Ramblings on my Absence, Hate and Human Rights

Life has been hectic which has left me little time to blog, though I've done some journaling here and there, mostly between gigs, or during rare moments when I'm waiting and have nothing but my notebook to keep me company. I've kept those thoughts to myself, however. The rise of social networking has left me longing for those days when thoughts were private and I have regressed back to keeping much of my writings in my diary. Also, during this busy period of my life, I feel its just easier to focus on the actions that puts food on the table and supports my family. Hopefully, a time will come when I can put more energy into artistic pursuits again. Writing can be self consuming and masturbatory act. Yet,I do miss having more time to write and share with my fellow artists, those people who color the world with imagination and childlike questioning. I sometimes forget how much courage it takes to speak one's mind.

But today, I'm putting some work aside to write about something that I think is vitally important and I figured if I feel this strongly about it, I should probably share it as well. I do have a strong sense of moral conscience and a strong sense of fun and humor. I hope people don't get these two mixed up as both are important. I'll write a juicy piece of erotica one day and a very elaborate story about the human condition another. Its who I am and I refuse to censor myself in order to cater to a particular genre or demographic just for the sake of marketing. I made that choice when I became an independently published author on the side that I either stay true to myself or not do this at all. I have yet to sell out or change something I write in order to appease a publisher or group. But I digress.

My recent thought has been on how hate brings us together. This is not an opinion but a psychological fact. It's been well documented that if you want to connect with someone, they are more likely to love you if you find out that you have a common dislike. This is more powerful than having something in common.

For example, if you hate the "Twilight" series because of their vegan like vampires that sparkle in the sun and you meet someone who shares the same strong opinion, you will get a surge of affection towards them. If you've been harboring a secret fear of white people and you confess this to a friend who turns out to feel the same way, you have found yourself a buddy for life. This phenomenon has been exploited by popular marketing experts and by the algorithms on the internet, as your search engine keeps feeding you more articles that promote your strong dislikes, exposing you to more people who are like you and sheltering you from those who are not. Just look at how polarized our nation has become.

Have you ever tried to convince a polarized group to see it the other way? I have, and had tomatoes thrown at me. I was simply asking a group of breastfeeding moms to be a bit nicer when they talked about how horrible non-breastfeeding moms are. I appealed to their sense of empathy and said that they are moms too and I've known a few who wanted more than anything to breastfeed but they just couldn't do it. This fact has filled them with guilt. I was told to get lost, and to find another group. One mom actually said, "of course I'm prejudice. I want to be around people who are like me," she was applauded for her firm defense of prejudice. Why was I part of the group? Because I was a breastfeeding mom. I had friends who both breast fed and formula fed and felt equally compassionate toward both. But I learned that I'm an anomaly. What was it about me, that I could love those who are not like me?
But my formula feeding friends are like me. They have  had similar trials and tribulations. And many absolutely believe that breastfeeding is good for their kids, they just couldn't do it. I suppose I tend to prefer to notice similarities over differences. It's easier to learn and relate when I see connections.

I also realize that I too am drawn to people who share my dislikes. When someone agrees with me on political matters, I feel an affinity towards them. If they dislike a movie for the same reason I do, I feel like I found a brother or sister. But I have to step back and remind myself of my folly.

If you follow my blogs, you might know that I'm terribly torn by the human condition. I am disgusted by much of our traits, like the way we love to hate, the way we love to dominate, and destroy what stands in our way, the way we've made most animals and plants extinct unless they benefit us, and the long history of atrocities that often makes me ashamed to be human. I know that pride is one of the sins that has caused all this horror and I'm not too proud to admit, that I too have human folly. We all do.

There was once a German Catholic clergy man who said something to the affect of this: They went after the communists and I didn't do anything. They went after the Jews and I turned a blind eye, so when they went after my church, it was too late.
He said this years before the end of the WWII. The snow ball of hate had started and it would just get worse as the entire world was engulfed in the hell of war and innocent people were executed for their religion or creed. Millions and millions of innocent Jews were exterminated, forced into stoves and gas chambers. Mothers and children were murdered first because they weren't capable of doing work for the German government. Just like humans, we used and destroyed what we hated. Yes, I said "we" because we are all part of the same race, and sometimes we turn on ourselves. Some Germans tried to stage a coup and rise up against this atrocity that was leaving all of Europe in ruins but it was too late. The damage was done.

I also want to point out the fact that when some people protested against the killings of "undesirables" and the Jews, Hitler supposedly stopped this mission, yet continued to do it in secret.

Look what we've done to ourselves, to our blacks, our Native Americans, our Armenians, our Christians, our Pagans, our Jews. etc... I'm sure I've left out other groups who were victims of mass genocide and hatred and for that I apologize. But the truth is, it could be anyone. At any time in history, there was always someone the masses loved to hate and often, we acted on that hatred.

Right now our president has been doing everything he can to make us hate Mexican immigrants and he has even separated children from their parents in his attempt to rid our country of them. This is how it starts. If an immigrant is illegal, its okay to hate them right? But when do we draw the line? Do they cease to be human and have the rights of any decent human being?
The Trump administration was reportedly surprised that Americans cared about immigrant kids being separated from their families at the border


To quote Proffesor Thomas Childers, "Be vigilant about your rights and care about the fundamental human rights of others. When the rights of others, no matter how small are violated, your freedom, your liberty is put at risk. Let there never be a day when we cast about in horror and wonder, 'how did it ever come to this?'"

It's very easy to fight for free speech, until someone says something you don't like. It's easy to stand up for civil rights of minorities, well, except for that one group your family has always hated. But when people put me down for supporting those who aren't like me and wonder why I do it. This is why. None of us are safe from this. Any doctrine of hatred towards someone else, can easily turn against the rest of us. A leader who is motivated by hate and domination will always turn on his people. Only a leader who is fair and just can keep the peace.

Ghosts -- Just because they aren't real, does that mean they don't exist?

In the past week, I watched two shows regarding ghosts. One was the movie, “The Awakening” and the other was the hit musical, “Next to Normal.” “The Awakening” was a horror film about a skeptic who disproved the existence of spirits, though deep down inside, she wanted them to exist. In the movie she said, “We all want ghosts to be real but that doesn’t mean they are.” “Next to Normal” never made any reference to ghosts. It was about a family dealing with a Mother who suffered from psychotic delusions. She believed her son who had been dead for years, was still alive. 

Ghost stories could fall into three categories, horror, paranormal drama or realistic drama. People who love horror get off on being frightened out of their wits by malicious ghosts who have the ability to terrify them to death. Lovers of paranormal drama fall in love with ghosts, want them to be real, and are touched when the dead are reunited with their loved ones. Realistic stories such as “Next to Normal” may never mention ghosts. The ghosts are memories or hallucinations. In “Next to Normal,” a family is torn apart by a ghost they know is not real and the mother goes through a series of horrible psychiatric treatments to help her get rid of her delusions.

Btw, I love ghost stories of every kind. I feel there is always something deep and archetypal about every type of ghost. They appeal to our own wishes and dreams much like vampires do. I think it is because we truly want ghosts to be real. I can’t think of how many times my door opened on its own. I realize it was just a draft but deep down inside, I was wishing it was the spirit of my long dead Grandfather watching over me. We want to believe that there is a connection to our souls that transcends death. Also, if ghosts are real, it would mean that we aren’t alone, even during our darkest days. They are our imaginary friends.

Harry Houdini, the greatest magician that ever lived, made it his life’s mission to expose mediums to be frauds. However, his initial intent was to contact his dead mother. He offered large amounts of money to find a medium that was real, but he proved them to be frauds each time. Here we have an example of someone who knows too much about magic tricks to be fooled. However, if someone did turn out to be the real thing, he was willing to offer them large sums of money. Deep down inside, he was looking for the genuine article. He never found him or her.

Until modern times, almost every society that ever existed; from ancient pagan cultures, to native tribal cultures, to Christian religions, believed in an afterlife. Coincidentally, most cultures attribute the start of winter or the end of fall as a time for the spirits to visit the living or to move on to the afterlife. I always find it fascinating that my Pagan, Christian and Native American friends celebrate a day where they give reverence to the dead all around the same time. In American culture, children dress up in costumes and haunt other people’s houses. They get candy in exchange for not playing tricks on the members of the household. Are we training our children to become mafia leaders when they grow up? Just kidding, I digress. While Halloween is a commercialized version of all these holidays, the truth is we all seem to need one day or more to pay homage the paranormal.

So the question that arises in my creative, rambling mind is: Just because ghosts aren’t real, does that mean they don’t exist? In the musical I just watched, “Next to Normal,” a ghost that didn’t exist was able to cause trauma to a family. If he wasn’t real, how did he manage to do this? To the writer of the musical, he was very real. He even cast an actor to play him. He wasn’t just a delusion; he was a metaphor. He didn’t just haunt the psychotic woman. In the end, we see how he haunted everybody. Yet, it was very clear that he wasn’t real. At some point in the musical, the mother complained that taking the delusion out of her head didn’t work because it wasn’t in her mind.  It was in her soul. Who can blame a grieving mother for harboring a ghost of a child she loves in the deepest parts of her spirit?

In Buddhism, no one really dies. We all share the same energy. Buddhists learn to accept death as an inevitable cycle, but there is no need to let go because nothing ever leaves and nothing ever dies. Death itself is an illusion. So if death doesn’t exist, is it real?

When I went on the Ghost Tours during my visit to New Orleans, I learned that ghosts are a powerful energy of something traumatic left behind. The haunted areas were more like historical landmarks where very bad things happened. Something still existed, a horrible memory that refused to die.

To those of us who write fiction, we create ghosts. We use them as metaphors. They remind us of people we loved. They help us let go or deal with the unknown. Malicious ghosts represent what we abhor or can’t face. We use them as archetypes and create myths and legends around them. They help us explain concepts that can only be understood through the use of stories. We shape them out of thin air even though they aren’t real. Yet, in the worlds we create, they exist. 

On Fame, Solitude, and Writing

When asked about their ideal future, over sixty percent of teenagers wanted to be famous. This seems to be a recent phenomenon. Perhaps it is the result of reality TV and celebrities like Paris Hilton, who isn’t known for any particular talent. Most of the teenagers polled had no idea how to be famous or had no talent in particular. They just wanted fame.

Upon hearing this, I look back on my own childhood. I remember wanting to be a writer. I think the last thing I wanted was fame. I loved stories and words more than anything. I thought that being paid to write would be the coolest thing in the world. I foresaw a peaceful life where I sit in my own backyard with only my typewriter as my companion. I wanted success so I could be away from people and indulge in my own fantasy world. Unfortunately, fame is a horrible side effect of success. If people don’t like me, I won’t sell books. If I don’t sell books, I won’t get paid for doing what I like.

Most writers prefer solitude over accolades and adoring fans. These days, we are expected to be highly involved in marketing strategies and promotional activities. Someone once told me that it was the price of fame. I had to remind him that fame was never my ultimate goal.

Yet, everyone assumes it is. They tell me that with my body, I can draw slews of fans if I wore something proactive and posed for the camera. But will that sell books? Maybe it will get me more hits on twitter but will that make me feel like I’ve achieved my dream? Today, I sit here, realizing that the original dream was to be left alone with my craft. If I could get paid for writing, I could escape all the other crap. It was a naïve, childhood fantasy, totally void of reality. After all, why would I want to be the center of attention? Why would I want my private life on display for everyone to judge? Why would I want to hear the constant snickering of people who hate me for being loved? There is something very scary about fame. Could it be that the fear of popularity can get in the way of success? After all, once you have a devoted following, you can lose them at the turn of a coin.

I don’t know what to say to kids who want to be famous. It’s amazing that anyone would want that kind of craziness over a life of peace and love. What happened to the idea of being good at something and getting paid for it? Perhaps kids don’t get enough attention these days. They are brushed aside as we check our iphones. I don’t know. If I were to say anything to youngsters, I think it would be that I hope their path has a heart in it. I hope they aren’t selling their souls to earn the unreliable love of strangers. I know this isn’t much of a blog for youngsters. I mostly just blog about what pops up in my head because that’s what I like to do. I know I don’t do it for the fame. 

When I saw my reflection in the snow covered hills....

Truth is I'm changing.  I've changed so much I hardly recognize myself.  I'm changing for the better really, my whole mindset is maturing.  I don't accept excuses or silly melodrama.  I know that if I want something, I should just do it.  But I sometimes don't know what to do if I can't do what I used to do 'cause it's not me anymore.  I know, it makes no sense but I'm writing this more for me now.  Everyone we ever were, we love.  And when we change, we mourn a bit of ourselves.  We can be changing for the better.  We could be on the verge of enlightenment but some part of us hangs on to our old selves.  After all, it was a lot easier to be a lesser person than we are today and I do miss the crutches I used to fall on.  

I miss the way I used to write, not like how I write now isn't bad.  When I was a little kid, I didn't even think about writing.  I wrote the most incredible stories and used my imagination to see how far I could take them and I loved doing it.  Then I changed somewhere along the way.  Some English teachers started making me think I had to put meaning in everything.  I spent so long trying to find that old kid in me again.  But she's gone.  It's the things I really want that I'm afraid of doing 'cause I know what the cost is, my heart and soul and dreams and wishes.  

I'm just writing to relax.  No clarity tonight, no poetry, no sweet imagery.  Maybe I'll read this tomorrow and learn something about myself.

Why I Write

Last week I spoke to a book promoter.  We all know that it is easier to promote non-fiction than it is to promote fiction.  She asked me why I write fiction when I could obviously write about a subject that I am an expert in and use my book to promote my business.  I told her that I’ve been writing fiction since I was a little girl. I still have several unpublished works that I would like to get out there.  I started writing before I ever started doing what I do for a living.  She gave me the sound advice to write a book about my job (which shall remain anonymous).  I already have a following and writing a non-fiction book about my practice will enhance business sales and help me save up money to promote my next fictional work.  

This was very sound advice and she was right.  Hec, my husband has told me the same thing.  Unfortunately, I have two personalities.  There is the very knowledgeable lady who makes money being an expert in her profession (which shall remain anonymous).  This lady is very sane, very practical and very focused.  But then there is my other personality, Lacey Reah.  Lacey Reah is wild, outrageous and passionate about life.  Lacey Reah cries at movies and her eyes shine when she sees something inspiring.  She reads books and gets lost in them.  She loves a good story.  Lacey Reah is who I am when I’m not making money and she has always wanted to write fiction.

After speaking to this book promoter, my two personalities started to collide and I started looking into the idea of focusing more on my business.  Then, I read something beautiful and I watched a movie that took me away.  What is wrong with fiction? What is wrong with escaping into the life of another person and seeing the world in a different perspective?  What is wrong with writing a story, with reading a story that challenges the imagination and inspires others in a non-conventional way?  When I indulge in my hobby of reading, or watching a play or a movie, I remember the reason why I write.

I don’t write for money or to get more clients. I write because I have to.  I write because deep down inside me is a boiling pool of passion and if I don’t write about what I feel like writing about, I will explode.  I write to preserve the beautiful moments in my life in symbols or in stories I make up.  I write because it feels good.  I write to experiment with ideas and philosophies that are important in life. They may not have a place in the office or in my profession but they make my life richer.  I write so people may read my works and laugh or cry and think.  

In my struggles to tell the world about my novella, Fireflies, a novella that is erotic with a great plot and characters, I asked myself if the novella is not successful, would I do it again?  Would I give up writing?  I’m almost done writing a story that explores faith, prejudice, religion and society.  It was a struggle to write but if it isn’t successful and I went back in time, would I write it again?  Absolutely.  I had to write it.  It helped me to deal with issues I could never understand if I didn’t make up a story about it and put myself in the shoes of characters who are not me. 

Why do I write?  I write because I have a voice and if no one is there to hear it, I’ll still write.  I’m a writing fool I guess:

I end with a quote from Faulkner's speech at receiving the Nobel Prize:

"I believe that man will not merely endure: he will prevail. He is immortal, not because he alone among creatures has an inexhaustible voice, but because he has a soul, a spirit capable of compassion and sacrifice and endurance. The poet's, the writer's, duty is to write about these things. It is his privilege to help man endure by lifting his heart, by reminding him of the courage and honor and hope and pride and compassion and pity and sacrifice which have been the glory of his past. The poet's voice need not merely be the record of man, it can be one of the props, the pillars to help him endure and prevail."



I'm curious, why do you write?