Archive for April, 2013

GOODREADS made my day get better


Yesterday was amazing. I have a friend who raised three kids by herself while earning a PhD in Psychology. I’ve known her since Hoover junior high school. Four years ago she called me and said, “I want to drive up and visit you. It will be the First Annual Lisa Guest Day.” Needless to say I asked why I deserved a day and I won’t bore you with her descriptive answer, but yesterday was the Fourth Annual.

While we were eating sushi for lunch the subject turned to insecurity. She said, “It’s a petty habit. These horrid little thoughts usually aren’t grounded in reality. It’s a self-centered behavior that only tells the world (man) that the thinker of such thoughts is high-maintenance.”

Today was kicking my ass again. Yes, two of my girlfriends had tears in their eyes when embracing my book COURTING ME(N): Juggling Love, Lust, and Listening Within in their arms for the first time. I feel great joy having come so far out of my shell. However, fear is stomping all over my heart that my CLL will need treatment before our 35th High School Reunion this summer.

I know how, like the best of us, that staying busy is a great distraction in order to not dwell with difficult feelings. Yet, I’ve learned in order to articulate emotional eruptions (thus freeing myself) I need to sit with the pain long enough in order to know it, see it, describe it. That’s not fun.

Usually in order to write I must seduce myself with an understanding of the issue at hand, or at least genuine excitement about it’s resolution. I’d seen a Nightline story about Colleen Hoover, who wrote SLAMMED and how “key GOODREADS bloggers” got the word out about her self-published book. As a result, SLAMMED hit the New York Times bestseller list as established publishers were sending polite rejection letters to the unknown first time author.

Today I read an instructive NYT article about comedian Louie CK. He told musicians and comedians to be patient if they’ve been working on their craft and still haven’t hit pay dirt fifteen years down the road.

I don’t want fame or wealth. I’ve been writing this book for 27 years. It is only because I had my first cancer treatment in 2011 that I had enough fire under my butt to stop hiding and come forth in words. My book doesn’t tell you I won the romance game, and how you can too. It does tell you things I discovered about orgasm and moving through power struggles in relationships I’ve never read anywhere else. The book talks about sexuality in a way that makes it a safe subject to talk about, between all levels of education and ages of maturity.

My kindle version will be ready in a week or so. I mistakenly formatted only a 7th of the book to be a tasty treat that would create a desire in readers to hold my baby in their hands. I’m not a salesperson. It’s not that I want to shirk the work necessary to get it out into the world. I just want to preserve my energy to fight my cancer so I can live long enough to master this thing I know about love.

I’m not a new adult. I’m a 53 year old adult who has been obsessed with her love life since she can remember. I’ve had my S & M Chapter (Shades of Turning 27 or as I labeled it EROTIC OR NEUROTIC).

The book, born in early March, I’ve held back from pushing forward because I liked listening slowly and intimately as key people read it and gave me their feedback.

But I’ve now washed the baby. I won’t say publicly I’ve given her shots, because I don’t believe in most shots, but this baby is ready to be introduced. Ten mistakes and one repetitious paragraph are now being formatted out.

What lifted me today out of the ancient depression of doubt and “insecurity” gripping at my throat? Discovering my personal blog can be seen simultaneously on GOODREADS.

I’m praying I can find the bloggers on here that Hoover found in her genre.

To the first ten who contact me I will send you a print copy this week. Thank you in advance for your help.


I found this “MOMENT THAT MATTERS” when researching old emails tracing back to 2004.

My life has fulfilled itself. I resolved the pain and tears.

I now live a much different life, having faced my fear and finding it just fade away.

MARCH 8, 2004

2 04

Just humped myself into sobbing tears after reading the first ten pages of Dr. Phil’s Self Matters. I finally picked up his book, which I’ve been meaning to read for three years. I started at the beginning, something I only do when truly serious about a subject matter, which isn’t very often. I had difficulty fixating on his third person description of the guy on Graduation Day. The blistering asphalt he stood on while calling person to person from Dr. Son to Dr. Dad didn’t put me on that page much less in that parking lot where the payphone was in 1969. I fought through the seven pages describing how he succumbed to the life he promised he wouldn’t live, the one bought out by easy money and others expectations. His words became real when he wrote:

“In order to understand what I mean by your authentic self, you need only to think back to the times in your life when you have been your best. I’m talking about the absolute happiest time in your life: the most fulfilled and especially the most real you have ever been. Think back to the you at the heart of those moments. In those moments, your life flowed with an energy and an excitement. At the same time, you may have felt a quiet calm within.”

It made me think back to those times in my life. Was it when I was President of my class, school or sorority? No. Was it when I heard I had won those elections? No. Was it when studying massage or even writing? No. Was it when massaging others and feeling them relax as perhaps they hadn’t ever relaxed before? Yes. Was it when typing on the keyboard with my eyes gazed far from the screen and the invisible thread from the one dictating to the one taking dictation was fluid and even? Yes. But most of all it was when the nurturing Goddess got beyond the cynical critic and created love whether in healing, relationship, or a word tapestry to describe one or the other or all three tied neatly together.

I found my Hitachi under the bed and wound its head in my baby blanket. In the dark I searched for my release. At first I couldn’t find my rhythm. Then a flicker of intensity appeared. I prayed as I rubbed my bell up against the vibrating shape, wanting to hear her ring. A few times I got close to taking off, but just when I thought perhaps my kite had caught the wind, I sputtered back down and dug into the dirt like so many wooden frames stapled with too heavy a cloth.

I lie quietly. All was dark except the red light in the slowly flashing fire alarm and the yellow dot on the boom box. I could hear my breath, which by now was a bit deeper. I could feel the moisture gathering around my legs, still hidden under not only the high quality raspberry sheet but the white woven cotton bedspread as well.

Suddenly I heard the multi-orgasmic me of 624 hours ago tell FOG, “I don’t take myself to this place when alone.” At the time I had been rolling along on yet another plateau of blissful engagement with the body that knows my body the best. I felt his kiss upon my lips and suddenly, back in the present moment, I was connected to the core, to my self that matters, to the soul and the voice and the heart of this woman who hungers for real life.

The kite caught wind and sped quickly up into the heavens. I was not concerned with the roll of string. I wasn’t feeling the calves which usually get so tight with tension, when alone, I can’t soar high above. I was soaring.

Then I was sobbing. It wasn’t sad tears about the man. It wasn’t happy tears because I’d finally released what was keeping me from concentrating on reading or writing or even listening to loved ones. Maybe they were tears of confusion.

Tears because what is most authentic to me triggers others. Tears because my honesty is frightening. Tears because my hunger is overwhelming. Tears because so much of my life is still hidden and I fear
I’ll never really connect and live out what I came here to experience.

Tears, because I hide myself away for fear I will make other people uncomfortable. Tears, because so much of life is uncomfortable when not living vibrantly, one’s authentic self.

And then I came to the keyboard and within an hour had created this short little synopsis of one of my moments that mattered.