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.

Things to quit thinking in 2014

Few links that are posted on Facebook end up being worth the time to read, but this one actually made me think: The top 37 regrets of dying people.

It’s funny how a short, non-specific list of generalities can change your thinking sometimes. But I needed to read this, and right now, as I’m still finishing off my mid-morning coffee, I’m devising my own list of “do nots” in hopes of being a better person.

Much of this list can be summarized by the following:  

Quit caring what other people think.  

I do this way too much, often without realizing it. Sometimes I feel the need to keep “trying on” different personas, and thoughts of, “Will this personality be liked? How about this one?” happen way too much. And it needs to stop. Trying too hard to get any group of people to like me has never worked for me in the end.

On that note…

Quit caring what other people think about your relationship.

Maybe all our friends got engaged after only six months of dating, and we’re wacky because it’s been over two years and we’re still in the “talking” phase of planning a marriage. Different people have different experiences and different amounts of baggage to sort through before making a life-long commitment. Their timing has nothing to do with mine.

Quit caring what other people think about your ink.

I never in a million years expected to become “that person” with several visible (depending on the season) tattoos. Well, I did. And they all tell a story, so the judgmental staring of a stranger means nothing to me if they don’t care to ask and get to know me.

Quit trying to maintain friendships that are better left to burn out.

I have this notion that sharing moments with someone in the past means I have to hang on to them forever. Sometimes life just doesn’t allow that to happen, for a variety of reasons. It doesn’t always mean that person did something wrong; but sometimes people have to be let go of. I firmly believe that some people are meant to meet you only at certain points in your life. 

 I’m trying to learn how to appreciate good moments for what they are, even if they are isolated in one afternoon or series of dinners. They were good, and I’m grateful, but sometimes moving on is just necessary.

And sometimes it’s better to hide the Facebook updates of certain people rather than feel an obligation to ‘like’ it.

If people want to post up to five times a day about how much they love their significant other, how many times he brought flowers to their work place, how excited they are for their wedding, that’s fantastic. Really. But if I keep feeling a temptation to compare my life, my significant other, my whatever to yours, you’re getting blocked. I’ll still talk to you in real life and share in your happiness. But I need to protect myself from the dreaded Comparison Game that no one really wins in the end.

I have this theory that truly happy people don't need to let Facebook hear about it all the time. But that's just me. If that causes some people to think I'm bitter, well, see List Item #1 :)

This is just a short compilation, and I’m sure more ideas will come later. But for now, I need to reread these things as often as it will take for me to accept and believe them…and train myself to be joyful.

Celebrities aren't role models. Get over it.

As the world starts freaking out over Justin Bieber’s arrest, I’m gearing up for the inevitable laments of “But he calls himself a Christian!” “Young girls look up to him!” “He was such a good kid!”

Maybe all that is true; maybe not. But honestly, I never understood the idea that celebrity = role model. Just think about the definition of “celebrity” in the first place: a really, ridiculously famous person. Someone whose face appears on magazine covers a lot. Someone whose sole income rivals that of entire countries.

Celebrities are just famous. More often than not, they exist only for our entertainment. That’s why it’s not too difficult for me to separate the art from the artist (unless you’re a shameless rape-culture-promoter like Robin Thicke: then you’re both a shitty person as well as a shitty musician), because looking up to the person behind the art almost always results in disappointment.

Most celebrities I’ve heard of don’t ask to be looked up to, but somehow that expectation is heaped on them anyway. The only time it’s appropriate to view a celebrity as both famous AND a role model is if they ask for the role…but even then, I’m skeptical. People aren’t perfect, and it’s completely ridiculous to demand that anyone live their lives under a microscope for young people to emulate, when the work they do isn’t even that life-changing. A song or a movie can inspire people and change lives, but in the grand scheme of things, artists don’t really exist to be heroes. They don’t exist to be leaders.

People like Nelson Mandela are role models because they lead. They teach. They can use song lyrics and theatrics to do that, but they are role models because their lives tell us “I am dedicated to a cause that is greater than myself,” rather than “Hey, look at me!!!”

“Celebrity” may be the result of a best-selling album, a leaked sex tape, or a starring film role. But leadership and respect must be earned. Whoever bestowed the label “role model” on a teenage superstar whose lyrics are primarily about picking up women in clubs needs to re-evaluate their priorities. There are plenty of real people who are much easier to relate to, and far more realistic in what they can teach us: people like teachers, doctors, fire fighters. Displays of leadership can be as grand as Nelson Mandela's speeches, or as small as a single mom working double shifts so her kids can have presents on Christmas morning (which isn't a small thing at all).

Parents, in addition, can stop funding the concert tickets and try be role models to their own kids, rather than put that burden on someone else.

Let the entertainers do their job – entertain – and leave the responsibility of leadership to those with inspiration that doesn’t demand a spotlight.

Bad grammar? Bad luck in the job search

A human interest piece submitted for my internship with Key Media. I love it because of the way it captures my nerdiest tendencies :)

Recently, a joke about grammar was shared by a friend on Facebook: “‘I love cooking, my kids, and my pets’ is different than ‘I love cooking my kids and my pets.’ Use commas; don’t be a psycho.” That post elicited a laugh from me, but then I realized many of my friends with limited grammatical knowledge would fail to understand the difference between those two sentences. As a result, they are not only missing out on humor, but how to communicate effectively.

It’s no secret that the art of communication is lost on a generation that has replaced cursive with typing. It’s also no secret that the most in-demand job markets are looking for candidates with more knowledge of math and science than sentence construction. As a result, graduates are being sent out into the workplace knowing how to work effectively with numbers and clients, but they can barely construct sentences to adequately express themselves.

In a world that relies heavily on email-based communication, the applicants who can compose intelligently-worded emails to potential employers, free of basic spelling and grammatical errors, may stand a higher chance of being selected for an interview than those who carry 4.0s but don’t understand the difference between “To, two, and too.”

Unless your chosen profession does not involve written communication, all serious job applicants would benefit from a basic crash-course on grammar. It may seem elementary, but it beats the alternative of having people thinking you’re a cannibal.

I guess I don't have to be famous after all

It’s that time again. The time when I’m just about ready to click that “publish” button for a fourth time, and I’ll tell you: the rush never changes. It’s exciting. It’s empowering.

But it’s also a moment that calls for some self-evaluation. After all, it’s my fourth book. My fourth book at the age of 25, and I have yet to be named, let alone considered, as a best-selling author in any notable book review journal. So am I doing okay? Am I doing anything right at all?

What’s the point of asking these questions, anyway?

I created something I love, and am proud to have my name on. That’s what matters. The small circle of “fans” (that feels slightly pretentious) I’ve acquired are not part and parcel of this whole author experience: they are earned. And their reviews tell me that they appreciate my work not because I’m a hot new name in fiction, but because they connect with my stories. They recognize themselves in them.

That’s what matters.

But I’m someone who has wanted to be famous her entire life. There’s still a part of me that looks at my sales, my number of Twitter followers, compares them to those of other indie authors, and thinks I’m not doing enough. However, there’s a huge difference between putting work out there to be noticed, and putting work out there to say something real. If my only desire is to be noticed, to become some sort of household name, then I will always be disappointed, because there will always be someone else topping new charts that didn’t exist yesterday, selling more copies, and gaining more Twitter followers.

It’s funny how you can find a high school-style hierarchy in just about any occupation or hobby: no matter what you do, you will always, at some point, feel like a geek while someone else is being crowned prom queen. Well, the latest New York Times best-seller is the prom queen. I guess that makes me a mathlete or something?

I’m in the process of re-evaluating the real reasons I want to be famous. Not can’t-buy-toilet-paper-without-paparazzi-snapping-my-picture famous, but…famous. Significant. No, more like an important historic figure. Someone to be read about in history books, not People magazine.

And the more I think about it, the more I understand that my reasons for desiring fame are kind of stupid. I’m not “that special” of a person. I’m just a woman with something to say. So I write it down, publish it, and am blessed by the handful of reviews from people who tell me that they see their own stories in my work. I’ve made a few new friends out of this journey into publishing; friends I wouldn’t have met any other way, because they are as close as Philadelphia and as far away as England. They aren’t established critics, but they are people whose voices matter just as much as my own. And when they tell me that something I wrote resonated with them, it means the world.

And that is why I continue to write. Fame or no fame, I think I’m doing okay for myself.

Why I choose to be a "dark writer"

For my first post of 2014, I am introducing my newest book baby, due sometime next month. Sorting Myself, my first attempt at publishing poetry, may be my "darkest" book next to Someone You Already Know. You really can't get much darker than rape culture, and that subject does spill over into this new book (among other topics, such as religion, relationships, self-discovery, etc).

I learned early on that I write best when I get angry, and over the last few months of 2013, I saw plenty of things to get angry about. You could say that hell hath no fury on the creative drive of an angry woman. Happiness, in my case, doesn't do much for my productivity level at all.

I'm obviously far from the only writer with dark muses. Gillian Flynn is quickly becoming my new favorite "dark author," and some of the downright gritty imagery she uses makes me wonder about the kind of person she is in real life. People I've never met could be wondering the same thing if they happen to pick up this book, and come to some very false conclusions about my character. So really, how much can readers judge a person based on what they write about?

I suppose part of that answer lies in the reason someone writes in the first place. Some do it for money (crazy, I know). Some because they have something important to say (I'd like to think I'm one of those people). I think that my "writer's mojo" is making art out of crappy situations; the issues that make readers shudder are the ones that truly show what it means to be human.

Of course, others write purely for the fun of it. Their books are a means to escape, and meant to be read some place idyllic like the beach. That's okay too. But that's not the kind of writing that shows what I'm made of.

Sorting Myself is going be a very short book compared to my previous ones. You can enter my giveaway on Goodreads from now until March 1st.

Tragedy is the core of literature

The post title is borrowed from a quote by Cormac McCarthy: "The core of literature is the idea of tragedy...you don't really learn much from the good things that happen to you."

It's a common sentiment at this time of year, but I'll say it anyway: 2013 was nothing like I thought it would be. And not in a good way.

In just 12 months, I nearly lost my father to cancer, took some brave steps in confronting old demons, and became physically ill from depression and anxiety, resulting in withdrawing completely from grad school and facing a quarter-life crisis. Or, more to the point, a quarter-life faith crisis.

At least the good news is that I went through all of this with my boyfriend only an hour away, as opposed to 3,000 miles. He may have a clearer picture of the "real me" than I do.

And, like every year before this one, 2013 has been a year of acquiring new and awesome books. I have no doubts that 2014 will bring more of the same.

However, new books also bring sadness, as I realize more and more that few people treat the act of reading as I do. Reading, for many, is a hobby; something they do at the end of the day to relax, to escape on a vacation, to pass time in the waiting room at the doctor's office. It should come at no surprise at this point, but reading for me is, well, my life. I live in books. I breathe books. Every experience of my life that shaped me, positively or negatively, is chronicled somewhere in a book I wish I wrote, by an author I view as a kindred spirit. It's safe to assume that without books, I wouldn't be a person of any significant substance. I'd be more lost, confused, and directionless than a typical twenty-something is expected to be. So a piece of my heart always shatters when I hear a person say "I don't read." Good for them, I guess; they're just missing out on a deeper realm of human experience, is all. No big.

I think this is the reason I do alone time so well: because books are where my friends are found. From the literary heroes who shaped my childhood, and rocky descent to adolescence -- Matilda Wormwood, Harriet M. Welsch, Anne Shirley, Sara Crewe, Jane Eyre, Katniss Everdeen, the March sisters (especially Jo) -- to the brave women who mentor me with their memoirs -- Lauren Winner, Rachel Held Evans, Sarah Bessey, Addie Zierman, Jonalyn Fincher -- I am never really alone. Then again, I am aware that people in books are frozen in time, while the authors behind them are living, breathing entities who are in a constant state of character evolution, as I am. There's comfort in knowing that people in books can never disappoint. But it's the real-life disappointments, inflicted by people who often mean well, but don't always show it, that challenge me to grow. So while there's safety in books, there's no real growth if I am reading in a vacuum.

I don't intend to create a laundry list of improvements for 2014. That almost never works. To be blunt, a lot of shit happened in 2013. And as much as that sucks, my love of reading has shown me that stories don't really progress without varying degrees of tragedy. Adversity is just a fancy name for plot twists. And that is what will, I hope, one day make me a kindred spirit on someone else's book shelf.