When I was in elementary school, every morning Mr. H would come over the PA system, blasting “My Girl” before delivering the morning announcements. After the announcements were done, a student would lead the school in the Pledge of Allegiance. This practice happened every morning of my school life from elementary until my senior year when we were given the option of not rising or reciting. As a tired senior, I was grateful for the option of staying seated, and I never really considered the significance of what we spoke each morning for so many years. The practice continued, of course, and as I sat there, I started to think about the words. The original words are as follows:
“I pledge allegiance to my flag and the Republic for which it stands, one nation, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.”
The addition of the phrases “of the United States of America,” and “under God,” weren’t added until much later. I’m not debating the addition of these words today, but what I am drawn to is the significance of the word “indivisible.” It’s not even a joke anymore how clearly split down the center my country is. The memes hide the excruciating sadness at such a fragile thread of balance left. There are two major camps, something that always amazes me how people can be lumped into one specific group when the issues are so diverse. To me, this is not what the founders of our country had in mind when they began the bells of revolution just 245 years ago. In my short span of life, that feels like an age has passed. And with the rush of technology and information, it certainly can be described as such.
In one of my favorite underrated musicals, 1776, there’s a powerful scene where they’re preparing to vote on the resolution for revolution (essentially). The vote has been stalled because the south wants the clause about slavery being abolished removed, and the north doesn’t want to take it out. Here’s a quote from that scene:
Benjamin Franklin: “John, I beg you consider what you’re doing.” John Adams: “Mark me, Franklin, we give in on this issue, posterity will never forgive us.” Benjamin Franklin: “That’s probably true, but we won’t hear a thing, we’ll be long gone. Besides, what will posterity think we were, demi-gods? We’re men, no more, no less, trying to get a nation started against greater odds than a more generous god would have allowed. First things first, John. Independence. America. If we don’t secure that, what difference will the rest make?”
I bring this scene up not because I want to prove that slavery was kept to appease the south, but more because I reached an understanding high school me didn’t see. The founders weren’t more than men brought together to build something new, something completely unheard of, and we’ve raised them to the level Franklin mentions. I’m not naive enough to believe that those men were infallible, that they were the brilliant beings we tout them to be, but I respect what they were trying to do. Franklin’s comment about how if they didn’t secure independence, there’d be nothing to fight for, that fits the part of me that wants to fight for the world.
I don’t have a very loud voice on the internet, but I am doing my research to see what I can to help end the division. In my immediate surroundings, anyway. History cleaned the books up too well, and the issues plaguing us now are because we are too fragile to see what was done to build the country we currently call home. Land was stolen, backs were broken, blood was spilt, lives were lost to provide what we have today. Trying to shove that under the proverbial carpet is irresponsible and incorrect. Lying to ourselves about our past is only hurting us and our future. We cannot grow if we refuse to accept what we’ve done.
There’s one more quote I have from 1776 that remains to this day what I try to live my life by. Abigail Adams, in the musical, is trying to remind her husband of why he’s fighting for this whole thing, and she quotes something he said to her once, and that is:
“There are two creatures of value on the face of this earth: those with a commitment and those who require the commitment of others.”
This quote stokes the fire I have for lifting others up, for trying to help the world be a better place for everyone. Again, I’m not so foolish to believe it can be done quickly, but I’m firmly rooted in my belief that it can be done. I take those words to mean I require commitment of others–to do the best they can. To learn, to grow, to work toward being better. To treating others better. But not to do more than they are able. Minds can be changed. It takes monumental effort, but it can be done. We don’t yell or shout down violence on those who yell back at us. No, we take this to the quieter ones. The ones who see both sides. We talk, and we listen, and we then take what we learn back to whatever side we’re on, and we educate. We share what we learn, and we then build each other up.
It’s my fervent hope. I want accountability from those who need to own up to the reality of what our history was, and I want to see us grow together.
Once more I found myself uncertain of what I wanted to write about this week, and I still don’t think I have a full grasp on it yet, but we’ll try it out and see how far we go. I’ve been thinking a lot about self-worth and self-image and before you tune me out and say “this ain’t a self-help blog,” I know. And I know I’ve talked about this kind of stuff before on this blog, but I gotta just put my thoughts down here.
It’s an interesting thing nowadays, where we have the socialization on the internet. Complete strangers read what I write and sometimes click a button showing they enjoyed what I had to say. “Back in my day,” I say like I’m wise enough to, we didn’t have the luxury of tucking ourselves behind a digital screen to consider ourselves social. It might be a leap to call social media “socializing,” but I’ve witnessed friends end friendships on Facebook over something someone said, and that’s just as real life as anything else. Sure, it may not be fisticuffs in the parking lot after work or anything, but the way people take certain things seriously online these days is wild to me.
I guess that’s where I question why I do this blog. I appreciate that I have a goal to maintain it and keep it going because it’s very much for me more than it is for anything else. I do appreciate those of you who read this and continue to read it, but I don’t know. I’m not quitting, just pondering the efficacy of such a life. Where validation has become external and internalizing that sounds like a foreign concept.
I’ve always thought I had a deep self hatred–which I do–but it’s not every day that I think I’m garbage. It’s only when something I perceive as significant happens that I tend to spiral into a thought loop of hate and “you’re not worth the effort.” Now, let me clarify by what I mean when I say something I perceive as significant, because there have been times where I’ve felt something pretty powerful about the way I’ve been treated, and the person (or persons) who did the thing to me don’t see it the way I do. A wise friend of mine once told me to make sure I was telling the right story to myself to see if how I was reacting was accurate or if it was what I thought I should be feeling. Because of that, I’ve grown a lot in my perception of how I respond to things.
But what I’m talking about, the significant thing, I mean something like a personal failure. I’ve been trying to get in the habit of regularly walking/jogging with one of my best friends after work (our parking lot allows for such a side quest), and my gut reaction most of the time is “another day,” or “next week will be better.” I posted about the book The Power of Habit on here recently, and one of the things the author brings up as a key force in changing habit is the power of belief in that change. I go into full panic mode when change happens. I don’t do well with it, not even slightly. Even if it’s positive. The reason being is I don’t have the core belief that I am capable of being who I want to be.
Do you know how heartbreaking that is to realize? My niece, who’s 2 1/2 ish years old, adores me and she knows I am so full of love for her. She doesn’t know how little I care about myself. Mainly because that part of me doesn’t exist when I’m around her. She deserves the best the world can give her.
But so do I. I’m not good at this. Where I confront myself and try to see a way around the problem until I can fix it properly. Because it bubbles up and turns into days where my throat hurts because I’ve been holding back tears. Self pity is one thing, but knowing the way you feel about yourself isn’t good is a completely different thing. It gets tricky when you try to change that because if you’re like me, you have almost two decades of practice throwing yourself to the proverbial wolves and hoping you make it out the other side. I know I’ve said this before, but I don’t tell people that mental illness gets better, because it doesn’t really. You find ways to carry it differently, so your neural patterns go a different way when certain things happen. The change bit there is almost subconsciously done because we tend to shy away from discomfort.
I’m not sure if this all makes sense, or even if it flows well. I don’t think I’ve said all I wanted to, but I don’t know how to express that at the moment. This weekend I’m being gentle with myself and telling myself it’s okay to skip mowing the lawn because the bees need the clover. I hope you’re well, and I hope you have a pleasant weekend. You are worthy of good things, and it’s not a problem if you take time for yourself.
Click-bait title aside, this week I feel like talking about something a bit different. I love music at the same level I love reading, and while I don’t have the time (and you probably don’t have the desire) to go into every single song or piece that’s influenced me, I’m going to give a small rundown of some of the music that’s made a difference in my life. These are in no particular order, and a link to the full album will be given at the end of the post if I can find a playlist on YouTube.
Phobia by Breaking Benjamin
This album was my main writing music back when I was first working on Fulcrum and for a while the song “Breath” was one of the main character’s theme, but that’s since changed to “King Rat” by Modest Mouse. One of the big reasons I love this album is how each song can be applied to some memory I have of a feeling during some of the harder parts of my life. My favorite song is a tie between “Had Enough,” “Dance with the Devil,” and “Unknown Soldier.”
This Time Around by Hanson
Of course, whenever I say I’m a fan of Hanson, everyone always goes, “ohhh, the Mmmbop boys!” And yes, them, but the rest of their music is ridiculously fantastic. They’ve never once broken up or taken a hiatus. They make music constantly and have one of the biggest fan bases ever. I’ve been to a few of their concerts and each were some good times. They know how to play to the crowd, and they are talented musicians as well as singers. I have Zac Hanson’s autograph on my wall, and it’s one of my prized possessions. I love this album because while Middle of Nowhere showcased their lyrical talent (shut up, listen to them and tell me those are solid lyrics), This Time Around is where they really start to get into the harmonies that don’t sound sort of tinny. They are all incredible singers, with Taylor and Zac usually taking the lead vocals. Zac’s my favorite. (Side note, there’s a video of me at a concert where Zac took his hair down and you can hear me in the background going, “oh my god, Zac took his hair down. Zac took his hair down!” I was not a teenager…)
Hail to the Thief by Radiohead
I don’t remember how long ago it was I first heard Radiohead, but this album was the beginning of my “I’ll binge an album for several days” obsession with music. It’s my favorite of the albums, and it has some really smooth sounds on it. When I get into music, I tend to listen to the sound first and then the lyrics, which is a big factor for one of the later collections on this list. I found myself drawn to the weird sound Radiohead produced. Thom Yorke has a distinctive voice, and their songs all tend to have a “well that’s different” quality to them. None of that is a bad thing to me. My favorite songs are “Sail to the Moon,” “There, There,” and “A Wolf at the Door.”
Radiohead is the first band I really listened to when I wanted to branch out of my standard, more conservative stuff. I say that, and the next album is definitely not conservative, but here it is.
Meteora by Linkin Park
I always feel cheap and cheesy when I get emotional over a celebrity’s passing, but with Chester, it was really hard. This album got me through some of my roughest times. I felt like someone understood what I was going through (and I know that sounds like all the angst ridden teenager stuff it is). When you’re in the thick of it, hearing someone say out loud in words you never could what your head is like 24/7 is pretty powerful. I feel like people shit on Linkin Park for the way their sound changed, but as someone who’s been a fan since their first album, personally I loved hearing their growth. Each album was something new, which is a rarity I feel these days because most of the music sounds the same. I know I sound like an old fuddy duddy, but there’s a reason why I have no idea who most of the major artists of the 2010s are. When I hear songs like “Breaking the Habit,” or “From the Inside,” or “Nobody’s Listening,” I get that feeling of safety I had when I listened to the album on my Walkman on the bus ride home, full volume so people knew I was that mysterious girl who had intense feelings (I’ve always been self aware, don’t worry). And then “Session” is just fantastic in its sound production.
Leaders of the Free World by Elbow
If you want to talk about hearing the sound and then feeling the lyrics later, this album 100% is that for me. All of the songs on this sound so good, and then you listen to the lyrics and suddenly you’re transported to feelings you weren’t sure you knew how to feel. I first heard of Elbow after coming across a playlist by an author (I won’t mention names, but if you were ever a teenage girl who thought you needed love from a sparkly vampire, you know where I’m coming from and we can all move on), and I decided the whole album sounded fairly decent. I listened to it for years before I paid attention to what they were singing, and while that may sound ridiculous, I still can’t hear the right words to Gwen Stefani’s “Hollaback Girl” (Few times I’ve been around that track so it’s after school to have a midnight snack). So yes, the lyrics are spectacular. My favorites are “Forget Myself,” “Everthere,” and “Great Expectations.”
Hilary Hahn Plays Bach by… Hilary Hahn
The amount of times I’ve listened to this album in particular is immeasurable. I am not a fan of Bach normally, but the way Ms. Hahn infuses emotion into her playing turns this otherwise dull (to me!) composer into someone worth listening to. I met her once, and cried in front of her because I can’t deal with social situations with goddesses, but she signed my copy of her CD and it’s now something I listen to most Saturdays when I need to feel at peace. I don’t have a favorite from this album because the whole thing is such a wonderful experience.
Ofnir by Heilung
Talk about out of left field, huh? This is a recent listen for me. The album itself has been around since 2015, but I didn’t hear it until earlier this year while I was stuck on Fulcrum. This is 100% a favorite because of the sounds. Heilung is described as “sounds from the northern European Iron Age and Viking period.” (from their bandcamp page) I don’t remember what song I heard first, but I ended up buying this and their other album Futha the next paycheck I got. Since then, I’ve listened to them both on repeat nonstop for most of my work days and it’s been motivating as well as centering. Such an odd feeling that chants and guttural droning can get me grounded. But I fully recommend them if you’d like something new.
These Four Walls by We Were Promised Jetpacks
Another one chosen for sound first, lyrics later, this band is raucous but stupidly pleasant. They have a lot of repetitious lines and that normally gets annoying to me, but they make it work. I don’t remember where I first heard them, but it was probably on a Pandora radio station back in the day. I have most of their discography, and they keep producing seriously good music. Their name is also one of the best band names out there. I’d say more, but really it deserves a listen. My favorite songs are “Conductor,” “Quiet Little Voices,” and “An Almighty Thud.” Go listen. You might like it.
Noah Gundersen
This is the part of the post where we dive into categories because I can’t just give one album. Starting this off is Noah Gundersen. I’d say I’m in love with him, but I’m not really. I just appreciate his work and his sound is what my head feels like most days. I love what he creates. I’ve been listening to him since some of his earlier albums like Ledges and Family, but he has a whole wealth of fantastic music to listen to. His very early work is more of a folk/indie sound, and his later sound is heavier with more drum and electric sounds. The evolution of his style has been delightful to witness. He works very hard to promote local music and he’s very much a socially conscious artist, part of why I appreciate what he does. He is humble, and he is so appreciative of his fans. I went to a concert of his for the first time a few years ago and it was on the same emotional level as the day my niece was born. I am still speechless to this day about it and it was in 2019. He hugged me after I gushed about how much I loved his work and also babbled about the book I was reading (because I am incapable of being normal), and then during the concert I forgot how to breathe a few times because he is just incredible. Some of my favorite songs of his are “The Sound,” “Little Cup,” “The Ocean,” “The Difference,” “Time Moves Quickly,” “The First Defeat,” and the last one I’ll give for now is “Oh, Death.”
And this brings us to the final category: Classical. This is already a super long post so I’ll try to keep this part short, but bear with me. I grew up getting the best of both music worlds because my dad was more into the rock ‘n roll and my mom was more classically inclined. I got stuff like the Beatles, the Who, Fleetwood Mac, Steely Dan, all the classic rock from my dad. And from my mom I got Chopin, Tchaikovsky, Debussy, and so on. I wasn’t too big on the earlier eras, like baroque, but once the Romantic composers kicked in, well. There is something indescribable about the way it feels to hear swells of an orchestra during an emotional moment in a piece. Cello solos where you feel like you’re being swept into a river of sound, violin piercing the parts of you that don’t want to remember things, but now you must. It’s enough to make me feel ridiculous, clearly. My first love is the piano, and one of my goals this year is to be better about practicing. It’s hard to focus, but habits can change. So for this category, I’m leaving a YouTube playlist of my favorites. Notable mentions: Elgar’s Nimrod variation, Liszt’s Un Sospiro, and La Campanella, Stravinsky’s Rite of Spring (Movements 1-3 in particular, also the Nutcracker by Tchaikovsky but that’s not on the playlist), Debussy’s Clair de Lune (absolutely a classic), and a few others.
If you’ve made it this far, thank you so much for spending this time with me today. I hope you’ve been able to relax and that maybe you’ve found some new music to listen to. Below are YouTube links to the albums above, and a playlist of my favorite classical pieces (links open in a new tab). Until next time, friends!
lemon poppy seed pancakes because spring and sunshine and lemons!
You know what’s really wild to me? Ten years ago, I never would have been able to understand my life as it is now. I graduated college (in December, but still). I also hit the lowest point I’d ever been in my life ten years ago, and events unfolded that will impact me forever.
I don’t really have much to say today other than it’s been almost a year since I signed my mortgage papers and I have no idea how to tell you how blown my mind is by that. Moral of the story, I guess, don’t give up on yourself when times are really rough. It’ll come together someday. It might take ten years. It might take twenty or more. But you owe it to yourself to find out.
Until next time, friends: you are everything you need for your own happiness.
I was going to do another How I Write today, but I’m not feeling it. I’m not sure what I’m feeling, to be honest. I wasn’t going to post today, but my goal this year is to post every week, and with the exception of maybe one week, I’ve done that. So today might just be a quick blarp into the universe about how it’s all right to have off days or something.
I try to put positivity into the world because there’s just so much negative nonsense going on, but it’s exhausting at times to be the bubble. I feel like that sounds a bit boo hoo Belinda, but really. I’m not always excited about life. There are more than doldrums that bog my joy down, and while I don’t always feel like talking about it, I think it’s important not to stifle those moments when they come. I tell people to let themselves feel what they feel, and yet when it comes to myself I tend to be really harsh and deny myself the advice I give others. I know this is not new to the world. This behavior is not unique to me.
But there’s a loneliness in it. There’s an emptiness that threatens to turn bitter like the aftertaste of an artificial sweetener. What you think is familiar is actually damaging more than you let yourself think. Wallowing is different than steeping, and I feel as long as I’m wallowing, I’ll be salvageable.
I’m going to go get some work done around the house, and I’m going to remember it’s okay to feel like an oversteamed potato every once in a while. The key to it is to remember to come back. Not to let it take root in your mind and become a gnarled mess you have to untangle later, when it’s worse.
With that said, here’s a photo of some fake flowers I bought myself yesterday because I had rewards points and I wanted to get myself something pretty.
I was the kid who didn’t get TV taken away when I was in trouble, I got my books taken away. I still found ways to read even when I was not supposed to. Telling me I couldn’t go outside wasn’t a problem for me, because I preferred escaping through the world of books. We didn’t live close enough for me to walk to my friends’ houses, so that wasn’t an issue for me either. My parents would have to find more creative ways to punish me for disobedience.
Books have always been my vice. When I lived with my mom for a bit and had my books in storage for over a year, the first thing I grabbed when I moved into my place was my crates of books. I add more and more to my “to read” shelves faster than I’m actually reading. Home is not home without my books.
But today we’re going to do a bit of a discussion about how brains work.
When I’m at the height of a depressive episode, I tend to shut down the parts of my brain that activate on creative stimulus. Easy distraction is how I live my life in those times, and so I watch a lot of Netflix, or I spend hours on YouTube trying to find ways to give my brain an easy way out from thinking so much about the stuff that makes my chest hurt.
The thing about that though is it becomes a habit. I struggle to focus on reading now because I got so in the habit of switching on easy media to keep my brain from spiraling. This isn’t to say I don’t read anymore, because I do, but it’s nowhere near the “read the entire Harry Potter series in five days over Spring Break” level I used to be.
I also have a full time job, and I have a home to own, so there are added responsibilities to my life I didn’t have when I could be so carefree with my time. I miss those days, though, when I could spend entire days reading a series and finishing two books in a day. I’ve considered devoting weekends to that, but then the adult part of my brain reminds me I have dishes to wash and laundry to get done. This reasoning also feels like an excuse sometimes, especially when I don’t get either the dishes or laundry done.
So, today’s post is more of a gentle reminder that it’s okay to let yourself get lost in a book every now and then. It’s okay to find your way back to the part of you that misses that feeling, whether it’s about books or some other hobby you could lose yourself to. I think breaking out of bad habits is excruciating because as we know change is something most people dig their toes into the sand over. For me, my goal is two books a month until I get my mojo back.
Small steps forward seem insignificant until you realize you’ve gone three miles.
At a desk, the kitchen table, sprawled on the couch, propped up in bed, the dashboard in my car on a lunch break, under a tree at the park, in full view of people so they can see me writing: I’ve done it all. I’m sure you can tell from the title that this post today is all about my creative workspace. I have a couple, and they’re all in the same room, so let me talk to you about them.
When I was house hunting last year, one of the requirements was 3 bedrooms. Not because I have a family or plan to have one, but I wanted a guest room, and an office. Most of my life I’ve never had the space to feel free to make a metaphorical (or literal) “creative” mess. I’ve either confined myself to my bedroom to write, had my desk available, but it functioned as a holder of other things and less like what a desk should be, or I’ve had to use the kitchen table. This isn’t a problem because it’s a lovely thing to have a kitchen table you then have to clear away so you can use it for food. But I still wanted more.
So, when my realtor showed me this house, the master bedroom fit my visions of the perfect space. When I moved in, my sister helped me paint the back wall “Delft pottery” blue, and I’ve been putting up all the things that inspire my creativity. A signed poster from my favorite singer/songwriter, Zac Hanson’s scribble on a piece of notebook paper I had in my bag, Dried flower, my sister’s artwork, a photo of my niece’s foot she took herself, a map of Middle Earth from a very dear friend, and more yet to come. (I’d post a photo of this wall, but I also have photos of my friends and family and I don’t want to expose them to the internet outside of Facebook).
I fully believe in having a dedicated space to be productive. Whether it’s writing or other creative projects, I think it’s important to have a place your brain automatically knows “it’s time to work.” I’ve got two spaces for working, both in the same room, so when I come in here, my mind switches to productive mode. Whether I’m sitting at the art space or at my desk for writing, I am able to focus on the project I want to get done. Today it happens to be a blog post and afterward, I’ll be working on typing up the stuff I’ve written recently (that process is another discussion).
Of course, creativity isn’t limited just to the things I can put on paper. It’s also about growing my mind through reading and visuals. Which brings me to the wall opposite my desk, the one behind me right now. I have my small library set up, and I got an accent chair to curl up in and read.
The last place I have in my office that I was going to try and post a photo of (but WordPress is having a moment, so I won’t this time) is my photo “studio.” It’s really just a half-closet with a card table and some fabric backdrops that I pin to a bulletin board. I mostly use sunlight for now, but one day I’ll have actual lighting for those times I don’t wake up at the sparrow fart of dawn for a good photo.
Sometimes when I think about the life I have now, I wonder if I deserve it, and I think the answer I’d get is a resounding yes from the people who matter to me, and while I appreciate their support and love, one day it’d be nice to believe that for myself. Allowing myself to feel proud of the house I’ve been turning into a home, my home, that’s not narcissism no matter how much my brain tries to tell me it is. It’s important to have places that make you feel like a person, like a worthwhile person. Surrounding yourself with what helps you feel creative, productive, peaceful, that’s important.
I’ve finished my coffee, and I’ve eaten my toast. I’m going to get to work on the day’s projects. Until next time, friends.
I had goals this week of starting another series of posts discussing literary theory, but it’s too early in the day to go full brain on myself. Then I thought I’d do a post about Henry, someone near and dear to my heart, but the post I outlined ended up feeling too personal to put on here (listen, I know I wrote about my biggest fear, but Henry is a different level of personal). So, now I’m eating my breakfast of cold banana pancakes (I don’t have a toaster or a microwave and I’m not feelin’ the need to wash too many dishes today) and enjoying the sunshine coming through my office window.
It’s cold as balls in my house this morning, and the cold pancakes aren’t helping me, but I’m at peace today. I go back to the office tomorrow for work, and while I’m not looking forward to the health hazard, I’m looking forward to seeing the people I’ve missed. We’re already getting emails of “the new normal” and the phrase is exhausting in the sense I don’t want to face yet another new normal. Life is full enough of them. But that’s pessimistic, so I’ll steer myself back to the positive thoughts of seeing some of my favorite people.
I’m looking forward to springtime. The weather app says it’s supposed to be in the 60s this week, and I’m ready to ride with my window down. Feel the bypass wind in my hair as I drive too fast because I forgot I’m at the office now and left my house late. I’m looking forward to starting a garden this spring, and getting my backyard set up for friend times in the summer. I’m going to get my firepit settled, and I’m going to build a second patio (sort of) reusing some stones from the yard. It’s going to be a good season for me and hopefully for you.
I’m going to walk more with one of my best friends after work in the outlet mall parking lot. I’m going to keep eating better and keep losing weight (I’ve lost twenty pounds since I gave up Taco Bell back in December). I’m going to maintain as positive a vibe as I can because the world is full of people having tragedy after tragedy and if I can be a bit of brightness for someone, I’d love to do that.
If you are struggling to feel something other than useless, I want to remind you that you are quite useful, in fact. You have a wealth of knowledge, and you have a lot to offer the world, and plot twist: it has a lot to offer you. It might seem bleak, but the sun’s coming up earlier now, which means you have plenty of time to work for yourself. Hang in there, if it’s getting a bit tough. The good times are coming. I believe it. If you are feeling less than lovely to yourself, that’s okay. Sometimes the clouds get in the way, but the sun is always waiting for you on the other side.
And on that note, I’m going to make some tea and get to work on some writing before I have lunch with my mom. Until next time, friends, remember: you are and always will be enough.
As I was deciding the topic for this week’s blog post, I realized I haven’t really shared much about what I’m working on in my own writing life. I’m not overly secretive about it, but I do tend to shy away from sharing because I struggle with showing people “unfinished” work. There is truth to the saying, “it’s never going to be truly finished,” but I take that a little too seriously sometimes. Here’s a very brief summary of the main plotline of my series, as well as a small peek into how I keep it all organized.
I’ve mentioned maybe once or twice that I’m working on a trilogy. It’s lumped under the main title of The Maker Series, with really pretentious titles for each book. The first book, Fulcrum, is the introduction to the story. We meet most of the main cast, leaving a few surprises for the second book. We meet the main character, Brangienne Frankovitch. She goes by Frankie. I get a lot of grossed out looks when I say her name, but I chose it a long time ago, and calling her something else would be a lie. She’s from a small made up town in Kentucky, and she’s revealed to be the chosen one. Yes, it’s a cliche story, but she’s not a teenager! She’s actually 25 years old, working a really chill job as a grocer’s assistant (she stocks, she runs the registers, she unloads deliveries, she’s everything except a manager). She lives with her best friend, Sam Wiseman, in a house she purchased two years out of high school after choosing not to go to college. Sam is a returned veteran of the armed forces (or so he says), and when they run into each other at the store while he’s buying food, he tells her he doesn’t have much going for him. She invites him to come live with her.
It turns out, Sam is not Wiseman, but Bayn, and he is a soldier, but not for the world Frankie knows. He’s from a place called Amaranth, and he’s a member of a private security firm sent to be her protector. Protect her from what, I hear no one ask? The Moarteans. See, when the world began, time had already been happening for a while. We were more of an experiment devised by those who created time. The Thrice Unbound created the First Four, who in turn had Milton Fogg and Tobias (no last name, he’s got the Beyonce vibe going on). Through some shenanigans, the two boys cause an all out war between themselves, and in order to settle things down, the Thrice Unbound allow them to each create a world. The one Milton Fogg creates is our world, our time as we know it. The one Tobias creates is called Telaroth (renamed Lazarus after some stuff goes down there). Tobias devises a way to rewrite the DNA of all his male citizens to turn them into sort of super soldiers (called? Moarteans). He’s doing this because he wants to destroy Milton. In the course of things and a lot of bad stuff happening in Telaroth, later Lazarus, it becomes apparent that his way of life is actually decreasing his chances of survival, and thus: Lazarus is born.
Frankie learns all of this, and is then taught how to fight (because it’s one of those stories, you know? She has to learn to fight). She loses family. She loses friends. She loses parts of herself, literally, because the Makers (the people of Amaranth) also have a way to change DNA. Never one to be emotional, Frankie has intense feelings rear up in a way she’s not had to deal with before, and with that comes anger, defeat, and hopelessness. The friendships she does make along the way keep her grounded, but she will, of course, never be the grocery girl from Lowell ever again.
The second book is called The Keeper of Time and in it Frankie learns the truth about all things, about how she’s been bamboozled. She’s been coerced into a fight that shouldn’t even be happening, but here she is. She goes on a sort of spirit quest to find herself (and a character vital to the end game–it’s a road trip book, I know, cliche, but hey! quests are important to life. Whether it’s to the gas station for drinks with your best friend at 2:30 in the morning, or to find a broken priestess wandering the metaphorical desert, a journey is a journey is a journey). She also finds herself in the hands of someone she wasn’t prepared to see ever again, someone she thought was a distant memory (not a romance, lawls). By the end of the second book, with further trauma to add to what happened in the first, Frankie returns to Amaranth to find it in an uproar. A militia has been formed and people are ready to storm the castle gates, in a manner of speaking. Frankie can’t convince anyone of the reality of the situation, so she escapes into Lazarus.
Which brings us nicely to the third and final book, Lazarus Rising. I’m aware of the biblical implications here, but the larger metaphor is the only association to the Bible story of Lazarus. I don’t want to go into too much summary here because I want to hold this one as close to my heart as I can. It’s the end of the ride. The last bus stop. The culmination of nearing decades of work. Frankie faces incredible challenges, often left with more questions and more bruises both physical and mental. But she is resilient. She prevails in the face of her torture. For a time. Maybe. Am I being mysterious enough?
The world of the Maker series is a complex one because technically there are three separate places: Fulcrum (our world), Amaranth (also known as The World Between Worlds), and the “alternate reality” of Lazarus (formerly known as Telaroth). The easiest way to keep track of all my thoughts on this came about in the form of a journal. I’ve been compiling notes on characters, settings, and all kinds of other things, and eventually the language of the Moarteans will be housed in the journal (yes, I’m going the extra Tolkien mile by creating a language). A snippet or two of the journal is included in this post, but it is by no means complete. So far, I’ve gotten spreads done for all the characters (from all books), and now I’m working on getting the settings down.
Setting is more than a place, which is obvious, but bear with me. When I started working on the pages for Lazarus, it struck me I’d never committed anything to paper about who the Moarteans are. I’ve done rough notes for previous drafts, but the race was never really part of the story except for a few instances. This became an issue fairly quickly because the third book takes place almost entirely in Lazarus. I’ve never gone into who these people are, and now I’m planning an entire book with them? Part of why I began the worldbuilding journal was so I could have a designated place of reference. I know there are apps and programs that help writers sort things into their proper places, but I’m a far more visual person, so I needed to feel the place as I wrote it down. I needed to be the ball so to speak.
By giving myself the opportunity to physically create the Moarteans (on paper, anyway), I’ve allowed myself to fully immerse in the world I’m hoping readers will enjoy. This is not by any means the way I’d recommend people work out their worldbuilding. What I’ve chosen to do suits how my brain functions. I think I mainly wanted to showcase, finally, what I’ve been spending so much of my free time on the last little while. It’s a handy reference tool. It will house everything there is to know about my books in one place. As I’m getting ready to end this blog post, I’m already planning on spending some more time working on my journal tonight.
Anyone who knows me will be able to attest to my somewhat morbid fascination with true crime stories. I used to fall asleep to Forensic Files before Netflix did something weird with their auto play function. So, when I first came across this book, The Invention of Murder, I was pretty stoked. I’ve been interested in how modern detecting came to be, and so I hoped this book would go into that as well as go through how murder became more mainstream.
I wish I could explain how disappointing this book was to me. There’s murder, yes. But it’s sprinkled between a discussion about newspaper articles, broadsides, penny dreadfuls, melodramas/theatrical performances, and every now and then novels. I understand what Ms. Flanders was attempting to do. By showing such a vast range of media produced for the public, it showed how the Victorians became enraptured with death and crime. But all it really did was bore me.
What time was spent on discussing the actual cases was well written, and I enjoyed those parts entirely, which is why I’m even putting this book up here for review at all. It’s clear the research that went into this book was insurmountable, and I don’t envy the author such a task. I think it could have been presented differently. Especially in today’s world where everyone and their Netflix budget is producing a crime documentary. I think the book is not as timeless as it could have been because it was published in 2011, a bit before the explosion of in-depth documentary series about modern day crime. There’s a show (Murder Maps) that mentions several of the cases brought up in The Invention of Murder, something I only drew connections to because I’d just read about the case.
It is certainly an interesting look at how mass produced media and “up to the moment” reporting on trials brought murder into the forefront of crime. With the advent of detective units within police departments (something that was created later than I thought), the public could see firsthand how the investigations were going. The newspapers also presented problems if the cases weren’t progressing to the satisfaction of the editors. In that respect, I appreciate the book for thoroughly showing evidence to support the notion the Victorians were the ones who elevated crime and detection.
I think in terms of enjoyment, I hyped it up too much for myself. I started reading it in August 2020, and I finished it this last week, with reading other books between. Usually when I take so long to read a book, it’s because I want to savor it, to follow it at a leisurely pace. The same could not be said for The Invention of Murder. I think it was about 100 pages too long, and the amount of references could have been lessened and the impact would not have suffered. The back of the book blurb hints at what’s inside, but gives it more of a narrative, something that disappears in the pages of examples of articles, stories, and so on.
I feel like this sounds unduly harsh, and if it does, that’s not my intention. I think it’s important to be honest in reviews especially when a lot of the “influencer” world is based solely on promotion. (I’m not saying I’m an influencer, hah, not by any stretch of any imagination) I know I didn’t like it, but it may not be the same for other readers. In fact, by the quotes in the “praise” sections, several people did enjoy it.
All in all, I appreciate the work Judith Flanders put into this, and I appreciate the approach she took to present a timeline of how sensationalized murder came to be.
I give this book a 4/10
*******I read the 2011 Thomas Dunne Books paperback edition*******
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