Final preview of "Public," chapter 10

Alas my friends, this is the final free preview selection of Public Displays of Convention. Hope you have enjoyed these excerpts! You can read them all in order here. Happy reading!

“Good morning, ladies,” chirps an unusually perky Julia. “Meet Zach, your new co-worker.”

     Eryn, Morgan, and I all look up in unison – a male employee? No wonder the boss is happy this morning; she’s probably thinking this will be better for business, since most of our clientele are women, but the fact that he is – hate to say it, but it’s true – good-looking is definitely a bonus for all of us. Not that I care, or am looking to date again. At any rate, Zach will be a nice distraction from Eryn and her Curly Head of Opinions.

     “Hello,” he says softly. I detect a slight southern twang in his voice, which is a perfect lead for Eryn to introduce her loud, obnoxious self. “You don’t sound like you’re from here,” she says brashly. “Did you just move here or something?” And then, as if she could subconsciously hear her mother nagging about manners, she coyly added “I’m Eryn, by the way.”

     “I did just move here,” Zach answers. Would it be cheesy to say that his voice is somewhat musical? Well, his voice is somewhat musical. “From Mississippi.”

     “Oh yeah? What for?”

     His gaze drops suddenly. “It’s kind of a long story.”

     Eryn laughs. “Well you’ll notice we have very long, empty shifts here. What’s the story?”

     “’Long and empty’? Don’t believe her,” interrupts Julia. “There’s always something to do around here. Eryn, if you’d like to go run your mouth to the woman who’s been meandering through the self-help section for the last twenty minutes, I’d greatly appreciate it.”

     With a devious grin and notorious clang of her giant hoop earrings, Eryn saunters off. I have to hand it to Julia: she comes off as a little spacey most of the time, but she does know how to handle Eryn well. But with what I’ve heard Eryn say in her presence, I’m honestly surprised she hasn’t been fired. Then again, it’s not like there’s much competition for a job like this.

     As Julia explains the lay of the land to Zach, I hear a bell ringing, indicating that someone has entered the store. I have yet to see Morgan greet anybody – I doubt anyone would hear her if she did – so I walk to the front with my prepared speech. “Welcome to Book Nook, can I help you find –”

     I stop short, realizing I already know this customer.

     “Well hey there, Anna-Kate,” Collin says. “How ya been?”

     I have never been Anna-Kate to him before. He must really be pissed that his advances were rebuffed; this is the first time I’ve seen him in over a week. “I’ve been just fine. How are you?” Why have you all of a sudden stopped talking to me?

     “I’ve been great. I didn’t know you worked here.”

     Knowing his gift for finding me anywhere, I somehow doubt this, even if Book Nook is cornered in the only shopping center this area has to offer. Collin coming here could be just a coincidence.

     I refuse to speculate. “Are you looking for anything in particular?” A book of scenes from The Lion King, perhaps? Given that ridiculous tattoo?

     “Nothing really, AK. Just browsing for now. But thank you so much for asking.”

      Using my initials is somewhat of a relief; so we’re not total strangers after all. Yet the lack of “47” following them is not what I’m used to from him, and I’m embarrassed by how much it disappoints me that he didn’t say it.

     He walks away from me, but then turns awkwardly to add “Nice hair, by the way.”

     I’m pretty sure that is not a compliment.

     Tess doesn’t know anything about Collin. I guess I was afraid to mention him, as if doing so would be prophetic and turn our situation into something bigger than it is. Which is ridiculous, because he never intended for anything concrete to happen: he proved that when he told me he only wanted to “have fun” when he almost kissed me.

     It’s still creepy to imagine what more might have transpired if he had.

     Returning behind the cash register, I watch Collin as he wanders over to Fiction, where Morgan is stocking a new shipment of New York Times best sellers. Fifty Shades of Grey just happens to be sitting on the shelf above her head, and I watch, incredulously, as Collin picks up a copy and appears to ask her about it.

     His back is facing me, so I can’t tell what he’s saying, though if I know anything about that man, it’s probably something snarky. Morgan, on the other hand, lights up like a Christmas display, and giggles incessantly. Why on earth would she be giggling about anything that has to do with Fifty Shades of Grey? It wasn’t too long ago when she made it perfectly clear to Eryn that the series was – how did she put it? – glorified sadomasochistic abuse. Yes, that’s quite a humorous subject.

     He continues to talk to her, nodding every once in a while, and Morgan is still smiling. Good grief, it looks like Collin is flirting with her! Poor girl, this may be the longest conversation she’s ever had with someone who’s not her boss or fellow employee.

     Okay, that was mean. Whatever the reason for Morgan’s extreme introversion, she seems like she’s genuinely enjoying her conversation with Collin. I wonder if he’s come up with a clever nickname for her yet (“Mousy Morgan,” perhaps? No, again, that’s unnecessarily mean). Her face has softened into an expression I’ve never seen on her before, but I know it well.

     It’s probably how I looked when Collin first started flirting with me.

A love-hate relationship with popular TV

I cannot keep silent about this anymore. Enough is enough! I must speak my mind, before I start to go stir-crazy.

*Ahem*

My name is Sarahbeth (no middle name) Caplin, and I am the only person I know who hates the popular show, "New Girl." Or, is the only person brave enough to admit it.

Even more confusing, some of my friends, whose judgment I wholly trust, have claimed to love this show. So that just begs the question, what is the matter with me??

I finally took my dilemma to Facebook: "Does this show get any better? Because I'm halfway through the first season, and I find it horrible." Man, some people were truly shocked that I could find any fault with this show. I admit, some episodes (or rather, a few lines per every other episode) are hilarious. But ultimately they aren't enough to hook me.

For whatever my not-so-humble opinion is worth, shock-value sex ruins good TV. What's truly upsetting about this show in particular is how great a premise it had. Talk about a show that I should, by description alone, fall instantly in love with: a twenty-something woman figuring out who she is, with a quirky set of roommates. But that hopeful premise fell flat when a date told Zooey's character Jess "I don't care about you, you don't have to care about me. We can still tear each other UP." And she...accepts?

I am a budding feminist and I cannot see this as entertaining.


This is far from the only show I've watched that doesn't line up with my values, and that alone is not enough reason for me to quit watching. What is it about this show in particular that bothers me so much? I guess I have a hard time appreciating it because I disagree with the idea that sex is something casual. I really think these shows are lying to me if they don't present the whole truth. They tell me I can jump from bed to bed as easily as switching brands of Kleenex. I've never heard of a real-life relationship starting with casual sex and leading to love...or ending without the slightest twinge of disappointment.

I honestly don't think I'm that much of a prude when it comes to entertainment. Curse words and sex scenes don't automatically ruin TV shows for me. The difference, I think, is context. If it's relevant to the story, or a character's development, then I can watch it. If there are other jokes and plot devices to round things out, then I consider it a decent show. I don't feel any compulsion to replicate the choices of characters I like. But if a show falls apart when you take the sex stuff out, then there's a problem.

My fellow author friend Kaitlyn and I have had an ongoing discussion about the placement of sex scenes in YA novels, and the same reasoning applies to TV shows too: a cleverly-written love scene can enhance the plot, but shock value is always going to be shock value, and ultimately it's not memorable. It's not original. It's just a desperate grab at ratings.


Bottom line: I tried to like this show. I really did. The characters are people I probably wouldn't hang out with in real life, which makes my potential fan-ship feel dishonest...but for every episode that makes me feel gross and in need of a shower, Schmidt has to say something that makes me pee my pants, and I keep watching. It may take me a while to break this apparent addiction, but I just had to get these feelings off my chest.

Whew! I feel better now. Thanks for listening. Now let the judgments roll ;)

"Public Displays of Convention," chapter 9

Only one more free chapter left to preview for Public Displays of Convention! This week it's only 99 cents to download on Kindle. Starting next week it will go up to $1.99, and then return to its normal cost of $2.99. Get it cheap while you can, and enjoy reading chapter 9 (previous chapters found here).

It rained on the day of graduation, but I let my hair down and wore a strapless dress anyway. I don’t know why I was shaking in the moments before my name was called to walk across the stage – this is, after all, the moment I’ve been waiting for. My diploma is my ticket to freedom.

     Limited finances notwithstanding, my opportunities are endless now. The thought of going anywhere, pursuing anything, without being tied down by another person is liberating and frightening all at the same time. It’s sad to admit, but if he were still in the picture, I might have agreed to stay in this dead-end town for as long as Jared would be in it. But that’s not an option anymore.

     When I think of the opportunities that await, my longing for a relationship almost pales in comparison. Almost. Do I need to belong in anyone’s arms to be somebody important?

     Believing this is one thing. Living it is quite another.

     On her last day before heading off to India, Tess helps me pack up my little box of a dormitory and prepare to move in the spare bedroom left by her previous roommate. I feel bad that we’ve barely talked about her excitement for this upcoming trip; she seems to be more concerned about how I’ll handle the next few months without my best friend, still knee-deep in the muck of post-relationship insecurity.

     “You’re still hurting, aren’t you?” she asks carefully.

     I don’t cringe, even though it still feels raw to talk about it. For the first time in weeks, my expression is completely blank, even if my words are not: “It kills me every day,” I tell her.

     “You’ve taken your grief out on your hair, I see.”

     I touch a piece of newly dyed reddish-black hair: quite a contrast from my natural dishwater blonde. “Yeah, well, I decided to start over, and be as unrecognizable as possible.” Tess looks somewhat shocked, so I hastily add, “Unrecognizable from the codependent woman I was with Jared, I mean.”

     “I’m worried about you,” Tess says plainly. “Are you sure…are you sure you’ll be okay?”

     “Tess.” Setting down the pants I was folding, I walk across the room to where she’s sitting on my bed, and hug her tightly. “You’re going to go to India and not worry about me. Promise.”

    She looks unconvinced. “I just need some distraction,” I continue. “Working full-time at the bookstore and getting to know my co-workers will do just that. And when I’m not working, I’ll be filling out other job applications, maybe to teach writing courses somewhere.”

     Tess’ face softens. “Well that’s good, but you can’t just heal from something like this overnight –”

     Sigh. “I know that, Tess.”

     “All right then.” We resume folding clothes, and I bite my tongue to keep from saying what I’m really thinking: You don’t think I’m stable enough to handle being alone.

This former seminarian life

What a crazy week it's been...I have completely re-routed my life plans for the next few years. It feels slightly insane, but I also have a strange, unfamiliar sense of peace now that has been sorely missing in my life for the last several months.

It has occurred to me that maybe I'm not supposed to be a counselor after all, and that I definitely should not have pursued that degree at a conservative Christian seminary. In the same way that it's never a good idea to make drastic changes to your hair while experiencing depression and anxiety, it's probably not a good idea to pack up your life, move 3000 miles away, and start a degree that you never expressed interest in before, at a school you know next to nothing about. The lesson I learned? Look before you leap. And be willing to let the people who know you best help direct you. They are often able to see things that you can't.

I have some nagging feelings regarding the fact that I will probably live the rest of my life with "just" a bachelor's degree. But where is that guilt coming from? It's pressure I put on myself, mingled with a skewed idea that somehow my intelligence is measured by the initials after my name. Well, deep down I know that's not true. And I don't have "just" a bachelor's degree; I worked my ass off for it, and I enjoyed doing it. I gave grad school a try for a year, and it wasn't for me. There is no failure in that. There is also a lot less debt to pay off, and that's a huge plus!

I have learned something else about myself, too: I do not thrive well in bubbles. Christian bubbles, political bubbles, any kind of restrictive environment where everyone around you shares basic core beliefs, and you find your worldview shrinking, not growing. Not every Christian is cut out for seminary. What was unique about my experience at Kent State was how challenging my environment was. I was surrounded by peers who were burned out on church because they were only exposed to negative examples of Christianity. This motivated me to try and live more authentically, especially when I decided to write a conservative column for my campus newspaper. There was a definite sense of being "watched." And it convicted me in the best possible way.

My on-campus church group met twice a week, and that is where I felt "fed." That was where I grew. The key, I think, was having a healthy balance of church life and secular life. That was non-existent at seminary, when most of my time was spent in the library writing exegetical papers, and in class, wanting to beat my head against my desk listening to other students talk about "the lost," and how we as Christians have all the answers.

I can honestly say that seminary brought up way more questions than answers. That's not a bad thing. Most importantly, it was as if someone was holding up a mirror of my old self, the one who thought all the answers to the world's ills were tucked neatly in Scripture. Obviously, it's not nearly as simple as that. I wish I hadn't had to pay (read: borrow) $20,000 to learn that lesson, but I'm not sorry I did. Education is never a waste.

Thanks to a few searches on Google, I learned that spiritual burnout is a real issue. It can make devoted Christians jaded at best; atheists at worst. I'm nowhere near relinquishing my faith completely, but I definitely feel burned out. Jesus is someone to know, not someone to study. When seminary schooling reduces him to merely a homework assignment, when Bible verses are used as platitudes in times of real struggle, and when I'm feeling frustrated and wondering what attracted me to Christianity in the first place, then the right thing -- the only thing -- to do is leave seminary. Because my faith matters to me still. I need to spend time with God on my own terms again. Spiritual discipline is not "homework," and I don't think it's fair to be graded for it.

So what will I do now? Well, I do have an English degree. Maybe I'll look into publishing or editing positions. I wish I were the kind of person who could see this new road as another new adventure, but I have way too much OCD for that. In the mean time, there is a stack of books in my bedroom calling my name -- books I haven't had time to read because I've been swamped to my ears in books about Freud and Pauline epistles. And they seem to be saying,

Welcome home, SB!

"Public Displays of Convention," chapter 8

Chapter 8 of Public Displays of Convention. Only two preview chapters left! Catch up on previous chapters here.

     There are several ways to tell it’s officially spring: the crocuses peeking out of the ground, the leaves growing back on the trees, and the flurry of engagements of people who have never been anything more than acquaintances to me.

     Somehow, I end up clicking through dozens of Facebook photos of rings, hundreds of congratulatory messages…and I feel increasingly pathetic with every wasted minute of envying others’ happiness, but once I start, I don’t know how to stop.

     Luckily, graduation is just three weeks away. I have no idea where this new season of life will take me, but Tess’ roommate is graduating too and moving back with her family, so I’ll be taking her place once I sign away my little box of a dorm room. I’ve always preferred to live alone, but I can’t afford a full month’s rent by myself, and Tess is the only logical roommate choice. Just one step closer to growing up, however small the step may be.

     At Book Nook today I helped a rare male customer who was looking for a gift for his girlfriend’s birthday. He proved to be the most difficult customer I’ve helped yet. It wasn’t him that was the problem – he was polite, cordial, smiled a lot – it was the fact that the girlfriend, whoever she is, had literary interests so similar to my own; it was like helping Jared shop for a gift. My heart splintered when he purchased My Sister’s Keeper, another one of my favorites. It was all I could do to fight back tears as I handed back his change.

     “Hey, Weepy,” interrupts Eryn. I swear that woman has a gift for speaking up at all the wrong moments. “It’s all right, really. We only sold one copy of Twilight today!”

     I laugh, in spite of myself. “Well thank God for that. It’s just so hard, you know? All those young minds being corrupted by poorly-written literature –”

     “At least it wasn’t Fifty Shades of Grey,” pipes Morgan, and we both turn around, shocked: it’s the most I’ve heard her say since I started working here.

     “Hey now,” Eryn retorts. “At least Christian Grey is a real man who doesn’t sparkle, for goodness sake.”

     “There ought to be to parental advisory warnings on some of these shelves,” Morgan continues. I don’t know what’s more surprising: Morgan actually talking, or instigating a debate with Eryn. It’s not that I’m afraid of her, but Eryn definitely comes across as someone who doesn’t believe in censoring her opinions, no matter what the context. Personally I’d rather steer clear of her than challenge her.

     “I’ll admit they’re not the most well-written books I’ve ever read,” replies Eryn, “But I give props to the author for trying to normalize taboo –”

     “You mean sadomasochistic abuse.”

     “It’s not abuse if she wants it!”

     I can’t believe I’m hearing this. The only other time I can remember wanting to crawl beneath the floor boards and hibernate was when I fell asleep watching a movie with Jared, and woke up to find I’d drooled all over his sleeve.

     “What do you think, Anna-Kate?”

     I pretend I’m so immersed in the act of stapling receipts: anything to avoid eye contact with Eryn. “I’m sorry, what?”

     “Morgan seems to think the S&M activity in Fifty Shades of Grey is misogynistic and abusive; I say whatever floats your boat is fine as long as everyone’s cool with it. What do YOU think?”

     My throat feels lined with sandpaper. “I haven’t read that book, so I really can’t say.”

     This seems to be the answer Eryn expected to hear. “Well, in my experience –”

     “No one wants to hear about your experiences, Eryn.” Dang, where is Morgan’s fire coming from all of a sudden? She must only speak when she’s really irritated about something.

     “Oh, that’s right. I forgot I was speaking to virgin ears.” She says virgin like it’s a dirty word, too scandalous even for someone with Eryn’s brazenness. Her hoop earrings, so large I can probably fit my hand through them, clang as she shakes her head; a move that seems to summarize the personality I’ve come to expect from her.

     Turning to me again, she asks, “Do you have a boyfriend, Anna-Kate?”

     Because this workday just hasn’t been awkward enough. “No,” I say, teeth clenched. “I don’t.”

     “It’s a lot easier not to. It’s nice not to be tied down, you know?”

     Curiously, I turn to look at Morgan, whose face now looks like mine did when I was helping that guy pick out a present for his girlfriend. Eryn must have triggered something in her, as she’s retreated back to her usual mouse-like self, and scurries back into the fiction section.

     Interestingly, now that it’s over I’m almost grateful for Eryn’s brashness today, for no other reason except to show me a possible ally in my shy co-worker. I wonder if Morgan has always been quiet, or if she’s harboring a secret devastation like I am. Maybe this is the gateway for us to be friends.