If you're able to read this, you're not actually "poor"

There’s quite a bit to get pissed off about when scrolling through Facebook updates, but this article really got me: an article about the top ten most “useless” college majors. “Uselessness” was essentially defined by how much – or rather, how little – you’d earn from any job in those fields.

Surprise surprise, English Literature was up there (but surprisingly not the most worthless: that honor went to journalism, my second choice of majors). But what articles like that fail to take into consideration is the motivation for choosing such majors: clearly, you have to be more motivated by passion than money.

Maybe I would be financially better off in an accounting job, or marketing. I’d be richer, but a lot more miserable. Those jobs are a good fit for plenty of people, but I’d be putting my gifts and talents to waste in an environment like that.

Realizing my student loan payments begin in June, and that the only somewhat steady job I’ve had lately is babysitting, articles like that can instantly ruin my day. Consequently, I’ve been thinking a lot about worth and where it comes from: how much of my identity is defined by what I “do,” and how I’m going to weather the judgments of strangers I meet at social gatherings who scoff when I tell them “I’m a writer!” (Which is precisely why I don’t go to many social gatherings).

At one point in my life, I judged people who were “just” waitresses, or “just” Starbucks baristas. “Who would want to be stuck doing that for a living?” I’d wonder. But that was well before I found myself struggling to keep my head afloat in the working world. That was when I still lived at home with my parents and never had to pay for anything myself.

I’ve grown up a bit since then: and I’ve been considerably humbled, since my next day job may very well be – surprise! – Starbucks. At least until book sales pick up. *crosses fingers*

It helps to remember that status and job titles don’t matter a whole lot when I never have to doubt where my next meal is coming from: I make enough to at least have those at my disposal. People in third-world countries aren’t so fortunate. Maybe that’s an extreme comparison, but when the majority of the world lives below the poverty line, it’s a wake-up call. It makes me less likely to complain because I’m a few dollars short of meeting up with a friend for a beer after a long workday. It humbles me to realize that while I may not earn enough book royalties to quit my day job (whatever that will be), I still have the freedom to publish what I want, when I want. That’s a priceless gift right there.

I write these words in hopes that I will convince myself of their truth, and remember my true worth as a daughter of God; someone’s fiancé; a close friend to a handful of really awesome people.

On meeting Anna Nalick and my second book-iversary

This last weekend may go down as the most epic in Beth soon-to-be Stoneburner history: I bought my wedding dress, met Anna Nalick, and reflected on the 2^nd anniversary of my first book baby, Confessions of a Prodigal Daughter.

For those who have never heard of Amazing Anna (and sadly, many people haven’t, since she left her old record label several years ago), Anna Nalick is a self-described “indie artist,” which makes her the patron artist of indie authors. She is the incredible voice behind one of my favorite songs of all time, “Breathe,” as well as the lesser-known song “These Old Wings” that helped get me through the worst depression of my entire life.

Can I just say, aside from being wicked talented and a sweet, down-to-earth person who tells stories during her concerts, it’s so amazing to see a successful artist humbly admit to struggling with depression herself. It reminded me that it’s often a source of great art, be it music or literature. I can never have enough of those reminders. I want people to feel the same about my books the way I feel about Anna’s music.

She talked about autobiographical writing as a way of freezing yourself in time. Your beliefs and personality may develop through the years, but when you put yourself out there to be read or listened to, you are in a sense forever bound to who you were at that time. 

That’s how I feel about Confessions. That book was not intended to become a bestseller. Writing it was my way of processing through the conflict of adopting beliefs that are wildly different from the ones my parents taught me, so it reads very much like the journal of a confused woman who is gradually becoming aware of her inner strength. I do not have the same doubts or beliefs that I did when it was published. But I’ve also become stronger in certain beliefs I was shaky about at the time. I can still sense the turmoil when I flip through it every now and then.

My writing has greatly improved in the last two years, along with my knowledge of the publishing industry and marketing (and in a rapidly changing industry like this, there is always more to learn!). I had this idea that having a book available for purchase meant it would sell on its own. I couldn’t be more wrong! Despite working on my fifth book, I’m not beating myself up for not being “bigger” than I’d like to be, since I only actively started marketing when my third book was released last August. Confessions may remain my only memoir for the time being, as I quite enjoy the freedom of inserting my own experiences into my characters, without locking myself into a certain set of beliefs or characteristics. I’m also aware that the average 25-year-old is not world-weary enough for more than one memoir (or even just one).

But today feels like a birthday. So from this day forward, I can only learn more. 

When hate begets grace

A funny thing happened when I got engaged last weekend (cue the squeals!):

I was consumed with so much joy at the thought of spending the rest of my life with a man I’m crazy about (and get this guys, he actually feels the same!) that I forgot to be bitter for the rest of the weekend.

You see, the engagement happened during the 6-year anniversary of being assaulted; the 3-year anniversary of ending the abusive relationship in which that assault occurred; and the 11-year anniversary of when a friend of mine committed suicide. So needless to say, the first few weeks of springtime are not typically joyous for me. In fact, I dread them, for all the memories that come up.

And then – and then! – Fred Phelps, the legendary patriarch of the hate-filled Westboro Baptist “church” passed away. So I’ve been reading up on articles that keep cropping up on Facebook about it, and it seems my internet friends’ reactions fall almost evenly in two separate camps: those who want to piss on Fred’s grave and protest his funeral, and those who insist on extending forgiveness and the hope of salvation to a very, very lost individual.

I, like many Christians, am not without bitterness towards people like Phelps: people who make me ashamed to identify as “Christian” for all the ways that word has been abused. Still, this man was someone’s father, grandfather, brother, husband…and it saddens me that it’s not obvious to more people how protesting his funeral isn’t justice; it’s only sinking to his level of depravity. I find myself increasingly inspired by people who are choosing to extend grace and mercy on his behalf.

But I can’t have those thoughts about Fred without doing some soul-searching about my feelings towards the man who wronged me. I’ve wished for bad things to happen to him. I’ve wished for the chance to humiliate him. But in the same way protesting Fred’s funeral won’t undo the emotional damage caused by holding up signs saying “God Hates Fags,” wishing terrible things on my abuser doesn’t undo what he did. And it certainly doesn’t make me a happier, joy-filled person.

It’s giving him permission to live rent-free inside my head. And there’s something about the counter-protests like this one, plus getting engaged, that makes me think “Ain’t nobody got time for that.”

It’s time to start living. Time to accept that the past can’t be undone, and the memories may still sting, but they don’t define me or determine the happiness I can choose to feel. Time to start planning my wedding!

"We don't need feminism in America"

I was about to have another one of my “Sarahbeth might be closeted liberal” moments earlier today, based on my reaction from this blog a friend of mine shared on Facebook. The blogger describes herself as being “Christian, anti-feminist, pro-patriarchy.”

Oy vey. My heart definitely lurched into my throat when I read that.

But then I stepped away from my laptop for a moment (smart move) and realized my outrage has nothing to do with possibly being “liberal” or not.  Or conservative, really. What do those labels actually mean? My outrage stems from the complete ignorance of what feminism is, based on the ways it’s being perverted in the media. It has an ugly side, like all well-intentioned movements do. We can argue until we’re blue in the face about whether feminists should support abortion, or be stay-at-home moms, what have you. But Christian or atheist, male or female, I cannot understand why it’s so hard for us to agree on the fact that women are people, and as such, they deserve to be dignified.

Intelligent people understand that just because some loudmouth politician who calls himself a Christian is against gay rights (not just marriage, but against a homosexual being fired simply for being homosexual) does not mean all Christians agree with him.

Intelligent people understand that one negative encounter with someone of a different race does not mean all people of that race are bad.

Intelligent people understand that the militant “feminazis” (a term I abhor) do not represent all feminists. We are not out to supplant men, oppress them, or degrade them. Those who do are missing the whole point.

My heart wants to react violently when I hear people say, “We don’t need feminism in America!” I’ll be honest and admit that I’m hesitant to use expressions like “war on women” because life for women in this country is not nearly as oppressive as, say, women in the Middle East who are assaulted with acid for the crime of wanting to be educated. We are so blessed to not have to face that kind of persecution here.

But that doesn’t mean life is ideal for women in America. There are scores of men who are running Congress who make extremely damaging remarks about domestic violence, which influence society’s view of it as a whole. Those attitudes ruin lives. They destroy the dignity of women’s souls. They hurt women, their children, and create an attitude of shame that directly affects the impact they leave on this world. You cannot operate out of shame and expect to live a productive life. Sadly, more often that not, men with the utmost privilege, who cannot fathom what it’s like to be judged by their clothing choices or their decision to work outside the home, are the ones promoting these attitudes.

But it’s not just men. Women like the creator of that blog have also bought the lie that the entire feminist movement is damaging and irrelevant because politics have gotten in the way of simply affirming humanity. Can we please go back to the beginning, when it was decided that a movement was necessary to affirm the humanity of women??

We need feminism in America. We need feminism in churches. We need feminism in every corner of the world where there is even one iota of injustice. We need men who strive to dignify the women in their lives: their wives, mothers, daughters, sisters. We need feminism to teach women that they are more than vaginas. More than sex objects.

We need feminism, period.

Is being liked overrated?

Here’s a shocking question I’ve been trying to process lately: is being liked an overrated goal?

As a self-published author, putting my books out there to be loved or loathed by strangers, and even subjecting myself to criticism from those who don’t think self-publishing “counts,” I’d say the answer is yes.

There’s a difference, though, between living your life with selfish abandon, not caring at all about the legacy you’re leaving behind, and living your life with a healthy sense of nonconformity.

I had a misunderstanding with someone this week. It made me angry, upset, and tempted to retaliate. I’m forcing myself to bite my tongue and carry on, because there are times when people will be set on disliking me regardless of the effort I make to clear my name. Sometimes I have to accept that the consequences from my not-so-wise decisions will leave a sour taste in people’s mouths when they hear my name. And that sucks. But ultimately, what can you do about it?

I know I’m not always the nicest person. I’m even hesitant to label myself a good person, because I am the only one with an uncensored view of what goes on in my head, and I'm all too aware of my tendency to judge, criticize, and condemn. I don’t accept that as a permanent feature of myself that can’t be changed, but it helps me accept that my entire life is basically a work in progress, which means being unliked is inevitable. Not being able to change people’s minds is inevitable.

All that is to say, being viciously protective of what people think will make you immobile. For what it’s worth, maybe it’s better to not be liked by a few than go completely unnoticed in this life.

Again I repeat, This is sanctification.

Author spotlight, courtesy of author Lara Henley

Author Lara Henley has chosen me to be featured in the "author spotlight" section of her website! Since my turn only lasts 3 weeks, I'm posting the interview here:

Brief biography:

 

Caplin was born in Connecticut as Sarah Elizabeth Caplin, and legally changed her name to Sarahbeth at the age of 22, thinking it would look more distinctive on future book covers. Now unofficially known as “Beth,” she grew up outside of Cleveland, Ohio, and has a bachelor’s degree in English Literature from Kent State University. It was during college that she first saw her name in print as a columnist for her campus newspaper, The Daily Kent Stater. Within a year after graduation, her memoir Confessions of a Prodigal Daughter was self-published through Halo International. Within that same year, her second book, Someone You Already Know, was also released through Halo. In 2013 Caplin switched to Createspace, from which Public Displays of Convention and Sorting Myself: a collection of poetry were released. Now living in Denver, Colorado, Caplin can be found in various microbreweries when not chained to her laptop working on future books.

What was the first story you ever wrote?

Probably around the age of 6, I wrote my mom a crayon-and-construction-paper “book” called Why Kids Love Their Moms: about a little girl who ran away from home after her mom punished her, only to realize her mom loves her after all.

 

What genre do you write? 

My first book was a memoir, because several people kept asking me to explain how a girl who grows up Jewish ends up choosing to be Christian. It started as a long essay, but then I figured I might as well publish it. My comfort zone right now is YA fiction, and I’m always trying out different story angles. My most recently published book is a small collection of poetry, which I used to write all the time, but lately not as much. Most of the poems are from college.

 

What inspires you to write? 

Honestly? Being angry. My first novel is about two teenage girls who are affected by rape culture in different ways, so if something upsets me, it’s extremely likely to end up in a book. I like stories that make a point, but aren’t necessarily pushing an agenda.

 

Are you working on something new at the moment? 

My fifth book, but third attempt at a novel, is inspired by a true story of a pastor who is hailed as a hero for saving a teenage girl from a burning building, but no one knows that he was in the building in the first place because he was having an affair. It’s my first time writing in 3rd-person POV and it focuses mostly on the teenage girl, who has issues of her own.

 

What should readers be on the lookout for? 

My stories tend to be heavy, but I’ve been told they make readers think. There are always lots of layers and difficult situations to consider. My next novel shows the ugly side of evangelical Christianity, which lots of readers will probably resonate with. The cast of characters are mostly unlikeable, but they change and grow when confronted with their hypocritical tendencies.

What are your dreams and aspirations?

In a perfect dream world, I’d love to be a New York Times best-selling author one day. More realistically, I’d like to earn enough with my writing to pay rent. Hell, even just the groceries. I wanted to be famous as a kid, but the older I get, the less important that becomes. What matters most to me now is building my relationship with my readers. I love getting feedback, good or bad, and I love when people engage with me via blog posts and updates on my Facebook page. I learn a lot from my target audience: twenty-somethings (mostly women) trying to find themselves, with colorful pasts.

Do you have any tips for aspiring writers?

You have to be patient in order to build a loyal following of readers. It can take several books to accomplish that. Also, start marketing your book well before it’s published. The fan base won’t appear out of nowhere once the book is released. Take advantage of every social media platform that’s out there and start engaging with your target audience. “Please buy my book!!” has helped no one. Lastly, never write expecting to make a ton of money.

On choosing conflicting battles wisely

This is one of the most obvious understatements in the world: human beings are complex and often downright frustrating creatures.

Self-exploration and defining your place in the world is difficult enough without having to deal with unsolicited and misguided opinions thrown in your direction. As multi-faceted people, our internal battles are all over the place.

This is a brief, non-exhaustive list of issues that have made me want to hit my head against a wall on several occasions:

The idea that Jewish background + Christian beliefs automatically = Messianic Jew (it doesn’t. It’s a bit more complicated than that).

That being a Christian, period = hating gays, believing atheists have no morals, forcing beliefs on the nation by turning them into laws.

That feminism = bra-burning, man-hating, always pro-choice, anti-shaving extremist (I’ve had the privilege of meeting a handful of married, stay-at-home, religious, self-described feminists. They are real. I promise. And we all generally want the same thing: to be treated like human beings).

That English major = future English teacher (nope, not me).

That author = famous and made of money (HAHAHAHA…not even close).

That self-published author = not a 'legitimate' author (self-published books are on Amazon like all other “legitimately published” books. If it’s made of paper or downloadable via Kindle and you paid for it from a major distributor, it’s a book, dangit).

That being raped or assaulted always = brutally attacked by a stranger hiding in the bushes, because it can never happen in a relationship with someone you actually know (more on that here)

Your own list may look similar, or completely different. It’s easy for me to lose patience, to write off the people who question me as completely ignorant or even stupid. There are battles, and then there is the battle to pick your battles, because you simply can’t afford to lose it every time someone misunderstands an aspect of your life.

I’ve decided to pick three of the above “battles” as educational fields; my defining markers in life: Being a Christian, because that’s who I am; rape culture awareness/feminist issues, because those have affected me personally; and misconceptions about being an indie author, because that is my chosen profession. Even one of those issues results in a fully loaded plate, and I wish I didn’t have such a random lot to choose from.  I felt like a freak for a while, until one day I realized that no one’s life is lived completely in a vacuum. It’s okay to stand for multiple things, and the best way to stand for something is to be an effective teacher of it.

I’m always curious to learn more about how people deal with ignorance regarding who they are, or what they’ve been through. Now is your chance to educate me: what are your battle fields?

Selfish with a dash of good? Or vice versa?

Leaving my internship yesterday, I heard a voice call out “Hey Sarahbeth! Can I borrow a dollar?”

I looked up to see a somewhat disheveled man standing in front of me; possibly homeless but hard to tell. At first I was confused how he knew my name, but he probably read it off my custom-printed bag. In that bag was a hefty chunk of cash from my four babysitting jobs that I planned to take directly to the grocery store, in addition to a very expensive Macbook.

The man was only asking for a dollar; not a huge expense on my part. I could and should have given one to him. Yet all I could think was, I can’t let my guard down and risk having my stuff stolen.

I offered him some of my Ramen noodle stash instead, which he politely declined. Getting into my car, I felt like a failure as both a Christian and a human being. I could have done more, and I chastised myself for living in a world where concern for one’s personal safety trumps compassion; where being a single woman alone in a city means automatically fearing any man that approaches, even if his intentions aren’t malicious.

But is it really about safety? Or is there underlying prejudice that prompts us to say “no” when asked to give? Or when we notice people whose lives are radically different from our own?

I don’t always remember to lock my doors when I get in my car, but I lock them when I pass a cluster of teenagers in downtown Denver, always thinking It would be so easy to unlock the passenger door at a stoplight and grab my laptop/purse/whatever. Once, during a discussion group at church, a student was talking about how selfish we can be when there’s an opportunity for outreach: did Jesus not call us to serve others, no matter the personal risk to ourselves? My instinct was to protest, “You don’t understand! You are not a woman who looks ten years younger than she actually is; the world is not as dangerous a place for you, of course it’s easy for you to say that.”

Thankfully I wasn’t the only one thinking this, and the discussion turned into a battle of the sexes: the men kept insisting we (the females) were more concerned about ourselves than others in need, while the women kept insisting that Jesus would never advocate purposefully putting ourselves in danger if we didn’t absolutely have to.

On the drive home I stopped to allow more cars into my lane than usual, as if trying to atone for my selfishness before; once again deceiving myself into looking at salvation as some kind of points-based system. In the end, I am just one person with good intentions who often falls short. I can only do so much. But I feel guilty just the same.

Facebook and the bizarre new culture of grief

The last thing I want to do is take Facebook too seriously; it’s an isolated portal of communication that can only display so much of a person, so it’s inaccurate to judge people solely by the content they choose to post.

However, it does add up. People create patterns and expectations based on their shared information. Even friends I love dearly in “real life” have been hidden on Facebook because I simply don’t care about 99% of what they deem share-worthy. Most of the time, it’s nothing personal.

But I cringe every time I see a personal prayer request – for several reasons. It’s bad enough that “I’ll pray for you” has become a conversation-closer with good intentions that is rarely followed through; these are the posts that typically garner the most ‘likes’ and comments, and I’ll bet that most of them come from people who otherwise don’t give a damn about the rest of your life, except when there’s an opportunity to be a part of something that breeds attention. It’s for the same reason people tend to dress up ordinary encounters they had with someone who recently died, because death and grief create a backwards celebrity status.

I’m a strange person who considers the intimacy of prayer in the same way as marital intimacy: you don’t share the details with a great number of people. Just your significant other, your close friends and relatives, maybe a counselor or mentoring figure. I highly doubt those are the only people who have access to your Facebook account. So when you are asking an artificial community of ‘friends’ to pray on your behalf, what are you really asking for? Why does your grief demand a spotlight?

Personally, I’m terrible with remembering prayer requests. I’d much rather be asked to do something tangibly helpful, like make soup for someone who is sick. It’s possible that my discomfort with publicized prayer requests is linked to my changing conviction about the purpose of prayer, period: I don’t necessarily believe in praying for specific outcomes to problems anymore. Doing so makes me feel like I’m treating God as a personal genie, which I don’t believe he is. If someone is ill, I’ll pray that the doctors do their best performing courses of treatment. I’ll pray that the sick person is giving strength and resiliency, regardless of the outcome of their prognosis.

I think of Facebook-shared prayer requests like the cliffhanger ending of a TV show, because it sets up expectations of fulfillment. You are creating an audience for your troubles, and the voyeuristic tendencies of most people may keep them wanting to know what happens. And if the end result is not what you wanted, what then? Then your grief has been made public, which sets a precedent that leaving a condolence comment suffices for genuine sympathy. It doesn’t.

Real community should be there for you, in person, assisting you with your real needs (Jews have perfected this practice, called “sitting shiva”). Don’t settle for the falsehood of Facebook grief, because while most people may feel passing sympathy for you, they will likely forget once the next engagement post starts making headlines.

Reality of The Writing Life: not as glamorous as it seems

If being a writer is a profession that leads to more tears, sweat, and frustration than most people realize, why am I reluctant to admit that I am one?

It’s a job that makes me feel like I’m constantly bragging, even if I don’t intend to: “What do you do?” “I’m an author. I’ve written four books.” Maybe it’s the amount of time that impresses people; I know it’s difficult to finish reading a book sometimes, let alone write one. I’ll concede that that aspect of The Writing Life is worthy of admiration.

But what really gets me is the impression of instant stardom that comes with publishing. I’ve actually had people ask me more than once if I’ve made the New York Times best-seller’s list yet. As far as I can tell, they aren’t being sarcastic when they ask. And while it’s such an innocent question with complimentary undertones, it’s yet another reminder of just how difficult the job really is. It’s exhausting. It’s mind-numbingly tedious at times.

But I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Even still, I want people to get a few things straight. When people think of “writers,” perhaps they think of people like JK Rowling: a true-life Cinderella story if there ever was one. How many people know about Joanne Rowling, the destitute single mother, before she achieved JK Rowling status? She faced twelve rejections from publishing houses before Harry Potter was released. Like I said, lots of tears, sweating, and frustration involved.

Good books – and the fruits of good books – don’t happen overnight, or even in a year. For most of us who will never be the next JK Rowling, we count on our readers to help us because without them, we would be nothing. Sure, we write because we would be doing that anyway, but it’s the readers who help make the difference between writing as a hobby and writing as a career.

Whether you’re self-published or being helped by an agent of a traditional publishing house, the burden of marketing yourself is never completely removed. As an independent author, I am not just an author. I’m an entrepreneur. I’m my own advertiser and PR firm. I do this and more for enough royalties to keep funding my Starbucks addiction, and that’s just the beginning. Combine these aspects together, and you’ve got a full-time job. Sure, I can wear pajamas and set my own hours, but if I am not grounded in self-discipline, nothing would get done.

This is my passion. This is my life. This is all I can imagine myself doing, and even if I find myself wanting to throw my laptop out the window because the words just aren’t coming, or they do come, and they suck, this is the only life for me.

So what am I asking of you, the reader? Your role is more important than you know. If you like a book, tell your friends. Write a brief review on Amazon. It doesn’t have to be a book report; just simply explain how it affected you, and how the author could improve it. Pin, share, re-tweet. And repeat. We can’t thank you enough.