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Trusting Others with Your Courage

October 3, 2012 in Broken Pieces, Courage, When Life Hurts by D.B. Smyth | @DB_Smyth

Redefining courage within the context of trauma.

Big Flakes and a Lil' Red Wagon

Copyright © 2011 Just call me Jac via Flickr, cc Some rights reserved

Day 1 I was terrified. Day 54 I became numb. Day 210 I was done. Really done. I-can’t-take-one-more-step done. All I wanted to do was to close my eyes and never wake up to the numbness that had separated me from everything in my life, including myself.

But I did take one more step.

And then I took another.

I took a long series of one-steps all the way through months of therapy, packing a home, moving across the country, trying to start a new life and, hopefully, forget the old one.

Day 459 I learned there wouldn’t be a trial. Not enough evidence. Only my word against his, and my word wasn’t enough.

I gave up.

No more steps. No more trying. The apocalyptic war inside me had finally destroyed everything, leaving nothing but burnt out buildings and charcoaled corpses in its wake.

“I can’t take one more step,” I cried to my husband, the dear sweet man who had already supported me through so much. “This is where I sit.”

“It’s okay,” he said.

“It is?”

“Yeah, because I’ll put you in my little red wagon and pull you until you have strength enough to stand.”

“What happens when you get tired,” I asked.

“Then we’ll hitch up the dogs and let them pull us both.”

I laughed and cried and pictured a series of paintings that started with a little boy pulling a little girl in a little red wagon and ended with two pit bulls doing the pulling as the boy held the girl in his arms.

Sometimes life becomes so hard we can’t take one more step. The journey has beaten us down, our feet our tired, and we simply cannot muster the ability to move forward. I believe at those times it is essential that we trust others to help pull us along.

Courage isn’t doing everything by ourselves, it is recognizing when we need to place our trust in the strength of someone else. When we can’t see. When we can’t process. When the forest is too crowded and the sky too dark… these are the moments when we need to climb into someone else’s wagon for a time (not forever) and let them help us through the night.

Trust is scary, and it’s definitely not easy.

I must do this alone! we think. I don’t need anyone’s help! I don’t want anyone’s help. 

Because somehow needing help is akin to admitting defeat. We have failed. We are weak. We have fallen before fear.

Myth. Falsehood. Lies.

Utilizing every resource possible to survive is success. Asking for help requires strength. And both demonstrate the ability to act in spite of fear.

Whether a spouse, family member or friend—find someone you can entrust with your courage. This person maybe different at different times. Sometimes it is my hubbs. Sometimes it’s one of my siblings. Often times it’s one of my many wonderful, amazing and heartfelt friends.

And sometimes that person is me.

Courage is trusting others—understanding our limits and knowing when to ask for help. It’s climbing into their little red wagon when we can’t take one more step, and letting go of control so our arms can be open to reach for hope.

“If you cannot trust anything else, can you trust me?” my husband asked.

“Yes,” I replied.

“Then just for this time, trust me that you are loved. You are worth fighting for.”

We don’t have to walk alone.

Day 1409 I am happy. Tomorrow I will take one more step.

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by D.B. Smyth | @DB_Smyth

We Are Here!–When Others Cry for Help

September 13, 2012 in Broken Pieces by D.B. Smyth | @DB_Smyth

(From Horton Hears a Who)

Mayor: They don’t believe we’re here! We’ve got to make some noise. We are here! We are here! We are here!

Whoville: We are here! We are here! We are here!

The movie goes on to show the people of Whoville as they try to convince the animals in Horton’s world that, although they are too small to see, they exist and, therefore, are worth saving.

Yet their cries fall on deaf ears. No one but Horton can hear them.

About to be destroyed, one small Who, who has been previously misunderstood because he is different from his 97 other siblings, yells into the sky, “Yopp!” (Don’t ask me, I didn’t write it. Maybe the sub titles are wrong?)

Anyway, his voice is the one to break the barrier, allowing all the other Who voices to be heard and their world to be saved.

Happy ending.

It should’ve been over.

But days later I still cannot get the chanting out of my head.

“We are here! We are here! We are here!”

I thought of Miss A, who has threatened to take her life on multiple occasions. Others poke fun and say stupid things like, “She just wants attention,” and I think, “Yes! She does!” And it’s not a want, idiots, it’s a need. This is her plea to be seen. Her way of shouting “I am here!”

I thought of Mr. B, who gobbles up your personal space and whose flirting, while harmless, can be a bit uncomfortable. He’s just a kid and I know he doesn’t mean to come across that way, but some choose to judge instead of validate. He is lonely and needs to be reminded that he matters. His overt flirting is his way of shouting, “I am here!”

I thought of Miss C, a teenage girl, who puts her pain into poetry. When others read her work they complement her use of imagery and language. In focusing on the beauty, no one seems to notice stanzas laced with pain. Her written shout, “I am here!”

And I thought of the less desperate circumstance of Ms. D, an older woman who continues to give all of her time and resources to her grown children. She’s the first to bring meals when they are sick, watch grandchildren when the parents want to go out, and give money whenever they are in need. All her love poured into children who often don’t want her around. Her service a shout, “I am here!”

There are more. So many strangers, family and friends crying out, “We are here!”

Thousands–perhaps millions–of people shouting to the sky, in our own unique ways, that we are here, and hoping that someone will hear us. Save us. Or, in the very least, that they will stop trying to destroy us.

We want to be noticed. We want to be validated. We want to be understood and accepted for who we are, regardless of how small or how different our world might seem to others.

“We are here! We are here! We are here!”

Are we listening? Can we hear them?

She Had Such Sad Eyes.

Copyright © 2011 Spitefully via Flickr, cc Some rights reserved

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Mini Book Review: Rape Girl

May 22, 2012 in Beautiful Things, Broken Pieces, Worth Mentioning by D.B. Smyth | @DB_Smyth

I normally don’t post reviews here… too many industry rules (mostly unwritten) for my taste, but I had to share this one.

Rape GirlRape Girl by Alina Klein

My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Blurb

“Valerie always wanted to be the smart girl. The pretty girl. The popular girl.

But not the rape girl.

That’s who she is now. Rape Girl. Because everyone seems to think they know the truth about what happened with Adam that day, and they don’t think Valerie’s telling it.

Before, she had a best friend, a crush, and a close-knit family. After, she has a court case, a support group, and a house full of strangers.

The real truth is, nothing will ever be the same.

Rape Girl is the compelling story of a survivor who does the right thing and suffers for it. It is also the story of a young woman’s struggle to find the strength to fight back.”

My Review

Powerful and moving. I only put it down twice because I had to breathe. I loved Alina’s approach to creating Valerie’s world and experience, and appreciated that such an event was told with the simple yet painful details of a life falling apart from trauma. I hesitate to expound because I feel this story is best experienced in the pages of Alina’s book–where it can be more intimate and personal–and not here on my blog.

And the ending? I never saw it coming. Oh that I could express all the things I’m feeling right now by such an ending! But I don’t want to ruin it for you.

Thanks to Alina for sharing this heartwrenching story of hope and inner strength. I hope someday to be as strong as Valerie.

View all my reviews

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by D.B. Smyth | @DB_Smyth

I Get Knocked Down

July 20, 2011 in Beautiful Things, When Life Hurts by D.B. Smyth | @DB_Smyth

It’s going to happen. A crit partner is going to offend you. An agent is going to reject your query. A publisher is going to pass on your story. A reviewer is going to HATE what you wrote. And the nay-sayers in your life are going to shake their heads and give you the “I told you so” look when anything not-good happens and remind you that you should never have tried to become an author.

You’re going to get knocked down.

Sometimes more than once. And while you’re down there someone might just kick you, repeatedly. You’re going to wonder why you started down this path. What made you think that you could be a writer? What made you think you had what it took to be successful in a market so saturated with stories that the slush pile makes Mt. Everest look like a speed bump? What the dump were you thinking?!?

And that, my friends, is when you’re going to… Get. Back. Up.

Broken, bleeding, wanting to call it quits, you are going rise from the asphalt of the back alley where Fear, Doubt and Negativity jumped you and you are going to stand tall.

The onlookers will yell, “Stay down! Don’t be a fool!” They’ll tell you its over. You gave it your best. You have nothing to be ashamed of. They will tell you to give up.

But you aren’t going to listen to them. You aren’t even going to see them. With the roar of your heart pounding in your ears you are going to look at the trio I call Team Defeat and you are going to say, “You’re never gonna keep me down!”

Say it again.

Now scream it. “YOU’RE NEVER GONNA KEEP ME DOWN!”

Because they can’t. Fear and Doubt and Negativity can take a flying leap. They are nothing but bullies. The only power they have is the power you give them. And you’re not going to do that, are you?

You’re going to wipe the blood from your face, pull yesterday’s Chinese from your clothes, and raise your fists for another round!

Why? Not because destiny chose you to be a writer, but because you chose writing to be your destiny.

Now, get back up and go give ‘em hell!

 

“I get knocked down, but I get up again.
You’re never going to keep me down.”

What helps you pick yourself back up when you get knocked down?

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by D.B. Smyth | @DB_Smyth

5 Things I Realized from NOT Winning

January 19, 2011 in Beautiful Things, Featured Articles, The Writing Life by D.B. Smyth | @DB_Smyth

Homecoming Queen, 1956

Copyright © 1956 Duke University Archives

A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away I was nominated for homecoming queen at my high school. I was one of three finalists. Actually, I was number 4 by a handful of votes and the oh-so-sweet Becky M. dropped out so I could be in the running for the final vote. I was awkward. Socially backward. And had spent the previous year without a single friend (not even exaggerating). What hopes did I have of being crowned homecoming queen? I can remember waiting backstage during the first assembly. It was mostly dark, the only light spilling from the stage into the wings through black curtains. I paced the floor, trying not to let my heels clink against the painted wood. I don’t know that I’d call myself beautiful, but I felt pretty in my borrowed dress and curled hair (which was usually found in a single braid down my back). And the whole time I chanted inside, “Congratulations Anna. Congratulations Shaylee.” The other two girls. They were both from the drill team and very popular with everyone. Why wouldn’t they win? And as much as I wanted the moment of feeling special… I knew that it really belonged to them. Not the awkward girl in biology who was accused of “undressing” for the senior football team because she had a nervous twitch of playing with her top button. They sat, seemingly calm, in their chairs away from the curtains while I paced and chanted and paced some more. When the winner was finally announced it took a few beats for me to realize they had called my name. I was shocked. And I cried. (It was the moment I decided to never make fun of the weeping Miss America chick ever again). Winning was amazing. Is this what popular kids felt like all the time?

Fast forward to a few days ago. I felt the same panic, the same excitement, as I hit SEND on my email to Lydia Sharp for her writing contest. Done! I could have puked. I went straight to my husband and said, “This is just for a critique. It’s ok that I’ve already revised it 8 times. Whatever she says will be helpful to my novel and my writing…. right? I don’t have to win to be a good person? I’m not going to win.” And then the same chant from high school became my daily rhetoric, “Congratulations Better Writer. Congratulations Better Writer.”

Then I received her feedback. I was speechless. She didn’t change a thing. Not one thing. Had she read this? Was she tired after reading 74 other entries? But knowing Lydia (as much as one can know them from their blog), I knew she gave every entry equal attention. And I knew she’d be honest. *stunned silence* was the email I sent back. So yes, my hopes increased that maybe… just maybe… I might get a repeat of that singular high school moment. The one in a million lottery of awesomeness. But still I chanted, “Congratulations Better Writer.”

And sure enough… someone else won. I have to be honest. I was just a little disappointed. Honorable mention ROCKS! And I’m grateful to have made the list. OH SO GRATEFUL! But “what had I done wrong that kept me from numero uno?” plagued me.

And that’s when it hit me. I didn’t do anything wrong. The aha moment was a blue sky in dismal January.

From NOT winning, I learned (or had reinforced) that…

1. Our writing is NOT us.
My writing and it’s ability to win/not win or be published/rejected does not reflect on my awesomeness as a person. It is VITAL in this industry that we separate our self concept from the success or failure of our writing. Our writing is a product. We are people. Our product is inanimate (as much as our characters feel real… they are NOT real). My MC is not going to go cry herself to sleep on her huge pillow because her story wasn’t chosen, so neither should I. Which leads me to…

2. Rejection of our story is NOT [always] an indication of our ability to write.
Lydia said it best when she wrote, “we asked ourselves, which of these do we, personally, feel passionate enough about to invest our time and effort”. Her critique indicated there was nothing to fix in my first 500 words. Why not pick me? Because her passion was for another work… maybe several other works before mine.

Agents are going to pass on our stories. That’s a part of the process. Some will ask for partials. Some might ask for fulls. But not all of them will pick our story out of the query lottery because they are not 100% passionate about what we are writing. And THAT’S OKAY! When I go to a book store and choose a book to buy, does that mean every other book on the shelf sucks? Nope. I just picked the one that resonates with me.

Of course there is always a chance that our writing really is horrible, but that is what a good critique group is for. Which means…

3. We canNOT disregard the feeback of awesome critique group–good and bad.
Trust is hard for me (there’s all sorts of issues there that would require me to lay down on some one’s couch so we’ll just skip those). But as difficult as it may be, I cannot discount the importance of my writing posse. Find amazing writers to read and edit your stuff. It’s imperative! I should say, ”amazing, HONEST writers.” Listen to them. Be open to their feedback (check out Janice Hardy’s post, “Is it me? Putting Critiques to Good Use“). And then, when they finally tell you it’s good stuff. Trust them. Meaning…

4. We should NOT look for reasons why we suck.
When your group says, “This is amazing!”, you should say thank you! Or you might ask what they liked. Don’t start into “but this” or “but that.”

We need to give ourselves permission to ROCK instead of looking for reasons why we suck! I’m not saying you should get a rock star head or become a prima dona, but it’s okay to recognize that you are a good writer. (Just don’t go around wearing a banner and tiara). Be honest. Like your critique group is honest. Be excited, like you’d want your reader to be excited. Accept that you have talent and accept that you still have room to grow. But at the end of the day, remember that you and your writing are seperate.

5. We only fail when we do NOT try.
I’ll just refer you to Julie Musil’s post on Not Trying = Defeat. LOVE her post! When we stop writing because of a critique or because our story didn’t get picked or because we’re afraid, that is when we fail. Not before.

So a HUGE thanks goes out to Lydia for not only hosting the contest, but for teaching me a few things about craft and industry. This was a really great experience!!! And I am so appreciative of your kind (HONEST) words and that you would choose me as honorable mention. *blushes with gratitude and humility* I hope I didn’t come across as ungrateful, because I’m anything but.

And an honest, heartfelt congratulations goes to Audrey Lockwood! And all the other fabulous honorable mentions. In reality, anyone who submitted succeeded because you tried.

Keep pressing forward because someday you will win. Your name will be called. And you’ll step from the shadows of the writerly backstage and into the spotlight of publishing. It will happen. It will.

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