad Ideas. (August 22, 2022 through Burning Soul Press)

I’m absolutely in love with this cover! IN LOVE!

I was also reminded that in the midst of so much divisiveness there are still people who can disagree about things like religion, politics, and vaccines and yet somehow still manage to share civil conversations and respect for one another. This glimpse of the old-world ways really caught me off guard… it was beautiful. While I believe the things I do, these beliefs are mine based on my experiences and knowledge. Who am I to tell you your stance is wrong simply because you haven’t traveled the same journey I have?

I hope this becomes a trend and we can once again aspire to be bridge builders…

This month, in addition to my book cover, celebrating birthdays, and a few fun little day trips to Cleveland and Pittsburgh, I also published my first guided journal/workbook, Cupcake, a Guided Companion for Cake. (Cake is my ebook guide published last year.)

All in all, amidst the craziness and complete busyness that was March, it was a beautiful month. Perhaps the first truly beautiful month from start to finish, that I remember having for so long… I’ve had conversations in the past day or two with others who feel the same. This has to be a sign right– that things are finally changing?

Maybe I’m just being hopeful… then again, I guess that beats the alternative.

this is forty-six…

Published on by Mae @ Rainydayinmay

At 6:38 this evening I will turn forty-six.

Forty-Six.

We’ve been having the sort of conversations where we look back at points in our lives and say “wow, my parents seemed so old when we did _____________ but they were the age we are now!” or worse, “… but they were younger than we are now.”

This is just what we say now.

Age is such a funny thing really. There was a period of time when I was convinced I’d surely have my crap together by forty and yet I am here to tell you that as I wake today, turning six years past that point, my crap is most assuredly not together. Maybe we only really figure it all out when we’re about to be Game Over. It certainly feels that way.

I write this while I’m sipping an afternoon iced coffee and also subconsciously questioning the wisdom in such a decision. I’ve never been one for gambling, but at this stage in my adulthood every time I partake in coffee it feels like a giant game of dice rolling risk:

will it wake me up with an energy kick? (also, why am I so tired at 2 in the afternoon?)

will it destroy my stomach and leave me wishing I were dead?

will it do nothing?

I’d throw in other options for fun, but honestly, it will only be one of those three and more than likely the second one because this is who I am now.

Adulthood! Am I right???

When I was in my twenties and dreaming of big risks like skydiving, backpacking through a foreign country, or deep-sea diving I was certain by now I’d be collecting countless risky adventure stories and living my best life. Instead, I traded in every opportunity and desire for such things for a failed stint at motherhood. Today the biggest risks I’m likely to take look like sleeping with a new pillow or braving Costco on a Saturday.

Well, and iced coffee in the afternoon apparently…

Or the spicy Dominican restaurant I’ve heard so much about. (IYKYK)

Here’s the truth though–as much as I miss dreaming of carefree and life-threatening risks (not of the coffee variety) I’m pretty ok with where I m today. I’m ok with forty-six. Don’t get me wrong, I’d love this old neck of mine to be a bit more flexible with pillows, and I prefer Costco on a Tuesday evening, but of the deeper stuff… I’m a big fan.

I know who I am today, and that girl dreaming of jumping from an airplane had no clue who she was. It’s safe to say that up until a small handful of years ago I still hadn’t a clue, though I’d wager I was getting closer. I no longer need the approval of others. I no longer fear failure because I understand the necessity of it–the richness of it.

I spent so long, as a writer, angry at myself that I didn’t have it together enough to finish (and publish) a book. Yet today, as I gather promotional items, work on edits, and prepare for my memoir to release in August I realize that it came just when it should have. One year shorter and it would have been something less than it is.

At forty-six I can relax. I can comprehend that problems are not likely knitted with the urgency they once seemed to have been comprised of. At forty-six I’m sleeping better than I have ever slept, and carrying myself with more confidence than I ever have. It turns out that feeling confident has nothing to do with what size you wear, how not-grey your hair is, or how your economic status plays out in your portfolio. Who knew?

At forty-six I understand that moments truly are the beautiful bits that comprise a life. I’ve dealt with enough nonsense from others that I have no problems insisting on a boundary, cutting my losses, and moving on.

Last weekend we went to the Van Gogh exhibit with friends. I wore a flowy sheer-floral ruana and my biggest cocktail rings. At one point, mid-laughter, I asked how I was doing channeling my best Mrs. Roper vibes and laughter ensued. My husband lovingly assured me I wasn’t “even close” to Mrs. Roper, but suddenly I realized I didn’t care if others thought I was. I didn’t care. I was comfortable, filled with joy, and living my best life. If that screams Mrs. Roper’s appearance then more power to us both!

I love floral dresses, floral coverups, and giant gemstone jewelry.

I love crystals, tarot cards, Jesus, Dan Levy, and puppies.

I am who I am and the biggest gift about being this age is accepting that and not changing my interests based on what is trending or someone else’s approval.

Wherever you’re at today, and however you are, I hope you can love yourself and accept this moment as authentically as it is. This has to be the definition of truly living because otherwise–what’s the point???

the magic quadrant…

Published on by Mae @ Rainydayinmay

When I logged on to my WordPress account today to lay out a few small words within this often neglected space I saw the words Magic Quadrant. Magic Quadrant... As I quickly clicked through the pages my brain took in those words just as the screen changed. I quickly assumed it was in relation to some WP-related workshop or other, but honestly, I don’t know.

Clearly, I found the words intriguing. Suddenly what I had expected to fill these lines with had floated away–my mind instead consumed with Magic Quadrant.

A quick consult with Alexa tells me that this is a series of market research reports published by IT consulting firm Gartner that involve some sort of data analysis regarding marketing… this point in her delivery of the information I requested is when my eyes glazed over and my ears filled with music similar to that of the Academy Awards when they are rudely trying to get winners to stop talking. It seems as though a group of people pulling together reports on data of any sort would come up with a better name than Magic Quadrant.

Magic Quadrant sounds to me like a sweet spot. And maybe, in laymen’s terms, that’s what we’re talking about here.

I get certain aspects of marketing. I understand, with someone who has something to sell, I need to identify my ideal customer and decipher what the need they have is, so I can meet it. I get all of that… But then, other people just like me are talking about SEO words and I’ll be honest: Cue glazed eyes and Oscar orchestra because I’m done.

I want to be the author who tells the truth about life–my life, and life happening all around me. I want to share not the dry data of events, but how they feel and why they matter. I want to focus on the power of story, the power of healing, the power of empathy, rest, genuine self-care, and acting love. I don’t want to craft posts around trending words that bring people to this space. I don’t want to conform my writing to what is attracting the most buzz. I want this space to be a quiet, restful space where those who come here know they will be safe to read, process, and might just leave with something that balms something in them which burned a little before they got here.

The true Magic Quadrant.

My way feels a little less dirty, although the other way isn’t at all dirty either, it just doesn’t feel like me.

This may be why I’ll probably never be a best-seller or make it onto many book lists. I think I’ve had to grow to the point where I’m ok with that. Early on writers are taught to want one of the big publishing houses to buy their book, and to dream of the NYT bestseller list… For a long, long time those were the things I believed I wanted too, because these were the things I was taught to chase if I wanted to be a writer.

I no longer want those things.

Whether it is five or five-hundred thousand people who read my blog, listen to my show, or buy my book, I want it to matter. I want it to feel like a genuine moment of intimacy followed by a good friend wrapping a blanket around their shoulder and reassuring them–There there… You’re ok, and even when it doesn’t feel like it you’re not alone. This space is safe and warm, real and connected…

It turns out my magical space is far more fairy-twinkle lights, steaming mugs of tea, and cozy blankets than the data would allow, and I this feels right for me.