How My Blog Made Me Rich and Famous - THE LAUNCH

I know.  That title. Audacious.  Crazy.   Arrogant, even.  

What is she thinking????

Here’s what I am thinking:  

1.   I find myself in the most amazing country that inspires me every single day. 
2.  In the past year and a half,  much to my surprise, I learned that I love to write.  Really love it.
3.  As of February, I have been very ungainfully unemployed.  
4.  For many years I have admired the hell out of people who had the courage and gumption to figure out how to make a living at what they love to do. 
5. In the Chinese lunar cycle, it is the Year of the Water Dragon.  It is a year where you are supposed to do big, bold, courageous things.   It is supposed to be hard.  If you can hang on while that dragon gives you the ride of your life, the rewards follow.  It only comes around every 60 years.  I did the maths*. I only get one.  

 

When you add all those things up there is only one place to land.   The land of rich and famous through writing.

So, you ask, does Caroline really think she can become rich and famous by writing?  And I ask, do I even want to become rich and famous?  I don’t know.   I don't know.  I don't know.  But setting my sights at How My Blog Helped Me Make a Little Money to Contribute to Household Expenses seemed a little lame and not water dragonish at all.  

So, with this post, I’m just putting it out there.  I’m jumping off the cliff.   I’m letting you know my intention is to figure out how to make money by writing.  If you know me at all, this is incredibly uncharacteristic.  It speaks of a self-confidence I don’t actually possess.  It speaks of a belief in myself that every day I must work hard to get back to, and most days I don't get there.   In fact, I am so wracked with doubts about the whole enterprise that it has taken me weeks to write this and then another few to actually post it. 

But what is spurring me to make it public is the fear that these very same doubts will push me to set my sights low, or, worse, to not try at all.   So by putting it out there, first, I am saying to myself, “Self, now all these people know.  You better take some action to make it happen or you’ll be mightily embarrassed.”    Nothing like fear of shame as a motivator.  (Please note that I am giving myself permission to fail, but not permission not to try.)

And second, I am hoping that by going public like this I will have your support.   My plan is to keep a journal of sorts about my journey to write my way to wealth and fame.  I’ll post these journal entries as blogs in a series called How My Blog Made Me Rich and Famous.  I don’t know what form they’ll take or if they’ll be at all interesting.  But I’d like to invite you on my journey.  I’ll be so happy if you come along.   

* My sister pointed out my typo "s" on the end of math.  Only it isn't a typo - that is what these crazy South Africans call it.  But not so crazy really, because it is after all a nickname for mathematics - which you'll note ends in an "s".

Every Once in A While

If you’ve read any of my blogs on parenting, you’ll know I find it challenging.  I really just have no idea what I’m doing.  Most days,  I am pretty convinced my kids will need years of therapy to recover from my well meaning but inept mothering.   On my worst days, I think I am making all the right moves for my kids to turn to drugs and promiscuous sex and eating disorders and eventually land in juvi.   But every once in a while something happens and I think I can’t be doing everything wrong.

The other night, Tanya was over for dinner after having been out of town for a whole week.  Now, Tanya is first and foremost my friend, but I am forced to share her with every member of my family because she holds a very particularly special place in each of their hearts. What this results in is that when she comes to our house, the minute she walks in the door, words and stories tumble out of our mouths, bumping and jostling each other in the race to reach her first. 

This night, after 15 minutes of this conversational chaos at dinner, we decide that it will work much better if each person has some time to tell Tanya something about their week.   I go first, and then Bill.  Bill begins to tell her about going to the release of Myesha Jenkins' 2^nd book of poetry at Darkies Café.   In amidst the who was there, what we ate, whom we talked to, what the format was, Bill told Tanya about how when Myesha that night had read the title poem from her book, Dreams of Flight, he had turned to me and asked, “Does this capture what you are feeling exactly?”  

At that moment in Bill’s story, Alexander had wandered over and was coincidentally (or not) standing right next to my copy of Dreams of Flight.  “Let’s hear it,” I say, “Alexander, bring that book over. Read the last poem.”  Now if you know my boy, that is a bold thing to ask of him.   But he is as eager as all of us to be in the glow of Tanya’s attention and so opens the book and reads the short poem. He reads it well, with assurance, in his fine public speaking voice, as if he had been practicing .

And blam, that is the start of it, a poetry slam breaks out at our dining room table. 

After Alexander read that one, Bill takes the book and reads one that especially speaks to him, one that could have been written about him.   It tells of fathers who know how to plait their daughter’s hair and make spaghetti  bolognaise and know what time school starts.   Alexander, being very much Alexander, then pronounces that the poems are all free verse and that free verse is too easy, at which point he digs out some non-free verse poems he had written in Grade 6 and proceeds to read them all to us, deserved pride tingeing his voice. 

Quince, meanwhile, has been flipping through Myesha’s book and  is desperate to have her turn to be in the spotlight.  She stands up and reads us the ones she has selected, including a lovely one about feeling safe while wearing an older brother’s shirt.   And then, Quince, being who she is, quickly composes her own poem, and we gladly (me, glowing a little) listen to her read that one too. 

Feeling the magic, Quince suggests that we make every Sunday poetry night in our house.  Moreover, she declares that every Saturday she will spend time writing poetry to read at Sunday night poetry night.  Now I know how magic works – you cannot schedule it.  You must just recognize it when it comes and be grateful that it has chosen to visit.   But I also know that magic visits when certain things come together. In this case, I know part is Tanya’s presence, as she always brings out some magic in our family, and also part is the gift of Myesha’s beautiful, accessible poems.  And though I don’t know what it is, I can’t help but think somewhere along the way I did something right that set the stage for my family to spontaneously create a night of poetry.  It is rare, but I am feeling a momentary pride in my parenting.   Feels nice.

Me versus My Mind

So here is just a snippet of my mind when left to its own devices. First I must let you in on a secret. Sometimes in the middle of the day, when I am feeling particularly exhausted, I reach for a spoonful (or two) of my homemade hot fudge. Which like all drugs does the trick for a bit but ultimately, of course, then makes me feel worse.

So today when the thought crossed my mind I said "No, self. Have a piece of fruit instead."

A banana caught my eye and before I could stop it my mind said, "Wouldn't that banana be good with some hot fudge on it?"

I can't compete with that kind of devious genius.

Why I Must Drink More Red Wine

Today I learned that my cholesterol levels are elevated which came as a complete shock because I have always been convinced, with no scientific evidence whatsoever, that I had my father's genes, who had the great good fortune to eat whatever he wanted - and he was the biggest ice cream-asauaus I've ever known - and maintain year-in year-out perfectly normal cholesterol levels.

 I am very resentful of this news, as I am a VERY healthy eater.  And I'm VERY resentful that my doctor, whom I otherwise quite like, suggested I pop by her office to pick up a pamphlet on cholesterol and healthy eating.  Okay, so I, like my father, like ice cream, but I don't eat it every night like he did, only on the weekends.  And it is true that I only like South African ice cream with my hot fudge on it, which now that I think of it is made with real butter and cream.  And yes, I have done  as the Romans do, so my red meat consumption has gone up since moving to South Africa.  Alright, and I know I should eat white meat chicken, but I only like the dark meat.  And well there is that occasional delve into the frozen homemade chocolate chip cookie dough, also made from real butter, habit.   But other than that I really am a healthy eater.  I eat loads of salad, and yogurt, and fruit, and oats, and nuts, and have been known to eat fish.   What more can be asked of me??

I have some recollection of reading studies showing that red wine and dark chocolate can help reduce cholesterol levels.  Okay, if I must, I will up my consumption of red wine and fine chocolate.   After all, sacrifices must be made for one's health.

The Bear in Me

The other night was very chilly in Joburg - chilly enough to require long-sleeve shirt and long pants.  It was a preview of things to come and reminded me why, or just one of the many reasons why, winter is not my friend.

I am astounded and highly disturbed by my physiological response to cold. I become a bear sensing winter coming on and everything in me propels me to pack on the fat to get through the coming food-scarce months. I have triple helpings and crave dessert;

cravings I mostly give into.  I eat more than my fair share of our hot fudge.  Straight from the jar into my mouth.  Before lunch. 

I’m not sure if bears do this also, but as if by some unspoken decree of mother nature, I, without plan or thought, one evening switch from drinking white wine to red. Just like that.   (not that that is a bad thing.)  

Day after chilly day I eat, getting rounder and plumper, in preparation for the inevitable day when nuts and berries are no longer available.  Well, shocking as this news may come to the part of my brain that thinks otherwise, I am not a bear living off the land and nuts and berries remain plentiful throughout the year in my little world.  But meanwhile I am left with plumpness and unforgiving clothes that protest against my new roundness by squeezing me, hard.

I refuse to embrace this animal part of me that makes no sense in today’s world - or my today's world.   Rather this winter I will beat mother bear back with a stick.   Or maybe I’ll invite her to have a glass of red wine with me and then to be on her way before I sit down to my normal size dinner.  

My (second) New Year

My New Year began on 11/11/11.  I loved the symbolism of it.  "One" being the beginning - and on that day, we got 6 of that auspicious number (10 if you managed to be present when it turned 11:11am). Just look at the way that date looks. Clean, simple, yet something powerful and strong in there too.   Powerful in a stars coming into alignment way.  So,  I decided that 11/11/11 would be the first day of my New Year - My Year of (Re)Alignment.


I never have felt any affinity with what would be my traditional New Year's Day, January 1st. So not surprisingly when it came this year, I felt no surging ahead of my 11/11/11 New Year.   But today, the Year of the Water Dragon begins and it is speaking to me.

To get a better hold on it, I watched someone's video blog where he explained some of the significance of this year.  According to him, last year, the Year of the Rabbit, was a year to hole up, put things in place, get ready, but not be too out there.  This year, the Year of the  Dragon, is the culmination of the Chinese lunar 12 year cycle; so as he said, it is like graduation.  A year for BIG things to happen, what we've been building toward.

Some words this blogger used to describe what is ahead if we choose it:  powerful, emotions, passion, explode, big vision, creative, painful, love.  





The Year of the Water Dragon only comes around once every 60 years.  I did the math and this is the only Year of the Water Dragon I get.  I'm so ready, and I'm so not ready.   On Saturday, I asked a Buddhist monk to make me a good luck Chinese New Year sign with the words Courage and Faith on them.   Instead he made me one that says something like not 1 good thing, but 10,000 good things will happen.  Okay, not what I asked for but believe me, I'll take it.

At the temple, I also pulled a tiny Buddhist Chinese New Year Words of Wisdom scroll from the jar.   "Determination to Succeed Brings Good Fortune." True enough in that fortune cookie kind of way.   But the second half is so right, so mine.  "Courage to Fail Brings Hope of Success."  Happy New Year!

Love Glutton

I saw this quote from Mother Teresa yesterday and have been giving it some thought. First, we, as a species, don't seem to be very good at removing people's hunger for bread so it makes me despair for the first part.

And then in a self-absorbed way, I started thinking more about this hunger for love. I'm really curious, even when you are well loved, do you still want more, more, more? Or is it just me being a love glutton and I better up my therapy to 2 times a week.