I am officially published!

I did it. I wrote my very first article. You can find it here at a business/personal development blog called FOR YOUR SUCCESS. This has been quite the learning experience for me. I had to face/deal with/conquer/ignore much fear and self-doubt. But I did it. I can do nothing but pat myself on the back for the accomplishment.

I am excited about the work I am doing at FOR YOUR SUCCESS. Not only do I get the chance to develop my writing skills but I get an opportunity to shed some of the fears that have held me back for years. It's about damn time!

Nobody accomplishes anything on their own, so I have a few thanks to dole out.

I want to thank the folks at FOR YOUR SUCCESS for encouraging me, believing in me and for taking me under their wing. In our busy society, mentoring is such a lost art and I appreciate it when people take it upon themselves to not only pass on what they know but to also provide an opportunity to put that knowledge into practice.

I'd also like to thank my friends (you know who you are) for listening to me when I was stressed, for recognizing talent I was unwilling to acknowledge and for encouraging me to do what I love. And for promising me shoulder rubs ;).

Lastly, I'd like to thank you guys, the folks who read this blog on a regular basis and who have deposited little nuggets of support in the comments section. You have no idea what that has meant to me.

I believe a toast is in order. Raise you glasses everyone! Here's to silencing the inner critic and the unlimited possibilities that brings. Cheers!

Planes, trains and automobiles

As this post suggests, I have made a safe return from my recent trip to the Windy City. My luggage, apparently, enjoyed itself so much that it hung around Chicago a little longer and took a later flight. I am anxiously awaiting our reunion. To pass the time, I am offering some observations from my travels.

• I don't know why I continually request a window seat when flying as sitting by the window stresses me out. I'm not really afraid of flying -- I'm fine once I get in the air -- but I am afraid of takeoffs. This fear is intensified when I am staring out the window watching the ground beneath me disappear. I finally had to turn away and focus on my magazine. For some reason, reading about Tori Spelling's much publicized rift with her mother was strangely soothing.
• When I was a kid, it was well known that airlines placed strict weight requirements on stewardesses. It appears those rules have been thrown out the window. The flight attendants on both my flight to and from Chicago were full-figured. Way to go airline industry! Now could you please give me my free honey roasted peanuts back?
• The one thing that I wanted to do while in Chicago was go to the top of the Sears Tower. The original plan was to go on Tuesday but it was pouring down rain so my friend and I decided against it. Boy am I glad! As it turned out, a train on the line we would have taken to downtown Chicago ended up derailing. As much as I like adventure, crawling out of a pitch black, smoke-filled, rat-infested tunnel would not have been my idea of fun.
• My friend, a Chicago native, graciously accompanied me on the cab ride to O'Hare this morning. As he talked, it struck me that cab drivers must be privy to a lot of interesting conversations as people have the tendency to talk as if no one else is in the car. I imagine they have more than a few stories to tell.

As I was typing this, I received a phone call that my luggage is taking a cab ride of its own back to my home. As displeased as I am that it went on such an unsupervised excursion, I am just thankful that my luggage will be back home where it belongs.

Vacation

I'm going on a brief vacation, folks. No worries though, I should be back to meaningless blogging by the end of the week!

Silencing the inner critic

"The thinking my father tried to discourage in me is the thinking that stops all of us at one time or another. It is the small critical voice inside that says we don't have what it takes, we don't measure up. It's the voice that keeps us from trying new things. It's the voice that -- if we listen -- keeps us from living our dreams."

from The Playful Way to Serious Writing by Roberta Allen

Based on the suggestion of a well-known blogger turned author, I recently purchased the book quoted above. It is full of interesting creative writing exercises. I have often dismissed myself as not being creative enough to write about anything other than my life but I thought I would give this book a try.

The first lesson involved a picture of paint splotches connected together with lines. The instructions were to write down the first 6 words that come to mind then write a story about the third word. The time limit, a tool designed to force you to write without criticizing, was 10 minutes.

I felt a twinge of anxiety as I started this exercise, fearful that my failure would prove once and for all what I had allowed myself to believe all these years -- that I lacked creativity. I forged ahead anyway. I set the timer and stared momentarily at the blank tablet. I wrote down a sentence. And almost immediately, I wrote down another sentence. Ten minutes later, I had 2 pages of sentences.

I sat back and marveled at my creation like a 3 year-old taking pride in a messy painting. Granted, my first attempt at fiction won't garner any literary awards but the exercise had a huge affect on me. Writing creatively no longer seemed out of the realm of possibility. I could do this. I was ecstatic that my critical inner voice had not only been silenced but discredited as well.

Gremlins in the attic

At 12:40 a.m., I was awakened by a noise.

BOOM!

It sounded like a car ramming into the side of my house.

THUD!

No, I think it's actually coming from the attic.

Thump...Thump...Thump, Thump, Thump!

It's definitely coming from the attic.

This is not the first time I've heard noises up there. For months, there have been a plethora of sounds emanating from above that, with enough denial, could easily be confused with the settling noises of a house -- a knock here, a bump there, the occasional scratchy sounds of nails dragging across plywood. Whereas those noises may have been ambiguous in their origin, these screamed an undeniable truth -- something living and breathing has taken up residence in my attic.

Who knows what kind of creature has decided to share my abode. A squirrel, a raccoon, the Loch Ness monster? Whatever it is will remain a mystery because attics, like basements, are scary places for me. Based on the number of horror films involving attics, I think it's clear that nothing good ever happens there.

When I purchased my house 11 months ago, the inspector, accurately sizing me up as the clueless, mechanically-uninclined woman that I am, tried to lecture me on how to change the filter on the air conditioning unit located in the attic. Did he say change it once a month, once every few months, once a year? I don't remember. I wasn't listening because I had no intention of ever going up there.

My attitude pretty much ensures that the one critter will eventually turn into a family of critters intent on building an entire community in the critter-friendly environment that is my attic. Whatever. I don't care. Just keep the noise down so I can get some sleep.