A Life Less Ordinary

Ghost Writer

2012-01-23T05:00:00.000-06:00

One of the great things about writing a paranormal mystery is that I can justify researching ghosts. Reading about them, watching horror movies--it's all good. I spent a lot of this weekend reading supposedly non-fiction accounts of hauntings--and fraudulent hauntings. (It boggles my mind that some people go to the trouble of creating their own poltergeists and moving out of their house in "terror", but I guess if your story is good enough, it can garner you a lot of money and attention. Quite a gamble, but it's worked for some.)

I did some Internet research on the best ghost movies of all time, and purchased quite a few of them.

The good news is that all of this "research" has actually given me some new ideas I can use to flesh out my novel in the upcoming rewrite. Several aspects of paranormal activity stood out as things all ghosts tend to do, and yet, my ghost doesn't do them. If it's at all possible to add realism to a tale of the paranormal, that's what I'll be doing.

The old adage is, of course, write what you know, but that's difficult when you're writing about something like ghosts or the Loch Ness Monster. Unless--of course--you have personal experience with such things. And even if you do, they might not be believable. In one of the original drafts of Lost, I included a version of a paranormal experience that actually happened to me, and every single one of my readers said I should remove it because it wasn't believable. And it was the only part of that book that was non-fiction!

For the opening chapter of Dragonfly Summer, I used a scenario that is very closely based on something that happened while I was taking the local media around the museum on a "ghost tour". This time, for whatever reason, the paranormal incident passed muster with everyone who read the early drafts. Maybe because the ghostly activity isn't as in-your-face.

All this ghostly research had The Boy commenting that it was interesting (actually, I believe he said "cute") that he was dating a girl who believes in ghosts. That comment gave me pause. Did I believe in ghosts before my paranormal experiences? (My protagonist starts her journey as an unbeliever.) While I was definitely open-minded to the possibility, I wouldn't say I believed. When my best friend died in high school, I certainly hoped to somehow have contact with her again, if possible. But one thing I've learned--no matter how excited you are about the possibilities, or curious (either from a scientific or personal point of view), having a paranormal encounter is not fun. It's terrifying. The Boy may not know this, but I actually like to know what causes each strange noise in my house. If I hear someone walking up behind me, it's nice to turn around and see an actual person. I would never wish to encounter a ghost, but since it seems that I have, it's easier for me to recall the fear that I experienced at the time and use that to make my protagonist's reactions more realistic.

How about you, Dear Readers? Have you ever experienced something you couldn't explain? Do you believe in ghosts? Why or why not? And if you have a scary story to share, please do! My research continues....

Fun Friday: Getting Creative

2012-01-20T05:00:00.011-06:00

Welcome back, Dear Readers.

If you believe that there are no coincidences, you'll love the fact that in a low moment at work, when my computer was down, I stumbled across a book by Julie Cameron in the Museum's Unintentional Book Club (I'll explain this book club in another post).

A lot of you are probably familiar with Cameron, whose book The Artist's Way was an international bestseller. Cameron is well-known for providing exercises that help artists tap into their creativity. (And by artist, she means anyone creative--painters, sculptors, writers, musicians, florists...anyone.) I remember going through some of the exercises in The Artist's Way and being happy with the results, so I picked up this new book, Walking in This World: The Practical Art of Creativity, and took it back to my desk.

Similar to The Artist's Way, this sequel is designed as an at-home course, much like you'd take through distance learning, with homework assignments included. I thought it might be interesting to go through the process together on Fun Fridays, and see where it takes us.

If you agree to follow Cameron's process, you are supposed to undertake three weekly exercises throughout the twelve weeks. (Don't worry, none of them involve wind sprints or sit-ups.)

1) Daily pages: Wake up a half hour earlier each morning (groan!) and write three pages of stream-of-consciousness writing. Do not read these pages or edit them, and don't share them with others. This should take thirty minutes. Don't worry about what to say--write whatever comes to mind, as fast as you can get it down. Ideally, this should be done by hand.

2) Take a twenty minute walk by yourself each week. Cameron believes walking is a great way to clear our minds, therefore allowing us to tackle roadblocks which may hinder our creativity.

3) Go on an Artist's Date each week. Go to someplace new, interesting, or inspiring by yourself. These 'dates' needn't be longer than an hour. Locations Cameron suggests include toy stores, fabric stores, etc. If you're a writer, a bookstore, library, or a paper boutique may provide inspiration; artists may enjoy art supply stores or galleries, etc. Museums are always great (no bias here), and I personally love ethnic food stores.

Week 1, Discovering a Sense of Origin, has two additional exercises. For the first, list twenty small, creative actions you could take. (These include things I don't normally think of as creative, such as painting a windowsill or making soup.)

For the second, use ten positive adjectives to describe yourself. The goal of this particular exercise, Cameron explains, is self-acceptance. So even if the word you use isn't always meant in a positive way, think of it as positive when you write it down. For instance, I'll be including the word "sensitive". I've had this word thrown at me in a negative way by several people, as in "You're so sensitive", or "You're too sensitive". But being sensitive has many benefits as well, and to my way of thinking, it's much preferable to being insensitive. So I'm including it.

Feel free to undertake one, both, or none of these exercises, but I'd love to hear your thoughts on this process. Have you read any of Cameron's books or tried her exercises? How have they worked for you? What twenty creative things could you reasonably accomplish? What ten positive adjectives would you use to describe yourself?

If you try the morning pages, artist's date, or weekly walk, please let me know how it went. My own answers will be posted in a comment.

Happy Friday!

Good News/Bad News

2012-01-17T05:00:00.000-06:00

I will be here. Yes, I will be.

Can't have one without the other, right?

The good news is that I finally feel like a writer again. After the Sparkling Werewolves (writers group extraordinaire) met last Thursday, my commitment was to finish going through The Boy's edits of Dragonfly Summer by our next meeting.

Well, I've already finished! Now I just need to go through Jeff's (another beta reader) comments, make any necessary changes, get some expert opinion on a couple of dicey situations, and then finish the polish/edit before sending it to the second group of readers. I even have a natural deadline--as one of the group (a voracious reader and someone whose opinion I value) goes on holidays in mid-February, I'd like to have my next draft ready to go by then.

On the other hand--here's the bad news--I really don't feel like a kickboxer these days. Life has been interfering with my attempts to get back to the gym, and to tell the truth, I haven't been fighting it much. I just don't feel like it. I'm not sure if this is because I've had such a long break, and I simply need to give myself time to get back into it, or if this is a sign it's finally time to do something else.

Maybe I can only be obsessed about one thing at a time.

On the "living my best life" front, two trips are being tentatively planned. If all goes well, I'll finally see Hawaii with a writing friend this year, and will journey to Egypt with The Boy in 2013. The fact that this is finally starting to fall into place gives me hope.

How are you making out with your New Year's goals? Any progress? Setbacks? Thoughts on my inability to get back into fighting form? Any and all advice accepted!

One for the Bucket List

2012-01-12T05:00:00.002-06:00

I can dream, can't I?

I just finished one of the most enjoyable books I've read in a long time. On Rue Tatin was a Christmas gift from The Boy, who understands both my love of food memoirs AND true tales of people escaping from their humdrum lives. On Rue Tatin is a bit of each.

This extraordinary memoir details an American woman's journey from her life in Seattle to living in a 15th-century convent in Louviers, France. Susan Loomis graduated from journalism school knowing she wanted to be a food writer. Thinking she needed to learn more about cooking, she took a job as an apprentice at a Parisian cooking school.

Loomis's incredible home.

Of course, she falls in love with France. Of course she doesn't want to go home. But she does, and somehow she manages to convince her less-than-enthusiastic husband (who doesn't speak French) to uproot their lives and move to Louviers, a Norman town which is one hour away from the City of Light. As they tackle renovating the gorgeous derelict building they were able to buy, they must deal with culture shock; their confused, unhappy toddler; unfriendly florists who use their backyard as a storage area; and local men who were accustomed to peeing in their drains!

Still, On Rue Tatin is a lyrical love letter to France. Interspersed with recipes, Loomis brings the setting and people of her new home to life, and you instantly understand what drew her to this place. While France has never been on the top of my list of places to see, reading this book made me wish to join her there, to meet her wonderful friends, to peek into the shops and bakeries and cafes she describes so well, to walk those centuries-old streets and touch history on every corner.

Loomis.

And best of all, if you have the means, you can! Susan Loomis now runs a cooking school, where you get to learn the fine art of French cooking and eating at her side, along with five other people, in her own home--the home she so lovingly describes in On Rue Tatin. (Class sizes are kept small.) Along with the twice-daily lessons and sampling sessions, there are tours of the places she loves best, including cheese shops. Heaven!

Unfortunately, this heaven comes at a steep price. Her six-day course (three-day courses are also available, but what would be the point of coming all that way for three days?) is almost $4,000 US, and that doesn't include airfare, room and board, or transportation once you get there. Ouch.

Still, it's fun to dream, and this is a beautiful dream of what would be a once-in-a-lifetime experience. If nothing else, I can always read her gorgeous book and be inspired.

The church across the street from Loomis's home.

Have you ever made a huge change in your life, like Susan did? Or have you ever dreamed of doing so? If you could run away, where would you run to? I always admire people who are brave enough to leave everything they know behind for a whole new life across the pond.

The Woman in the Mirror

2012-01-11T05:00:00.000-06:00

My mother used to say the worst thing about getting older was seeing her mother's face when she looked in the mirror.

No matter how pleasant your upbringing, there's resistance at the idea of becoming your parents. And lately, even though I'm not seeing my mother when I look in the mirror, certain aspects of her personality are creeping into mine.

My mother is a very shy person, uncomfortable at parties or meeting new people, while I've always been a social butterfly. But slowly, over time, I seem to have developed this aversion to social obligations--you know the ones. You feel obligated to go because you love the person who invited you, but that's the only reason you're going. And the person who invited you, since she is usually the host, will not have time to say much more than hello.

My mother would dread this situation, while a social butterfly would recognize the opportunity to meet new people--perhaps even strike up a friendship. Somehow, I've moved farther and farther away from who I used to be, and become my mother when faced with one of these "forced" invitations.

It is only when I'm dragged to one of these events, kicking and screaming, that I realize "Hey, I'm actually good at this! I can start up a conversation with almost anyone, and I always meet someone interesting." Why, then, all the dread? (My mother is also a champion worrier--she will agonize over things that never come to pass. Seems I've inherited that characteristic as well.) I'm in public relations, of all things--it's my job to mingle and network. I'm a journalist, used to making cold calls and convincing people who don't know me that they should talk to me. So why do I panic at the thought of making polite conversation with someone's co-workers, family, or friends?

It boggles the mind.

I've actually lost friends because I couldn't bear to attend their obligatory get-togethers, when it turned out they really needed me--and expected me to be there. You'd think I would have wised up by now.

So, adding to my pile of New Year's Resolutions is this--I'm going to say yes more often. While I can't possibly accept every invitation, I'm going to attend whatever social obligations I can without worrying or fretting about awkward silences and lousy conversations. If it ends up being an awkward evening, it's only one night out of my life, right? What's the worst that could happen?

Have you ever experienced the same aversion to social obligations? Any idea where it comes from? Anyone else becoming their parents? What's the worst thing that ever happened to you at an event?

I should add that I love my mother dearly, and there's many aspects of her personality I'd be proud to call my own...just not this one. :)

The Naked Truth

2012-01-10T05:00:00.000-06:00

Hello Dear Readers,

Today's revelation may shock some of you. It may cause a few of you to take a hard look at your own success (or lack thereof).

There is one single reason I am not published. (You may never have seen an unpublished author admit to this before, so sit down before reading.)

The answer is...

(Drum roll, please.)

Me.

Yes, the only one I can blame for my lack of publishing credentials (except for my journalism articles, that is) is myself.

It's not the publishing industry, because I haven't given the publishing industry the chance to refuse my work.

It's not my agent, because I let her go two years ago, and I still haven't gotten off my duff to retain a new one.

And this is why I grit my teeth when people tell me to go with a smaller publishing house, to go Canadian, or to e-publish. Why would I aim small when I haven't even tried for the big leagues yet? I want to try for the big leagues. I want to exhaust every other option before I accept that the only route for me is to publish my own work. I simply don't believe that yet, possibly because I've been making my living as a writer for almost twenty years. (Which seems a shockingly long time to me--it's over half my life.)

Yes, my life is busy, but I'm the one who sets my priorities. Every time I sleep in rather than work on my rewrite, that's my choice. Every time I choose to read someone else's work instead of hacking away at my own, that's my decision. Letting my freelance journalism career suck up every creative impulse and bit of time I had for years was also my choice. Same with focusing on kickboxing instead of writing last year.

I have plenty of faith in my work. It attracted a big-name agent once, and I believe it can do so again. What I don't always have faith in is my ability to stick to that commitment once I've made it. I write for a living, and that means the last thing I want to do in my spare time is write fiction. But if I ever want to write fiction for my livelihood (and I do), I have to put my time where my mouth is. I have to finish those rewrites, and even more importantly, I have to get them out the door.

As much as people would like to believe e-publishing is the key to fame and fortune for writers, that's simply not the case. But if you've banged your head against too many doors, and no one will let you in because your work doesn't fit an easily saleable category, it may be the right venue for you. If you do go that route, please please PLEASE do it professionally. Get a good editor (I don't care how well you edit your own work; if it's your own, you are missing some mistakes--trust me on that). Make sure your cover is professionally designed. Be prepared to spend a heck of a lot of time marketing your book, because without your blood, sweat, and tears, it's doomed to failure. For more rarely considered pitfalls of e-publishing, please see Michelle Argyle's wonderful article on the subject. (This one is good, too.)

I'm not against e-publishing, but too many writers have put unpublished work up for sale on the Internet before it's ready. This is starting to make it look like amateur hour, and pretty soon people will be afraid to take a chance on an author they've never heard of--even if the manuscript can be theirs for only 99 cents. Ninety-nine cents of crap is still crap, and crap is never a bargain.

If I have the time, I'd like to publish Lost as an e-book, only because I can't in good faith tell agents and publishers who has already considered it. But it certainly isn't my priority. My priority is to follow the sure-fire method of success in the writing world:

1. Write. 2. Rewrite. 3. Polish. 4. Submit. 5. Repeat.

So wish me luck! I'll be sharing my journey on here, as always, and I'll be hoping that you share yours as well.

The good news is: when you only have yourself to blame, you have the power to change the situation.

Why aren't you published?

Love/Hate

2012-01-09T05:00:00.000-06:00

It's funny how much you can dread something you love. I must love kickboxing--I've been taking classes in it, off and on, for fourteen years. And I recommend it to so many people. Anyone who mentions wanting to get in shape and seems interested gets to hear all about my club.

But all it takes is a couple of weeks off, and I dread going back. Why? It doesn't make any sense, but there you have it--once I'm out of the zone, I'd rather just go home than go to my club and kill myself for an hour or two.

I know I'll feel better afterwards. I know the chronic headaches that are starting to creep back into my life will go away. My stomach will feel firmer again. I'll be happy about not throwing away all the progress I made last year. And I'll renew acquaintances with my fellow kickboxers, some of whom have turned into really good friends.

Why the dread, then? I don't get it. Why would I rather curl up with a good book, hang out with The Boy, watch a movie, or enjoy a bubble bath than do something I love that is so healthy for me? It's a mystery, but it sure makes it easier for me to understand those who struggle to exercise. Finding something you love is key, because even when you do love it, there's going to be a lot of times when you just don't feel like doing it.

Have you begun or renewed an exercise program this month? If so, how is it going? What are you struggling with?

Today will be my first day back at the gym since my fight in November. I'm going back for Stamina Monday, and Grant is going to kick my butt. Hopefully in the process, I'll remember what I love about this sport, and then the next day back won't be as hard.

What's It For?

2012-01-05T05:00:00.017-06:00

Hello Dear Readers,

So far, 2012 hasn't started off on the brightest, shiniest note. A friend just left our writing group. In a group of ten or more, this wouldn't be such a big deal, but we're small...five people, to be exact, and one of those doesn't even live in the city anymore. Now we're down to four, three of whom can actually attend the meetings. To make matters worse, one of the reasons I began this group in the first place was to spend more time with this friend, who has a great attitude about life and is a stellar human being. Sure, I love his writing, but his contributions as a person are much more important to me.

He left for his own reasons, and I get it. When you're not writing, you're constantly guilty about not writing, and the last thing you need is to sit around with a group of other writers and hear about how they're all-so-busy with their many projects. Sometimes it can guilt you into getting your butt in gear, but not always. A lot of times, it just makes you feel like a loser.

I wonder why so few writers talk publicly about how difficult it is when you're not writing. Surely we've all been through periods like this, and yet, it seems no one wants to admit it. Instead we're bombarded with stupid quotes like, "Writers write. Period." Yeah? Well, sometimes they don't. Sometimes (unless you're already making the big bucks as a full-time novelist, and if that's the case, bully for you) life gets in the way. And, in my opinion, this doesn't make you any less a writer. Say you're a runner. If you take a year off because of an injury or a death in your family or a stressful situation, no one says, "Oh, there's Karen. She used to be a runner." No, Karen is a runner who is taking some time off. Why doesn't the same go for writing? I don't know of another art form where people are so focused (and judgmental) about output. I blame things like NaNoWRiMo for this. Sure, it's a great idea in theory, but to my thinking, quality is more important than quantity when it comes to the written word. Is it really so important that you wrote 500,000 words if 488,000 of them are crap? The best writing involves a lot of thinking. So what if you're not pounding out chapter after chapter? Just tell your nosy writing buddies that you're in the thinking stage. It has its place, and it does have merit.

But back to the idea of writing groups. I've always had my struggles with them, and I've yet to be a member of one that really worked for me. My first writing group was composed of myself and two like-minded friends. None of us were writing, and all of us wanted to be. We hoped that the group would be our impetus. It was for one of us, but the other two languished, feeling guiltier and guiltier while our friend churned out (very well-crafted) pages. The second writing group was more inclusive. Anyone who wanted to be a member could be, and there was no pressure to write or to read your work aloud. Sounds perfect, right? It could be--when the work being read was interesting, and the person reading it was a good narrator. When those factors were missing, it was purgatory. And although there was supposed to be a time limit, no one stuck to it, and let me tell you--listening to fifteen minutes of a ho-hum novel being read in a monotone is not inspiring.

You were also at the mercy of anyone who showed up during the evenings you planned to read. Those who critiqued tended to fall into two groups: people who loved everything, because they were very nice and trying to be helpful, and people who wanted to sharpen their claws on everyone else's work. While I did meet some good critique partners at this group, they were far from the norm.

My latest writing group has yet to hit its stride, or figure out what it wants to be. In the beginning, I envisioned a place where people could talk about the writing life and its challenges--including how to deal with the times when you just can't write, for whatever reason. I didn't want us to be held hostage while everyone read twenty pages aloud, and we're probably too busy to read each other's finished works. But I don't know...I could be wrong about that, and I will ask at the next meeting.

At this point, I'm not sure what writing groups are supposed to achieve for their members, or what the best structure is. The one thing I can take away from every experience I've had is the wonderful writing friends I've met, and how good it feels to meet kindred souls who completely get where you're coming from. To me, that's been the best part.

What's been your experience with writing groups? What has worked the best for you? Have writing groups improved your writing, or inspired you to create during a non-productive time?

Happy New Year!

2012-01-04T05:00:00.009-06:00

Having my first fight was a huge goal realized in 2011.

Welcome to 2012, everyone!

2011 was a fairly epic year for me. If I could sum it up in one word, that word would be: kickboxing. I trained hard all year, ending the twelve months with my first fight and a well-deserved break. A break that has lasted much longer than I ever meant it to, after I promised myself that I would never be one of "those" people who take too much time off after fighting. Pot, meet kettle!

My goals for 2012 are many, but one of the most important is to regain my focus on writing. While I love muay thai, and it is good for me both mentally and physically, it is not my desire to be a professional kickboxer. However, I do want to be a novelist. So my priorities have to shift somewhat.

Here are my resolutions (at least, the ones I can freely share). Last year, I was taken to task for calling them resolutions instead of goals, so by all means call them anything you like. I won't mind.

1) Rewrite Dragonfly Summer.
2) Submit Dragonfly Summer to agents/publishers. Repeat as necessary. (I'm hoping to start this submission process in the spring.)
3) Write (or at least begin) new novel.
4) Put more energy and time into my relationship.
5) Put aside more money for savings (I do have an exact figure, but I'm keeping it to myself).
6) Take green armband test. Stick w/ the running and weights on non-kickboxing days.
7) Complete household projects: fixing drywall, etc.
8) Do not let workplace stress take over my life.
9) Query other magazines.
10) Travel.

Numbers 1, 2, 4, 5, 8 and 10 are resolutions--the rest are more of a wish list of sorts. I have to accept that there's only so much I can accomplish in one year. There has to be time for fun and relaxation, too, and allowances made for my full-time job and all my freelance journalism work.

Looking back at last year's resolutions, I seem to have accomplished only two of the seven, but they were big ones: getting out of debt and having my first fight. I'll try to do better this year.

1) Polishing Dragonfly Summer and sending it off to publishers and agents
2) Training for and hopefully passing my green prajioud test
3) Having my first (and perhaps only) fight, if applicable
4) Beginning and finishing research/outline of new novel
5) Submitting one new story to a contest
6) Starting to write new novel
7) Getting out of debt, once and for all!

What are your hopes for 2012?

Fun Friday: You Got Me WHAT???

2011-12-16T05:00:00.002-06:00

Happy Friday, Dear Readers!

Yes, I've resurrected Fun Friday. This week, I want to know about the worst gift you ever received. You don't have to name names, and let's face it--the person who got you that horrible thing is not reading this blog! (I'm not that popular, so your secret will be relatively safe with me.)

It's the thought that counts, of course, but what if that thought was seriously wrong? I've gotten some disappointing gifts over the years-everything from ugly hand knitted slippers that didn't fit from my well-intentioned grandmother to a coffee maker with a selection of coffees from a friend who knew I don't drink coffee. Her explanation? "Well, you might have someone come over who wants coffee." Um, thanks. The worst gift I received as a child was a lace dickey. I didn't even know what it was, until my mother explained that you wore them with plain sweaters to make them look fancier. Did I ever tell you I was a tomboy? A lace dickey I did not need.

But one guy I dated took the proverbial cake. Almost every gift he gave me was so hideous or misguided that I was afraid to open it. He seriously challenged my acting abilities. For our first Christmas, I received a rusted elephant sculpture. This lovely hunk of rusted metal (with orange flakes falling off it periodically) was supposed to stand by itself, and was the size of a small dog. It resembled a shapeless blob more than anything, and it kept falling over, scaring my cat and gouging the hardwood floors. Lovely.

The following year, it was a vase in a wire pedestal that was lovingly designed to incorporate all of the world's ugliest colors: puke yellow, booger green, and our old favorite--rust. What was with this guy's obsession with rust? Again, the finish flaked off when you touched it, and the pedestal's legs were crooked. I threw an ivy plant in it, and that actually made it look okay, until it rotted out and fell apart. Problem solved!

Deciding he'd done enough to decorate my living room, he turned his attention to my bathroom. I love baths, so for some reason he though I must need a new bathroom set. (I don't know about guys, but I'm sure most of the women who read this like to pick their own colors, and probably already have their home the way they like it. This guy didn't know that.) So, to replace my lovely teal-and-aqua bathroom accessories, he bought me a plastic jungle-themed shower curtain, a set of forest green towels, and every gadget you could possibly imagine for softening one's feet.

"I hope you don't think that I think there's anything wrong with your feet," he said. "I just thought these would be nice to have."

Translation: he went to the Bay's bathroom department and bought everything they have. And I do mean everything! I'm surprised he didn't get me one of those scary razor-type things that remove calluses.

Thankfully, The Boy is a much better gift-giver!

What's the worst present you ever received?

Fuzzy Purple Gorilla

2011-12-15T05:00:00.003-06:00

If you're a writer, you've probably been told "show, don't tell" at least once. And probably a lot more than once. As tempting as it is to lay it out for our readers up front, it makes for a better story if we show them that a character has a certain personality trait through their actions, instead of through our words.

Isn't that how we find out who people are in the real world? Think about politicians, for example. They all claim to be upfront, honest, and "for the people", but their actions often paint a very different picture.

Our first impressions are also often deceiving. Twice this year I thought a person didn't like me, only to find out later that she was just shy and reserved. And yesterday, I received even more evidence that our first impressions of people are often wrong.

A woman got on my crowded bus, and made her way to the back. She was well-dressed and very polished, with a short, fashionable haircut. She appeared stern and very serious, and looked for all the world like a business woman who had no sense of humour. But then I saw her purse.

Hanging from her bag was a little fuzzy purple gorilla. It wasn't garish--in fact, if you weren't looking for it, you probably wouldn't know it was there. I only saw it because I was sitting while she was standing, so the fuzzy primate was at my eye-level. But a woman who has something like that hanging from her purse definitely has a sense of humour. This one little embellishment completely changed my impression of who this woman was.

And that got me thinking about the characters we create. Is there a fuzzy purple gorilla equivalent we could use to make our own characters come to life? To speak volumes with one small detail? What details have you used to make a character seem real?

I'm interested in your thoughts. All comments welcome!

Confession Time

2011-12-12T05:00:00.002-06:00

It's December, and so it's time to admit it, once and for all.

I love Christmas. I do...all of it. The incessant carols, the busy rushing gift-buying madness, the crazy schedules, the decorating, the excitement of the big day and wondering whether your loved ones will like what you got them.

Yes, I realize Christmas is too commercial. But I don't give a (insert word of your choice here). I love to stretch my creative legs, trying to come up with the perfect gift for everyone on my list. Sometimes it's homemade, sometimes it's store-bought, and sometimes it's a combination of the two. I love seeing faces light up, and that's the best part of the holiday for me.

I also love indulging in holiday tasks. Should I be kickboxing? Probably. Do I have a novel that needs rewriting? And more novels to write? Definitely. But screw it, that's waiting until January while I bake eight different kinds of cookies to give away. Whew! (I also made peppermint ice-cream.)

I've never really gotten over the whole anticipating-Christmas-morning childlike excitement I had when I was a kid (probably because I don't have kids myself). My parents still fill a ridiculously-over sized Christmas stocking for me, and I serve as their personal shopper as I also fill the stockings for them. It's one of the only occasions where being an only child is a good thing. :) Once I come back home to the city, The Boy and I will celebrate Christmas #2, with shared stories, love and laughter, and yes, more Christmas stockings and probably too many gifts. But it's the first Christmas that we've both been out of debt in awhile, so we're splurging a little. We'll get back to the tightfisted budget in...yep, you guessed it--January. (And no, we're not going back in debt for Christmas. That would NOT be cool.)

Wrapping presents, visiting friends and family (oh, if only people made such an effort to spend time together throughout the year), watching cheesy holiday movies, and gazing at the lights on our (environmentally friendly artificial) tree for hours...it doesn't get much better than that. It almost makes winter worth it. Almost.

I never thought I would be the type of person who would own singing penguins wearing Santa hats. But there you have it--I do. (And everyone secretly loves them, even though they pretend to be above it all.)

Happy holidays, everyone! If you celebrate Christmas, Hanukkah, or Kwanzaa (or whatever, really--I'm not fussy), what's your favorite tradition/activity?

All The News That's Fit to Cry Over

2011-12-09T05:00:00.004-06:00

Hello Dear Readers,

Is it just me, or are you finding Facebook really depressing these days? It used to be a pretty whimsical site, full of funny posts and amusing observations, with the added bonus of reconnecting with people you really love.

Maybe it's just the Friends I have, who tend to be very intelligent, issue-conscious people, but lately all I see are posts, links, and comments about how the government is going to hell in a hand basket; animal species that are starving, going extinct, being needlessly slaughtered or otherwise suffering; children that are missing or murdered, and that all time favorite--how we continue to kill the planet.

Enough, already!

Of course I'm aware of these issues. Of course I think it's important that everyone is aware of these issues. But do I like logging on to my newsfeed, only to see bloody photos of murdered kittens? Hell, no. (That last one is a real example that left me crying at work.)

I don't know about you, but this overload of depressing, we're-all-going-to-hell-and-there's-nothing-you-can-do-about-it posts are getting me down. I know about the problems, but what about the solutions? What can I do to save the polar bears? Or to protect our water? Or to stop idiots from poaching rhinos? Or to keep the city I live in from being the murder capital of Canada again? Please tell me, because I really do want to know.

One tip from the corporate world could really work here: if you bring up a problem, have a solution in mind. That will keep everyone focused on the positive, and stop people who already care about these issues from feeling incredibly helpless.

It almost (I said almost, people!) makes me long for the days when Facebook was all about status updates like this:

A mom thinks about her kids even if they're not with her.

♥ A mom loves her kids in a way that they will never understand (until they have their own!).
♥ A mom will be there for her kids when no one else will.
♥ A mom loves her kids even when they neglect and hurt her.
♥ A mom will catch a grenade, take a bullet, stand in front of a train, & ask God to take her instead of her child....
♥ A mom loves her kids to the moon and back and more! xoxox ♥
♥ If you are a mom and have a child or children whom you love more than anything in this world, copy and paste this to your status!!!!

In the meantime, as you shop for holiday gifts, consider putting your hard earned cash towards a worthy cause (or one that will resonate with the recipient of your gift). The World Wildlife Federation has some cute ones. This won't save the world, or resurrect any murdered kittens, unfortunately, but it's a start.

Life is Short

2011-11-29T20:51:00.000-06:00

Ah, if only we could all get a book advance to escape our mundane lives for a year!

Hello again,

Yes, I'm still alive. You may have wondered.

Ever since my kickboxing fight, life has been crazy busy. At first I just enjoyed the unfamiliar downtime and being able to come straight home after work and relax. Not dragging a sixty-pound bag of gear on and off the bus has been heaven!

But then life got busy in a different way. It's that time of year--time to go insane buying gifts, wrapping gifts, going to holiday parties, and catching up with all the people I neglected during training. Work has been very hectic as well, both my day job and my freelance gig. I have twelve stories I need to have finished by the end of the weekend, and I'm wondering how I'm going to get everything done. I've been working nights to cram it all in.

It's also been a time of doctor's appointments and dental appointments. For those of you that don't know, I injured my left knee last fall, and I had promised myself that I'd get it checked out after the fight. I finally got in to see a sports medicine physician last week, and he gave me some positive news--I can still kick box! My knee just needs some strengthening exercises from a physiotherapist. It'll take some time, but in the end, it will be as good as new. Now I just need to find the time to go to the physiotherapist...and to get back to the gym. Easier said than done these days.

It does trouble me when I start to feel like a hamster on a wheel. Reminders that life is too short are all around me. Yesterday was the third-year anniversary of a friend's suicide. Today, I found out that another friend's daughter (who I still think of as a little girl) is pregnant with twins. My friend is going to be a grandmother, and she's not even forty. Where does the time go?

Ever since my best friend died suddenly, I've been a firm believer in making the very most of my life and ensuring each day counts. But how do you do this when you're not independently wealthy? It's not like we can all afford to leave our jobs to travel around the world, write the great novel, chase our various dreams, and spend hours on the beach with our thoughts. (Those of you who have the guts to do this anyway without the means, I salute you.)

We may not all have the guts, opportunity, or means to change our lives overnight. I certainly don't. But I've decided that what I can do is control how much the negative aspects of my current situation affect me. It's easier said than done sometimes--life can be unfair in a million different ways. Other people may not appreciate you or respect you in the way you deserve. It can be hard not to let one bad encounter, or one miserable day, alter how you feel about your life in general.

I hope I will be given enough time on this planet to realize my dreams of living somewhere beautiful and writing novels for a living, but there are never any guarantees. All I can do is make the most of each day in the small ways I'm able to right now, always hoping that soon things will get better.

How do you make the most of your life? How do you stop a bad situation from making you miserable?

FML?

2011-11-14T19:00:00.000-06:00

There's a new acronym in town. Along with the much maligned OMG and LOL, we now have FML. I have to admit I had no idea what 'FML' meant until recently. Guess I'm not one of the cool kids anymore. (If you still don't know what it means, this website makes it clear pretty fast.)

Like most acronyms of the texting era, FML is in danger of being overused. It is the chosen sign-off for everything to simple mishaps to truly bad days and tragedies. The website I linked to has thousands of people sharing their FML moments--enough to garner a major book deal. So I thought it might be fun to share one of mine here.

When I was younger, I had a thriving full-time freelance journalism business, and things had gotten so good that I'd stopped wanting a permanent job at a newspaper. One editor changed this.

She convinced me that the Feature Writer position would be perfect for me, and after awhile, I had to admit she was right. I already wrote a large number of feature stories for her paper, all of which were my own ideas. And covering everything from eating disorders to online dating to opposite sex friendships wasn't a bad gig. It was a lot of fun, so why not get paid (even more) for it? As much as I loved freelancing, it would be nice not to worry about where my next assignment was coming from. And freelancing still wasn't seen as a legitimate career choice. In spite of the fact that I made more money on my own than I would as an employee of our local paper, I was still regularly asked when I was going to get a "real job".

This was also a good time for positive change. My personal life was in turmoil, as I'd recently discovered that my boyfriend of three years had been cheating on me, first online and then up close-and-personal, with a reporter from Toronto. In hindsight, he did me a favor, as he clearly wasn't the right man for me, and his infidelity gave me irrefutable evidence of this. But at the time, I was heartbroken and angry. It didn't help that the other woman had moved to my city to be with my ex, so I now had to face them at social events. As our mutual friends chose sides, my pain only deepened.

All I had to do, the editor assured me, was wait for the current Feature Writer to leave the paper, and the job was mine. Thankfully, this happenstance was imminent, as this writer was also from Toronto and desperately wanted to return to her home city.

The writer left the paper within a few months, but just as I began to get excited about my "new job", things took a turn for the worst. A significant number of news reporters applied for the feature writing job, something my editor hadn't anticipated. She was concerned about the ramifications of choosing a freelancer over a unionized employee. To keep from being labeled The Bad Guy, she turned the decision over to the managing editor, which made me very nervous. I hadn't been building a relationship with the managing editor, but I finagled a meeting with him that lasted 90 minutes and seemed very promising. I was assured by my editor that I was the clear choice, and that the ME would realize that, too. She had no doubts.

For a while, I heard nothing. And then an email came from my editor, saying that the managing editor was meeting with a writer from Toronto, but not to worry--it was just a formality. Just a formality? I panicked. The managing editor was from Toronto as well, and he was known for continuously hiring reporters from there. Apparently, Winnipeggers weren't "cosmopolitan" enough. I frantically sent emails to both editors, highlighting how well-traveled I was. I wrote for plenty of Toronto publications--wasn't that good enough?

Apparently not. The next contact I received was an email from my editor, asking me to meet for coffee. I instantly knew the news wasn't good.

When we met, she was contrite and disappointed for me. I'd known this was coming, but what I hadn't anticipated was who had landed "my" job. Can you guess?

Yep, the woman who slept with my boyfriend. How's that for a FML?

It ended up turning out for the best, but at the time, I wasn't sure I'd ever get over it.

Anyone else brave enough to share an FML moment on here? It hurts less when you can laugh about it. :)

Dream Realized

2011-11-09T05:00:00.004-06:00

When you step in the ring, you really are on your own.

As I prepared to enter the ring for my very first muay thai fight on Saturday, November 5th, I was not afraid. I was not worried. I wasn't the slightest bit jumpy, or even anxious.

I should have known something was wrong.

I did have a moment of--call it trepidation, call it detached panic--when they taped on my boxing gloves.

"I guess I can't get out of this now, can I?" I joked. Yes, I was still joking. The entire day (we showed up at 3:30 in the afternoon for our medicals, and didn't fight until after 7 p.m.) was a surreal blur of waiting, laughing, and chatting. It felt more like a social event than impending doom. The weigh-ins had felt more nerve-wracking than this.

I'd come prepared with pages of inspirational writing and advice from fighter friends and angry music on my iPod, but I didn't have the chance to use either. Everyone was hanging out in the multipurpose room, talking. It was just like any other day.

This feeling of unreality persisted after my name was called and I walked into the darkened gym to the beat of Survivor's Eye of the Tiger (when in doubt, go with a classic). I thought I'd look angry and be completely focused on beating the crap out of my opponent at this point. Instead, one of the first things I saw was two hand-drawn posters with my name on them, held aloft by dear friends. The entire gymnasium was crowded with friendly faces, and the cheering was deafening. How can anyone be angry in such a show of love and support? I'm sure I walked to the ring with a big goofy grin on my face. I believe I even fist-bumped my boyfriend on the way in.

Once in the ring, things got a little more confusing. I thought there would be clear direction over what to do, but I had to ask permission to seal the ring (a traditional act of respect in muay thai), because there was no other indicator or instruction. When the ref explained the rules, that was my first opportunity to finally get clarity on what was or was not allowed in a K-1 match. Thankfully, he was patient with my questions. And then suddenly, it was time to fight. There was no touching of gloves, no nod to the opponent--just this woman rushing at me looking ready to kill.

"Oh, I guess we're fighting," I thought.

I was in a daze. My body would not obey my mind, and even my mind didn't seem to be working properly. I could hear my coaches screaming at me to kick, but I couldn't process what they were saying. More than anything, I could hear her coach, who until recently had been one of my coaches, another complicating factor. I couldn't seem to shut out his voice, and he never stopped yelling instructions.

Now, throughout this fight camp and beyond, I've had very tough sparring partners. And I've proven, without a doubt, that I can take a lot of punishment. So, when she lunged in and started hitting and kicking, I prepared to experience some pain. But to my surprise, I didn't feel a thing. The first two rounds sped by while I tried to punch and kick through the fog that encompassed my brain. I'm nervous to watch my fight, because I can't imagine that I did anything right in the initial four minutes. It was like being intoxicated, but worse. Where was I? What the heck was going on? Who was this person coming at me? I never heard a single end-of-round bell--now I know why there's a referee to stop the fighting.

During the break, Olivia put a stool under me, gave me water, and hammered me with instructions. I could see her lips moving, and I struggled to listen to what she was saying, but I couldn't make sense of it. My mind was whirling.

I looked up at Kru Kelly, who stayed mostly silent during the breaks. (Olivia was talking for both of them.)

"Am I doing okay, Kelly?"

"Yes, you are. You're doing great."

"There's something wrong. It doesn't hurt. Nothing she throws at me hurts."

I think they could have dropped a piano on my head at that point, and I would have thought a mosquito bit me. It was crazy.

I finally started coming out of the haze in the third round, but by then, I was too far behind on points. (I found out later that I was in shock for the first two rounds.) Still, I didn't back down, I didn't turtle, and I didn't run from her. Even in my stupor, I had that elusive quality I had always hoped for--heart. You can teach a fighter skill and aggression, but you can't teach him heart. You either have it or you don't.

When the last bell rang, I knew my opponent had won the match. And the truth was, I didn't care.

I used to think that losing this fight was the worst thing that could possibly happen, but I was wrong. When my opponent's name was announced as the winner, I smiled. As I climbed out of the ring to overwhelming cheers and applause, I was just...happy. So many people told me they were proud of me. So many people took the time to come out and show their support. There was no way I could feel like a loser.

And I have plenty of time to win a fight. This time around, getting in the ring and going the distance was enough.

Winning isn't about hitting hard. It's about how many hits you can take and still get up and keep going. - Rocky

My coach sent out an email to all the fighters afterwards, and this is an excerpt from what he said to me:

Under the most extreme pressure you still worried about other people's feelings, that says a lot about who you are.

I'm not sure what he's referring to, but I'm thinking that fighting teaches you a lot about yourself. In the heat of the moment, under that kind of pressure, you get to find out exactly who you are.

And if I've found out I'm a happy-go-lucky person who cracks jokes in a tense situation, cares about others, and doesn't back down, that's more than good enough for me.

Thanks to Kelly Westerlund and Olivia Gerula for training me, to all the members of fight camp for the support and advice and the shared experience, and to every single one of my wonderful friends who wrote, called, came to the fight, or cheered me on in any number of ways. I love you for being there. Thank you for joining me on this journey. And last but definitely not least, to Chris for going through this with me, every step of the way. I couldn't have done it without you.

Antisocial Butterfly

2011-10-27T05:00:00.002-05:00

I recently discovered a new (well, new to me anyways) blog that I love. On the surface, we seem to have nothing in common (she's a stay-at-home mom, a lover of sparkly pink clothing and makeup, and addicted to trashy TV, while I have no kids--unless you count the four-footed variety--wear barely any makeup, and don't have cable). But every now and then she'll write something that proves she may be the only person in the world who completely gets me.

Case in point: http://www.confessionsofacookbookqueen.com/2010/10/cinnamon-sugar-pumpkin-blossoms/

Like the Cookbook Queen, there's nothing I despise more than drop-in visitors. I blame my mother for this, because we used to spend half the weekend lounging around in our bathrobes, and whenever the doorbell rang, we'd hide. I'm sure this seemed like a super-fun game when I was a kid.

My mother is also responsible for teaching me that you can't have visitors unless your house is perfect. This means no errant cat hair, no stray scraps of laundry, and no dust. (Also no chairs with claw marks or drywall in need of repair.) As the Cookbook Queen writes in her post, people say they don't care what your house looks like, but they do. This became abundantly clear to me when I had friends over to play games one Sunday night. Unexpectedly, a woman decided she should move one of my couches to improve the seating arrangements. Well, I hadn't thought to clean under the couches (I have a life, people!), and somehow my two cats had managed to create a third kitty of hair under there. Disgusting. The woman immediately pointed this out, and called me on it in front of everyone. Needless to say, this chick is not my friend anymore. :)

I've gone to ridiculous lengths to avoid unexpected guests. I haven't admitted this to many people, and I'm not proud of it, but when I was in my early twenties, I did something pretty bizarre. My roommate and I had given our notice to the Landlord from Hell, so said hellish landlord decided to show our place to prospective new tenants...without notice. I was working from home, in my bathrobe, of course (I'm quite partial to bathrobes), when a real estate agent with a couple in tow showed up at the door. I didn't have a lot of time, and I knew they'd be touring the entire house, so I ran down to the basement and hid in a giant packing box for an hour...just to avoid them. True story. (Or perhaps it's a hypothetical situation. You decide.)

When The Boy moved in with me, he was very much an open-door policy sort of person. I quickly cured him of that. In my neighbourhood, if someone turns up at your door unannounced, there are four possibilities:

A drunk from the Marion or Chalet Hotels who lost his way.
People selling scams, vacuums, or religion.
People who want money for a ride to Selkirk because their wife is giving birth in a hospital there and they can't afford to get to her otherwise. (These callers usually occur from between 1-4 a.m., so they're easy to spot.)
Census takers and water-meter readers.

So you see, it's just best in all cases not to open the door. In my world, friends are people who call first.

How do you feel about unexpected guests? Are you like the Walsh family, or more of the hide-in-a-cardboard-box person? What's the most embarrassing uninvited guest moment you've had?

Special thanks to the Cookbook Queen for letting me know I'm not alone! Love this woman.

Thanks also to Graeme Balchin for the incredible artwork.

End of the Road

2011-10-20T05:00:00.001-05:00

It's hard to believe that the end of the road is almost here. In just two short weeks, I'll be stepping into the ring for the first time. And shortly after that, fight camp will be over.

Where did the time go?

In some ways, I'm ready for a break. I've been noticing that it's harder to drag my body to the gym these days--there were at least two days this week when I was really tempted to play hooky. But once I'm there, I always have a great time and feel so much better.

I'm tired of lugging my sixty pound bag of gear everywhere, and monitoring my weight and every single thing I eat to make sure I'm still on track. I dearly miss my boyfriend and friends, not to mention free time to do whatever the heck I want without feeling guilty. And writing...yes, I kind of miss that, too.

But there will also be a lot to miss about fight camp. I'll miss being that driven towards a fitness goal. In the past, if I was feeling lazy, there was nothing to stop me from taking a day off. These days, no matter how I feel, skipping a workout is not an option. I've developed tons of discipline.

I'll miss the high level of our training (Level 1 will definitely not be the same after this), and all the specialized attention. In some ways, fight camp is like having a personal training session almost every day. I'll miss the camaraderie of a group of people who are just as dedicated, just as determined, and just as tired and injured. There's comfort to be taken in knowing others are in the same boat along with you, that someone besides you cares whether or not you succeed. I've learned to separate the emotion from the training, and recognize that when someone is being hard on me, it means they care--not that they hate my guts or have had a bad day.

I'll also miss the excitement. I've never been good with boring ol' routine, and even though fight camp means working out almost everyday, there's always something new to learn, always some scary drill I haven't tried (Olivia made me practice my footwork while moving backwards on a treadmill the other day), and of course, the excitement and trepidation of the upcoming fight always on the horizon. It's kept life interesting and challenging. Don't be surprised if I immediately come up with another goal to keep me busy once fight camp is over. Pushing yourself can become addictive if you let it.

No matter what happens on November 5th, I know I will look back on this experience with pride and be very happy I went for it. It was worth the aches and pains, the bruises, and the fear. It was worth sacrificing every other interest I have for a year.

In many ways, I will miss it when it's over.

MVP or MIP?

2011-10-14T05:00:00.002-05:00

I used to date this guy who loved sports. It wasn't unusual for him to wear his filthy New Jersey Devils cap everywhere, even to bed. He was fanatical about cheering on his team, and when he played a sport himself, he gave it everything he had. When he took up pool, he bought his own cue and carried it around in a pretentious little case, despite my merciless teasing.

Mike's love for sports was much greater than his ability. He was never the best skater or shooter on his hockey team. He was far from the fastest on his running team. He didn't have the most coordination on his ultimate and soccer teams. But he went to every game, he never missed a practice, and he always did his best. And, win or lose, he had fun.

I grew up in a town where participating in team sports was reserved for those who were athletically gifted. Mike was the first person I met who played every sport he could--and enjoyed doing so--even though his talents were average at best. One thing he told me that will always stick with me is this: "I may never be the Most Valuable Player, but I can always be the Most Improved."

Mike won the medal for Most Improved player many times, but far more important to him was the sheer joy of playing his sports. There's never been a game that man doesn't love, and for him, staying active is the way he lives a life less ordinary.

I've been thinking of Mike and his MIP ambitions a lot lately. It's easy to get down on ourselves when we're learning a new skill, or struggling with something that is difficult. But instead of expecting perfection, what if we just strive for improvement each and every day?

There's no shame in being the most improved player. It shows growth, it shows determination, and above all, it shows heart. The person who has to work damn hard to achieve success grows so much more than the one who hit it out of the park his first time at bat.

I knew from the start that I wouldn't be the most skilled fight camper. There are many things I can't control: my height, my reach, my experience, my natural ability. But what I can control is how hard I train, how much I want to succeed, and how much I put into my sport.

Like my dear friend Mike, I'm striving to be the MIP. Win or lose, no one will ever be able to say that I didn't give it my all.

And where's the shame in that?

It's About Bloomin' Time

2011-10-13T05:00:00.001-05:00

Hello Dear Readers,

Were you a late bloomer or an early bloomer? In my experience, early bloomers are easy to spot: they are those people you occasionally meet who always find some excuse to talk about the good ol' days--i.e. high school. These are the former jocks, cheerleaders, the old popular crowd of the great Alma Mater. Maybe even some of the "brains" who received top marks in every assignment, were well-liked by everyone (especially their teachers), and voted Most Likely to Succeed by their peers. The Brandon Walshes of the world.

Late bloomers tend to be more difficult to spot, because unless you've known them for their entire lives, they seem to have always been this awesome. Many people hit their stride as adults, and as a result of their not-so-satisfactory high school experience, they often have a down-to-earth humility which is admirable. Once you've been picked last for gym team, you're not bound to forget the experience. That alone can make you more sympathetic than your early bloomer cohorts. However, the treatment you receive in your youth can mean your confidence takes a beating.

Anyone who follows this blog will not be surprised to learn that I consider myself a late bloomer. I envy the idyllic adolescence of early bloomers, but I've been a bit saddened by the ones who can't seem to move past their first taste of success. If high school represents the pinnacle of your life, what is there to look forward to in the future? Is being captain of the football team really as good as it gets? For some, perhaps.

When I was a kid, quite a few people called me weird. Now my so-called "out-of-the-box" thinking is appreciated and even admired. I was always picked last for gym teams, and even hid on dark stairwells to escape participating in team sports. (The Cat Ate My Gymsuit was one of my favorite books at the time.) Now I'm regularly referred to as an athlete, a description that still startles me (and makes me very proud, because it was so hard earned). I was always a writer, but back then, I couldn't get a summer job working at my small town paper. Now I've written for some of the best and biggest papers in the country. Pretty good for a late bloomer. ;)

There's still so much I haven't accomplished; so much I have left to do. I hope I get the opportunity to do it all. In retrospect, I suppose it doesn't matter if you bloom late or bloom early, just as long as you keep blooming.

And know that your best achievements are still around the corner. Gives you something to look forward to.

Were you an early bloomer or a late bloomer? What was your high school experience like?

She Who Hesitates

2011-10-12T05:00:00.000-05:00

It doesn't matter how much time passes, or how dated the clothes and hairstyles are. The original Karate Kid, starring Ralph Macchio and Pat Morita, will always rank right up there with the most inspiring movies I have ever seen. (Don't even talk to me about that mockery of a remake with Will Smith's son--ugh!)

There's a moment in The Karate Kid where Mr. Miyagi talks to Daniel about the dangers of hesitation.

"Walk left side, safe. Walk right side, safe. Walk middle, sooner or later, get squish just like grape. Here, karate, same thing. Either you karate do "yes", or karate do "no". You karate do "guess so", sooner or later, get squish just like grape. Understand?"

My greatest barrier to achieving success in sparring has been the same. I hesitate, I think too much, I throw out a half-hearted kick that is too slow and/or too weak, and I get the squish, just like grape.

I think this lesson can be applied to many areas in life, not just martial arts. How many of you know a person who seems to lead a charmed life? This guy (or girl) takes incredible risks, but somehow, they always seem to end up okay. I have friends who've sold everything they've owned to move across the country for true love, or to discover a completely new life in Africa. They gave up steady jobs, nice homes, and even their pets in order to follow their dreams, and I've never once heard them regret it.

We tend to regret the things we haven't done much more than anything we've tried and failed. It's human nature to be afraid of failure, afraid of getting hurt, afraid of looking foolish. But the truth is, we learn by making mistakes and the only way to truly know if something is for us is to try it.

But try it wholeheartedly. Seize that new career. Send that novel you've been keeping in your closet to a publisher. Get in the ring and throw a few punches.

Just don't hesitate, or sooner or later, you'll get the squish...just like grape.

Fight Camp: Three More Weeks

2011-10-11T05:00:00.000-05:00

Where did the time go? It's hard to believe, but I have only three more weeks of hard training before my fight.

When this fight camp began, I wondered why anyone would ever sign up twice. This isn't for me, I told The Boy. I need more balance in my life.

And now here I am, in the home stretch, and looking back, the experience doesn't seem that difficult. I had the opportunity to bond with some really great people. I received personalized attention from my kru. I enjoyed some challenging but far from impossible workouts. I lost fat and gained muscle. And I learned A LOT.

I never thought I would say this, but fight camp has gone by too fast. Part of me wishes I could start it all over again. But mostly, I'm just glad I had the opportunity to be a part of it. Contrary to popular opinion, not everyone who applies for fight camp is chosen. For me, it was a long, hard road. I had to apply at least three times before I got in, and now I see that I wasn't ready before. You really have to be willing to sacrifice everything else in your life in order to be successful.

Since the end of the road is so (terrifyingly) close, it's natural for the fighters to be asking ourselves the BIG question: will I be ready?

My coach Olivia has a great response to this: "With a month more of training, you could always be more ready. But the important thing to remember is that you will be ready. You will be as ready as you could possibly be at that point of time."

Then she goes on to razz me about how I should have fought a long time ago, etc...but her first statement is still valid. :)

The toughest part of this journey for me has been the mental aspect. But I'm coming to a point where I'm tired of being scared, tired of worrying, tired of being concerned and intimidated.

I'm accepting that I have what it takes to be a fighter, for better or worse. Bring it on, already!

Thankful

2011-10-07T05:00:00.000-05:00

It's that time of year again in Canada. In celebration of Thanksgiving, a lot of us will be sitting in front of a turkey dinner at some point this weekend.

How many of you take a moment during the holiday to actually give thanks? I know we never did in my house. Thanksgiving was all about food, food, and more food. It may be a cheesy convention that only exists in fiction, but I think it's a great idea to go around the table and have everyone mention at least one thing they're thankful for.

Since Thanksgiving Monday is a holiday, I most likely won't be blogging. So welcome to my table a few days early.

Here are just a few things I'm grateful for:

The most beautiful summer and fall this city has ever known. Do you know it was over 30 degrees Celsius here the other day? In October! Unheard of. And if any place deserves a break in the weather department, it's Winnipeg.
The Boy who supports me and my crazy training schedule, who makes the healthy salads I eat for lunch each day and packs up the cottage cheese in reusable containers, and who deals with cleaning the kitty boxes and all the other things I don't have time for these days...without (much) complaint.
My friends, who continue to cheer me on, even though a lot of them haven't seen me for some time. I include my four-legged friends, who see me more often, and who bring so much joy to my life.
My kru (coach), who has been there for me 100 percent through this process. I am so grateful for his support.
Being in the best shape of my life. I'm wearing a pair of white! pants with stripes that I've never worn before because the slightest flaw or bulge made them unflattering. If anything, they're a little too big now. Incredible!
This Sunday, during which I plan to do absolutely nothing but relax. Ahhh....
Being out of debt, and having a roof over my head and good (if limited) food to eat.
Having the opportunity to challenge and push myself harder than ever before. It's a blessing, even through all the devastating lows and self-doubt I've experienced.
Good books and hot baths.
Autumn air.
Sunshine.
All of you. Happy Thanksgiving!

What are you grateful for?

Unfettered Genuis

2011-10-06T05:00:00.000-05:00

When I was in high school, my father surprised me with a real treat. He rented an Apple IIe for the summer so I could type out my novel on a real computer, save it on discs, and print out as many copies as I wanted. If I made a mistake, all I had to do was hit the delete key. What a luxury! This was in the olden days, kids, when very few people had home computers, discs were the size of dinner plates, and if you wanted more than one copy of a document, chances were you used something called carbon paper, which left black smudges on everything and necessitated the invention of another now-obsolete product--Wite-Out.

After my summer with the Apple IIe, I was hard-pressed to return to the typewriter. I'd never heard of Steve Jobs back then, but from the time I was fifteen years old, he was making a difference in my life. Today, the way I listen to music, the laptop I covet, and probably dozen of other things I'm not even aware of were directly influenced by him.

Until the man passed away, I had no idea that he was more quotable than Mark Twain. All day long, social media outlets have been flooded with his words--words that are more brilliant and perceptive than most. How sad that we lost such a great thinker at such a young age (and yes, kids, 56 is young--you will find out soon enough).

Beyond his gift for innovation and his skill with words, I love that he was a champion for the rebel, the dreamer, the kid at the back of the classroom who is always getting in shit for not following the rules. I was that kid, and I can tell you firsthand that creativity isn't often appreciated in a world where we're expected to color in the lines and follow the leader. But maybe, with more people like Jobs blazing a trail, creative people will start being seen as a solution instead of a problem. I sincerely hope so, because--take it from me--sitting in the corner is not a fun experience.

If we can learn anything from Steve Jobs's life and all-too-soon passing, perhaps it is this: life is short. Make yours count.

Be brilliant.

Fight Camp Day Twenty-two: The Protector

2011-10-04T05:00:00.000-05:00

On Monday, I was waiting in a chiropractor's office to see if my tibia was fractured. As the doctor reviewed my x-rays, I held my breath.

When he told me the leg looked good, it was a huge relief. I've been down this road before...so close to fighting, only to break my wrist.

If it had been fractured, it would have been game over for me. Maybe some people would fight with a fractured leg, but I'm not one of them. I don't want this bad enough to sacrifice my long-term well-being (although I'm probably already doing that, to some extent).

What troubled me was realizing that--as relieved as I was to be able to keep going--I also would have been relieved to stop. And this made me question everything.

My emotions seem to change daily when it comes to fight camp. On some days, I'm determined to do this and looking forward to stepping into that ring. I am proud to think of myself as a kickboxer. On others, I wonder why I want to do this, or whether I actually want to at all.

One of my fellow fight campers loves getting hit in the face. I can't say I feel the same. There are many things I love more than getting hit in the face. For that matter, there are many things I love more than hitting others in the face.

I've been questioning whether or not I am a fighter. I spent some time thinking about everything I've survived in my life. And then I remembered one of my closest friends from childhood.

He was small for his age, but smart, and his diminutive size didn't stop him from speaking his mind. The end result was that other boys were always trying to kick his ass. As fearsome as my friend's temper was, the most intelligent course of action was to run like hell. So while he ran, there was often only one thing standing between an ass-kicking and freedom.

Me.

I was fiercely protective of my friend, and I didn't give a rat's ass who was threatening him. I boldly stepped in front of larger guys, meaner guys, and stronger guys. And I didn't back down. Eventually, they got tired of wrestling with me, and they left my friend alone. I don't remember getting hurt (although mud balls filled with glass were thrown at us one time--ah, the sweet innocence of children!), but even if I had, I know I would have stood my ground the next time. Because that guy they wanted to tear apart was my friend. And no friend of mine was going to get hurt on my watch.

So maybe I'd rather be your friend than beat you up. Maybe I'll use words to find a solution before I'll ever use my fists. Maybe I've seen the damage abusive people do, and would rather die than become one myself.

But when something counts, I can--and will--stand and fight for what I believe in. And that's all that matters.

What brings out the fight in you?

Fight Camp Day Nineteen: It's for REAL

2011-09-30T05:00:00.000-05:00

I received some exciting news yesterday: I have an opponent! Barring an injury or some other fluke, I will indeed be stepping into the ring in early November. I was so elated to hear the news.

You see, I wasn't entirely sure that my kru would be able to find an opponent for me. I admit that I was a bit picky. I'm only planning to go through this experience once (although that may change), so I want my fight to be one that I will be proud of, no matter the results. I didn't want to be matched with someone who had no technique and who just wanted to brawl. There have been too many female fighters like that, and I think it's given people a false impression of what women are capable of in the ring. I want to end this experience knowing that I did my very best.

We've lost a lot of the traditions of muay thai in this country. We've adapted the original Thai fighting style to one that is more reminiscent of Western boxing. We wear protective gear and rarely allow knees to the head or elbow strikes, in order to make one of the world's most brutal martial arts a little safer. You rarely hear the traditional music played during fights anymore, and if someone does play it, half the audience won't understand why. (We sometimes play it during Level 2 classes at our club, and I've heard Level 1s ask "what is that terrible noise?") Western fighters seldom bother to seal the ring, and it's been years since I saw someone do the warrior dance. That said, I still remember my old school training, and I am very proud of being a part of this martial art. The very least I can do when I step in that ring is show it some respect.

Now that I have an opponent, everything has changed. More than ever, this is for real. No more whining. No more longing for lazy weekends with friends and popcorn for dinner. This is worth so much more than any petty little concerns or aches and pains.

This is for real.

Fight Camp Day Eighteen: Over The Wall

2011-09-29T05:00:00.005-05:00

Bonding Through Pain.

They say exercise can improve your mood, but I had no idea how much. Yesterday I was feeling sorry for myself. I was hurt, I was sore, and I was tired. The last thing I wanted to do was go to the gym and train, but I'm so glad I did.

Kru Kelly had designed a special circuit training class for us. It was challenging. It was brutal. But strangely, it was also a lot of fun. (Is this fight camp insanity catching? I think so.) Through every exercise, every laboured breath or grunt of effort and pain, the five of us were in it together. We cheered each other on just by being there and by never giving up. Every circuit we survived felt like a real accomplishment.

Getting through something that difficult as a team is a huge bonding experience, and we even exchanged sweaty hugs at the end.

I left the club a completely different person than I'd been when I arrived. I was happy, I had tons of energy, and I was back to feeling like fight camp is the best thing ever.

It may seem counter intuitive, but sometimes when you feel down and like you really need a break, the best thing you can do is move.

If someone could figure out how to bottle this feeling, they'd make a million.

Fight Camp Day Seventeen: Hitting A Wall

2011-09-28T05:00:00.000-05:00

I was wondering if there would come a time when I'd just want to give up fight camp and get on with my life. Well, apparently that time is now.

I'm so unenthused about everything. Part of the problem is that my neck took a good beating in clinching practice on Monday evening, which resulted in a brutal migraine and a very stiff neck. Even today, two days later, I have not regained full mobility in my neck. Since I'm not clinching in my fight, this discomfort just seems...unnecessary.

I'm tired of training for hours everyday. I'm tired of eating salads for lunch. I'm tired of drinking so much water. I'm getting a lot of positive feedback about how fit and lean I'm looking, but it still feels like a waste of time some days. I miss my friends. I miss The Boy. I miss real food. I miss being able to spend my weekends doing whatever I feel like doing. I miss writing.

Hitting a wall is never fun, but I guess it's somewhat inevitable. I just hope I can climb over it to get to the other side.

What I wouldn't give to come straight home from work and spend the evening cuddled up with Chloe and The Boy. And maybe a pizza. Yeah, pizza would be good....

When you hit a wall, how do you get over it?

Fight Camp Day Fifteen: Pressure

2011-09-26T05:00:00.007-05:00

Do you perform well under pressure?

The concept of fight camp seems to revolve around the theory that pressure is good--not only the pressure you put on yourself, but additional pressure from your teammates.

My kru purchased a rowing machine for our gym, which I was excited about at first but now realize is a torture device from hell. My five rounds on Friday weren't so bad, even though I had to get my heart rate up to a certain level that required busting my butt...I only had one other woman, a friend, cheering me on and encouraging me. But on Saturday, I had to survive three rounds in a tiny room with four guys screaming at me to pull harder, go faster, not give up, etc. As Kara, one of the other women in fight camp, said when she took her turn: "I don't think I care for this environment". I concur. I'd much rather suffer in a corner with no one paying attention to me.

I was going so fast, I flew off the seat at one point (that thing needs a safety belt). I got a nasty blister on my left hand. During the second round, my quads hurt so much that I was sure I couldn't get through it. Giving up was tempting, so very tempting...but not possible. Somehow, I survived, and the third round was the easiest. Then it was my turn to yell encouragement at someone else.

My hope is that every time I want to quit and don't; every time my body is crying out for a break but I push forward, I will get that much stronger. I will realize I am capable of doing anything required...even with a roomful of guys screaming at me.

What makes you stronger?

My magical Under Armour garments arrived today. So excited! I'll be able to "test drive" them this week and see if they lessen my skin irritation. Here's hoping.

Fight Camp Day Thirteen: TGIF

2011-09-23T05:00:00.000-05:00

Ah, Friday. There's something magical about Friday, even if you spend half of Saturday in the gym. I love Fridays...think I always will.

Went to the doctor this morning for my EKG and blood work. Both are required now if you want to fight. If there's anything that makes you realize that this for real--that in just a month and a half, you're going to be stepping into the ring, it's getting your heart and blood tested.

I also asked my doc about the skin reaction I've had since the fight camp started. She asked to see my rash, and gasped in shock when she saw my purple thigh instead. "What did you do to your leg?" she cried. I still don't think she understands what "training for a muay thai kickboxing fight" entails.

Unfortunately, although she gave me an even stronger medication for topical cream than the one I'm currently using, it looks like the irritation is here to stay until fight camp is over. "If you had walked through poison ivy, I could treat the rash, but if you kept walking through the poison ivy, it wouldn't do much good," my doctor pointed out. Makes sense. On the advice of my chiropractor/acupuncturist, who has done a fair amount of athletic training himself, I've ordered some Under Armour garments to replace my usual cotton and keep my skin dry. Hopefully they help. Have any of you ever had this problem? If so, what helped or didn't help? And yes, before you ask, I keep my equipment and skin very clean. I'm still wearing sweat-soaked gear for up to three hours at a time. My skin is not happy.

In spite of this, I'm still enjoying the fact that it's Friday. Here are some things that are making me happy (if not my skin....)

Being out of debt is AWESOME! You can't beat it with a stick.
Looking forward to my weekly cheat meal--probably sushi--on Saturday with The Boy.
Only two more workouts and I've survived another week of fight camp. It should start to feel a little easier now.
A lazy Sunday stretches before me...can't wait.
Re-reading a very good, interesting non-fiction book: The Stranger Beside Me by Ann Rule. Rule, an ex-cop, worked at a suicide crisis line in Seattle while researching a book she wanted to write about missing and murdered girls in the area. In an incredible twist of fate, it turned out that the good friend who worked the phone lines beside her was Ted Bundy, the man responsible for the crimes.
It's a beautiful, sunny autumn day.
Still haven't been seriously injured or sick (knock on wood) at fight camp. Somehow, I managed to avoid the horrible cold that's going around.
Gummy vitamins. Genius!
My weight is the same as last week's, but my body fat is down three percent. Feeling good about that.
My boss is very understanding about my ridiculously long doctor's appointments.

How about you, Dear Readers? What are you feeling thankful for or happy about this Friday?

Fight Camp Day Twelve: Day of Rest

2011-09-22T05:00:00.001-05:00

I don't recommend resting in the ring, but you gotta do what you gotta do.

Hello again, Dear Readers.

I wasn't planning on posting anything today, because a day of rest isn't too exciting. But then I thought, maybe other people don't know how important it is to rest. Even when you're trying to get into shape, or training for an event, or desperately hoping to lose those last ten pounds.

Taking rest days can be difficult when any of those things are looming on the horizon. You may think that it won't hurt to go for a light jog or do some sit-ups, but the truth is--it might. Our bodies need rest. During an intense training program, it's even more important to be properly rested. Resting is when our muscles actually grow bigger and stronger from the workout they endured the previous day (there's tons of fancy expert-type studies out there that prove this, but I'm too lazy to link to them. It's my rest day!). In my case, taking a day off will (hopefully) allow my body to heal from all the sparring and contact drills I've been doing. One of my thighs is a lovely shade of blue and purple, and both quads are sore as (add the expletive of your choice here). You know things are bad when your cat jumps onto your leg in the middle of the night and your own cry of pain wakes you up (and that was my light cat).

Another benefit of rest days is that they help you avoid over-training. Over-training, as any personal trainer or fitness buff could tell you, is a very bad thing. Muscles don't get the break they need to heal those tiny tears that happen when you stress them during a workout, which makes you more prone to injury. Injuries can also happen due to overstressed joints and from being so darned tired that you get clumsy. Your body can decide "enough already!" and force you to rest by making you sick. I've personally experienced that, and it's not fun. Even if you think you're suffering no ill effects, you have no idea how much better your performance could be if you took the occasional day off.

Due to the secrecy of our fight camp, I can't tell you how many days we train, but...it's a lot. I already don't get a lot of rest, so when that time comes, I really need it. I tend to spend it in a coma, unable to move, and all my plans of being highly productive and catching up on the rest of my life go out the window.

Fight camp is getting scary. Already, one of us is down with an injury and can't train with us for two weeks. Almost everyone has been sick with a bad cold. Thankfully, except for that nasty heat rash/allergic reaction or whatever it is, I've stayed healthy so far. Hopefully my luck continues.

Well, what do you know? It turns out I had a fair amount to say after all. How do you spend your day(s) of rest? Do you believe in resting between workouts? Or do you think it's all a sham?

Fight Camp Day Eleven: Food Porn

2011-09-21T05:00:00.007-05:00

Bake at 350's insanely yummy-looking butterbeer cookies. Harry Potter fans, rejoice!

The toughest part about following a training diet is the monotony. I love to cook and bake, and even though I'm usually moderate about it, I love to eat.

Lately I've become obsessed with what other people are having for lunch. Anything seems so much more interesting (although maybe not as nutritious) than my vegetable-laden spinach salad with boneless, skinless chicken breast. I ask my best friend where she's going for lunch everyday, and it's always somewhere envy-inspiring. When The Boy went for all-you-can-eat sushi last week, I made him tell me, in graphic detail, about everything he ate...from the first bite of appetizer to the very last crumb of rice. Ah, heaven. It's almost as good as eating it myself. Okay, it's not, but let me continue to dream, all right?

During these last three weeks, the office has thrown the most temptations in my path. Home is pretty safe, since The Boy decided to join me in eating healthy. Sticking to a training diet is a heck of a lot easier when the person next to you isn't chowing down on Doritos. The Boy also makes my salads for lunch each day--he's been such a wonderful help, and I can't imagine doing this without him. Trust me, the last thing you feel like doing when you stumble in the door at nine pm, worn out from three hours of training, is chop a bunch of veggies.

Anyways, the office...so far, there have been several kinds of cookies and full-fat cheese sticks at a meeting; a fundraising pizza and cupcake lunch; and a tree-planting ceremony with Timbits. I managed to skirt them all, but the pizza did smell incredible. Mmm, pizza....

The good news is, I'm seeing the results of my hard work. People are starting to notice and comment about how lean I'm looking. I'm not sure how much more weight I've lost this week, since I'm not going to weigh myself until Friday morning, but I suspect it's a bit. Which makes a considerable difference when you weren't overweight to start with.

Until I can treat myself with the occasional decadent lunch again, I'll comfort myself with my favorite food porn: http://annies-eats.com/ and http://bakeat350.blogspot.com/ while I eat yet another salad with chicken.

If anyone has ideas or recipes for making an extremely healthy lunch more interesting, please throw them my way!

Fight Camp Day Ten: Gratitude

2011-09-20T05:00:00.002-05:00

It may seem strange to feel grateful for the people who punish you--who hit you, yell at you, and constantly correct you. Yet gratitude is exactly what I feel.

Fighters are well versed in the concept of paying it forward. Someone helps you train for your fight, so you then turn around and help someone else when it's their time. When you're the beneficiary of all this goodwill and support, it's a heady experience. It's easy to get angry in the heat of the moment, when it seems like nothing you do will ever be good enough and you're getting hit again and again. But if you let your anger get the best of you, you will miss the point: these people are doing this because they care. They're spending their time and energy making sure that the pain you're suffering now will mean less pain in the ring.

Every day of training is a battle against my own mind. My body is so much stronger than my mind will ever be. It's my mind that tells me I can't do something, that I'm not strong enough, that I'll never be good enough for this, that I don't belong here. My hope is that as my body keeps proving my mind wrong, that little negative voice will shut the hell up.

One saying I have always loved and strongly believe in is this: Whether you think you can do something or not, you're right.

The next time you're sure something is beyond your reach, go for it. Try to achieve that goal that seems just slightly beyond your grasp. I bet you'll surprise yourself with what you can do. There are no limits, except the ones we set for ourselves.

That much I know is true.

Fight Camp Day Nine: Humility, Thy Name is Woman

2011-09-16T05:00:00.002-05:00

There are some Barenaked Ladies song lyrics that I love:

When I was born, they looked at me and said

what a good boy, what a smart boy, what a strong boy.
And when you were born, they looked at you and said,
what a good girl, what a smart girl, what a pretty girl.
We've got these chains that hang around our necks,
people want to strangle us with them before we take our first breath.

I love them because they're so true. In men, strength is valued and celebrated. Women, on the other hand, are supposed to look nice and act nice. I'm sure you've all heard the saying: if a male executive is tough, they call him a leader. If a female executive is tough, they call her a bitch.

With few exceptions, most women don't want to be The Bitch. So, for years we'll accept poor treatment. That boyfriend who hit you and said it's your fault? Maybe you were too flirty with his friends. Your friend says something hurtful? Forgive and forget, because we wouldn't want a confrontation. Restaurant overcooks your steak? Don't send it back, that will cause a fuss. Guy kicking your seat in the movie theatre? Keep glaring at him, and maybe he'll get the point. Don't actually tell him to stop...that would seem...well, bitchy.

Usually women grow out of this passive mindset as we get older. We learn that accepting all the crap that comes our way with a pleasant smile and a "that's okay" is counter-productive to living a high-quality life. It's a generalization to be sure, but I'm willing to bet most men have no idea how difficult it is for a lot of women to send food back or demand a higher level of service. This is a skill that requires one to believe, deep down, that she is worth it. And sadly, as women, we're not always taught that we are.

I was a super confident little kid. I thought everything about me, from the color of my hair to the stories I wrote, was special. I had no problem speaking up or being open with my feelings. I was happy and self-assured, and I didn't take crap. If someone was unkind to me, they definitely heard about it.

This early onslaught of self-esteem was quickly quashed, both at home by my father, and at grade school by nearly every teacher I had. The thing I remember being told the most, from kindergarten all the way up to Grade Six, was "be quiet". Then my dad would burst into a rage that evening because my mother and I were talking while he was trying to watch television. He didn't feel able to control my mother, so that anger was directed at me. It's a lesson that stuck. By the time I reached high school, my voice was so soft that people strained to hear it. I was always asked to "speak up". Well, easier said than done.

How does all this pertain to fight camp? When you're training to fight, you can't worry about being nice. You can't concern yourself with what the other women will think of you when you hit them in the face. You're not there to make friends--you're there to fight. If I tell someone that I'm going to "kick some ass in sparring", I get raised eyebrows. That's not how nice girls talk. Nice girls don't want to hurt others. They would certainly never want to punch or kick their friends.

I remember asking a guy from my muay thai club if he ever had trouble hitting his friends. "Are you kidding?" he said. "That's the best part!"

I envied that easy confidence, that pure love of sparring for training's sake. And I'm sure that, at the end of the match--win or lose--this guy was still friends with his buddies.

To become a female fighter requires a lot more than eating well and training hard. You also have to overcome years of social conditioning which urges you to be polite and agreeable.

Because there's no room for nice girls in the ring. Trust me on that.

Fight Camp Day Eight: Tuff Enough

2011-09-15T05:00:00.011-05:00

The one and only Joscelyn Bailey.

After not being able to train on Days Six and Seven, my return to the gym on Day Eight was an exercise in mental toughness...all 2.5 hours of it.

I'd like you to meet my guru of mental toughness, Joscelyn Bailey. Think you can't possibly do one more sit-up? Think your arms won't hold you for more than twenty push-ups? Joscelyn thinks you're wrong. And if there's one thing I've learned after a year of training with him, it's that Joscelyn is always right. (Or ELSE!)

Joscelyn's classes are tough enough--he teaches the toughest Level 2 class this side of Thailand. But being his partner inspires an entirely new level of fear. After enduring five rounds of a challenging drill, where I was given absolutely no leeway and repeatedly punched (and kicked) in the head, I survived an hour of Joscelyn's class and thought I was off the hook for the evening. But no...more fight camp "fun" ensued. As the odd girl out, I was paired with Joscelyn. Magically, those next-to-impossible sit-ups I couldn't manage more than ten of last week were suddenly possible. I not only did the 50 required--Joscelyn made me do 51. And I was the first one finished! It turns out fear is an excellent motivator.

Then my kru Kelly decided we should punch each other hard in the stomach. Sounds like fun! So I endured 50 of Joscelyn's powerful jabs, and gave him my best shot, thinking that was it. No! Now we had to give each other 50 jab-cross combinations in the stomach. I needed a brief break after a brutal solar plexus shot, but we got through the round otherwise unscathed, only to...KNEE each other in the stomach 50 times! Ah, good times were had by all.

You don't have to be Joscelyn's partner for the evening to recognize how strong he is. All you have to do is watch one of his demonstrations in class, or be one of the hapless fools he chooses to demonstrate on. He is one of the most powerful, skilled fighters I have ever seen, and I've trained with a lot. I don't know a single person who doesn't express surprise at his strength once they've seen (or felt) what he can do.

But one of his greatest strengths is pushing people past their previously-conceived limits. So he ended up being the best partner I could hope for, after all.

Thank you, Joscelyn, for believing in me and pushing me past the pain.

A Weighty Issue

2011-09-14T05:00:00.004-05:00

Boxer Olivia Gerula at her weigh-in last year (left).

Most women think of their weight as a deep, dark secret. Few would be happy about weighing themselves in front of another person, but how about in a room full of people, including media with television cameras, wearing nothing but a bikini?

This is what all professional female fighters go through, and if you plan to fight at all, expect your weight to become common knowledge. When you're training, you'll be obsessing about that little (or not so little) number for weeks or even months.

While it might be tempting to just fight at whatever weight you're at, there's a real advantage to cutting weight. Say, for example, that you're a shorter guy with a stocky, muscular build. You stand 5'6" tall, but you weigh about 185 pounds. In a sport where many men are lean and lanky, your typical opponent will be at least six inches tall, if not taller. Which puts you at a distinct disadvantage when it comes to reach. In this case, dropping twenty or thirty pounds will most likely bring your opponents down to size. The general rule of thumb in fighting (unless you're a heavyweight) is 'the lighter, the better'.

Unfortunately, the weigh-in game has become just that: a game. Fighters will drastically dehydrate and even starve themselves before a weigh-in to make weight--then they binge and drink vast quantities of water in order to regain as much weight as they can before their actual fight a day later. The more muscular you are, the more you're able to play this game successfully, as muscle stores more water. Dehydration can make an athlete weigh-in deceptively light, but drinking plenty of water will bulk him back up again. For example, in the recent MMA match between Chris Stranger and Lindsey Hawkes, both fighters needed to weigh in at 170 pounds. Both were determined to make it to 184-186 pounds before their fight the next evening.

What does this rapid weight gain and loss do to athletic performance? If you're weighed down by heavy meals and excessive hydration right before your fight, doesn't this slow you down, make you sluggish? And what does it do to our health? Studies have shown that losing and regaining as little as ten pounds can be very dangerous to our livers, our hearts, and our metabolisms...and that's just for a start. Consider that most people who lose weight for fitness-related activities (including fitness competitions, boxing, and kickboxing) binge on junk food during the days following their competition, and the risk factors increase. I'm all for eliminating crap from our diets, but if we're going to just overload on it later, what's the point?

There are other dangers as well. We already know that the incidence of eating disorders is very high among women and girls who compete in figure skating, gymnastics, and dance--other activities where weight is seen as important. Females haven't been competing in the fighting arts long enough for there to be any conclusive statistics, but it stands to reason that eating disorders would plague women in these sports as well. And men, while not as frequently effected, should still be concerned. When I trained amid world champions, I certainly knew several men who suffered from severely disordered eating. I remember one guy telling me that he'd eaten chicken teriyaki for lunch, and so would not be eating a thing for the rest of the day. Yikes!

Losing weight by following a healthy diet and training hard is one thing. Losing it through a very unhealthy game of starve and binge is another. We've yet to see what the long-term effects of this will be on the young athletes of today, but I honestly can't imagine them being worth the risks.

Have you ever dropped weight for a competition, or know someone who has? Please share your experience!

** I should add, since I used Olivia's weigh-in photo to illustrate this post, that she does not employ the unhealthy methods of losing/gaining weight as described above. Several weeks before a fight, she eliminates sugary and fatty foods from her diet and steps up her training.

Fight Camp Day Five: When The Going Gets Tough

2011-09-12T19:33:00.000-05:00

Last week did not end on a good note. As you can no doubt tell from my previous post, I've been having some issues with blogging. I was not in a great place, so I was extra sensitive and questioning my worth. It was the worst possible time for someone to post a cruel, hateful diatribe aimed at me, but it happened. And I did not take it well. Looking back now, I took it far too seriously and let it effect me far too much.

I can exercise when I'm in a bad mood. I may not run as fast or hit as hard as when I'm feeling positive, but I can get through a class. When it gets tricky is when I have to spar. Some of you may think that I could use this to my advantage--that I could channel my negativity into anger and use it to make me strong. But it never works out that way.

On Friday, I was sad. I felt defeated. I just wanted to curl up in a ball and bawl, and I definitely did not feel like getting kicked or punched. Or getting a bunch of unsolicited advice. I was not in the mood for any of it.

Thankfully, a good friend partnered with me for the first class, which was a challenging cardio and strength workout. I got through it fine, and then it was time for sparring. I was partnered with three women who I've been told are more experienced than I am. And I didn't cower. I didn't cry. I didn't let them pummel me. It certainly wasn't my best performance, but I got through it. I survived. I learned that I can spar when I'm feeling weak and lousy, and not let it defeat me. I was still happy when it was over, but at least I got through it.

Another nasty side effect from that emotional stress and all this training is a pervasive heat rash on my legs and arms that began on Friday evening and got progressively worse through the weekend. I went to the doctor on Saturday and came away with two prescriptions. I'm supposed to let my legs heal before I do anything that will make me sweat again--perfect timing, as you can imagine! I medicated myself and suffered through the itching to watch a boxing coach and an old friend from Sik Tai fight in the latest Canadian Fighting Championship. Unfortunately, both fighters lost their matches and one retired. It's hard to see someone you care about lose a fight, especially when you know how hard they train, and how much passion they have for the sport.

But tomorrow is a new day, and I hope to resume my training from a place of strength and optimism.

I hope.

The Things They Don't Tell You

2011-09-09T21:04:00.003-05:00

There's a lot of things they don't tell you about blogging. Even on blogs. And especially not on those oh-so-helpful blogs about: how to start a blog; whether or not you should start one; and what you need to do to build an audience.

They may tell you (although probably not) that blogging is tough. It takes a lot of time, and it takes commitment. Not only must you write regularly, but you must also take the time to read and post on other blogs. Any fool can start a blog, but it takes a mighty dedicated fool to keep one going. They most likely won't tell you that, sometimes, blogging hurts. Sometimes it can break your heart.

Unless you are writing a review blog, or one that focuses on current events, chances are, the posts you write are going to be very personal. If they're not, there's less chance that they will resonate with anyone. In my experience, the times when I was the most humiliated, the most terrified, and the most depressed at the state of the world were the times when I got the greatest response, the most thoughtful feedback. So, you're putting your heart on this screen every single day, and what then?

You probably started keeping a blog for yourself. You didn't care about attracting readers...in the beginning. Maybe your husband and your dog read it and enjoyed it, and that was enough. But once you start attracting an audience, a funny thing happens...you start caring about what they think, and what they want. And if your audience starts waning, you desperately want to know why. You want to know why other people can post a recipe that isn't even original a few times a year and get a hundred comments in return. You think, "WTF?"

And then, there's the trolls. I knew all about Internet trolls, but the thing they don't tell you is how personal troll attacks can be. It's not "you're ugly and your blog sux". It's a deeply personal attack that can make you question if you should even be blogging in the first place. It taps into your greatest fears about your blog: do I have anything meaningful to say? What right do I have to say anything at all? Am I boring everyone? And if you don't have commentary from the people who love your blog, who enjoy it, and who want you to keep going, it can be very tempting to just delete the whole thing, forget it like a bad dream.

I can't speak for all bloggers (and I'm not trying to), but if I post about something that was embarrassing or otherwise not a great moment in my life (like drinking so much water for my new training regime that I constantly had to pee at work--yes, I blogged about peeing! Gasp!), it's because I hope that there's someone out there who's been there. Or who is going through the same thing right now. Or, people like one of my co-workers, who emailed that she wants to drink more water but was wondering "how the heck am I supposed to carry on with the rest of my day when I'm running to the bathroom every 20 minutes?" See, you never know what will resonate with people. That's why we have to put it out there.

Not every blog will resonate with every person. And there will always be trolls who are too chicken shit to spread their hatred face to face, so they hide behind the ever handy "Anonymous". There will always be dangers inherent with putting your heart on the Internet where anyone can stomp on it. But you know what makes it worth it?

You. We may be telling our own stories, but we're hoping you like them. That they mean something to you. That you read them, and if they make you smile, laugh, cry, or think "wow! I feel the same way," you'll let us know. You don't have to comment on my blog. I'm not even sure that I will have a blog much longer. But please, if you like another blog, let the writer know. Post a comment, or like a link, or just show up to read it. Send them an email. Put it on your Twitter feed. If you really like it, recommend it to others, or become a follower. Don't leave us at the mercy of trolls and the people who are only here because of our photos. It's like that drive-in movie theatre that everybody "loved", but nobody went to. You know what? It went bankrupt. You may love that book store, or that restaurant, but if you never show up to support them, they might close, too. It happens all the time, and then you hear the cries of, "but I loved that place! I was planning to go next week...." Try to go today, before it closes.

Because, trust me, it's lonely enough out here. And another thing they don't tell you is, sometimes blogging sucks.

Fight Camp Day Four: Water, Water Everywhere

2011-09-09T05:00:00.007-05:00

Reposted by request.

My training diet requires that I drink a ton of water--basically as much as I possibly can. Water is important for so many things--muscle recovery and development, weight loss, joint health, etc., but drinking enough is always a challenge for me. I'm not a fan of its non-taste, and as some of you may recall, most of my liquid consumption used to consist of Diet Pepsi.

A funny thing about water, though. If it's in front of me, I'll drink it. So as long as I keep my water bottle full at work, I'll drink close to or more than my required amount. But guess what happens when you're drinking liters of water everyday?

Yep, you spend a lot of time running for the bathroom.

Training for a fight when you have a day job isn't easy. Yesterday was a marathon meeting day for me at work--I had a three hour meeting in the morning (which actually went into overtime) and a two hour one in the afternoon. Yikes! In spite of the ten minute "health break" during the morning meeting, I still needed to excuse myself twice. Embarrassing, and very inconvenient. Damn that water! According to those in the know, this reaction should lessen once my body grows accustomed to all the extra fluid. I certainly hope so, because right now it's a pain in the...well, you get the idea.

To my horror, I suddenly came down with a nasty cough and sore throat as well. The last thing I need right now is a cold! But after getting a lot of rest, bending my training diet to include chicken soup, and overdosing on Cold-FX, I feel 100% better. That's a relief, because today is sparring day, and if you ever want to feel your best, it's when your personal safety is on the line.

Do you drink a lot of water, Dear Readers? If so, do you do anything to make it more interesting? I had a personal trainer recommend a "water mojito" to me--she basically just adds lime slices and mint to her water. This sounded like a great idea, because I love lime, but all the additions soon turned into a slimy mess in the bottom of the pitcher. I was afraid to go near it, lest it walk out of the fridge on its own.

Water is one of those things that's been debated quite a bit in the media. I've seen articles warning us against drinking too much water, but I don't think that's ever going to be an issue for me. Since we rarely get water breaks while we're training, the water I drink beforehand helps keep me from getting dehydrated during the long hours at the gym.

Have an awesome weekend!

Fight Camp Day Three

2011-09-08T05:00:00.004-05:00

Fight camp -- fall 2011

Ouch.

You know that song by R.E.M. called Everybody Hurts? Well, that pretty much summed up the fight camp yesterday. Those who weren't in actual pain were suffering from a lack of energy (except for Wayne, of course, who trains like this all the time).

It would be easier to tell you what didn't hurt than to tell you what did, and we haven't even started sparring yet! (That's tomorrow--yikes!) Thankfully, the acupuncture and massage treatments are helping my knee a lot. It is starting to feel better...too bad I can't say the same for the rest of me. And, scarily, I developed sudden cold symptoms this morning. I'm fighting them off as best I can. Thankfully, today is our rest day. I can't speak for the others, but--as much as I'm afraid to rest--I recognize that I really do need it.

The first hour of kickboxing was fairly brutal. I was so happy to be partnered with my friend Kathy for Level 2. Friends always understand when you're sore and exhausted. But I was far from spared--both krus (Kelly and Joscelyn) made sure that I was working my butt off. And after everyone else had gone home, the fight camp settled in for a brutal round of ab work (this is in addition to the ab exercises I'd already done in Levels 1 and 2). I've never worked my abs to failure before--I have a very strong stomach--but there were times my body refused to lift itself up just one more time. The great thing about fight camp, though, is that we were all in it together. Some of us may have found the exercises easier than others, but we all stuck around and cheered each other on until the last sit-up was done. Being in fight camp is being a part of a team, and that's awesome.

But for today, I will rest.

Fight Camp Day Two

2011-09-07T05:00:00.002-05:00

The muay thai clinch.
"Is it okay if I start hitting now?"

I'd been holding the pads for our team captain for about three minutes. This guy's punching power is legend, so I'd been steeling myself for the worst, but was pleasantly surprised. Holding for him wasn't so bad. In fact, I'd had a lot worse. I was relieved.

So when he asked if he could start hitting "for real", I had to laugh. But, no matter how ferocious the punches, I did fine. All in all, I was pretty proud of myself at the end of the three rounds.

There were so many fantastic things that happened yesterday that I barely know where to start. I'm going to savor them all for as long as I can, for I'm sure there will be enough days where I'm not feeling so good about myself.

After the first class, we started the official fight camp training by working on knee strikes with a partner. Kru Kelly let my friend Vanessa help out, since we have an odd number of women. It is always great to work with her--she is so encouraging and positive.

"You're a lot stronger than I thought you were," she said. "These feel great!"

What a wonderful compliment, coming from one of the strongest women I know. It's actually a relief to be in fight camp and know that everyone has the same goal, and is going to be training at the same intensity. You don't have to worry so much about striking too hard, or hurting someone's feelings or offending them. I'm now able to give every drill everything I've got. My kru wanted me to train like this all the time, but it's much more difficult when not every woman you're partnered with wants that kind of punishment. Vanessa doesn't mind. She loves to get hit in the stomach.

Just when I thought things couldn't get better, the kru came by and watched what I was doing several times, and (until I started getting tired), all he said was that everything was looking really good. This is almost unheard of in martial arts, where it seems like something can always be improved. And since knee strikes are so essential for true muay thai, this was an extra boost to my confidence. I felt like I could do no wrong.

Then came clinching. Most people are more likely familiar with clinching in a boxing sense, where the opponents hold on to each other to get a breather until the ref separates them. Clinching in muay thai is an entirely different world. It is when the art's most deadly strikes (knees and elbows) are most often thrown.

I actually found the clinching to be a lot of fun. I worked with Vanessa and with Jen, another woman in the fight camp. Vanessa and I tried several different techniques together, but with Jen, it was much more like an actual fight simulation--we just went for each other, and however the hold ended up was what we had to work with. I learned a few things that would be just nasty in a fight, and I also got thrown for the first time. Even that was fun, but pretty surprising. One minute I was standing, and the next I was on my butt.

Clinching is exhausting, sweaty work. I realized last night that it's a lot like grappling. You aren't lifting weights, or punching, or doing intense cardio, but because it's a drawn-out struggle, you are always engaging your muscles, and that takes a ton of stamina.

We were all sweaty and exhausted by the end of two hours. All in all, a great class! I'm looking forward to tonight's 2.5 hours of training.

Injuries so far: Frostbite on leg from ice pack!, assorted blisters, stiff neck/headaches from clinching.

Temptations avoided: Tim Horton's Fruit Explosion muffin and a Cadbury fruit & nut bar. So far, I am sticking to my training diet successfully.

Fight Camp Day One

2011-09-06T05:00:00.000-05:00

Hello Dear Readers,

Well, this is it...this is what all the hard work and sacrifice were for. I am finally in Fight Camp.

While everyone else was enjoying the last of the long weekend and dreading the inevitable return to work, I was in the gym with my five fellow fight campers.

We started the evening with a 30 minute meeting, during which our Kru explained the rules and his expectations. He also discussed what exercises we'd be doing, and as he talked, I felt my nerves dissipate. While there is more at stake now, the workout itself was familiar--all moves I've grown accustomed to over the past two years: boxing tabatas, a parry drill, a footwork drill, push ups and squats. The only thing that threw me was the running.

Our kru wanted us to set benchmarks for running and burpees, so we'll be able to look back at various points and see how much we've improved. As we walked out to the pockmarked alley behind the club for our six minute run, I knew this wasn't going to be good for my knee. And I was right.

Halfway through the exercise, that poor, overworked joint decided it just wasn't going to take the abuse anymore. I ended the day with an ice pack and a tensor bandage. Clearly, I have a lot of work to do to build up that leg, but I expected that. I have a lot of work to do, period.

Today is my first day back on the training diet. I'm actually looking forward to eating healthy meals and drinking more water again, but it isn't going to easy. I've already passed up an invitation for a sushi lunch and given away my strawberry pop tarts. But it will all be easier in time, and when I step into the ring on November 5th, I'll be so glad that I made the sacrifice.

I find this video very inspiring. The star of it is a football player, but I think his message can be applied to any goal. How much do you really want to be successful? I especially related to the part about sleep--thinking about that helps get me up to train in the morning. And the part where he says, "You're already in pain...why not have something to show for it?" Indeed.

Whatever You Think, You Are

2011-08-31T05:00:00.000-05:00

Happy Hump Day, Dear Readers.

When I began this process of working towards my first fight, my kru told me that it would make me a stronger person in every aspect of my life.

I realize what he means, now more so than ever. So much of a fighter's success is in his head. And I don't believe that's restricted to fighters. To put it simply, whatever you think--you are.

Whenever I had a sparring session, I would tell people that I was about to get my butt kicked. I was joking, but I eventually realized that saying something like that, even in jest, sets me up to fail. Instead of concentrating on what I wanted to do, and the areas I wanted to improve in, I was planning to get my butt kicked--before the round had even begun. That had to change.

When it comes to fight camp--which will be, without a doubt, one of the toughest things I've ever done, both physically and mentally, I have a choice. I can let fear rule me, or I can go in confident, knowing there's nothing that will be thrown at me that I can't survive. There have been some intimidation tactics used--I've been told that the other women in the camp are more experienced than I am, and that I'm going to get my butt kicked. I could believe that, and go in expecting to be dominated. Or, I can think about all the times I faced someone stronger, better, faster...and came out just fine. After working with Olivia, Wayne, and even the 6'4", 220 pound guy who used to spar with me in boxing, how bad can this be?

If you're not in a martial art, you may think this lesson has no value for you, but it really does. The next time you're feeling intimidated, ask yourself why. Chances are, it's all in your head. And if it's in your head, you can change it, and come at the same situation from a position of strength.

Have you ever noticed how negative thoughts can effect you in a big way? How did you change them?

In the meantime, I'm sparring again tonight. I did six rounds with our best fighter last night, and I'm sore and tired. Of course, I fully expect to kick ass. :)

Fight or Flight

2011-08-30T05:00:00.000-05:00

The woman stares at me with terrified eyes. Even through her fear, I can tell she still loves him...and this stupidity is going to make her give away our location. She's going to get us killed.

The place is a mess of tools and other junk, so it isn't hard to find a weapon. When the woman calls out-like I knew she would-I give the guy a solid whack on the head with a heavy iron tool. For good measure, I cut his arm with a long silver blade that was also on the ground. It slices through to the bone. Both the man and woman scream, and I run.

I run through darkness where packs of growling dogs lunge at me. When necessary, I wound them, too. I crawl through other people's barns and yards, dirty, disheveled, and bleeding, desperately trying to save my own life.

Needless to say, I haven't been getting much sleep lately.

The above is a partial description of the nightmare I had last night. It was so real that I was afraid to go downstairs when I woke up, and I even checked the address of the safe place I was trying to get to in my dream.

I've been having these night terrors ever since I received the email on Sunday night that I made it into the fight camp. Somehow, I'm thinking the two are related.

Whenever I have a nightmare, it's a fight-or-flight scenario similar to the one above. Someone is always after me, or someone I love, with the intent to kill. Thankfully, I always seem to get away, but I'm usually still running when I wake up.

Nightmares were easier to handle when I was a kid. I would stumble through the dark hallway into my parents' room, make myself a little bed on the floor near my mother's side, and fall asleep. I never had a single nightmare as long as I could hear my mother breathing. As an adult, they're not so easy to shake.

Anyone who says, "it's just a nightmare," has never had one. Apparently, the resulting stress and sleep deprivation can lead to heart attacks and other nasty stuff. I haven't slept well in two days now.

Do you ever suffer from nightmares? What's your cure of choice?

Near Death Experiences

2011-08-26T05:00:00.000-05:00

Happy Friday, Dear Readers,

This week I had the opportunity to interview two people who have been up close and personal with death. One was a man who suffered a severe heart attack--three of his arteries were at least partially blocked, and one was 90% blocked. To use proper medical terminology, his situation was NOT GOOD. He had only a 50-50 chance of surviving the ride to the hospital, and this is a man who ran every day, had a personal trainer, and didn't smoke, drink, or eat junk food. In other words, he was doing everything right.

The second person I spoke to was an executive director for an organization that raises money for cancer research and treatment. Every day, she is in close contact with people fighting cancer. Even with all of today's advances, a lot of people still lose that fight. It's a job that can be very hard on the heart.

Interesting enough, though their circumstances are very different, both people I interviewed had come to the same conclusion: life is precious, and we shouldn't waste a single moment of it. We never know how much time we have left.

How often have we heard that? Live each day to the fullest. Live each day like it's your last. Today is the first day of the rest of your life. Easy to say, not so easy to do. What if you spend most of your time in a job you despise (or just plain tolerate), but you can't afford to quit? What if you don't find household chores that fulfilling, but they still have to get done? If you don't have the means to move to a sunny island and do whatever the heck you want with your days, how do you live each day to the fullest?

The heart attack survivor realized that, while his lifestyle was near-perfect, his stress level was not. So he left his job at an inner-city school and now works at a school that doesn't make him tear out his hair with worry. He travels a lot, and he's gone back to the running that he loves. He's also added more stress-reducing exercises, like yoga and meditation, to his life.

The executive director spends every moment she can with her family and friends. She seizes opportunities to get outdoors and read a good book, and when her life gets really stressful, she listens to her favorite music to unwind.

I'll be honest...I don't want my life to always be the way it is now. I'd love to spend my time walking along the ocean, and then retreating to my covered porch to work on my latest novel. Sun, surf, sand, words, and loved ones to share it all with...that is my idea of the perfect life. But until then, I have to make the most of the good things I have going on right now. I just enjoyed a picnic lunch prepared by a dear friend, who showed me around her new place of work and told me how wonderful her new job is going. It's wonderful to finally see her be so appreciated by the people she works for. It's a beautiful day, sunny and warm and bright, even though wasps did force us to move the picnic inside. Before that, though, an adorable grey and white cat came by to say hello and share my chicken. I have a one-on-one training session with the world champion today, and these sessions are always a lot of fun. Olivia is such a positive person that I always feel better after I've seen her. When I get home, I'll have a rare moment to myself, as The Boy is out with a friend tonight. Maybe I'll write a little. Or read, while enjoying a good soak. Either way, it'll be a pleasant evening.

Tomorrow, The Boy and I will be going to the zoo to see all the new baby animals. It'll be a gorgeous day for it, and who knows how much summer we have left? Best to get out and enjoy it while we can. And on Sunday, a girlfriend and I are taking a drive to a picturesque town, where we'll eat lunch at an old-school diner and walk along the river.

Maybe life isn't perfect. It rarely is. But if we look hard enough, we can always find the moments that make us glad to be who we are and lucky to live the life that we have. Sometimes, we don't even have to look that hard.

If you'd like to share how you make the most of your life--or something you're looking forward to, please do. But in any case, have a great weekend.

Breakthrough!

2011-08-25T05:00:00.000-05:00

Hello again, Dear Readers (assuming someone is still reading this thing...),

Yesterday I had a breakthrough in the Level 2 muay thai class. I sparred...and I wasn't scared. If you've been following my journey, you know what a big thing that is for me.

Our instructor, Joscelyn, set up the sparring in a fun way, almost like a game. There were four female and four male students last night, so each gender had its own half of the gym. One person from each group stayed in the "ring" and sparred one round with the other three. Then we switched who was in the middle until everyone had a turn.

At the very beginning, as I clamped on my awkward headgear and shoved in my gag-inducing mouth guard (hate that thing!), I felt a few flutters of apprehension. But then I reminded myself that I spar with a world champion and our club's best fighter on a regular basis--so there was nothing to be afraid of. And this time, my positive thinking did the trick. I wasn't nervous. I didn't forget everything I knew. I gave as good as I got. I initiated some attacks, and I countered when I was attacked. And I didn't get hurt, although I can't say the same for everyone. Yes, a little blood was drawn on the women's side, but all for a good cause.

It was so awesome to finally have a great sparring experience again, one where I wasn't so painfully outclassed that all my efforts were futile. I still have a ways to go, but I'm proud of what I've learned and happy that all the hard work is starting to pay off. And just in time, as fight camp starts in less than two weeks.

If you've never sparred before, here are some tips for beginners:

Take deep breaths to calm your nerves. And yes, you will be nervous. It's only normal!
Yes, there are some jerks out there, but in general, people will hit you as hard as you're hitting them. If you're really getting pummeled, chances are you're hitting with more power than you think. Try toning it down and see what happens.
If you're with someone who's much better than you, work on your defense. Watch for openings. Don't flail madly at them--you'll just get hurt. And don't just take their attacks...move around, block.
Try as many hits per combination as you can. Joscelyn recommends seven or eight. You probably won't land them all, if your partner is the least bit competent, but your chances are better to land something the more you throw.
Try to vary your attacks. If you always do the same thing, your opponent will quickly figure it out.
Don't let on that you're tired or hurt (unless you're really, REALLY hurt). Don't drop your hands, and don't say "ouch!" when someone kicks you. This is part of building heart. Never let them see you sweat, as they say.
Don't give up. What's the worst that can happen in two or three minutes? Actually, never mind that. Just keep moving.
Keep your guard up. Rest your gloves against your cheekbones if you have to.
Remember to protect your body. Everyone's always worried about their head and face, but a good body shot can bring you to your knees.
Have fun! And learn as much as you can every time. You will get better. Everyone has to start somewhere.

Thanks to all of my awesome sparring partners.

Something's Missing

2011-08-24T05:00:00.003-05:00

Hello Dear Readers,

I'm really missing my writing lately. While I'm resigned to the fact that 2011 is going to go down as an incredibly unproductive year for my writing, I can't help thinking that I can still sneak it in...somewhere.

Fight camp begins on September 5th, and after that point, my life won't be my own. It'll mean training, training, and more training, until my fight in early November. Any "spare" (ha ha) time I have in those two months should probably be spent relaxing, or at the massage therapist's.

I was struck by inspiration last weekend, and before I could talk myself out of it, I sat down and wrote the beginning of a new book. Yes, a new book, when I have two rewrites waiting--for shame! But I didn't want to forget the idea, so I wrote the opening paragraph, and that's it for now. I've always wanted to create a new twist on the haunted house story. I love haunted house stories, but too often, they're disappointing. Like every over-confident writer before me, I'm sure I can do it better. So when Dragonfly Summer and Lost are ready to be sent into the world, I'll probably go back to the new idea. Unfortunately, it's inspired by the house I'm currently living in, but that's another post...perhaps best saved for Halloween.

There is some other good news on the writing front, too. We just added a new member to our writing group. The other members haven't met him yet, but I know he's going to be a fantastic addition. Hopefully he'll get us all re-inspired about our own work, or lack thereof. Not too much pressure!

How is your summer going, Dear Readers? How are you doing with your goals?

Adversity

2011-08-22T05:00:00.004-05:00

This chick did NOT back down from a challenge.

Hello Dear Readers,

I'm truly sorry about my lack of blogging lately. Last week was very rough for me, and when I'm feeling negative, I tend to want to keep my feelings to myself. However, I know exactly how much tolerance I have for being unhappy. Whenever adversity comes into my life, there's a great chance that within a few days, I'll have accepted whatever happened and be feeling positive again.

There's danger in getting your heart set on something, especially something that is not completely within your control. For instance, you can really want to get a publishing deal. You can do everything in your power--write every day, produce finished novels, get expert help from editors, go to writer's conferences, even get an agent. And you know what? There are still no guarantees. I've heard horror stories from writers who have grasped the brass ring and landed a publishing deal, only to have the publishing house go bankrupt. Back to square one.

The same goes for fighting. You can train and train and train. You can work your heart out, and seek the best coaching you can find. You can eat right, make weight, and have the best sparring partners. And still, anything can happen. An injury might derail you. Your opponent may not show up, or if he does, he may fail his physical. Or maybe your coach can't find you a good match. The chances for disappointment are endless.

The question is, how do you handle adversity? Do you try to turn it to your advantage, or do you give into it and let it make you feel like a loser? It's okay if it takes you some time to get a handle on it...if it's a really big disappointment, it often takes me a few days.

As for me, I'll most likely still be fighting in early November, but the process will not be what I hoped. At first, I was crushed. Very disappointed. And then I got angry, angrier than I have been in a long time. There were definitely a couple of dark days last week.

But then, my sense of optimism kicked in. I have a world champion in my corner, literally and figuratively. I have my years of previous experience, and all the people I trained with back in the day who are still willing to help whenever and however they can. I have my determination, and my fighting spirit. I have connections I can reach out to in order to get what I need, be it extra sparring, more one-on-one training, or just some simple encouragement and support.

There is even a chance that this disappointment will work in my favor. I will get to implement a training schedule designed to meet my needs. I don't have to concern myself with what anyone else needs to work on. This could be a blessing in disguise.

It's a popular misconception that the Chinese words for "crisis" and "opportunity" are one and the same. While this isn't exactly true, it represents a good way to look at life. It certainly beats the alternative--when did wailing and gnashing one's teeth ever accomplish anything?

Please share a time when you were deeply disappointed by something in your life. How did you turn it around to your advantage?

She Talks to Angels

2011-08-19T05:00:00.000-05:00

Good morning, dear readers,

Today is a very sad day for me. It's been twenty one years since I lost my best friend.

I guess most people don't expect to lose a friend, but when you're only seventeen years old, it's even more tragic and shocking. It was the summer before our graduation, so Darbi never got to go to college. Or celebrate that last year of high school with us. Or leave our little town and see the world, something she desperately wanted to do.

Being a teenager is tough enough without having to survive it minus the person who made you laugh the most. There were times when Darbi was very sad, but she laughed often and with abandon. And, to this day, no one has ever hugged me the way she did. I would give anything to hug her one more time...or to be able to say goodbye. For the rest of my adolescence and early twenties, I carried the weight of survivor's guilt. Why did she have to die while I got to live? Why didn't I see it coming? Why wasn't I able to protect her?

You never knew what to expect with Darbi. One day she'd give us both vampire names and insist we were glamorous bloodsuckers; the next day we had to speak in terrible British accents. When the movie Stand By Me was released, we adopted all the lingo and gestures, which included singing the theme song at full volume as we walked down the street, and endless requests to "Give me some skin, man." She was always changing her look--chopping off half of her hair on Monday, and shaving the entire back on Friday. She stayed in touch with the latest music and was always making mixed tapes for me. We played Monopoly until four in the morning, and whenever she stayed overnight, my parents knew they weren't going to get any sleep.

One of the things I really loved about her was her kind heart. While other friends fought viciously with their siblings, Darbi treated hers with tenderness, always. She had two little sisters, and she always let them play with us. The older of the two would stand on one side of a sliding glass patio door with me, with Darbi on the other. Whatever crazy dance move Darbi did, the two of us had to mimic. Her mother would come down to watch us--I'm sure she thought we were nuts. The littlest sister always wanted to play unicorn, and Darbi never failed to indulge her. Because she loved her sisters so much, her friends came to love them, too. And we still do--they're amazing, beautiful women now, and she would be so proud of them.

Darbi worked two or more jobs. She took care of her two sisters often, becoming a second mother to them. She never complained, and she had endless energy. Whatever she had, she shared, and she always saw her friends through rose colored glasses. There was a fierceness to her love.

I learned a lot from losing her. Seventeen is an early age to find out that we never know how much time we have on this earth, but I've never taken my life for granted, thanks to her. I've tried my best to live an extraordinary life, always thinking at each new adventure--be it spending a month in Africa, where we were supposed to go together, or interviewing Kiefer Sutherland from Stand By Me--'this one's for you, Darbi'. I'm sure I've embarrassed friends with my declarations of love or spontaneous bursts of affection, but I don't care. That's another lesson she taught me. Tell the people you love that you love them. Never assume you'll be able to tell them later. Tell them today.

Darbi's death affected people in very different ways. I'm sure it was the hardest on her family. There were people who were mean and spiteful to her when she was alive, only to become her "best friend" once she passed away, like having a dead friend was some sort of prize. Trust me, it isn't. I'd much rather have Darbi alive, living in some exciting city with a fabulous career and maybe a family of her own, even if we lost touch over the years. Darbi should have had a chance to make her mark on this world.

Today is always difficult. It has gotten a little easier over the years, but since it seems like only yesterday that we were skipping down the street screaming "STAND BY ME!" at the top of our lungs, it still hurts. A college classmate once frowned upon this sadness, asking "Don't you think you should get over it?" But as anyone who's experienced this kind of loss can tell you, you never really do. The sadness and pain evolves over time, from a sharp stabbing jab to a hollow ache. And you remember the good times. There were a lot of them with Darbi, and I for one will never forget.

Rest in peace, my friend. I love you.

This one's for you.

Are Books Dying?

2011-08-11T05:00:00.001-05:00

Hello Dear Readers,

Today is a sad day for readers in my little city. Aqua Books, an innovative used book store, restaurant, and creative space for writers, just announced that it is closing its doors.

Aqua Books was a risky venture from the beginning--converting a huge old Chinese restaurant into a vibrant space for book lovers was no easy feat. I applaud its owners, Kelly and Candace Hughes, for locating their dream business in the city's downtown...a place that is usually deserted by 7 p.m. (unless the Fringe Festival is on), and where many people are still too afraid to park or walk down the street.

In spite of the risks, Aqua Books seemed to be thriving. There were tons of well-attended literary events each month, and whenever I dropped by--either to buy too many books, have lunch at Eat! Bistro, or see a show, the place was packed. Kelly even supported local artists by having writers and photographers in residence. It was a bustling, exciting place to be...so what happened?

Sadly, Kelly blames Aqua's downfall on a decreasing number of readers. The following quote is from the goodbye email he sent to his customers last night:

"The real problem with bookselling is something I have alluded to in the last couple of months. It's a cultural shift away from reading. Smart phones, Facebook, and The Internet are all part of what has replaced reading time. I won't beat it to death, but it's an irreversible change in people's habits. You may still read and love books as much as you always have, but you are now in the minority. Book sales here have dropped 30% in the last year. (That's why McNally seems like it's all saltshakers and aprons these days.) "

Obviously, if this is true, it's very sad news for writers, and for people who know the value of losing themselves in a book. I can't imagine life without books, and even though e-books are more environmentally friendly, I'm still addicted to the printed page. I love used book stores. They're like treasure hunting: you always come away with something fantastic and unexpected. Plus, used books have history. I've bought books with personal inscriptions, and found photographs, letters, and postcards tucked inside others. Together, they tell the story of other people who have loved that particular book, and perhaps had their lives shaped or changed by it in some way.

I'm also an Amazon customer. I'm not going to lie about that. Sometimes I like to spend hours hunting through a charming bookstore, and other times I'm in a hurry and just want everything delivered to my door, shiny-new, with free shipping. My boss once tried to buy a book at McNally, another local bookstore, only to be told that they didn't have it in stock and would have to order it from Amazon for him. (With a mark-up included, I'm sure.) With service like that, it's no wonder that Amazon is smoking the competition.

But I do think places like Aqua Books are important, and I'm always very sad to see one of them go. I hope I don't live long enough to see a world without bookstores.

What do you think, Dear Readers? Why are bookstores having such a hard time? Do you find yourself reading less? If so, why?

The First Cut

2011-08-10T05:00:00.000-05:00

Hello Dear Readers,

I've made the first cut of the fight camp. This is what I've wanted for so long, and trained so hard for. Basically, this spot in the camp is now mine to lose. How I train this month will determine whether or not I make the final cut.

How does it feel? Well, of course I was elated to hear the news--my dojo's fight camps are very difficult to get into, unless you have a lot of experience, and many people apply for each one that comes up. It's a fierce competition on its own. But I'm also scared. There was a moment when I thought, "Do I really want to do this?" I was relieved to hear that I'm not the only one who feels this way. Strength in numbers, after all.

In preparation for the camp, I worked on aggressive sparring with our club's best fighter yesterday. We're going to be doing this every week. It's frustrating how much of my training goes out the window when I'm fighting this guy: I don't block, half the time I forget to counter, I don't move, and my arms feel like limp noodles. Meanwhile, whenever he throws a kick, it feels like getting hit by a tree trunk--he throws his entire body in each one. I got a pretty good charley horse in my left thigh from a kick last night, and I can still feel it. However, if I'd blocked that kick--which I know how to do--it wouldn't have hurt nearly as much, if at all, and I could have sparred for much longer.

Intellectually, I know that I'm getting better all the time--even when it doesn't feel like it. But it's difficult not to be hard on myself about these stupid mistakes. All I can do is resolve to be better next week, to keep trying to think of each sparring match as an actual fight.

There are two types of people in the world: those who prefer to remain in their comfort zone, and those who are always pushing beyond it. I'm always forcing myself to do things that scare me, and I have a feeling there's going to be some scary weeks ahead. Sometimes I wonder why I do this to myself, when I could be going for nice, leisurely walks and then spending a quiet evening at home with The Boy. But then I see an amazing fighter, and I know that's what I want to be.

Time Warp

2011-08-04T05:00:00.014-05:00

Oh God, WHY? Wasn't once enough?

Hello Dear Readers,

As most of you know, it's been a long time since I've been shopping. During my holidays, I went on a long-awaited trip to the stores with a great friend, and we had a blast.

But...I was shocked by how much fashion has changed. It wasn't that the styles are radically new--quite the opposite. I felt like I'd stumbled into an H.G. Wells story and found myself twenty years in the past.

With all the snickering about how horrible '80s fashion was, why oh why do designers insist on bringing it back? And it seems to be only the worst of the worst that interests them. I don't remember any of us wearing gold lamé, but now it's everywhere. Do you really want to see your boss, your friends, or your kids in gold lamé hot pants? I didn't think so. And the scrunchies! Didn't we just get rid of those? I'm expecting to see gold lamé banana clips any day now. Just. Say. No.

All this retro fashion got me thinking about time periods and how they're used in fiction. If a movie or book is set in the '80s, it's usually a comedy. There's so much comedic fodder in the clothes, the hairstyles, the music...the '80s are an easy mark. Who could resist? (Think The Wedding Singer.) However, if the work of fiction is set in the '60s, it's often a social commentary or drama that draws on all the political turmoil, free love, and bra-burning of the time. It's not as much about the bell bottoms and hippie hair as it is about the external and internal strife. The '50s are all about antiquated family values and an air of innocence, where the most scandalous thing happening was the emergence of rock n' roll music.

What time period do you set your stories in? Why does that period inspire you? Do you find that the years you write about dictate the subject matter of your book to some extent? And just for fun...if you could travel back in time, which era would you want to experience? Why?

What's Your Genre?

2011-08-03T05:00:00.000-05:00

Hello Dear Readers,

A couple of weeks ago, my online friend Laura Best wrote a blog post that got me thinking. Do we choose our genre, or does it choose us?

I read somewhere that authors write the kind of books they like to read, but that's certainly not always the case. I was once at a conference where someone asked best-selling horror author John Saul what books in the genre he liked to read. Saul laughed and said, "I can't read that stuff! It would scare me to death."

As for me, I write psychological suspense, but I rarely read it. While I'm attracted to movies of that genre, most of the books I've read have been pretty disappointing. I write the type of psychological suspense that I wish existed, I guess.

When I was younger, I was attracted to horror stories and mysteries...the darker, the better. I've always been keenly interested in the dark side of human nature. My mother reads a lot of true crime, and as a young adult, I quickly worked my way through her selection of books. We even shared library books a lot of the time. There was something about the evil committed by seemingly ordinary people that intrigued me. What made a man turn out like Ted Bundy? What drove a woman to torture and kill her own child? Why would one ethnic group wipe out another? The lack of answers haunted me.

A high school writing instructor, who was influential at that point in my life, despised happy endings. He referred to them as "Disney", and the easiest way to avoid a Disney ending (and thus make him happy) was to write horror. In a horror story, the hero doesn't have to save the day. Evil sometimes wins, just as it does in real life. I liked the freedom this gave me.

As much as I loved a good scary tale, there wasn't much in the horror genre that could hold my interest. The Stephen Kings of the world are, sadly, very few and far between. And I decided, based on my growing experience with true crime, that the real evil that lurked in people was much more frightening than a haunted car. I fell into writing psychological suspense before I even knew what it was called.

How about you, Dear Readers? What genre do you write? Did you choose it, or did it choose you? Do you read books of that genre? Why or why not? Do you ever wish you could change genres? What other genre would you write in, if you could?

Ah, Vacation....

2011-08-02T05:00:00.000-05:00

This was a couple years ago at Pine Point, but my love affair with the rapids is far from over.

Hello again, Dear Readers.

I'm back from my vacation. As usual, it went by waaay too fast (and having some weird stomach flu for the first three days certainly didn't help), but it was still a wonderful break.

Originally, I'd planned to work on my book and run every morning, but my sickness derailed that, and in a way, I'm glad it did. I recently read an article in Cooking Light Magazine (couldn't find the link, sorry) that advised that the best way to make the most of your vacation--especially a stay-cation--is to do away with the to-do list.

Part of the trouble with having lofty goals is that I always have a big, long list of stuff to do. Which means I'm inevitably neglecting at least one thing on the list (this year, unfortunately, it's been my writing). While some time away from the day job might have been a chance to catch up on all those neglected things, using my vacation as "catch up" time would have meant returning to work just as exhausted and worn out as before. And that's not good.

So, instead, I enjoyed my first shopping trip in years with an old friend. (And yes, I stuck to my budget.) I had lunch with two paleontologists as we planned our fossil-hunting trip in the fall. I sparred with a world-champion. (Said sparring sucked, but it was still fun!) I spent leisurely hours at a farmer's market with my beloved, and came away with indigo-colored beans, sour cherries, dried black currants (so yummy!), fresh saskatoons, homemade dill pickles, and other treasures. (Overheard at the farmer's market: "It's the food your grandma made, at high-end prices." So true!) Spent another day at the scenic Pine Point rapids, wading into cool, clean water and soaking in the sun. Ahh. All in all, nearly a perfect vacation.

Are you taking some time off this summer? What are your plans?

And if you're one of those people who never takes time off, for shame! Everyone needs a break. Consider taking one...you won't regret it.

Take This Account and Shove It

2011-07-18T04:00:00.000-05:00

Hello Dear Readers,

One of the best things about getting out of debt was finally getting to tell CIBC (otherwise known as the Canadian Imperial Bank of Commerce) what I thought of their customer service. I moved my account to a credit union, and I don't plan to ever look back.

They don't make it easy to close a bank account, especially if you have several different types of investments, and income that is automatically deposited (not to mention bills that are automatically withdrawn), but in my opinion, taking this stand was so worth the extra effort. Maybe if more people took their business elsewhere, the big banks would finally sit up and take notice of the little people.

Here is the letter I wrote to CIBC. Maybe you can relate to some of the things I've gone through:

July 14, 2011

To Whom It May Concern:

I opened my first CIBC account when I was fifteen years old, with the first pay cheque from my very first job. When I moved to a new city as a young adult, it never occurred to me to bank anywhere else: CIBC was my bank. For a middle class girl in her early twenties, I was doing very well. I had over 20K invested in one of your aggressive portfolios, and plenty of money in the bank. I did even better as a successful freelance journalist, and all of my financial business was conducted through CIBC. When I bought my first home, I went to CIBC for the mortgage.

Unfortunately, in my thirties, the tide shifted against me. Through terrible circumstances, which included illness, death, a separation, and a mix-up with my mortgage, I found myself in debt for the first time in my life. This did not sit well with me, and I was determined to get back in the black as quickly as possible.

I decided to use my CIBC Line of Credit to pay off the debt as fast as I could. To do this, I requested one small change to the account: I wanted it changed from a mandatory three percent payment each month to an interest-only account. I knew that I would pay off more than the interest each month—I requested the change only to give me some peace of mind. If something happened to my house one month, for instance, I’d be able to make a smaller payment at that time and increase the following payments.

CIBC refused to make this small change for me. Why? I was a great, long-time customer. I had a high credit rating. I never missed a payment on the line of credit in all the years I’d had it, and never used my overdraft. But, on a recommendation from a friend, I had looked into the possibility of a consolidation loan from two credit unions. Their resulting credit checks temporarily lowered my credit score by two points. My CIBC personal banking assistant knew this, but she still refused to make the change to my line of credit. She kept telling me that she’d be able to help me once my credit rating regained the measly two points, but that time never came. I kept getting put off, and put off, and put off. All I received were empty promises.

Now here we are, just over a year and a half later, and I have completely paid off my debt. Over $30K paid off in a year and a half, and I did it by myself, with absolutely no assistance from my bank. I think you can understand why I’m taking my business elsewhere.

I’m not a millionaire. In fact, I’m practically starting from scratch again. But that will change. And perhaps one day you’ll regret losing my business. You’ll probably regret that I’m a journalist and blogger who’s not shy when it comes to talking about the lack of service I received from CIBC. Maybe someday there will be other Holli Moncrieffs who will decide they want to be treated like people instead of numbers. Maybe they will be legion. And maybe then you’ll decide it’s time to start paying attention.

Sincerely,

Holli Moncrieff

***
Have you ever had a proud, happy moment like this where you felt vindicated? Feel free to share! And if you're currently struggling to get out of debt, just stay patient and know that it will happen. There were times when that light at the tunnel seemed very far away, but I'm so happy that I stuck with it.

And Life Begins Anew...

2011-07-08T12:31:00.000-05:00

Hello Dear Readers,

I don't have a traditional Fun Friday for you today, but since you've shared this journey with me, I'd like to share some exciting news. As of 9:45 Central Time this morning, yours truly was officially debt-free. No more line of credit, no more credit cards, nothing! At this time, I am free of the debt chokehold, and on Monday, I'll be informing my bank that I'm taking my business elsewhere.

It's been far too long coming, but now I feel like a world of possibilities has opened up for me. Thanks for being here, and have an awesome weekend.

Free at last, free at last.....

The Court of Public Opinion

2011-07-06T03:00:00.002-05:00

A perfect example of how our first impressions can work against us: lady killer and actual killer Ted Bundy

On Christmas Day, a report of a missing girl is phoned in. Her parents state that they returned home from a holiday celebration the night before and put both their children to bed immediately. In the morning, the mother found a strange, elaborate ransom note lying on the stairs...the note had been written on paper from inside the house. It demanded money for the return of her young daughter, and a search of the house proved the child was missing. Later that day, the father finds the body of his little girl in the basement, and rushes to free her from the ligature around her neck and the tape on her mouth. Later, both parents hire a lawyer and are viewed to have stopped cooperating with police. They are judged to be unusually stoic and reserved when speaking to news media about their daughter's death.

Years before, a young family goes camping in Australia. The mother leaves her infant daughter unattended in an unzipped tent for mere moments to heat up some food for her son. Some of her fellow campers hear a small cry, which they alert the mother to. The mother rushes back to her tent, only to find that some pools of blood are all that is left of her baby girl. She sees what she thinks to be a dog or a dingo leaving the tent, and yells out that a "dingo has her baby!", although she later admits that she couldn't detect anything in the animal's mouth. A search party is immediately organized, but they find no sign of the missing child, and when they do find the infant's clothes, they appear to be perfectly placed, with no tearing or bite marks and little blood. Later, evidence of blood on a camera bag in the family vehicle and the parents' erratic, "reserved" behavior casts doubt on the young couple. Their unusual religion, the so-called "haughty" demeanor of the mother, and even some red coloring on the pages of their family bible leads to more suspicion.

Don't the above scenarios sound incredible? In both cases, the court of public opinion found the parents guilty of murdering their children. This all but ruined the parents' lives, and sadly it was eventually proven that both families had been telling the truth and were in fact innocent. That pronouncement came too late for Patsy Ramsey, who passed away from cancer no doubt brought on in part by stress, and for Lindy Chamberlain, who had already spent years in jail after her wrongful conviction.

In both cases, how the parents reacted and the seemingly suspicious circumstances were enough to render a guilty verdict in the court of public opinion. We fully expect people to act like we imagine we would if such a terrible thing happened to us. If our child was murdered, we'd report it right away, sob uncontrollably through every media interview, and cooperate fully with police, never feeling the need to hire a lawyer...right? Well, remember Susan Smith? She cried uncontrollably through her media interviews, too. And yet....

In my opinion, it's dangerous to render a guilty verdict based on how someone acts. This is what has always disturbed me about the Casey Anthony case. The public decided Casey killed her two-year-old daughter Caylee long before she got her day in court. She didn't report her daughter missing; she went partying and seemed thrilled to be without the responsibility of caring for a young child; her abandoned car had a suspicious smell in the trunk (some say it was human decomposition, others say rotting food). When Caylee's poor body was finally found not far from the house, no cause of death could be determined, but some duct tape was found on the corpse.

Yesterday a jury of her peers--despite plenty of evidence that Casey acted irresponsibly (and most would say strangely) in the wake of her daughter's death--found her innocent of all charges (except for lying to law enforcement). The court of public opinion has weighed in as well, bemoaning her release and calling the jury's decision a travesty of justice. But is it? To my mind, Casey has been proven to be a pathological liar and an immature, irresponsible person whose reactions are often faulty. But does that make her a murderer? Knowing what the facts are in this case, and how incredible the opening scenarios in this post, would you feel comfortable sending this woman to her death? There is absolutely no firm evidence that proves that she caused the death of her daughter, but the court of public opinion has already convicted her, based on the way she acted and the things she said. No matter what happens in the future, Casey will lead a miserable, ostracized life. So much for our faith in the justice system.

Some people are comparing this to the O.J. Simpson case, but in that particular circumstance, plenty of evidence that probably would have convicted O.J. was withheld from the jury (but resulted in a civil court judgment against the former football star afterwards). That is not the case in the trial of Casey Anthony. There simply was not enough evidence to prove that she murdered her daughter, and that is not my opinion--that is the jury's ruling.

There's a lot of danger inherent in judging someone because he or she doesn't act "normally" or how we think they should. You may remember a suave, handsome, brilliant young businessman and student. He was charming, had plenty of girlfriends, and was known for his community work, including volunteering for a crisis line. Many of his friends, including high-ranking politicians, cops, and savvy journalists, envied this talented man, who was viewed to be a star on the rise. Yes, many people looked up to Ted Bundy.

What do you think of the Anthony verdict? Would you have felt comfortable convicting her, based on the available evidence? Why or why not? Does the court of public opinion have too much weight?

The Journey + Win Free IMAX tickets

2011-07-04T05:00:00.020-05:00

Welcome back, Dear Readers.

Last week I shared a blog post from an online writer friend on my Facebook page. To my surprise, it was met with a negative reaction, but I still think what she had to say has merit.

Michelle, who has previously published her novels online and recently signed with a traditional small publisher, has learned that landing a book deal doesn't make you happy. Is it a happy occasion? Yes, but if you aren't generally content with your life already, you could be disappointed by how little changes when that fabled publishing contract comes your way.

This post rang true because I admit that I've often felt my life will be perfect when I'm a published author and can finally write full-time. I can see how that mindset would (and does) set writers up for a fall. Yes, you often make more money for your writing. You sometimes gain more respect as an author. You can finally show off that shiny new volume to family and friends. But once the initial rush is over, what are you left with? Just you, and your work. Exactly like before.

I'm not ready to go after the brass ring with Dragonfly Summer just yet, but I went through something similar when I signed with my first agent. When she initially told me she wanted to represent my work, I was euphoric. Finally, actual proof that I was "good enough"! This was a woman who'd worked in the publishing industry for years, and she was based in New York--the toughest literary nut to crack. She must be an authority on what was publishable material, right?

Of course I knew that she might not be able to sell my book, but I believed all the hype I was told about million dollar deals and instant fame and was sure that wouldn't happen to me. Well, guess what? It did. And because I was so positive that this agent was my one chance at publishing success, it took me years to admit what should have been patently obvious from the beginning...that this woman's heart wasn't in being an agent, and that we weren't a good fit.

One quote that I have always loved is Take pleasure in the journey, not just the destination. It is sometimes difficult to take any joy in the rejections and uncertainty that are part and parcel of being an unpublished writer, but at this stage, your work is your own. No one tells you what to write or how to write it. There are no expectations from fans or publishers. Don't feel like rewriting that book again? Then don't. Write something else. The freedom of being unpublished is something I never appreciated until I had an agent telling me to rewrite the same book over and over again.

Do I believe Michelle that some parts of being published will be less than glamorous? Less than fun? Even depressing, stressful, and frustrating? Yes, I do. But is it still worth it? Yes, of course!

What do you think of Michelle's post? Can you identify with it? Have you ever experienced something similar? The first FOUR people to post an insightful comment in response (doesn't matter if you agree with her or not) will win two free passes to the new IMAX theatre at the Polo Park Cineplex in Winnipeg. The passes are good until September 31. Obviously, the winners will have to be in Winnipeg or the surrounding area.

Happy Canada Day!

2011-06-30T05:00:00.000-05:00

As my fellow Canadians will be too busy partying and enjoying the fireworks to read this blog tomorrow, I'm wishing us all a happy holiday today!

What do you like best about being Canadian? What does being Canadian mean to you?

Beneath My Wings

2011-06-29T05:00:00.001-05:00

Ashley White gets a hug after knocking out WKBF world champion Greg Foley

sup·port (s-pôrt, -prt)

tr.v. sup·port·ed, sup·port·ing, sup·ports

1. To bear the weight of, especially from below.

2. To hold in position so as to keep from falling, sinking, or slipping.

3. To be capable of bearing; withstand: "His flaw'd heart . . . too weak the conflict to support" (Shakespeare).

4. To keep from weakening or failing; strengthen.

They say "no man is an island", but have you ever felt like one? It's lonely when you feel like no one cares about your goals or dreams but you, and when no one is there to bandage your wounds and comfort you when you fall. It is only human nature to seek out close bonds with others.

I'll never forget taking a boyfriend to his first muay thai fight. I was thrilled to introduce him to the martial art that I was so passionately in love with--I thought that he would get caught up in all the excitement and instantly understand why I spent so much time in training.

Unfortunately, that particular event was one of the bloodiest I've ever seen. There were several knockouts that evening, some of the fighters were injured to the point where their coaches were forced to throw in the towel, and stretcher-baring paramedics had to rush to the ring not once, but twice! The blue surface of the ring was soon purple with blood. My boyfriend was horrified, but even I didn't realize to what extent.

Later that evening, he gave me the dreaded ultimatum:

"If you don't stop kickboxing, I will break up with you."

Bet you can guess what I did with that threat! Although, surprisingly, our relationship lingered on for at least another year. This is surprising to me not because he stayed, but because I can't imagine actually wanting to be with someone who offered so little support for what was important to me.

Not everyone is going to be comfortable with the thought of their significant other being repeatedly punched or kicked...or injured. I don't care whether you're a man or a woman, it's never fun to see someone you love get hurt. But if you date a kick boxer, a fencer, a Kung fu master, or a mixed martial artist, there has to be a willingness to support them in spite of your own fears. Otherwise, you are constantly hoping they will change, and from what I've seen of the people who fall in love with the fighting arts, you will be waiting a long time.

Training to fight has basically taken over my life this year, and I can't imagine how I would have survived without the constant support and enthusiasm of my "boy". Chris thinks it's cool to date a woman who can kick some serious *ss, and I'm at a point of my life when (thankfully) I'll no longer settle for anything less.

How about you, Dear Readers? Who supports your crazy dreams and encourages you to go further? Who is the wind beneath your wings?

Photo credit: Blitz Publications

The Myth of Female Friendship

2011-06-28T05:00:00.000-05:00

Hello Dear Readers,

Some people watched Sex and the City for the clothes. Others enjoyed an inside view at life in a glamorous city. And still others (I'm talking to you, guys) undoubtedly were drawn to the no holds barred depictions of sex. I was in it for the friendship.

That four women from completely different walks of life, with completely different interests and morals, would form such a close bond was a bigger fantasy than Carrie being able to afford multiple pairs of $800 shoes on a freelance writer's salary.

Though I knew it was a fantasy, I envied the easy closeness that Carrie shared with Miranda, Samantha, and Charlotte. No matter what else was going on in these busy women's lives, they still managed to meet for brunch every weekend. And even more incredible, their friendships survived huge blow-ups and nasty fights. Remember all the times Miranda got frustrated with Carrie's on-again, off-again relationship with Big and told her she was being a fool? Or the time Carrie walked in on a private moment with Samantha and the UPS guy and turned a tad judgmental? They even dated each other's exes and managed to escape with their friendship unscathed. This gold-star depiction of female friendship was well worth idolizing...and envying.

However, in my experience, it's been very different. At various times in my life, I've been part of a group of female friends, but none of these groups enjoyed the easy camaraderie of Carrie's foursome. Someone was always left out (this happened a lot if it was a group of three). If one of the group couldn't make it to an event or outing, the rest of the pack talked about her (and usually, not very nicely). These friendships never seemed to last, and we certainly had more in common than Carrie did with her friends. It was an unsettling feeling to know that you were being dissected behind your back (just because you're paranoid doesn't mean they're not out to get you).

Forming a group of like-minded female friends is as tricky and complicated as finding another couple to hang out with you and your significant other. It can take years to find two people that two other people like equally. With so many amazing people in the world, I have no idea why this is so difficult, but it seems to be.

Another fantastical aspect of Sex and the City is how the friends were able to patch up any argument or fight, no matter how severe. For myself, I've found having an issue with a female friend to be a very tricky problem to have, and unless it's a huge detriment to the friendship, I tend to just let it go. When I have needed to bring an issue up, I've debated with myself for days over the best way to phrase it, the best way not to offend. And I've failed miserably, every time. I can count the number of girlfriends who've survived an issue or some kind of dispute with me on one hand with a few fingers missing. And it's sad, because in most cases, the issues were not worth losing the friendship over. They were worth bringing up and resolving, but not worth killing the bond over. However, over time I've come to realize that if the friendship was meant to be--or strong enough--we'd still be friends and that silly dispute wouldn't have changed things.

I loved the friendships on Sex and the City, and I wish real life was like that. Has it been for you, Dear Readers? Do you think that depiction of female friendship was accurate, or not?

Interestingly enough, the original novel by Candace Bushnell does not focus on the friendships between the women in the same way the TV series did. Perhaps she was afraid her novel would get categorized as fantasy. ;)

Fun Friday XXXII: Friendship Found

2011-06-24T05:00:00.001-05:00

Happy Friday, Dear Readers!

Here's this week's writing prompt:

How did you meet your closest friend? What makes that person your closest friend?

For the purpose of this exercise, let us assume that significant others and spouses are excluded. :)

I met my friend (and this will probably surprise no one) at kickboxing. She and I were two of only a few women who went to Sik Tai, an old-school muay thai club where the training was fairly brutal.

She was quiet, but she was still friendly and easy to talk to. I remember noticing that she had kind eyes. A person's eyes count for a lot with me.

I can't remember how we first struck up a conversation, but somehow we discovered that we lived on the same street, so she offered to give me a ride to class. This was a huge treat for me, because before I met her, I took two buses through some very spooky neighborhoods to get to the club. I had to wait for a long time in the dark in said scary neighborhood to catch the bus back home.

During our rides back and forth, she would often ask what my plans were for the coming weekend. One day, I just said to her, "Why...do you want to do something?"

I can't remember what we did (probably went to Papa George's for Greek food and hours of conversation), but from that moment, we were friends. She has been my best friend since 1997.

We've been through a lot together...both good and bad. Right around the time we became friends, I discovered that my boyfriend of three years had cheated on me, and she went through a divorce. We traveled to the Dominican Republic and Africa together. We supported each other through terrible relationships with terrible men. And of course, we trained together...at Sik Tai until it closed, and then at CKMTC, Dragon, Pan Am, and now at KWest. I hope we'll continue to have adventures together, even though we're both in serious relationships now.

She is one of the few people I can trust with my life. I can tell her anything, and she'll never breathe a word of what I tell her to anyone else. She's a fantastic listener, and her loyalty is unshakable. She's selective in her choice of friends, which makes me all the more proud and grateful that she selected me.

I don't know what it is about kickboxing, but some of the most incredible, big-hearted people I have met in my life are kick boxers. There's something about that martial art that attracts some fantastic people.

How about you, Dear Readers? How did you meet your closest friend?

Interview With a Warrior III

2011-06-23T05:00:00.010-05:00

Marliese Friesen is one busy lady. It's been six months since her debut in the ring, but it's taken that long to catch up to her. Between graduating from university and going on a dream vacation in Australia and New Zealand, Marliese is definitely living life to the fullest.

Her first fight, which took place at KWest Kickboxing's Rumble at the ROCC on December 3rd, 2010, resulted in a win by unanimous decision. Marliese kicked some serious butt! Here are her thoughts on fighting, training, fitness, and being a woman in muay thai.

Q. How long have you been taking muay thai?

A. About five years now. I took my very first class in the fall of 2005, partway through my second year of university. It was just Kru Kelly Westerlund then. That was about a year before Kwest Kickboxing became a certified World Muaythai Council club.

Q. Why did you start?

A. Essentially because I needed exercise. I spent almost all of my time either in class at university or studying at home, so I was pretty out of shape.

Marliese is on the right.

Q. Why muay thai in particular? What about it interested you?

A. I needed an activity that would get me back in shape but also serve as an outlet for pent-up energy and stress; I wanted to learn something new, but not just an ordinary sport; I wanted something considered unconventional for a woman (I like to go against the grain), and I wanted something tough and a little bad-ass.

Once I looked in to it, the idea of a martial art really appealed to me. I narrowed my interest down to a striking MA rather than a grappling MA. Kickboxing stood out because it incorporated fists and feet. I mentioned my thoughts to my sister and through a series of fortunate events and Kru Kelly’s generous nature, we were soon registered in a beginner kickboxing class at Kwest.

I was super excited when I found out that Kru Kelly actually taught traditional Muaythai, and not kickboxing. Kickboxing is sort of a simplified and safer version of Muaythai, as it only includes punching and kicking. Traditional Muaythai, on the other hand, also includes elbowing, kneeing, and clinching. So, I started because I needed exercise, but stayed because I fell in love with the art of Muaythai and Kwest.

Q. When/how did you decide you wanted to fight?

A. I had attended cards that included fighters from Kwest and just knew that I wanted to do it, too. Plus, I was training in the Level 2 class and just thought, why else would I put my body through this, if not to fight? But the timing was never right. University always took over and my attendance would drop. So after I graduated, I applied to train for the next fights and Kelly said yes.

Q. Describe the training. What was it like?

A. The training was intense and draining, but totally worth it. I remember Kru Kelly saying, “If you train properly, the hardest part about a fight is the training”. Having seen other club members prepare for previous fights, I knew that it would take a toll on my body, but I don’t think I realized the huge amount of mental and emotional tenacity it would require.

Obviously the physically training was hard, especially when Kru Kelly had me work on my weaknesses, or when I felt like I couldn’t go another round or do another rep. But I think one of the most challenging parts was overcoming the doubt I had in my abilities and pushing through the periods where I questioned my potential for success. I knew that when I stepped into the ring I wasn’t just fighting for myself, I was representing Kwest and Kru Kelly. I put more pressure on myself to succeed because of that, and during the periods of self-doubt I wanted to step down so I wouldn’t embarrass my club.

There were times I wanted to give up, but the support and encouragement I received from Kru Kelly and the other fighters made all the difference. They brought me out of my slumps by showing me how far I had come and just how much I was good at. At the same time, I would quickly think over the things I had learned and the improvements I had made. As trivial as it may seem, doing this really helped my self-confidence, and gave me the mental and emotional strength to keep training.

Marliese is on the left.

Q. Take us through fight day--how were you feeling before, during and after the fight?

A. I was nervous the night of the weigh-ins, mostly because it finally sank in that I was actually going to fight. I felt a bit anxious the day of because I knew that something big was going to happen later. My excitement increased once I got to the gym and saw the other fighters and the gym all set up. But it wasn’t until I was warming up in the back room that my emotions became a bit more intense. I was anxious and impatient and didn’t really want to warm up, partly because I had this fear that I’d slip, injure myself and not be able to fight, but mostly because I just wanted to get in the ring and get it over with. Three months of intense training were all coming to a head and I just wanted it to be finished.

I just about lost it entering the ring, though. People had told me that I’d have tunnel vision as soon as I got out there but I didn’t. I saw all the people in the audience, I heard my entrance music, I saw my opponent. My nerves were shot at that point. I had already planned on sealing the ring once I entered it, so I used that time to take deep, slow breaths to try to calm my body down. It took me a while to seal the ring, and even then my body was still buzzing.

Once the fight started, though, my nerves calmed down a bit. I was still aware of everybody. I could hear a fellow fighter cheering me on from the back of the gym, and my opponent’s coach telling her what to do (very helpful, by the way). Thankfully, I could remember the drills we practiced, and the combinations I was to focus on. All the training was paying off, because I felt like I knew what to do.

Here’s a funny aside… Prior to my fight, I had been told that women’s fights are often more “scrappy” because our emotions get involved and we just let loose with the punches. I thought that was complete nonsense and, to be honest, was kind of offended. Ha! I distinctly remember taking a solid jab from my opponent close to the beginning of the first round and thinking “That b****! She just hit me!” I actually felt surprised and insulted that she would do such a thing, conveniently forgetting that hitting and being hit was the whole point. So much for remaining emotionless.

After the fight… I was wired. I couldn’t stop smiling. I couldn’t stand still. I kept playing with the zipper on my hoody. My boyfriend finally reached over, grabbed my hands and said, “Stop. Calm down”. It didn’t work. A couple hours later, though, the adrenalin wore off and I crashed.

Q. Would you do it again? ?

Marliese is on the left.

A. Yes. Without a doubt! I had a good experience in the ring and aside from the aches and pains I absolutely loved my body at the end of training. Too bad it wasn’t beach season!

Q. What do you love most about muay thai?

A. Um… everything. I honestly can’t narrow it down. I love everything about it. It’s such a rewarding activity. Even the bruises, black eyes, and bloody noses are rewarding. They’re like little gold stars marking your achievement.

Q. Why is it a good sport for women?

A. First and foremost, learning Muaythai indirectly teaches you self-defense. After seeing me fight, my mom said that she was less nervous about me traveling around Australia alone because she knew that I could defend myself if I had to. Also, if you put in the effort, the changes in your body and mind are a great way to boost your self-confidence.

Q. Oh, and people are going to want to know how you got those muscles! :) What is your training regime?

A. Ha! Well, during training, we did a lot of everything: cardio, endurance, strength, and flexibility. But to get the arms, basically a lot of burpees and push-ups to build and tone the muscles, and plyometrics and cardio/endurance exercises to burn off the fat so you can see them!! Easy, right?

Q. What do you do in addition to muay thai?

A. I run and bike occasionally. Otherwise nothing. I’d love to learn a grappling MA like Brazilian Jiu Jitsu, but for now, continuing with Muaythai at Kwest is enough for me!

Oh, and in case you missed my previous plugs, go check out http://www.kwestkickboxing.com/!

Thanks, Marliese! If you have any questions for her, you can post them in the comment section.

Photo credit: Colin Epp

A Big Kick in the Arse

2011-06-22T05:00:00.000-05:00

The Queen of Horror Fiction (or as she refers to her new book: "Bitch Lit")

Happy Hump Day, Dear Readers!

With a title like "A Big Kick in the Arse", you probably expected this post to be about kickboxing, didn't you? Well, it isn't. It's about writing! Fooled you!

(The kick boxers can tune out now.)

Recently I attended a friend's book launch. This was a Big Deal, both to my friend, who hasn't published a new book for a few years, and to the community, who loves to laud one of its own.

For our city, it was a huge launch. There were more people than chairs, so plenty were standing, and some were even hanging over a balcony up above. There was much applause and laughter--a highly appreciative audience--and the author felt well and truly loved. As for me, since I wanted to be there and the author writes in a genre I actually read, I was happy, too.

But on my way home, the dark side kicked in.

So far this year, kickboxing has basically taken over my life. If you read this blog, I'm most likely not surprising you with that information. I knew it was only a matter of time until the guilt from neglecting my writing kicked in, and that reading was it.

Lest you think this is one of those "why her and not me?" whines, I'll tell you right now: it isn't. First of all, this author deserves every bit of success she receives, and I am ecstatic for her. I hope her book sales soar into the stratosphere.

Secondly, I'm not one of those people who thinks that there's a limited amount of success in the world. When I see one of my writing friends achieve something incredible, I don't think the same is less likely to happen to me...I think it's more likely. Because their success and achievements prove that this stuff actually happens! That it isn't just an urban myth cooked up by a bunch of unpublished writers.

And the last reason I'm not bemoaning my lack of a book launch: I know the answer to the question "why not me?" far too well. Because I haven't been writing! Or rewriting! How am I supposed to have a book launch for a book that doesn't exist? (At least not in publishable form.)

We don't write for fame and adulation. We don't write for wealth. But wouldn't it be cool to--just for once--be the one standing behind the podium instead of the one sitting in front of it, hoping for an autograph? It's fun to dream.

But in this case, the dream could be a reality if I just got back to it. The Boy tells me it's impossible to give so much energy and heart to two things (muay thai and writing) at the same time, and he may be right, but I feel I've got to try.

It was a great kick in the arse when I needed it. So thank you, Susie Moloney.

And buy her book! It's fabulous.

How about you, Dear Readers? Are you inspired by others' success? Does it give you a kick in the arse?

That Lovely Inner Voice

2011-06-21T05:00:00.016-05:00

"What ever made you think you could do this? You're obviously not cut out for it."

"You should just quit, tell everyone they wasted their time on you. You're not tough enough."

"You're a loser."

What would you say to a friend who told you things like that? They probably wouldn't be your friend for much longer, would they?

But what if it's you doing the trash-talking to yourself? How can you escape someone who follows you everywhere you go?

The sentences at the beginning of this post are just a few of the things I told myself after a meltdown on Saturday. As you can see, negative thoughts can get ugly.

Why was I being so hard on myself? I've recently started sparring again, after a long, long break. To get better faster, I've been training with people who are much more skilled than I am. They also haven't taken a long break from sparring, so they're more comfortable with it.

Do you know what happens in my martial art when you train with people who are better than you? You get your ass kicked.

I haven't been hurt, but my ego has been severely bruised. And instead of reminding myself that I'm new to this, I keep going back to how I was a decade ago, when I sparred every day and had no problem being assertive and aggressive.

What would I say to a friend who was in the same situation?

"Don't worry...it'll come back. You were great before, and you will be great again. It just takes practice. Don't be so hard on yourself."

So why am I so much nastier to myself? There was no support, no encouragement at all coming from me to me. And, as you can imagine, my critical thoughts made things worse, bringing on a full-on crying jag (thankfully I was cloistered in my dojo's bathroom at the time).

I wanted to offer some helpful tips for fighting negative self-talk in this post, but a web search on the topic revealed nothing but sales pitches from self-help gurus or cheesy gimmicks. (I'm sorry, but I don't think snapping myself with a rubber band would have done the slightest bit of good.)

All we can really do is keep trying to treat ourselves like we treat our friends...with patience, with support, and with love. And like everything else, this takes practice. Some days will be better than others. There will be occasional crying jags in the bathroom (but hopefully not many).

One thing that I have to always remember: never getting knocked down does not make me a fighter. It's always being able to get back up.

How about you, Dear Readers? Do you ever have a problem with negative self-talk? How do you stop it in its tracks?

Where in the World....?

2011-06-20T05:00:00.003-05:00

Welcome back, Dear Readers.

I hope everyone had a fantastic weekend.

Debt is a funny thing. I think most of us would agree that it's "bad", but it can also get far too comfortable. It provides a handy excuse for not getting out there and doing something scary and unfamiliar. Now that The Boy and I are almost back in the black, it's time to start thinking about where we would like to move in the next few years.

So far, here is our criteria:

Affordability
Year-round sun and heat
Close proximity to ocean or sea
Running water and electricity, semi-reliable Internet
English-speaking (not necessarily as the first or only language, but we'd like to be able to communicate and get jobs)
Affordable medical care of some quality (although coming back to Canada annually to see my doctor and keep our citizenship is not out of the question, though it may be impractical, depending upon where we move)
Safety (we are adventure seekers, but have no plans to relocate to a country that's in constant political strife or is right on the hurricane belt)

Some things we will not need, and at the top of that list is STUFF. The Boy told me about a comedy skit all about how we need houses to contain and protect our stuff, and then we accumulate even more stuff, so we need to buy bigger houses...I am so out of that cycle. Enough with the stuff!

But what I do want is room to breathe. I'm from a small town where we had a large yard with only one neighbor, and I miss that privacy. I'm so tired of looking out my window to see into my neighbor's window, and of being watched by several pairs of eyes as I walk around my garden. I want space. I don't care so much about the quality (or size) of my house...it's all about the location. I definitely won't miss tripping over shrieking kids every time I leave my house, or the neighbor who uses his house as a garage band rehearsal space.

So, the plan is to populate a list of about ten or twenty places that meet our criteria, narrow the list down further with research, and then start visiting the most likely prospects. This is where you come in, Dear Readers. I know some of you are very well-traveled. Do you know of a place that meets our requirements? If so, please tell me about it!

Where would you live if you could live anywhere in the world?

Fun Friday XXXI: Exciting Times

2011-06-17T05:00:00.003-05:00

Happy Friday, Dear Readers.

A gorgeous summer day deserves a fun writing prompt, so here's one that I hope you'll be inspired to participate in:

What's the most exciting thing that has ever happened to you?

This was a tough question for me. I had to think about it a bit...I've had an unusual, colorful life thus far. But, all in all, I have to say that the most exciting thing that's ever happened to me was going to Africa.

I'd wanted to go to Africa ever since I could remember. My friend Darbi and I once planned to go on a safari together, and when she died, I made it my mission to go on that trip for both of us. There was only one problem: a trip to Africa is prohibitively expensive, and it was well beyond my budget.

I was working the night shift in the newsroom at my local paper when one of the photojournalists suggested I get someone else to pay for it. Brilliant! Why didn't I think of that?

There wasn't much going on that night, so I searched the web for travel companies that specialized in African safaris. The first one on the list was African Portfolio, so I wrote owner Diane Ebzery and asked if she'd be willing to allow me to go on one of her safaris free of charge. In return, I would write about the experience, and sell the story to as many magazines and newspapers as I could. I really didn't expect anything to come from this late-night email, but to my great surprise, she agreed. (I even had to suggest she read some of my work first, as it never occurred to her.)

A few short months later, my best friend (the photographer for the trip) and I were off on the adventure of a lifetime! During our four weeks in Zambia and Zimbabwe, I:

Held a baby crocodile
Traveled in a microlight (basically a motorized bike with wings) over Victoria Falls
Saw too many rhinos, elephants, zebras, antelope, hippos, crocs, giraffes and baboons to count (Along with some elusive wild cats.)
Met amazing people, especially our African guides and the people of Zambia and Zimbabwe
Visited an actual village in Zimbabwe
Maneuvered a canoe through the Zambezi River while a bull elephant charged at us from above
Witnessed phenomenal sunsets from a boat, and saw an even more awesome sunrise
Photographed a baby elephant with its mother
Visited and walked inside ruins that are older than the pyramids
Learned how precious all life is
Traded GAP clothing for batiks
Ate the best spaghetti and the best potato chips of my life (spare rib flavor--who knew?)
Stayed in the most incredible places I will probably ever see
Was awed by an entirely different set of constellations

And much more! I was moved to tears by so much of the experience, from the time I first saw the vivid blues, greens, and golds of Africa from the air, to the time I saw my first elephant in the wild. It was truly a once-in-a-lifetime experience, and because Diane generously sponsored us, we went first-class all the way. The other people staying at the same resorts were captains of industry, and clearly puzzled over how a lowly writer and photographer managed to afford the same trip. After so many years, it seems the whole thing was a dream. And in many ways, it was.

Unfortunately, to my unending guilt and shame, I never got to pay Diane back for her extreme generosity and kindness (the woman thought of everything, even booking a luxury hotel for a few hours so we wouldn't have to wait in the airport for our flight home). No one wanted to buy stories about traveling to Africa during the summer months, and that fall, September 11th happened. No one wanted to travel anymore. I sold few stories, and those I did sell were disappointing. (One magazine used my story as a vehicle to promote other travel companies.)

I still hope some day to pay her back for the most amazing experience of my life. And if you should go to Africa, please give Diane your business. I promise you won't regret it. She makes the trip of your dreams a reality.

One of our guides told me that if you drink the water of the Zambezi River, you are guaranteed to return to Africa. I sure hope he's right.

Your turn, Dear Readers! What's the most exciting thing that's ever happened to you?

Operation: Aggression

2011-06-16T05:00:00.003-05:00

I have a problem.

I'm too damned nice.

This isn't a problem in life, necessarily, now that I've learned that being nice doesn't mean being a pushover. But it is a problem in the ring.

I never used to have a problem with aggression in sports. I was aggressive in muay thai sparring at my old club, aggressive in soccer, aggressive in sponge hockey. (And I'm not talking about the type of misguided aggression that leads sports fans to destroy their own city...I'm referring to the healthy, competitive aggression two athletes must have when they face each other down.)

Even when I'm taking a punch or kick these days, I'm smiling, laughing, expressing awe over how good my partner is, and otherwise having a good time. It's fine to have a good time, but I'm not doing myself any favors by squandering these opportunities to redevelop my aggression.

There's a saying that goes, "you fight the way you train". If that's true, I'm going to be in big trouble unless I do something now to correct it, and believe me, I'm working on it. I'm not sure where my aggression went, but the bitch has got to come back!

How about you, Dear Readers? Are there areas of your life in which you wish you were more assertive? Or, if you engage in competitive sports (muay thai or others), how do you hone your aggression?

The Dedication

2011-06-09T05:00:00.000-05:00

Hello Dear Readers,

Publishing a book (in e-format or otherwise) brings an interesting dilemma to the forefront: who do you dedicate it to?

Lost is not a new book. It's had a long, long journey. It began its life as In the Valley of the Shadow, a 500 page, single-spaced monstrosity that I wrote for a college assignment. It had too many characters and a completely inconceivable plot. Would you believe a nurse who was also a Satanic high priestess and a cop who ran around in a cape as the Avenging Angel in his spare time? Oh, brother. At least a dozen children were kidnapped during the course of the story (by the rampaging Satanic cult, of course). A classmate asked to read the manuscript, and his first question was, "Where is the FBI?" Uh-oh. Can you say "massive rewrite"? (For those of you who don't know, the FBI has jurisdiction over kidnappings in the United States. I did know this, but it must have slipped my mind.)

Valley ended up in a landfill, I'm relieved to say. There was too much wrong with it. But not everything was unsalvageable. What if just one child went missing? What if the teenagers weren't cult members, but normal youth, subject to peer pressure, substance abuse, and perhaps an underdeveloped sense of right and wrong? What if their leader, admired and feared in equal measure, was a really bad guy? I scrapped the cults and the cape, and ended up with a much better story. It had a title I loved: When Demons Wear Shoes. The agents I spoke to loved it, too, until another book was published. You may have heard of it. It's called The Devil Wears Prada.

My former classmate was the first to read this new incarnation, and subsequent drafts. As always, his eye for detail was a saving grace. He didn't call me on misused semi-colons, or sentence fragments--he's not that kind of editor. Jeff will notice when a character is suddenly inconsistent, or when a paragraph is less than my best. He's not shy about telling me when I can do better, and sometimes, he's made me cry from sheer frustration. But through him, my characters have come alive. Through him, I've learned that settings should always tell you something about the characters. I have become a better writer thanks to him, and I can't imagine writing a book without his guidance (I hope I never have to).

Through all the titles and incarnations this book has gone through, and there were many (Among Demons, It Springs Eternal), it has been dedicated to Jeff, and understandably so. Here comes the tricky part:

Writer and editor fall in love. Writer and editor move in together, and get engaged after five and a half years. After a lot of soul-searching and many tears, writer and editor part ways, amicably. Editor meets new woman and falls in love. He marries, and they have a child. Writer falls in love, too, and her new partner moves in. New partner is a self-proclaimed "English geek". He loves her work, and is highly supportive. He uses his red pen to make Lost better. He is the other side of the editing coin--he does call the writer on misused semi-colons and sentence fragments, and he catches typos. He is the one who does all the work to get the book published electronically, and his love, support, and encouragement sustains the writer on a daily basis.

So who do I dedicate the book to?

To me, it was a no-brainer. This book is dedicated to The Boy, but my long-time editor comes first on the thank you page.

How about you, Dear Readers? Who have you (or would you) dedicate your novel to? Is it a tough decision? Do you think I did the right thing?

Coming to a Computer Near You

2011-06-08T05:00:00.000-05:00

Hello Dear Readers,

Very soon, you will be able to read one of my novels. Lost, the story of a young girl's tragic disappearance, will be up for sale (at a very reasonable price, I might add) on Kindle, Smashwords, and LuLu. I'm just waiting for an ISBN number, and once that arrives, I'll be ready to publish.

A lot of my fellow authors are all about the e-publishing these days. Some have even turned down contracts from big publishing houses in order to e-publish their own work. It does give an author quite a bit of control over their career--no longer do they have to wait and hope that some agent (and then some publisher) will decide their work is worthy of being in print.

Maybe I'll join their ranks one day, but I'm still hoping for a traditional publishing deal for my subsequent novels. I love print books. I love turning the pages, and I love the feel of a good book in my hands. I love discovering old books at charity sales and used book stores. It may not be great for the environment, but I always recycle books by giving them to friends or donating them to charity. I was so thrilled and happy to receive the glossy set of Time-Life's Mysteries of the Unknown for my birthday. I can't imagine ever having the same attachment to an electronic file.

So why am I e-publishing Lost? One of the first things an agent wants to know when they're considering a manuscript is who it's been submitted to previously. And I can't, in good faith, answer that question with Lost. My agent gave me a list of six editors while we were working together, and a list of twenty after I terminated our relationship years later. One of those lists is obviously wrong, and the entire process is now suspect. So, as I see it, Lost is doomed when it comes to a traditional publishing deal. But it's still a worthy book. And someone should have the chance to read it.

Have you e-published? Would you ever consider it? Do you read e-books? Why or why not?

All Kinds of Awesome

2011-06-06T05:00:00.000-05:00

My new trainer.

Happy Monday, Dear Readers.

I hope everyone had a good weekend. I apologize for all the glitches on this blog recently...apparently Blogger has been having some issues. I hope they're resolved.

I had an incredible experience on Friday afternoon. After realizing that I wasn't receiving the type of focused, one-on-one training that I need to get me where I want to be by the fall, I called in some professional help. Once a week, I will be sparring and training with the former super featherweight champion of the world (who is soon to get her title back, dammit!)

I've known Olivia a long time...since the old days of Sik Tai, and she's always been one of the most impressive martial artists around. From her days as a gymnast, she's super flexible (going into a split, standing or otherwise, is nothing for her). She's also incredibly fast and skilled. Most importantly, she's a fantastic teacher who is great at explaining technique and breaking it down for you. She is understanding, patient, and has a great sense of humor. (And she showed up on a motorcycle--how cool is that?)

The awe factor when training with someone of her level is huge. She can kick me five times, in five different points of my body, without ever touching her foot to the ground! And being assessed by a former world champion, even one who is your friend, is pretty damn intimidating, I'm not gonna lie. But it was so, so worth it. Hiring Olivia is one of the smartest things I've ever done. I just wish I'd done it sooner.

During that first training session, I felt like a big geek. I was in so much awe of Olivia, who could land twenty shots for every one of mine, that even the stuff I do well was not working that day. I thought I was in excellent condition, but it's amazing how much harder pad work is with someone of that skill level. I thought I was going to die, and a two-minute round was a long, long time. Somehow, I still managed to feel like I was on top of the world by the end of it.

All is not rosy, though. I have a lot of work to do to get where I want to be, and a lot of homework in order to perfect my technique. I want to be able to look back on that first session and be amazed at how far I've come.

Have you ever been inspired by someone who is at a much higher level than you? What did you learn from the experience?

Rewrites Suck

2011-06-02T05:00:00.001-05:00

Hello Dear Readers,

Some of you may wonder if I'm actually still a writer, since I haven't been talking about it. I haven't been talking about it because, except for a ton of freelance articles and a pesky annual report, I haven't been writing.

My new goal is to get Dragonfly Summer in the hands of my second line-up of volunteer editors by the end of June. That would give people a month to read it and make suggestions, another month for me to make any changes I agree with, and then it could be out on submission in the fall. It would be perfect timing, because even agents and publishers take summer vacations, and anything I send during the hot and sunny months would languish in the slush pile anyways.

There's only one problem with my plan. I hate rewrites. Really, sincerely hate them. Oh, I will do them--don't get me wrong--they're an integral part of the process, but I'll be kicking and screaming until I give myself completely over to them. One good thing is that these rewrites are at my own behest. No one's giving me impossible goals, like telling me I need to add a unicorn, or make it read more like a Spenserian sonnet.

I was supposed to begin on June 1, but now it's the 2nd and I still haven't picked up my theoretical red pen. This is how the entire year has gone. I don't want to waste any more time.

I've heard tale of some mythical writers who actually love rewriting. Who are you people, and what's your secret?

Of course, if you hate rewrites, too, feel free to bitch and moan. Misery loves company.

Something Scary

2011-05-31T05:00:00.001-05:00

Hello Dear Readers,

I really appreciate the kind comments on yesterday's post--all the more so because it was such a personal thing to write. So thank you.

It's an old adage that we should do something every day that scares us--the idea being that we'll force ourselves out of our comfort zones, and be that much closer to leading extraordinary lives. This isn't easy to do--especially not everyday--unless you happen to be scared of a lot.

However, I was scared enough yesterday to make up for at least seven days. It was my first double-class Monday in a while, which includes "Stamina Monday" (usually the toughest Level 1 cardio kickboxing workout of the week), and an hour and a half of Level 2 (muay thai fighter training). And in some fit of stupid ambition, I also scheduled a sparring session right afterward with my dojo's top fighter. Yep, I'm insane.

The Stamina Monday class went well. It was a challenging workout, but not overly so...nothing to push me out of my comfort zone there. But Level 2 classes are becoming more and more difficult, and for some reason, I'm the only woman who seems to go to them anymore. That didn't bother me, though. My fear really didn't start until Grant chose me as his partner.

Let me explain...from what I've heard (and I'm sure Grant will correct me if I'm wrong), Grant is about 6'4" and 220 pounds of solid muscle. In short, the guy is huge. His reach is 74", and he's been enrolled in martial arts in one form or another since he was nine years old. (I'm not sure how old Grant is, but suffice it to say he didn't start training yesterday). Next to little ol' 5'8" me, he's a giant. And I knew he was going to kill me.

We started out with leg-trapping exercises. For those of you who aren't familiar with them, they go something like this: you kick, and your opponent grabs your leg and does any number of nasty things in retaliation. Because of our height difference, when Grant trapped my leg, it was really far off the ground. If I'd lost my balance, it would have meant a nasty fall, but whenever I did falter, I clung to Grant like crazy. No way I was crashing to the ground! My heart was beating like mad. I was terrified the entire time.

That class was long, with each exercise more scary than the last. But I survived it. Grant didn't kill me, although I have a rainbow of bruises in places I've never been bruised before...my collarbone. Both shoulders. All the way up and down my arms. You get the picture.

I was so exhausted and beaten up by the end of class that sparring didn't go as well as I'd hoped. I was basically a punching bag for Wayne. But I survived that, too.

It may sound strange, but what Grant and Wayne did is actually an act of kindness. Because they're punishing me now, by the time I step into the ring in October, I'll be ready for whatever my opponent will throw at me. And no matter how scary my opponent is, she's not going to be 6'4" and 220 pounds. What could possibly be scarier than Grant? :)

How about you, Dear Readers? What have you done to step outside your comfort zone lately? Was it worth it? Do you believe in doing things that scare you? Why or why not?

* I dedicate this blog post to everyone who's ever kicked my ass in the course of training, especially Grant and Wayne.

Reinventing Ourselves

2011-05-30T05:00:00.002-05:00

Welcome back, Dear Readers.

Ever since I began this blog over a year ago, I've received some negative commentary about my participation in martial arts. Why, when there is already so much senseless violence in the world, would people deliberately seek out opportunities to hurt others? My dedication to muay thai may seem directly opposed to the message of peace I often preach.

Admittedly, I have met students who were in martial arts for the wrong reasons. These were bullies and thugs who wanted free license to damage other people--they could care less about the hundreds of years of tradition. Simply put, they just wanted to hurt somebody. Unfortunately, I imagine that those who have no experience with martial arts assume the majority of us are like that, and that is not the case. Those people were--and are, I'm happy to say--a sad minority.

I've met the kindest, gentlest people through martial arts. These are people who may perform well in the ring, but who would otherwise take great care to avoid or prevent violence. They are giving, empathetic creatures-perhaps because they know what pain feels like, they give it a greater respect and think twice before causing any themselves.

A lot of people develop their first bit of self-confidence through martial arts...not because they can beat someone up, but because they have mastered a complex set of skills, or survived one of the toughest workouts on the planet. Martial arts develop discipline in unruly children and absent-minded adults. Training can keep depression at bay and improve sleep. There are dozens of benefits one receives without even so much as stepping near a boxing ring.

Without going into nasty details that would hurt or humiliate people I love, my childhood was not a happy one. There was abuse--some physical, but mostly emotional--on an almost daily basis, which completely eroded my self-esteem. I could stand up for my friends, but never for myself. My elementary school was ruled by a pack of mean-spirited older girls who threatened violence if you accidentally glanced their way. When I look back on my youth, the overriding feeling I remember is fear--fear at home, and fear at school. Not a nice way to grow up.

My opinion of myself was so low that by the time I was a teenager, I couldn't look in the mirror unless the lights were off. I was convinced that I was the ugliest person whoever lived, and so did not desire to live. I was often suicidal, and deeply miserable. Only my writing and a few close friends got me through that period.

When I moved to the city, I was still scared. Walking down busy streets, I was convinced that I would be mugged. Whenever I left my home, I was positive it would be broken into. As a wounded bird, I attracted more than my share of cruel, abusive men.

Martial arts didn't change my personality overnight, but slowly, my inner strength began to build. This was the same survival instinct that had seen me through so many tough times--only, now it was encouraged to thrive. I walked with my head held high. I found the courage to speak my mind. I didn't become a bully or a thug, but I was no longer a victim. I walked away from the people who treated me like crap, and surrounded myself with good friends and positive relationships. Muay thai gave me the courage to reinvent myself, and every time I train, I get stronger. I still put myself down far too often, and take mistakes too hard, but I am learning to be kinder to myself. I'm becoming a better person, one kick at a time.

I'm not saying that my experience with martial arts is the same as everyone else's. But what I do know is that when I train, I'm not surrounded by dangerous, violent people. I train with healthy, happy souls who have smiles on their faces and an encouraging word for everyone...even strangers.

Not what you picture when you think of martial artists? Then I hope I've at least helped to change your mind.

Fun Friday XXX: Rain, Rain, Go Away....

2011-05-27T05:00:00.000-05:00

Happy Friday, Dear Readers, and welcome to flood country. Where I live, they're forecasting a full weekend of rain...rain we definitely don't need. The city has issued a basement-flooding advisory, and our rivers are still swelling well past capacity. I feel very sorry for the poor farmers to the south.

With rain in mind, I thought it would be fun to discuss the best way to spend a rainy day. How do you entertain yourself when there's a downpour outside? Are you one of those people who does what you want, rain or shine, or are you more a "weather permitting" kind of person? How did you occupy yourself on rainy days when you were a kid? How do you entertain your own children?

How does the rain make you feel? Does it bring you down, or do you love the way the air smells when it rains? Any and all comments welcome. Stay dry!

As for me, the very best way to spend a rainy day is safe at home, snug in bed, with a great book, wonderful snacks, and two very cuddly kitties. I hate having to go anywhere when it's raining, and cloudy skies make me blue, but if I can stay home and relax, it's not so bad. A hot bath is always a nice option, too...especially if you've been caught in the rain.

But thunder and lightening storms make me want to write. I love working on one of my scary novels while there's a terrific storm going on outside. It sets the mood and completely inspires me. I find it hard to resist.

Your turn, Dear Readers. Have a great weekend!

**This wonderful illustration is by PeggyDressel

Challenge #10: That Empty Feeling

2011-05-25T05:00:00.010-05:00

Smile while you still can, lady. That rush will be over soon enough.

Welcome back, Dear Readers. I hope everyone who had a long weekend thoroughly enjoyed it. Thanks to everyone who sent me birthday wishes, whether here on the blog or on Facebook. You made my day!

As we all know, hindsight is 20/20, and when I look back, I can see a lot of reasons that I found myself in such a financial mess. Sure, there were unexpected emergencies that I just couldn't cover with savings alone. And I didn't scale back my spending accordingly when I scaled back my successful freelance business and took lower-paying jobs. But I really got into trouble when I began to use shopping as an emotional crutch.

I think most of us know that you can't cure emotional emptiness or any kind of depression with shopping, but too many of us try. Buying something new triggers a temporary endorphin boost that can mimic happiness. The trouble is, it doesn't last. And the resulting bills can trigger a new round of depression.

My legendary shoe collection is the result of two relationships: one merely incompatible, the other miserable. At one point, I had almost daily "gifts" coming to my house from EBay sellers. It was like Christmas every day. But even that kind of artificial joy wears off, and soon packages would languish unopened. I'd have to remind myself to try clothes on before it got past the date where I could return them if they didn't fit.

You've probably heard of emotional eating. Well, I was an emotional shopper. My life is much better now, but life is never perfect, and I had to develop healthier ways of coping with occasional depression, boredom, and loneliness. None of this is rocket science, but a hard workout, time with good friends or the love of my life, a cuddle with the cats, or just a hot bath with a good book makes me feel better without wrecking havoc on my bank account. This was a lesson hard-learned, but I'm so glad I learned it when I did. Things could have been so much worse.

This post concludes the Climbing Out of the Big, Black Hole series. I hope it's been helpful. Have you ever used shopping to cheer you up? What healthy measures do you take to blast yourself out of a blue mood?

Fun Friday XXIX: Take This Job and Shove It

2011-05-20T05:00:00.001-05:00

Happy Friday, everyone. If you're in a region of the world that has a long weekend coming up, enjoy! I'm praying the weather reports are wrong, and that we'll actually get some sunshine on Saturday and Sunday.

For this week's Fun Friday, I want you to tell me about your worst job. We all had to start somewhere...what was your worst of the worst?

My worst job was a slow death in a beige cubicle. Everywhere I looked, all I could see was beige. Even the people were beige. I was surrounded by co-workers in their twilight years who said, "It was just a summer job when I was fifteen...just a summer job...." That place was a trap I was desperate to escape. I would have gnawed off my own arm if the museum position hadn't come along.

I should have known I was in trouble when the office supplies I inherited from my predecessor had the word Help scrawled on them. Or when the vacant cubicle next to mine was filled with name plates--names of the poor souls who came before me but hadn't survived. When I left that place, I took my name plate with me. There was no way I was adding to that trophy wall.

There wasn't much for me to do, but what there was was mundane, monotonous, and tied up with red tape. Any creative spark was quickly crushed under foot. I went crazy with boredom. The other bright, ambitious souls who'd been trapped along with me left before I did, with each departure leaving me sadder and more alone.

I worked with a team of women who, left to their own devices and without much to do, grew nastier and nastier. They devolved into a pack of wild dogs, snapping and snarling. They chose victims and circled, making their prey's life one of misery and ostracism. My poor male boss had no idea what was going on and couldn't understand it, so the situation only got worse.

I have never felt more free than the day I left that office for the very last time. And I will never work in a place like that again, ever. The very worst day at the museum is a million times better than a "good" day there.

Free at last, free at last, thank god almighty, I'm free at last.

Happy Birthday to Me? Part Two

2011-05-19T05:00:00.001-05:00

Yep, it's that time of year again. Sigh....

Usually, I don't mind my birthday (having a birthday is better than the alternative, right?), but last Saturday at my dojo's kickboxing tournament, I looked around and thought, "wow, am I the oldest one still doing this?"

I know that's not the case, and even if it was, I should be proud of it--not embarrassed--but there's something unnerving about getting to an age that makes people gasp in disbelief. Yes, people, it's true. I have lived that long. There is life after thirty (and after twenty, for that matter).

I've decided to face my birthday curse head-on and pack the weekend with fun plans, if only to keep me from delving into lonely introspection. I'm proud of my twenties: I started a successful business; spent a month in Africa on assignment; sowed my share of wild oats; lived with a friend, a lover, and on my own (not all at once); ventured into the corporate world; and saw my bylines on the front page of a major newspaper. In short, I really lived. But what have my thirties been about?

It's not like I haven't accomplished a thing in this decade, but there's still so many aspects of my life where I haven't seemed to make any progress. No published books. I'm still living in the same place I vowed to leave. No fights in the ring (hopefully that will happen this fall). But I am almost out of debt, so that's something, and I'm surrounded with much better people. In any case, I have a lot of work ahead to make this decade of my life truly memorable.

I hope that, by my next birthday, I'll be able to look back and say, "Wow, look at all I accomplished!"

Until then, let us eat cake.

Challenge #9: The Giver

2011-05-18T05:00:00.001-05:00

Happy Hump Day, Dear Readers.

I feel a bit odd continuing this Climbing Out of the Big, Black Hole series, since I'm almost out of debt, but I still have a (short) ways to go, and hopefully telling my story can help others avoid these financial pitfalls.

While cutting back on the things I bought for myself was hard enough, curbing what I purchased for others was worse. I love gift-giving. One of my favorite things to do was to go shopping with a friend, watch as she raved about and pined over something she couldn't afford, and then sneak back and buy it for her. Usually by the time Christmas or her birthday rolled around, she'd completely forgotten about it and was ecstatic to receive it.

Giving a great gift isn't about money, of course. It's the thought involved. By have any of you noticed how often those thoughts cost dearly? I always tried to keep to a budget of under $1,000 for Christmas gifts. It never worked, even when I made a lot of the gifts myself. I also loved to entertain, and would invite people over for parties that included huge platters of food and open access to my little bar. Only in the last year or two have I been able to get my generous nature under control.

My friends (hopefully) still know I love them. And I'm sure not a single one wants an extravagant gift from me while I'm still mired in the misery of CIBC owning my ass. Most of us have agreed that time together is more important than things, so on special occasions, we've shared cheap (but delicious!) dinners together, gone for a walk, or watched a matinee.

While I am looking forward to more flexibility when it comes to presents for friends and family, I'm going to be better at setting a budget and sticking to it in the future. Spending yourself into a hole is a gift to no one.

How about you? Do you find it easier to spend more on family and friends than you would on yourself? Do you go crazy around the holidays? How do you keep your gift-giving under control?