Tag: Writing

The Day Blake Garrett Died

I’m about to the point where I don’t want to watch the news anymore, and I’m a news junkie. Our media is pitting side against side, and they’re doing it unabashedly, and the people watching just go along with it all, hook, line, and sinker. It is disgusting to watch. I listen to people when I’m out and on social media, and most people never take the time to understand the WHY behind someone else’s perspective. Instead, choosing to hate anyone with an opposing perspective and call them wrong. It’s why I wrote that short story a couple of weeks ago – “The Good People Got On With Their Lives.”

The why someone believes what they believe is VITAL to know before opening your mouth in opposition … that is, if you even care for there to be an even remote opportunity for reconciliation or conversation. This all makes me feel crazy. I feel like a lone voice out here asking people to listen first, talk second. Seek to understand. Apparently, that is too hard. And tonight, I’m doubly disgusted with it all because a young man that I know lost his life today to fentanyl – and on the news, they’re arguing Bad Bunny vs. Kid Rock.

I’m sure he, the young man I know who died today, wasn’t the only one because we have an epidemic in this country – a fentanyl crisis. An epidemic that took a person from my life – again. A young man who was on a path to sobriety; he struggled, and he lost his battle. It is beyond sad. It’s maddening.

Why aren’t we up in arms about the fentanyl crisis in this country? “In 2023, fentanyl was responsible for an estimated about 199 deaths per day from overdoses in the U.S. alone. That’s based on CDC-linked data showing around 72,776 fentanyl overdose deaths over the year — roughly 199 deaths each day” (USAFacts). That was 3 years ago, and it hasn’t gone away. I read further that in 2025, the number sat similarly around 200 a day. That’s 200 too many!

Why aren’t we mad about this?

Why aren’t we mad at where the fentanyl is coming from?

Why aren’t we protesting those who bring it into our country?

Seriously.

What I know today is that I do not care about Bad Bunny or Kid Rock, and neither of their half-time performances. I don’t care, and that’s all the news seems to be able to talk about, that and Savannah Guthrie’s mom being missing. I’m sorry she’s missing, but what about the 2,000 – 2,300 children in this country who go missing EVERY DAY? “Roughly 2,000 – 2,300 U.S. children are reported missing each day when annual missing-child report numbers are averaged out” (Child Find of America). Nothing is said or done about these precious children who are gone. Gone. And where are they? Does anyone care? Families are destroyed all across America, and we are out protesting and saying things like, “No one is illegal on stolen land.” Every person anywhere on this planet is to some degree on “stolen” land – if by “stolen” we mean conquered or purchased. I can only roll my eyes and think, “Take a history class.” Why is it that celebrities’ thoughts and lives seem to mean so much more than everyone else’s? Shoot. Not in my book. Not at all. They’re just people. They all strain, too. Just sayin’.

So, not only do we have a fentanyl crisis that is swept under the rug, but we also know that there are over 2,000 children who go missing EVERY day in this country – and that, too, is hush-hush. Largely. Not only these things, but in Nigeria, tens of thousands of Christians have been killed in recent years just for their faith, and the news is silent.

On the Native American Reservations within our nation, thousands of young women and girls go missing every year – and nothing is done about it – nothing is said about it.

We also know that human trafficking/sex trafficking rakes in tens of billions of dollars a year, and it ranks #2 next to the drug trade in world criminal activity – and we don’t talk about it! There are more slaves in the world today than there ever have been! Why aren’t our “protestors” in this country out using their efforts to try to rescue these actual stolen people!

In Iran, since the beginning of January 2026, some reports now say over 90,000 protestors who wanted freedom have been killed, though verified reports are over 30,000. Their bodies are being burned to destroy the evidence; families have to pay for bodies if they want to keep them for burial, but the price is too high. In some cases, families are made to pay for each bullet extracted from the body of their loved one. There is a communication blackout – the regime cut off access to the internet to the people. Thousands have been blinded. Hundreds of thousands have been injured.

And in the U.S., we are arguing about Bad Bunny vs. Kid Rock.

That is sickening.

I’m worked up, and I know, in part, it is because I’ll never see Blake smile again – his blue eyes light up when he was mischievous in meetings – never again have him as my waiter at the restaurant where he worked – never hear him read the words that had the power to save him if he could only let those words into his heart. Miserable, awful, horrible addiction. Miserable, awful, horrible fentanyl. You know what? His life mattered. Still does. To those of us who knew him, loved him, and wanted him to succeed in this thing called recovery.

He won’t make the news – just like the 2,000 kids who go missing every day, many of whom are put into human trafficking. Just like the thousands of missing Native American young women and girls. Just like the Christians in Nigeria who have been slaughtered in the thousands. Just like the protestors in Iran dying because they want to be free like we are in the United States – where we are FREE to criticize our government. If they do, they die. Just like the scope of the fentanyl crisis and how it gets here and where it comes from. None of that will be on the news. You have to research it for yourself to know anything at all about any of these.

Man. I’m sitting here stunned at it all.

Yeah, Blake won’t make the news, but his loss is news to me.

It has rocked our world this evening, and the loss of him reminds me that there are things in life that are MUCH MORE important than what the news media tells me I should be upset about.

Amen.

The Good People Got On With Their Lives. A Short Story.

New story on Amazon. https://a.co/d/ccsHJb6

Some places feel wrong before you can explain why.

On a simple drive, Sarah and Tom pass through a town called Goodville—quiet and unsettling in a way that has nothing to do with what they can see. A single encounter leaves Sarah shaken, and the feeling follows them long after they put miles behind them.

At a roadside diner, a local named Ted begins to talk. What starts as conversation becomes something else: a portrait of a place where “goodness” is a rule, a ritual, and a justification—and where the cost of keeping life comfortable is paid by someone else.

The Good People Got On With Their Lives is a quiet, unnerving short story about moral certainty, social complicity, and the danger of calling something “normal” simply because it has always been that way. It doesn’t offer easy answers—only questions that linger.

19 Months Post Open-Heart Surgery. Still Waiting On The Return of My Hair.

There were a few months of soaring hope while I took Viviscal – hoping that my hair would return to its pre-surgery state! Those months were in the spring and summer of 2025; my hair thickened, and I enjoyed fixing it for work and outings, grateful for its “return.” In the fall, I started to notice the thinning again. Life was stressful in the fall with Patrick’s abscesses and hospital visits (7!), so I’m aware that I’m experiencing a double-whammy. My body is still in recovery; believe me, this has been a topic of research of late. I am 19 months post-open heart surgery, and I am still in recovery – we have also been close to having our own suite in the emergency room at St. Francis South. So, I have to remind myself that not only did my body go through a traumatic experience less than 2 years ago, but my stress levels have not been good either for months on end, though I have kept an eye on my blood pressure and my INR. Despite all of this, my spirit says, “Okay, let’s be normal,” while my body says, “Nah, not yet.” My body is still in flight-or-fight mode from all that the last two years have thrown at us.

I am also a 53-year-old woman who had a hysterectomy in 2018. My ovaries stayed in … and I am fairly positive they’re going kaput. It’s menopause time. The weight I lost after surgery is all back with a vengeance – you know, the meno-belly. I’m more conscientious now of my diet than I have ever been in my life! I drink protein drinks for breakfast, eat Greek yogurt, and nutritionist-approved granola for lunch. I snack on dark chocolate. I only drink water and sparkling water. We eat turkey, chicken, and pork in this house. I never eat fast food or junk food, except for tortilla chips and salsa. I do a blood check for my INR every week and report results to my cardiologist’s office. I mean, I’ve never eaten this well – and I am a plump little chicken. Grrrr. One of my goals has always been to weigh less than Patrick, and currently, that’s not the case. Of course, he’s been sick since September, off and on and off and on, so there’s that, too. Probably, I’ve eaten a bit more of the items I mentioned because of stress over his health – the uncertainty of the last few months has been emotional and exhausting. But there’s also the hot flashes – and they come at night! Holy moly. I need it cold in the bedroom. Midway through the night, I’m sweating and throwing off covers. Last night, I got about 4 hours of sleep. I was too hot to sleep. So … 19 months post-surgery, husband has been terribly sick, and menopause/peri-menopause (how can you tell with no uterus) … triple whammy! But, you know what? I am alive.

How does it feel to be 19 months post-open-heart surgery? Glad you asked. For the most part, I am feeling great. I hear the ticking of my mechanical valve often, and I remember what I’ve been through. As soon as I start to feel “normal,” I’ll hear that, and I find myself reliving portions of the experience. Not in horror, but in gratitude for the space I’m in now as compared to where I was pre-surgery and immediately following – those first 12 weeks after surgery were intense. I’m not bothered by the ticking, though I see some folks in the support groups I’m in on Facebook complaining about the incessant ticking. Heck, it means we are alive! Recently, the living room was silent, and I could hear my ticking, so I recorded it. Wild to have a recording! I’m grateful for it. There are some nights when I have to adjust because, in certain positions, the ticking is loud and keeps me awake. Not a bother. I just move my head or flip onto my side … which I can do now!

Mostly, I’m comfortable on my side in bed. It took months to be able to put my left arm up and under my pillow so I could sleep on my left side. I still feel “pain” when I’m on my left, and if I don’t keep my right arm up on my body, if I let it fall down in front of me, then I’m squeezing my chest together, and that doesn’t feel good. I wouldn’t call it “pain” – hence the quotes. It is a bothersome feeling, an ache. Whatever it is, it is unpleasant, so I have to find just the right position so that I can drift off comfortably. Now, on my right side, I could put my right arm under my pillow for months and sleep on my right, but lately it hurts when I do, similar to how the left arm used to. I don’t know what that’s about, and I’m not headed to the chiropractor at this time. I just, a lot of the time, choose to lie on my back, which is something I never used to do. I have been a belly sleeper for most of my life, but not anymore. Probably that’s psychological. I just don’t do it. Lying on my back is when I hear the ticking, so I have to get my head in just the right position so I do not hear it quite as loudly, though most nights I have a YouTube ocean storm for sleeping playing on my phone next to the bed. Who would have thought that 19 months later I would still have sleeping issues?!? It’s all good though … I am alive.

Occasionally, I have chest pain. Sometimes on the left. Sometimes on the right. Sometimes it is sharp. Sometimes it is dull. It’s always near the surface, near my skin. Right now, at this moment, I feel a tightness across my entire chest. If you’re ever around me, you might see me put my hand on my chest in whatever area I’m feeling something funky. It’s part of me now – these aches and pin-pricks. There’s metal in my body – and it does what it does, and my body reacts to it. In my heart, there’s a mechanical valve, and there are wires that held my ribcage together as it melded back together over lengthy months. And when I feel these things, I touch my chest where I feel the pain/ache/tightness, and it tends to alleviate. It’s all good. I don’t set off metal detectors, and I’m alive.

My hair … yeah, I want it back. But now, I wonder about the medication regimen I was on in the last five years – the oral Rogaine – and, though I’m not curious enough yet to have researched it, I wonder if it contributed to my mitral valve’s severe regurgitation and put me into congestive heart failure. Maybe one of these days I will look into that, but I’m not there yet. The medication combo I was on, which included the oral Rogaine, is something I cannot take again due to my current health. I’m just missing my hair and wearing a lot of hats. I mean, a lot of hats. I have so many hats, and here’s crazy information: two more will arrive in today’s mail! You know how some people collect stamps or coins? Well, for me, it’s cowboy boots and hats. Actually, both Patrick and I collect these things, but for me, the hats are more in effort to cover up my hair loss. I really like some of them now, and I’m getting quite comfortable wearing them. Heck, last fall, one of my students drew me, my hats, and my outfits every day and gave them to me as a gift at the end of the semester. That was pretty cool. I like being ‘that’ professor who is ‘unafraid’ to be herself. Secretly, though, I ask myself whether I am really unafraid to be myself. If I were fully unafraid, I wouldn’t have this great need to wear hats every time I leave the house. I would just let my lack of hair be what it is – and who cares what a single solitary person out there in the big wide world thinks! Because you know why? Less than 2 years ago, I had major open-heart surgery, and I am alive!

My intention here is to be a voice for others struggling post-major surgery with body changes and life continuing to roll at you like a barrelling train on icy tracks. Recently, I read that it can take 24 full months before the body is “healed” from the type of surgery I underwent. So, I’ll tell my story, talk about my experiences, and hope to be a voice of hope and also reality for those facing similar types of surgeries – and for folks who just need a reminder to be grateful for life. We all face different traumas/experiences – and what I’ve learned is that the key is gratitude. I’m grateful for the Chief of Cardiology as my surgeon. I’m grateful for my husband being the best caregiver I could ever ask for. I’m grateful for my work and for their love and care during my healing. I’m grateful for friends and family. I am grateful for sobriety through all of this. I am grateful to God for allowing me to remain here on this earth for a little longer. In that operating room, I felt perfect peace when I prayed, “Jesus, I either wake up with you or with work to do.” Well, I woke up in the ICU, so I have work to do.

And how I do that is, I wake up each day and thank God for the day. I thank Him for my marriage, my husband, my children, my friends, my work, and I ask Him to let me be of use to Him each day. Then, I go out the door and step into the day. Grateful. Each step I take is a gift. And in lieu of this … (see, I learn constantly – and I just caught the lesson here in my own words) the hair on my head is a gift. Whether it is thin or it is thick, I am alive, and I have work to do – wearing a hat or not wearing a hat! Heck yeah! BE ME! Be real. Be authentic. Be grateful! Thank you, Lord! So … let’s do this.

Something Scary, Boo.

What’s scary is that people don’t mind getting their news from one-sided sources. Truly scary. And willfully blind. Ignorant is a better word. Willfully ignorant. Choosing not to see things from opposing perspectives. Choosing not to understand why someone might dare to hold a different thought. Never ask why that person holds an opposing view. Just willfully ignoring that opposing perspectives exist, and that only by seeking to understand why the other side is different can true perspective and sincere grounding for one’s own perspectives be found. We certainly don’t want to be accused of thinking for ourselves beyond one-sided news sources; we want to choose a side and hate anyone who opposes our held ideas. It is stunning – truly stunning – and not in a good way, not in a beautiful way – that such willful ignorance exists, and in abundance at that. Cognitive Dissonance. Biases. Logical Fallacies. They’re flowing like water rushing over Bridalveil Falls, and I am stunned. I shouldn’t be, but I am.

Despite it all, I will continue to teach critical thinking skills which incorporate calm, courteous processes wherein we know our audience, understand their perspectives, research opposing information, and address such with clarity and evidence – not seeking to win an argument but to, at the very least, inspire critical thinking in the audience. There is no place for anger, no place for emotionalism, no place for words like, anyone who has an opposing perspective “should be shot in the head so that the good people can get on with their lives.” I saw those words on Facebook during COVID. On a colleague’s Facebook page. I’ll never forget them; I still work with this person. I don’t do social media with coworkers much anymore, and I keep an eye on that individual. That person is supposed to be teaching critical thinking skills … that scares me, too. How can an individual who believes anyone who opposes their ideas “should be shot in the head so that the good people can get on with their lives,” teach any person anywhere how to be fair and participate in a true argument? It’s wildly insane.

To anyone reading this, please don’t get your news from just one source. Not just from CNN. Not just from FOX. Today, one of my students told me about “Allsides.com” – supposedly a fair and balanced site; I checked it out. I’m intrigued. I try to be open-minded and seek to understand why people who believe differently from me do just that … believe differently from me. It has everything to do with life experience, culture, and research (lot of or lack of). Why this doesn’t make sense to the masses will baffle me for the rest of my existence on this earth, I’m sure. So be it. That will not stop me from teaching and encouraging my students to think for themselves beyond what one news station or certain social media influencers say. I will continue to push them to experience multiple perspectives and draw conclusions based on research and paced thought, never rash emotion or bandwagon mentality. I will continue to grade their work not on whether I agree with their thesis statements, but on how well they support those statements with their evidence. I will also continue to show them that every one of us is valuable, no matter our perspectives, and that not a one of us deserves to be “shot in the head so that the good people can get on with their lives.”

Of course, I’ll draw this to a close in much the same way I end many of my classes. What I’m telling you here (think for yourself and don’t settle for one perspective) works for me, but you do you, Boo.

Let Me Be Clear – Rhetoric at its Finest

The buzzword in politics is “Clear.” Both sides say it, and as soon as it comes out of a politician’s mouth, I distrust them; I’m going to side-eye that individual from those words forward. It disappoints me. If you have actually researched and your argument stands on its own, there is no necessity for the words, “Let me be clear.” They’re rhetoric. Pretty words. A veil. A covering. It’s like liars who use the word “Honestly” to ensure you believe something they’re going to say. My response? How about no. If you’re a truth teller, you don’t need to qualify anything you say with “Honestly” or “Let me be clear.” Those words are rhetoric – words chosen with the intent to persuade a reader/listener. The actual definition, according to the Google Dictionary/Oxford Language, is “the art of effective or persuasive speaking or writing, especially the use of figures of speech and other compositional techniques.” The ART of using words to persuade. Rhetoric is fun and effective to use if you’re a politician because, well, most people do not think for themselves. We are like sheep joining a sheep circle, going round and round and round, just following whoever looks and sounds like the leader. Hence the term “wolf in sheep’s clothing.”

“Let me be clear” is telling the listener to believe what you’re going to say – that you’ve done all the research necessary and you are trustworthy. What you say is clear and accurate. There is no need for a listener to question the authority of your words. You are clear. There is an element of imposed guilt on a listener if they dare to question the statement made by the individual who says it is “oh so clear.” That is in quotation marks, so you read it in my sarcastic tone. “Let me be clear” is an excellent tactic on many people, which is why it is used so often nowadays in politics and in the media. Listen for it. Start counting the number of times you hear it. Make it a drinking game when you watch the “news” (sarcasm again – they’re not reporters now, they’re commentators/opinion givers) if you’re not an alcoholic.

I tell my students to be aware of rhetoric – understand it. Recognize when it’s used on you. Know how to effectively use it on others if you so choose. Law. Politics. Sales. Media. These career fields exist on the back of strong rhetoric. Persuasion is the euphemism. Manipulation is the curse word. Rhetoric.

One of my major teaching points in Comp I is Stephen King’s brilliant, rhetorical move in the short story “The Man Who Loved Flowers.” My favorite paragraph in that piece is this:

“The radio poured out bad news that no one listened to: a hammer murderer was still on the loose; JFK had declared that the situation in a little Asian country called Vietnam would bear watching; an unidentified woman had been pulled from the East River; a grand jury had failed to indict a crime overlord in the current city administration’s war on heroin; the Russians had exploded a nuclear device. None of it seemed real, none of it seemed to matter. The air was soft and sweet. Two men with beer bellies stood outside a bakery, pitching nickels and ribbing each other. Spring trembled on the edge of summer, and in the city, summer is the season of dreams.”

“The radio poured out bad news that no one listened to:” is the opening line of the foreshadowing paragraph. In this paragraph, King tells the audience what the situation is, but it is sandwiched between “Don’t listen to this” and “None of it seemed real, none of it seemed to matter.” None of what King just had the radio say matters. Don’t listen to it. It’s not real. It doesn’t matter. And then, the air is soft and sweet. People are kidding around. And summer is the season of dreams. King effectively told the significant plot point but hid it inside rhetoric. “Don’t listen” and “It doesn’t matter.” And the reader falls for it. The reader doesn’t remember that a hammer murderer is on the loose. And that is the truth of the short story. There is a hammer murderer, and as the reader, you already met him, but you don’t know it. A reader in 1969 would have had further complications in pointing out the foreshadowing because each of the items that follow “a hammer murderer is on the loose” are actual things happening in May of 1963, in New York City news. That audience would be red-herring distracted from the hammer murderer. A rhetorical move well done. Well done. Personally, I find this paragraph of King’s to be brilliant rhetoric. Beautiful, actually.

I can appreciate rhetoric; I find it useful in the classroom, but I do not use it as a weapon. I use it to engage my students, to open minds to new ideas. I do not use it to manipulate or trick them. When I see that happening in media and in politics (and in sales – like car sales – my least favorite shopping venture), it grates on my ever-loving last nerve. “Let me be clear” … I think not. No, thank you. If you had anything of actual value to say, you would have no need to use a subversive, fad-driven, rhetorical device/buzzword.

Remember when someone on the news said J.D. Vance was “weird” – and within days, every station was using that same rhetoric-driven buzzword. The fad began, and people watching those particular news shows believed the word. Thus, J.D. Vance was indeed weird – declared by not only news stations and politicians but also SOCIAL MEDIA – and we all know that social media is reliable for information gleaning (again, sarcasm by me – I hope you do know to sift through anything you read on social media. It’s a rhetorical minefield). Social media, where information is validated because “everyone” says it. LOL … oh man. Seriously. Maybe it’s not that J.D. Vance is “weird,” it might just be that he is different from you – maybe he has a message that someone does not want you to hear or believe. So, rhetoric is employed, and he is called “weird,” so that the masses of people who easily follow and believe what the media tells them will distrust him. Please stop and think. If we are going to play that rhetorical game, J.D. Vance probably thinks that the individuals calling him weird are “weird.” Geez, people. Think for yourselves. Don’t fall for rhetorical terms tossed out by people who want to invalidate another individual – and we just let it happen. It’s far too easy for those skilled in the art of rhetoric.

Let me be clear ...

How about no?

“Echoes of the Criminal Mind” – a Thought-Provoking Read for Any Writer Wanting to Fine Tune Character Development – Especially Their Villains!

This book, “Echoes of the Criminal Mind” by Merle Davenport, scared me so much that not only did I decide staying home most of the time sounded like a mighty fine idea, but also, it is so effectively shocking that I am incorporating it into the curriculum for the Novel Writing class I teach at Tulsa Community College. Students and writers of all genres need to write authentic characters—especially villains. And who better to teach about the mind of a criminal, outside of an actual criminal, than Merle Davenport, who holds a Master’s degree in Education, done extensive research into Criminal Behavior, and has taught GED and reentry classes behind prison walls for 25 years. He is also the president of the Tulsa Night Writers – a community of writers in Tulsa, Oklahoma, with over 180 members.

“Echoes of the Criminal Mind” is organized not only around personal experiences (he tells many stories with dialogue that is unbelievably true) from Merle’s many years teaching prisoners, but also around explanations of fundamental (and shocking) characteristics of criminals and how to incorporate them into villains authentically. The last two chapters have charts for writers to use in building and assessing their villains, with examples of what that looks like. This book is brilliant. Merle’s magnum opus. I’m grateful that he wrote it, that I can use it to inspire writers to plumb the depths of character development, and even grateful that the words in it have me paying more attention in public as I go about my everyday life.

Thank you to Merle for his willingness to help us write our characters and villains, drawing on his wealth of experience and knowledge. Now, let’s get to writing our villains, folks … especially the anti-hero … because we do discover that some of them want to be good, but life happens. Ahhhh. You’ve got to read this book!

The Edutainer in Heaven

If money didn’t matter, I would still do precisely what I do now for a living. That is my first response to the ‘daily prompt,’ and it is sincere. I love what I do. Being a professor who facilitates student engagement and learning of communication skills through writing techniques, exploring creativity, and promoting critical thinking is a dream come true. I’m one blessed girl, and for as long as God has me doing this thing, I will do it to the utmost of my ability.

Now, while I do love being a professor, I confess that I have daydreams of living in the mountains – in a cabin tucked away in the woods. There must be a cedar wraparound deck that overlooks a clear mountain lake, lined with pine trees and surrounded by snow-capped mountains. The occasional fish should burst through the water and send ripples through still, quiet waters. The birds will soar overhead and tuck themselves into trees, where they nurture their young and sing their sweet songs, and I’ll guess at their conversations as they sing back and forth to one another across treetops. On my deck, I will sit in a comfy reclined chair, taking deep breaths, and allowing the fresh air, the scenery, the songs to fill every one of my senses. A table will be on my right, and there will sit a hot cup of peppermint mocha latte. My MacBook will be nestled in my lap, and I will write. I will write novels. I will write short stories. I will write poems. I will write how-to books. I will write songs. My dog will recline happily near the base of my chair, and we will pass the day away with no spoken words, only the stories in my soul making their way through my fingers and onto the page. The sound of a drill will break the silence from time to time, and I will smile, knowing my husband is nearby and doing what he loves as well. Building, creating, living every moment. We two, in the mountains, doing what we love. Ahhhh.

The daily prompt wants three possibilities – and I can do that. I also want to be a motivational speaker. What fun would that be?!?! For me? A lot of fun. To get to travel and do what I already do in the classroom, but for companies and organizations? Wow, are you kidding me? Heck yeah. And then, I could write a book or five about those subjects on which I love to motivate people! Like career education and the fact that everyone can be a writer! I could travel and do speaking engagements on the subjects I love, but also about the books that I’ve written … and I could also have that mountain cabin because this girl needs some downtime here and there. On personality tests, I’m 53% extroverted and, well, 47% introverted, so I’m middle of the road, and some days, I need quiet to recharge. Other days, I need a crowd of people to talk to. A microphone and a crowd and a lot of space because I am active in front of a group of people. That sounds like a heck ton of fun. Yes, please. Something happens to me when I’m in front of a crowd. I get funny, and my brain clears. It’s wild. One-on-one, I tend to fumble and cannot get my words out, but put me in front of a roomful of people, and I come alive. Absolutely alive. An ‘edutainer’ is what I like to call myself and what I do.

I love being a professor.

I love writing.

I love talking about what I’m passionate about.

Combining all of those things sounds like heaven.

Writer Interview: Me, Interviewed by a Former Student. Q&A.

  1. What got you interested in writing?

My earliest memory of enjoying writing is Ms. Campbell’s English class in 6th grade. One particular assignment was that she gave us a list of random words, and we had to write a short story that included each word. It has been 41 years, and I still smile when I remember that assignment. It was a challenge, and it inspired me. She is also the teacher who stirred my interest in reading. During 7th grade, under her tutelage, I ventured into “Wuthering Heights,” and the rest is history. Ms. Campbell was my English teacher in 6th, 7th, and 10th grades. She encouraged me. She pushed me. She challenged me.

  1. Was there a specific moment when you realized you wanted to become a writer, and when was that?

Although I dabbled in writing a never-seen-the-light-of-day book during high school, it wasn’t until I was deep into my Master’s in Creative Writing that I submitted a memoir piece about something that scared me as a child, which I did. When the teacher, Craig Schneider, handed it back, he said, “You should get this published in a horror magazine.” THAT is a moment I will never forget. Who? Me? Horror? Oh my. It turned out to be my first published piece.

  1. What have you done in your career as a writer?

In addition to teaching creative writing courses (Novel Writing, Introduction to Creative Writing, Poetry) and Composition courses, I enjoy writing on my blog. I have four published short stories (“The Devil’s Promenade,” “Full Moon,” “The Echo of Alone,” and “Mom in the Middle”), three novels, two of which are in current publication (“A Kiss in the Rain” and “The American Queen” – the third is “For Love of Words”), and two children’s books (“Not Real and Never Will Be” and “Giraffes are People, Too” with my daughter, Kennedy). This past year, I headed up the creation of a Writer’s Series that is housed in the TCC Library, in which I am blessed to interview authors, poets, publishers, and editors for TCC’s students. https://guides.library.tulsacc.edu/TCCwritersseries.

  1. What do you do currently in your writing career?

Teach creative writing. Write on my blog when I can. https://lenazyslife.home.blog/. I have been making notes for a memoir on recovery and survival, which I will accomplish with Stonebrook Publishing (hopefully) sometime in the next two to three years. I also challenge students to improve their creative writing, so I talk about writing daily! I stay affiliated with the Tulsa Nightwriters, though I don’t attend as regularly as I should.

  1. What is your favorite thing about writing?

Expressing my thoughts and feelings, they flow more smoothly through my fingers than they do my mouth. Unless I’m in front of a group of people, one-on-one talking ties my tongue; I’d rather have a keyboard and my fingers. I can write for others, and I can write for myself. It is an expression of what is deep inside me, either way.

  1. What are the things you don’t like about writing?

That my fingers move faster than my mind sometimes because I get excited, and my fingers fly, and the squiggle lines occur in abundance on the screen! But I’m okay with letting them sit there. I’ve learned to let go and let the fingers fly. However, there’s a part of me that wants to slow down and beat the timed typing test every time.

  1. What has been a challenge as a writer?

Initially, negative self-talk. Not thinking I had anything to say or to offer. Once I began my Master’s courses, peer review tested me and almost knocked me out of the game. I stuck it out, though, and I came to love peer review and workshopping. Understanding the vital necessity of critique to make the writing better. Through workshopping and peer review, I learned how to set my feelings aside and focus on making the writing its best.

  1. What surprised you most about this career?

I don’t write for a career, so I cannot necessarily speak to that, but as for teaching creative writing, it brings me joy! That doesn’t surprise me, though. What surprises me is that 17 years ago, I was a stay-at-home mom and had been for the 12 years before that. I’d forgotten that I had a mind and how to use it. Now, to see myself as an Assistant Professor, Career Faculty Fellow, and President-Elect of the Faculty Association at my school is a dream. Something completely unexpected.

  1. Any advice for someone considering a career in writing?

It’s not a quick way to wealth. That’s for sure. This is something we do for the love of writing and expression. This is something you do because you are passionate about it. You write whether you make money at it or not. In “On Writing,” Stephen King says he would write even if he didn’t make a dime at it because he is compelled to. I get that. I often feel compelled to write – like I have to write, or I will lose my mind. So … write … write so you don’t lose your mind. 

  1. What does a typical day as a writer look like?

This one does not apply to me as much; I write when and where I can.

  1. What does your writing process look like?

Before writing a larger work, I take notes on paper, getting to know my characters, giving them quirks, and dreaming up scenarios that might take them where I want them to go, although they’ll ultimately decide where they go on their own. When writing fiction, it is me and my laptop. I play instrumental music to match the mood of what needs to be written. When writing nonfiction, such as my blog, I write the piece in Word first, freewriting and then editing. Once completed, I copy and paste the piece into my blog. If I were to write a research paper, there is a whole other process that includes outlines and notecards, rough drafts, and peer reviews. So, the writing process is situation-dependent for me. Kind of hypocritical because I teach students one method for the writing process. But shhhhh.

  1. How do you think AI will affect the writing field, and what are your thoughts on AI?

AI “hallucinates,” is what my friend Adam the Librarian told me, and I’ve seen it in essays “written” by students. AI is easy to spot. It fabricates quotes and attributes them to sources that they are not from.  AI cannot write creatively. It cannot write conflict.  It steals your voice if you allow it to edit your writing; it words things how you, the writer, would never dream of wording your pieces. It’s not you. It cannot be you. What you, the writer, have to offer is far better, more creative, and imaginative. I allow AI to help me with grammar and punctuation from time to time, especially when I’m doing the flying fingers thing, though I keep my own voice and style; I give the AI suggestions the boot. How will it affect the writing field … sadly, it can take the place of artistic writing voices and replace them with lack of imagination and dullsville writing. I hope more writers will avoid AI than will choose to use it. I will continue to do my own writing – good and bad.

  1. Overall, do you think the internet has improved or worsened the writing field?

It has greatly improved opportunities for sharing your voice and publication; however, the field is oversaturated, which means that voices, if they get heard, don’t get much more than their 15 seconds of fame. It’s the same in music and art. We are oversaturated, and because of that, it isn’t easy to stand out. Push, though, don’t stop. Keep going because you love it. Write because you’re compelled to. I am not fully answering the question, so back on track … in the sense that there are more opportunities, this is a vast improvement. However, those same opportunities have saturated the writing field with overwhelming amounts of poor writing.

  1. Does location (the state you live in) matter when looking for jobs in writing?

I’m a college professor, not a full-time writer, so I’m making an educated guess, but I would think that states with large cities would offer more opportunities.

  1. Is writing a fairly flexible job, as far as having an independently made schedule, juggling a family, and other things in life?

It depends on what variation of writing you’re involved with. Are you a freelancer? Are you a blogger? Are you a reporter? The answer to this is also dependent on the person. Go-getter? Get-by-er? Personally, as a college professor, I have time for writing when it isn’t a day of nose-to-the-grindstone essay grading. My schedule is fairly flexible, allowing me to find moments here and there to pour out my thoughts on a keyboard. But speaking to writing as a job, again, that’s not something I can fully speak to.

  1. What is something most people don’t know about careers in writing?

That not everyone can be Stephen King. Each semester that I teach Novel Writing, students come with high expectations of publication and living that writer life, and then I give them writing assignments that have about half of them second-guessing their life choices. In my world, these are not challenging assignments, but for those who underestimate the amount of thought and planning that goes into even beginning the work, it can be daunting. Writing takes thought, planning, and determination. It takes the ability to push through, have thick skin, and care less. It takes understanding that editing is the magic and the work, and you cannot expect to write anything well right out of the gate. There is work involved. Also, people have no idea how much work a writer like Stephen King puts into the novels that decorate our shelves. He has a strict process, thick skin, and determination. He also has an author, who King says, will not let him be Stephen King.

  1. What are good skills to have as a writer?

Beyond skills, having an open mind, a creative and curious spirit, a love of language and communicating ideas, and determination are essential. As far as skills, at minimum a decent command of vocabulary and grammar/punctuation, plus the ability to use tools such as Hemingway Editor without letting it change your voice. Computer skills are imperative. The ability to use Word or Google Docs, or a desire to learn how to do it, and the stubbornness to figure it out for yourself. I had a ‘learn it or else’ attitude with myself, and it paid off when it came to formatting a manuscript, which I had had no prior knowledge of how to do. I am self-taught – that stubborn determination got me there. Also, and this is essential, the skill to participate in peer review—to accept feedback from others and be willing to edit your work, putting the benefit of the work above your feelings. My husband frequently says, “F*&^ your feelings,” and he’s not wrong.

  1. Can you describe writer’s block and how you deal with it?

Writer’s block, schmiter’s block. You have writer’s block? Write about it. Write about how it feels. Write about the frustration. Be raw in your description … let the anguish out. Say it all. Say things no one else will. We all have these pent-up irritations like “writer’s block,” so write it all out. Write about what it feels like to be blocked, to be stunted, to be held back, even by yourself … and then, once the “writer’s block” loosens, which it will, give all of that emotional gunk to one of your characters! Because, hey, characters need to get stuck in their thoughts, too. Use your “writer’s block” to push yourself to better descriptions and characters built out of authenticity that pours out of your own negative experience. Heck yeah. No more excuses. No more “writer’s block.”

  1. Are you working on any books or writing projects right now?

Yes. I have a lot of pre-work completed. Somewhere around 50,000 words of pre-work. That writing is a fictionalized account of my life story because, at the time I wrote it, it was too personal, and I needed to separate myself from it. So … fiction. Now, an intense year and a half of growth, open heart surgery, and healing has passed, and I have new eyes with which to view my own story. It has grown and changed in my heart, and it will now be more than a description of surviving abuse; it will now be a focus on recovery and living life to its fullest despite the past. I have notes. I have ideas. I’m constantly mulling it over, and I have a potential path toward publication. Timing is essential, and the day is just not right yet to get fully started on my memoir. I aim to achieve this feat within the next three years. Additionally, I have considered creating a writing textbook for my Comp II courses, which is also on the burner. Not necessarily the back burner, but it is behind the memoir.

Writing on my blog is a fairly regular occurrence, so that doesn’t fall in this answer/category. Every time I hear of a writing contest, my ears perk up, and I think, I could do that! And then, it’s time to grade papers ….

  1. Any advice or resources when narrowing down and deciding career paths?

Find what you’re passionate about and pursue that.

When you do what you love for a living, you never work a day.

Those are cliché sayings, but they’re true. I live them. Every day.

September Can Dip. October, Hurry. Two Hospital Stays in One Month are Plenty – Too Much.

The month of September, even though it is my beloved birthday month, can go ahead and dip into October; Patrick is on stay 2 in the hospital, and we are over September. No offense to September, it’s not September’s fault. October, though, we’d like a smooth sail. Thank you in advance.

A peri-tonsillar abscess decided to take up residence between Patrick’s left tonsil and his jawbone. Who knows how long it was there before reaching volcano stage. On September 1, he started to talk about pain in his throat, couldn’t get up, fevers began that broke and left him needing to be mopped with towels, and then, the fevers began again. COVID was starting to go around, as was a nasty strain of strep throat, so we thought rest would do the trick. On September 3, Patrick still could not get out of bed; he could not swallow, he was sopping wet from fever-sweat, weak, dehydrated, and he said words he never says, “I need to go to the hospital.”

We headed to St. Francis South because it’s not as busy as St. Francis Main. During triage/in-take, the nurse saw immediately that his sore throat was not strep or COVID but that it was a large abscess near his left tonsil. She set the ball in motion quickly. He was placed in an ER room, tests were run, including a CT scan of his throat and bloodwork. The doctor reviewed these and took a look in Patrick’s throat; he straight up told us that at St. Francis South, they are not equipped to handle Patrick’s specific situation and that he would have to be moved by EMSA to St. Francis Main. The ambulance took him there, and I drove in the car to meet him there. Long story short, an ENT came, took a look, and immediately set about draining the abscess, which is a grueling process involving numbing spray, long needles, draining, and incisions all while the patient, Patrick, is awake, which he was – and he felt it all. But, he, in true Patrick fashion, took it without a whimper or a flinch. He was put on a strong antibiotic, and on the 5th of September, the hospital let him go home.

For 10 days, Patrick faithfully took his antibiotics. The pain in his throat lessened somewhat, but swallowing food remained painful.

On day 2 post-antibiotics, Patrick’s throat swelled again, and the pain worsened. We went to the ENT’s office, and he took a look, saying that some days are like that – sometimes it’s worse, sometimes it’s better, and that the healing was going to take a while. We left glad to know that he was okay – and that it was ‘normal’ to feel how he was feeling; it was healing. We thought. That was September 18th. On the 19th, he progressively felt worse throughout the day, but he didn’t say much about it. I could tell something was off. We had smoked ribeye for dinner, and Patrick had a hard time swallowing it. That was different from the previous hard-to-swallow days.

Through the night, he did not sleep.

He tried to doze, but his neck swelled more, and the pain grew in intensity.

When he got up around 2:00 p.m., he came into the dining room, soaking wet again, and he said, “I think I need to go to the hospital.” In under 5 minutes, we were in the car headed back to St. Francis South. Hoping that we’d be told it was healing, all was well, here’s some more antibiotics, but that was not what happened.

The doctor took a look in Patrick’s throat and said, “It’s back.”

Worse than it was the first time. It had spread.

Two days before, the ENT, in his office, had said it was getting better, and now it’s worse than it was on September 3rd. They loaded Patrick into an ambulance again and sent him to St. Francis Main. I followed, as did a large number of our family members. Shout out to Joey, Carolynn, Madison, Zackery, Maureen, Veronica, Joe, Nana, Harley, Josh, Max, and my Daddy. They all gathered in the lower level of the Emergency Room waiting area, and Joey and I went back with Patrick who was kept in Trauma C. The large room held large lights and surgery tools. Our concern levels rose at his being placed in the space where they do surgery in the ER. Now, we expected they were going to open his neck and dig out the infection, which had, at the beginning of the month, been told to us was a potential option. Joey and I both held Patrick’s hands, and he tried to sleep. He was going on hours with no sleep, no food, nothing to drink, and he was in excruciating pain. After 40, minutes we were told that a regular room was ready for him, and that he was going to be moved there, that the ENT would get with him either in the morning or on Monday, they didn’t know which. Okay, at least he was getting antibiotics.

Joey went with him as the techs moved Patrick to his regular hospital room.

I moved the car.

The family scattered – some walking through the hospital to Patrick’s room, some of us moving vehicles to be closer to the main entrance. We all reconvened on Patrick’s floor. Carolynn and I went in, and the ENT was there, ready to do the draining! So fast! And wham-bam, she numbed him, gave him a shot, and began draining the abscess and its fingers, which were creeping down into Patrick’s neck. She worked thoroughly, making incisions into the fingers and spreading them wide to ensure they would also drain. Patrick was in pain the entire time, but he told her to keep going, to get it done, and he bore it like a beast. He amazes me.

After she was finished, he felt better and wanted coffee and food. The family all crowded into the room, and we had a nice time of fellowship. Once everyone disbanded, I walked to one of the several Starbucks in this massive place and purchased some chicken noodle soup and a grilled cheese sandwich. The nurse got Patrick some coffee. He ate and drank it all. This was good news! We were pleased, and we hoped for some rest. That did not happen. Loud beeps. Vitals checks. Blood draws. The changing of antibiotics. The night passed slowly, and with both of us awake, dozing occasionally – sometimes hot, sometimes cold, always interrupted. But such is a night in the hospital.

This morning, we wondered whether we would see the ENT as she had said she and her attending doctor would be here. It’s a Sunday, though, so we weren’t sure. We thought maybe they’d wait until Monday. I went home to change and pack an overnight bag, which contains a much softer pillow than any this hospital has to offer, as well as some sparkling water. I grabbed my medicine and a change of clothes for both of us because I know my husband, and he would not want to stay in the hospital any longer than necessary … in his mind regarding what’s necessary. I also made my own cappuccino at home and brought it in an insulated cup; these Starbucks in the hospital will drain your bank account. Patrick’s coffee comes from the floor we are on, and the nurses keep it coming.

The ENT arrived just as she said she would, and right on time. Her attending physician was with her, and they set to work looking in Patrick’s throat at the work she’d done yesterday evening. The doctor said she had done good work, but he saw three pockets of infection that were still there. He gave Patrick the option of just allowing antibiotics to try and get the infection that was in those pockets, or to do one more draining right then and there to get as much as possible dealt with on the spot. My husband said, “Let’s do it.” And the doctor asked if he was a veteran. I proudly said, “Yes. He was in the Coast Guard.” The doctor said his grandfather had been in the Coast Guard. They set to work in Patrick’s throat, and my husband, being the beast he is, bore it all without complaint, though there were tears in his eyes. I saw that he was in pain, but he took every bit of it, as he says, “like a man.”

The doctor cut into the pockets and spread them, allowing them to drain.

Patrick spit up lots of fluids, which I won’t describe.

The doctor told us that Patrick then had two options. One was to go home today and be on oral antibiotics or to stay another day on IV antibiotics, which are stronger. Patrick asked which one he would choose. The doctor said to stay one more day, and he laid out a good case for why. Patrick agreed to his reasoning, and thus, we are here until tomorrow.  The doctor also said that after we get home and the antibiotics they ordered for Patrick to take at home run their course, if the infection returns, then it will be tonsillectomy time. He was direct and told Patrick that at his age, a tonsillectomy is not what it is for a 6 or 7-year-old. They bounce back quickly; a 62-year-old will not. He said it will be a very painful recovery, but the infections are coming from the tonsils, and removing them will stop their recurrence. We are hopeful that the antibiotics and the drainage of the past two days will alleviate the need for a tonsillectomy, but we do know that it is an option in the future if needed.

The local that they’d put into the area for today’s draining has worn off now, and Patrick is in immense pain, but he’s trying to sleep, and he doesn’t want painkillers if he can keep from taking them. Again, he amazes me. His 38 years of sobriety are something he refuses to risk by taking substances into his body. I’d be like, “Hydrocodone, please.” He doesn’t want to tell the nurse just yet about the pain because he’s sure it’s from the basically-what-was-surgery done in the throat earlier this morning, and the local anesthesia is wearing off. I’m sure he’s correct as well, but she could give him something for the pain.

Ah, this man.

He will push through the pain, and he is. He finally found a somewhat comfortable position, and  I’m sitting here listening to him snore now. Except the beeping just went off, indicating that the antibiotic is out, and it woke him up.

Sleep is not something that happens in a hospital. Sigh.

September, we are tired. You still have my birthday in store for us, and turning 53 seems whack  – so, that, we can pass quietly at home in our jammies, curled up under blankets and grateful for more time together and October’s imminent arrival. May it bring cool weather, beautiful sunsets, breathtaking leaves, and lovely evenings of conversation on the front porch.

Vatterott College Taught Me to Work Harder Than You

When I hear folks who work in a community college environment or a state college/university environment complain about their workloads, I disingenuously smile; internally, I roll my eyes and think they’d have never survived at Vatterott College, a high-stress, high-stakes environment.

Big boy pants, people.

At Vatterott, we were expected, as faculty, to retain our students. Every one of them. Any student who missed class had to be called, messaged, and recorded in our data system until an actual connection with the student was established. All communications (including attempts to contact and actual contact with the student) were to be documented in CampusVue for all staff and administrators to access. If you did not contact each missing student (and in our general education classes, we had 30 students per class; most terms I taught 7 classes, giving me 210 students every 10 weeks), your position at the school became endangered. If too many students dropped your classes, your position at the school was jeopardized. Retain. Retain. Retain. Talk them into returning. Keep them in the seats. Make them stay for 4 1/2 hours each day and don’t sit down while you’re teaching. No calling 911. (One day, one of my students threatened to shoot the place up, and it was determined, after he calmed down, that he would remain in the classroom … I put my foot down on that one and said, No. I took a risk even after being told there would be consequences if I canceled my class that day. I canceled the class. Student safety was worth it.) We were to note all interactions with all students in the system. High expectations. Fear of losing your job. Negative critiques. Walking on eggshells around corporate-level employees. Always knowing you’re being watched. Convincing students who are just trying to stay out of jail that they can and are students and can achieve – partly so you can keep your job by keeping them in the classroom, but also because you grow to care about the students who have complicated, unbelievably hard lives and drama in their lives. I learned how to connect, engage, and reach students in that environment. I believe that those of us who worked there developed a trauma bond with our students and with one another. Those of us who stayed, anyway.

I’m a survivor. I navigated 8 years and 2 months at Vatterott, collecting various positions (instructor, program director, member of the interview committee, registrar, retention officer, and subject matter expert) and recognitions (2013’s Most Innovative Instructor) until Vatterott closed its doors forever on December 17, 2018, at 4:00 p.m. I’ll never forget going home at 4:00 that day, sitting on my couch, and staring at the Christmas tree. What now?

Had it not died that day, I’m sure I’d still be in the Vatterott family; I grew to love it – probably that trauma bonding. I’m privileged to know so many wonderful people from those days. Bobby, Sam, Colleen, Brandi, Katie, Marcy, Shane, Ric, Craig, Scott, Virilyaih, Cheryl, Rhonda, Patrick, Maria, Charles, Al, Keegan, Cody, Melanie, Gonz, Rich, Jessie, Suzanne, Julie, Juan, John, Michelle, Velma, Velma, Celeste, Melanie, Barbara, Beth, Casey, Veronica, Brian, John, John, Rich, Jeff, etc. I’m smiling as memories flood my mind as I just write their names down. Strong people. Tough environment. #survivors #grateful #vatterottcollege

The opportunities since those years have been a blessing of ease; it is normal to hear me say that people who complain about their workloads should be required to spend a minimum of 2 years in a trade school environment. Then, they can come back and hit the ground running with gratitude for environments/schools/campuses that give autonomy and do not have the red-tape expectations that for-profit education places on their employees/teachers. Perspective is essential. Sometimes I think that colleagues who have only worked in a particular type of educational bubble don’t realize how blessed they are, how free they are, and, really, how spoiled they are. Me? Puh-lease. I know exactly what I have now and how blessed I am, and I could not be more thrilled to be an Assistant Professor of English at Tulsa Community College. It is a beautiful school with a beautiful mission, and I’m two feet in – Community Unites Us!

Two of my former Vatterott coworkers and I get together from time to time, and we laugh about how ‘easy’ our current positions are in comparison to what life was like before. We swap stories of the types of complaints we encounter in workplaces since our time at Vatterott and try to imagine those complaining folks working in the environment that the three of us survived—and not only survived, but thrived in. We know that the majority of these complaining individuals would not have lasted long in those roles we held and grew in. We are strong women, tough women, who can handle adversity and rise above it, who will work harder than most – we have proven this. And speaking of strong women, sometimes I think about reaching out to our former CEO and saying, “Thank you for being tough on us all.” Actually, the language I joked that I’d use was, “Thank you for being a tyrant.” I know, though, she was doing what she believed was best for the entire Vatterott system, and I’m beyond grateful for the lessons I learned there. I am the employee and the professor I am today because of my time at Vatterott College.

Some people say they’ve been to the school of hard knocks. Others attend Universities. Some choose state colleges or private schools when they desire higher education. Me? I attended a private Christian college for my bachelor’s degree, then a private University for my second bachelor’s degree and my master’s degree. But the school that taught me the most was the first school that took me in as an instructor, Vatterott College. I am grateful for a demanding work environment and a CEO with high expectations. I think everyone should have at least one experience in a place like that.

A Vatterott reunion would be ‘tops.’ Does anyone say ‘tops’ anymore? Probably not. A Vatterott reunion would be welcome. Good to have some trauma-bonded hugs. Perhaps one day.