Be the Change

Lately I’ve been talking to my daughter about bullying and what behaviors constitute being a bully.  I’ve told her repeatedly that if she witnesses bullying in her school and does nothing about it, she is basically being a bully herself.  In other words, remaining silent is just as bad as calling someone a name or excluding them.  It’s tough being a preteen when everyone around you is aligning themselves with cliques and trying to be in the “in” crowd.  One day your friend decides that she doesn’t want to be friends with you anymore and you don’t know why.  I remember those days and it just adds to the horror of middle school and raging hormones and acne dotted skin.  I was called frizz head, had gum thrown in my hair, and was taunted by kids for my weird clothes.  True, it gave me character, but at the time, I didn’t particularly like it.

The other day, someone I was acquaintance “friends” with on facebook posted a picture she’d taken with her phone on her homepage. The picture was of a slightly heavy woman seated in a chair.  Since the woman was leaning forward, the top of her thong was exposed.  My “friend” commented that some people need mirrors or something to that effect.  I have been deleted as her friend, so I can’t copy it verbatim.  Someone chimed in that that look was trashy.  I looked at the picture for a moment.  My first thought was just to ignore it and move on.  But my thoughts kept returning to “What if that picture was of my daughter, my mom, my friend, or me?” I didn’t know the woman in the photo, but I felt like standing up for her. Somebody had to.  And I did.  And it was uncomfortable and it will be awkward the next time I see the acquaintance, if I ever do, but I refuse to remain silent, especially if I want my daughter to respect me.

I don’t know what happened after I posted my comment on the thread because I was writing and frankly I didn’t care to get caught up in the dramatic aftermath.  But today I noticed that I have one less facebook friend.  And you know what? 

I'm perfectly okay with that.

Book Soundtrack

I've always included music in my writing.  For one, if a song is playing at a fairly signifcant moment, I wll forever associate that song with the event.  I did not choose these songs based on lyrics, but the significance they held to an event or to a person.  Since the book is about death, you'd think I chose "Don't Fear the Reaper" because of the obvious connection to death, but you'd be wrong.  Here's an article about a company doing soundtracks for books.  Hmmmm.
Books with Soundtracks: The Future of Reading?  The Atlantic

Here's my Official Soundtrack to "When November Ends"

"Sweet Baby James" by James Taylor  This song was playing the moment I realized I was going to die.  I was 30 years old and holding my four-day-old child.  I was scared shitless, despite the soothing sounds coming from Taylor's mouth.

"Don't Fear the Reaper" by Blue Oyster Cult  The minute I got in my rental car in Austin on my way to Huntsville, this song came on the radio.  It was really dark and I couldn't read my map and well, I was totally freaked out.  It was followed by "1999" by Prince, but it didn't have quite the same impact.

"Orinoco Flow" by Enya  Khristian Oliver's favorite song.  When he told me this, I thought it was kind of a weird choice, but what do I know? I've listened to it many times and it really is beautiful.

"Walk On" by U2  Another favorite of Khristian Oliver's.  His penpal and friend Amber told me that this one was one of his favorites as we stood outside the Walls Unit.

"American Eulogy" by Green Day  I always think of Khristian when I hear this song.  Don't know why.  Maybe because it's about a guy name Christian.

"Hey Soul Sister" by Train  When I attended the birth of Marion, this song was part of a playlist that her Dad and Mom made for her.  Whenever I hear this song, I think of that day.

9/11: A Letter of Love

Yesterday I deleted my personal blog, ironyandxtc.  Why?  Well, for one, my last post was in March, and two, I felt like I was developing a split personality with two blogs.  So, there’s going be some changes to this here deathwriter blog.  Despite the morbid title, I will now post stuff from my life and what is going on with the book.  Yes, the book.  It took me a long time to actually figure out how I was going to tell the story.  Was it about me?  Or was it about the people I met?  Since I know a lot more about me than them, I decided to show my character and how I changed by taking this strange journey with some amazing people. 

Okay, so today is September 11th.  For most Americans, including me, September 11th is a day that we will never forget.  So many innocent people lost their lives.  If you were over 5 years in age, you probably remember where you were, what you were doing, how you felt.  You probably spent the day watching tv, or checking the internet or calling your loved ones to see if they were okay.  And you were scared.  I know I was. 

September 11th also marks the anniversary of the day I married my husband, Erik twelve years ago.  9/11/1999 seemed like a really cool anniversary date.  But, two years later, it wasn’t.  I’ve always felt guilty about celebrating my marriage on that date, but this year I’ve changed my mind.  I can’t change the day I was married, I can only change the way I feel about it.  If anything, it makes me grateful for all the blessings that I have in my life.

So, Erik, if you’re reading this (and you better be) Happy Anniversary!


I am so grateful that you walked into a tiny, icky dive bar in San Francisco and accepted this stranger’s awkward invitation to attend a self help seminar.  (Folks, that’s a great story, but for a later date.)

I would also like to thank you for being a wonderful father to our kids.  They bring us a lot of laughs, love, joy and sometimes a little bit of freak outs, but they’ve made our lives so much richer.

Thank you for supporting me in all the crazy endeavors I’ve taken on through the years—party bus, Mary Kay, writing about death—and not blinking an eye.

What I love most about you is your willingness to roll with the punches, to cherish the wackiness of life, and last, but certainly not least, your sentimental streak.  And to top it all off, you’re pretty easy on the eyes.


You’re my best friend and I love you.    

Pamela