September 28, 2009 - Kicking shadows, lightening the load and being human.

Ever heard of the ‘dark night of the soul’?

La noche escura de alma

It was a poem originally written by some Spanish dude around the 16th century - another Catholic poet and mystic - St. John of the I-have-to-bear-this-Cross-for-the-rest-of-my-life.

And it has since been coined, written about, analyzed and even turned into few songs by the same title. It’s about loneliness and desolation. Generic translation?

“Where the HELL is God when I need him?”

If you’ve based your whole life on the notion that the Big Guy exists and you’ve basically been a good egg all along, but sometimes it still feels like someone’s been killing chickens and working your look-a-like voodoo doll like it’s a pin cushion, then you too have experienced the dark night of the soul.

And if you haven’t - either you’re in denial or you’re too young. Give it time. No one escapes it.

And get this. The dark night of the soul is suppose to be a blessing in disguise. Uh huh.

And my name’s Mother Teresa.

Speaking of which, MT's letters revealed she had spent the last 49 years of her life, in the dark night of the soul.

That's right. MT had seen so much suffering, she wasn’t sure God even existed. How do you like them apples?

And if He did exist, maybe he wasn’t such a good guy after all. Or maybe he had an evil twin. Or he was on vacation. Oh yeah, Mother Teresa was skating on the thin ice of doubt for a long time.

I think she came around in the end, but then again, there’s an old saying: Nobody dies an atheist.

And why bring this up?

Because as I was reviewing some of the principles contained within this little Six Month Experiment, there is one component I had sorely neglected to address:

In order to make significant changes in your life you have to kick some shadows first.

If you don’t, they will come up and kick you first and usually at the most inopportune time. Like when you get the phone call that might change your life for the better but you’re still in a funk from past issues so you accidentally sabotage a change for the better.

Or when you get into a relationship that is finally right, but because you’re stuck with old patterns of behaviour you can’t believe it’s not going to be different this time so you create the drama that repeats your past.

We are experts at screwing something up so we can remain comfortable struggling - if that’s what we’re used to - because we wear those uncomfortable patterns like an old shoe that finally has a hole in it and makes our bare feet scrape the cement. But it doesn’t matter if it's stupid. It’s what we know.

So the dark night of the soul, as uncomfortable as it is, can be a blessing in disguise. It depends on how you take it and what you do with it.

Wallow in it if you must - that in itself holds the comfort of justifying hot baths, eating chocolate until you break out and watching escapist movies - but it won’t get you anywhere.

Mystics thought the dark night of the soul was man’s perfect opportunity to show the stuff he was really made of.

It’s easy to be kind to people when you’re in a good mood, (or where there is recognition) or be virtuous when you think there are heavenly rewards, or write when you know someone is paying you to do it.

But if the quality of your existence remains regardless of your guarantees (or lack of them) then on some level, you’re in the same head space as Mother Theresa was when she spent almost fifty years helping the poor and depraved when the bottom was falling out of her devotional mindset.

She no longer performed tasks on behalf of God, but on behalf of herself in her attempt to ease the suffering of other human beings - with no condo or time share in paradise to look forward to.

And that, is how it should be...

NEXT: October is for kicking shadows.

I love my mother. And I know she loves me. But she's the one person who taught me more than anyone about how I never wanted to be.

The woman never liked me.

She can't help it. It's not a travesty, but it is a fact.

Oh sure, she has in bits n' pieces for maybe... a few months at a time, (liked me that is) but then whatever relationship I thought I was beginning to develop with her would be gone in a flash for no reason, no warning, whatsoever.

Like the time she sent me a letter when I lived in the U.S.

We had been getting along, talking on the phone and writing amiably, for almost a year (a welcome miracle).

Then one day, a large envelope came in the mail...

In it was a magazine article on the Taliban that she had clipped out and highlighted just where she wanted to emphasize THE EXTENT OF MY EVIL AS ONE OF THEM.

She had linked me with the Taliban organization and somewhere in the mix managed to throw in the fact that I had slept with her counsellor.

It was a helluva conspiracy, only I couldn't get a handle on WHAT.

At the end of her note, crookedly written, she had scrawled the words:

I CURSE YOU

...across the page in big letters.

Great. My own mother just cursed me. Like I didn't have enough problems.

To this day I still don't know what triggered it and I'll be damned if I know who that counsellor was (except I heard he was a soft-spoken, kind man from India - poor bastard).

My brother seems to think it all started when I was about twelve.

Before that, it was him she couldn't stand. But when I hit puberty, a switch went on. And I'm not talking my hormones, I mean in her. She made 'Mommy Dearest' look like the good fairy in Cinderella.

And if you think I'm kidding, fast forward 30 plus years to a lunch my brother and I were invited to in her apartment long after my parents got divorced. She was in good state then but with her you never knew because whatever it was that lay beneath was only dormant. Could be the nuts in the torte she bought for dessert that brought it out.

She was impossible to predict.

So when she put our plates down, smiled, and turned back to the kitchen to procure the other dishes, my brother looked at me and said:

"Go ahead. You try it first."

"Like hell I am!" I whispered, "You go first. She hasn't liked me in twenty years. Chances are your food's okay."

He just shook his head. We both looked at her plate, looked at each other knowing we had the same idea and just as I was reaching to switch my plate with hers, she turned back from the kitchen to sit down and my plan was foiled.

Thankfully she got up again, but only to get the salt and pepper shakers this time. All we could do, was wait for her to take the first bite.

"You don't have to wait for me." she said, smiling sweetly and plunking the salt n' pepper in the middle of the table.

I said a Hail Mary and dug in.

Now I have to admit, the scenario played out more like an Elvis n' Costello bit as my brother and I slapped each other on the arm when the giggles started in case she caught us poking fun at her, but the truth of the matter is, the only reason we would even harbor the notion that she was capable of such madness is because on some level, she was.

When she switches from her jovial self to that other person, it makes the goosebumps on your arm so big they look like ski moguls if only you could add snow.

Put it this way: my mom would scare the crap out of Jack Nicholson in The Shining.

My mom wasn't just manic depressive, she was also delusional and MEANT IT.

The police called my house one day to check if I was alive because she had told them I was the dead, unidentified prostitute on the front page of the local paper. When I chuckled and said:

"Uh, no. I'm not dead and I'm not a prostitute. I'm in school though. Is that close?"

"I take it your dad is not part of some... prostitution ring?" they asked almost embarassed.

"Not the last I heard."

And that was the end of that.

But the worst part is she made no bones about the fact that she never wanted kids.

She would have preferred to remain single like her sisters because as she would tell us, they have no responsibilities and no one to answer to, and can do what they want, when they want.

Now I'm not saying she doesn't have her good points.

She's highly intelligent - she reads psych journals like some people read the paper - and she's got pretty much everyone she's every known pegged as falling under some really twisted psychological condition which must make her conversations with other residents at her assisted living housing really interesting.

Except she doesn't talk to any of them. She's alienated everyone she knows with her standards.

The last time I saw her there it was the day after Christmas and she was sitting at a table by herself facing the wall and eating alone while everyone else kept each other company (for the most part).

Peasants no doubt.

But she was all dressed up from head to toe in her finest jewels, silk stockings, high heeled shoes and hair done up. And she's 83.

That's my mom. She could speak three languages, play the piano like a champ, is an avid reader, but was also an alcoholic, manic depressive, delusional, suicidal and mean as a snake when the mood hit her.

Sometimes her meds work and sometimes they don't.

But there is one thing my mom has that I (and my kids) admire.

Energy

You'd have to have lots of it to spend most of your time as an angry person whose pastime is to wreak havoc on people's lives and seek vengeance for all the wrong everyone has ever done to you (or think they've done to you)... and alienate every friend you ever had in the process.

But I get her. And I'm going to use my hero Cesar Millan's (The Dog Whisperer) philosophy to peg her problem.

My mom is like a pit bull that doesn't get exercised on a daily basis, and doesn't have boundaries or have a good pack leader to follow.

Or like an Australian shepherd that doesn't get to embrace his true nature and herd sheep with his energy.

Or like a spaniel that has been denied his tracking and bird retrieving skills and is stuck inside all the time and so displays destructive behaviour.

So her anger is simply hiding the frustration of not having done what she wanted with her life. She never accessed her true nature.

To go to school and excel. To use her intelligence to be somebody. And whatever respect and fame that would bring her.

The thing is, she could have.

But two things prevented her.

1. She has spent most of her life clinically depressed. But staying on the right pills and having a program of therapy would have helped her tremendously.

2. She's lazy. By her own admittance.

She told me the reason she doesn't exercise is because it's too much work. The reason she didn't go back to school is because it would have been too much work. The reason she didn't like having children is because they were too much work. Same with marriage, cooking, you name it. She hated all of it.

Everything you really want in life requires structure, sacrifice and vulnerability - as you will be subject to the expectations and judgment of others.

It meant she had to make a commitment to be healthy. She chose not to. It meant she had to answer to someone else who would judge her essays and give her a grade. She chose against being evaluated. It meant she would have to open her heart to children in whom an emotional investment never guarantees a return...

Life involves risk, guts, sacrifice, committment and vulnerability.

Everything worthy in life, does.

And for all her energy, intelligence and potential, she was not willing to give up any of those things.

Somewhere along the way, I decided that I was.

Like I said, almost everything I learned in life about what not to be, I learned from her. And for those of you who think it's all very sad, I just want you to know, that I don't.

It simply is what it is. What you do with the hand that is dealt you, is what separates people.

As the saying goes:

No man is my friend, no man is my enemy, every man is my teacher.

That is, if you choose it to be so...

NEXT - Kicking shadows and lightening the load

September 24 - Everyone should live life “as if”

I realize this is not always feasible, as daily implementation of the “as if” philosophy can easily lead one down the prickly road of denial.

But for the most part... it ROCKS IF you apply the practical aspects required to make your dream life a reality.

Jack Canfield (of “Success Principles” and Chicken Soup For the Soul phenomenon) explains an activity that gives people the opportunity to feel what it would be like if they had actually accomplished all of their dreams and then some.

He suggests you throw an “as if” party with your closest friends and everyone must show up donning the persona they have become five years from now assuming their ‘best case scenario’ for the fruition of all their hopes and dreams.

The only rule is you must stay in character for the duration of the party. Which means you must speak to others as the success they envision themselves to be and also dress, act, and most of all exude the confidence you would possess in your most ideal state.

Just thinking about it makes me want to put on that little black dress, throw my shoulders back, toss my hair around (long and full of body with the best extensions money can buy) and say “Oh stop, it was nothing!” in response to another guest complimenting me (yet again) on one of my achievements.

Gosh darn but it’s fun!

And if you don’t believe me, try it. Ask a few close friends if they would be interested in coming to a party at your house (everyone pitches in for good caviar and a little champagne), based on this premise - just watch as people start to giggle at the thought that they can pretend to be whatever it is they’ve always dreamed of. Everyone’s energy automatically rises.

It’s the ultimate costume party because you get to dress from the inside out as anything you want to be.

And for those of you who are pshawing and murmuring under your breath that this party should be called, “Yeah, right, as if” with a sarcastic undertone all I have to say to you is - we all do it in life anyway, but in such bits and pieces that it doesn’t have the same magnitude as actually declaring a party in honor of what we COULD BE.

Take for instance the actual names of these two co-ed soccer teams in my hood:

“We’ll Bury You Cockroaches” and “Multiple Scoregasms.”

I love those names. Each one cracks me up.

But beneath that laughter is also an underlying message to the other team: We’re gonna kick your asses from here to the moon.

It’s all in good fun but it’s also competitive - as much as a no-ref, few rules, friendly kind of game can be (which trust me, can be really intense).

Think about it. Nobody in their right mind would ever call their team, “The Has Beens”, or “The Try Hards”.

Because I think deep down inside we all want to be the best version of ourselves possible and prefer to see a win in every situation we face.

And these desires rise through the cracks of our life and society constantly, manifesting themselves in the names of teams, our obsession with people who have ‘made it’, and even our desire to look our best when we go out on the town.

It’s just that somewhere along the way, we started to think maybe we weren’t entitled to live up to our own expectations.

Either we had an inner bully that told us we didn’t deserve it, or an outer bully in the form of negative and destructive naysayers, or parents that wanted us to live a safe, secure existence because essentially it meant that they could stop worrying about us.

Or maybe, we were simply surrounded by people who were apathetic about life - their own and existence in general. (Perhaps the most draining of all dream-busters).

Basically, there are two kinds of people who teach us subconsciously (or consciously if we’re aware) of how we want to live by their own example:

Those who teach us how to be and those who teach us how not to be.

And what I have learned is neither method is more valuable than the other.It's all a matter of what you get out of it.

NEXT - How I learned how not to be (and from who)...
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September 22, 2009 - The Process - Query, Proposal, Martini - PART II

Submitting the proposal.

I’m going to break down psychologically what that means because words carry their own underling energy based on the origins contained within them (and we act accordingly - call it an inherent gift to tap into an archaic model upon which we are all connected - a collective unconscious of sorts).

To submit.

The prefix "sub" is full of interesting implications: a prefix occurring originally from Latin freely attached to elements of any origin used with the meaning "under, "below", "beneath", "secondary", "subordinate"...

So then an offer of marriage is really just a proposed plan to spend the rest of your life with someone.

Let’s go with the best visual of the two - the marriage kind - to see exactly how one should best approach submitting a book proposal.

You get down on one knee (ie; take a submissive position - there’s that sub prefix again), ask someone to spend the rest of their life with you (ie; invest time, energy, money and effort), and show them the ring (hook ‘em in the first paragraph into wanting to hear what you have to say as they stare at that glistening diamond that could be theirs).

When you see that look on their face that says they’re not convinced you spend the next few minutes (ie; pages) using the best arguments you can come up with to prove that what you are offering will bring them terrific dividends in the form security, contentment and hopefully some bonus elements beyond their expectations - like great rollicking sex for the next twenty years (ie; a bestseller).

It’s a delicate matter.

Some agencies request a proposal that sounds more like a bragfest: 'If you marry me, I will not only promise you the moon, I’ll deliver' (that would be the marriage proposal in movies that takes place on the big screen during the ninth inning at White Sox game) while others want ‘Just the facts ma’am’ (sit me down in a nice restaurant and tell me what you’re offering and how being with you is suppose to make my life better).

But when your book is humorous it’s hard not to want to get that across in the proposal since it may be the only chance you have to strut your stuff: I’ve got so many insights on cyber dating I make the view from the Sears Tower look like the inside of a maximum security prison.

The bottom line is, like in a marriage, you have to find someone that is a good fit.

And just like dating, you gotta kiss a lot of frogs before you find someone willing to turn into your literary advocate prince (or princess).

When you start to go through agency after agency, you start to get a feel for what they’re looking for and what they might be like to work with.

Some of it is based on their website, but a lot of it can be based on the tiniest things that send subliminal messages that trigger a ‘gut feeling’, like photos of their agents actually smiling or a clever sentence: eg: We license rights in every territory on earth - and, in case you were wondering, throughout the universe.

I loved these guys. In law school when people asked me what kind of a lawyer I wanted to be I’d say: “I’m going to be the first intergalactic lawyer so that when we make first contact I’ve got the market cornered”.

I just had to write them. As luck would have it, I received a favourable response. (Fingers crossed).

Then again, I looked at websites that made me feel no matter how clever I might be, (or easy to deal with), these people would rather chew off their left arm rather than be stuck in a bear trap with the likes of me - I don’t have enough credentials to satisfy the standards required to qualify trying their grandmother’s chocolate chip cookies never mind read through the proposal.

And that’s totally understandable. The funny thing is I don’t take these things personally. You simply cannot.

If all agencies were the same, it would be a dull world indeed and you would need sub-agencies just to weed out those writers who have no business contacting anyone because they can’t actually formulate a sentence let alone pull a story together.

So I get it.

And then you have the agencies who pretend they’re ‘open to submissions and unsolicited materials’ who send you what looks like an ‘auto-reject’ response ten minutes after you’ve just painstakingly fired off another query letter or proposal tailored to their specifications.

That’s okay too. They just want to look like the good guy even though they’re not really looking. That’s the woman who rejects your proposal of marriage who, even though she put out all the signals that she wants to settle down and have kids, never had any such intentions in the first place. But she just doesn’t want to look bad because she thinks this is what is expected of her.

I just want to find an agency that is a best mirror reflection of me.

They work hard, but know that life must also be balanced. And when they’re under the gun they can still operate with a sense of humor and compassion, yet deliver what they promise.

So when you’re ready to find an agent, send out as many feelers as you can, but use your gut instinct to find the ‘good guy’ and focus your intent on that one. There’s nothing worse than being stuck with someone not suited to you who only believes in you half-heartedly.

Nobody wants their marriage to end in a messy divorce.

As for the martini part? There’s no secret in that.

Once you’ve sent out a whack of these proposals, you have to celebrate.

It doesn’t matter that no one has responded yet or even that you’ve had auto-rejections. The point is, you did it.

And all the little steps in life that are designed to move you forward - regardless of outcome - must be celebrated.

NEXT: Act “As if”...
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September 18, 2009 - The Process - Query, Proposal, Martini - PART I

It was a helluva week.

I researched 98 agencies that might be willing to consider unsolicited material. In other words:

“Hey, nobody asked you to purge enough blood, sweat and tears to leave your body vacuous of any remaining fluids just to write a frakkin’ book that people might or might not want to read, but you’re here aren’t you? What the heck, we’ll look at it anyway - if all the stars align.”

Welcome to the world of agents.

Bloody hell.

And through the course of my research, I found out hardly anyone actually writes a non-fiction book without finding out if someone wants to buy it first. (I wish I had known that before I started this little project nine months ago and put in over 1000 hours to write the damn thing - even though I would do it all over again).

Fiction books are different as any story has the potential to be a bestseller. In a way the forum is open to anyone who has discipline enough to see a story from beginning to end.

But there’s a catch.

A good idea for a fiction book, no matter how clever - boy goes to wizard school and must combat evil until he practically pukes snakes (Harry Potter) - only delivers if the writer has a great voice and knows how to develop a story - in other words; there better be talent in them thar hills.

So when you submit a query for a fiction book (a one page letter giving a synopsis of the story and whatever writing credentials you might have), you also get to include twenty pages of manuscript. Because the proof is in the pudding.

With fiction, you get to show ‘em what you got upfront. So if you’re a good writer, even if you’re a virgin novelist, sooner or later some smart dude will recognize that you have the X factor (ie; talent). And that’s elusive. It takes a wicked eye and an open mind to recognize it. That is a talent in itself. And that’s why good agents make the big bucks.

It’s one thing to be a casting director and see tangible charisma in a newcomer who oozes blockbuster poster child from every pore of his being, but the written word is more elusive. There’s no face attached so you have to be able to see what other people might see in this author that would make their particular style of writing popular.

Are you starting to see what I’m getting at?

But fiction and non-fiction operate from different platforms.Non- fiction books are in a class all by themselves. Above all, they are informative. And I’m starting to get that they’re big business.

How-to books are the literary world’s version of reality TV.

If you are organized enough to write a good outline and give chapter summaries, chances are if there is a wide enough audience and you know what you’re doing, someone’s gonna buy it - more so if you are an expert in your field.

No one is going to buy a book about how to make a million dollars from a pauper, but if Donald Trump writes one, then the odds of it hitting the best seller list increase significantly.

How-to books can make a lot of money for everyone (at least that’s what I have assessed based on the submission requirements) because they come with a platform expectation that specifies the various satellite operations launched by the book that can also make money - speaking engagements, websites, seminars, supplementary materials... the list is as long as your imagination allows (and the money any publishing house might have to promote you while you’re working to bring in the big bucks).

So, you might think you can do it. You might know, in your gut that what you have to offer is the bomb, but...

...you have to prove it before they even read anything you write. And that’s a helluva tall order if you’re name isn’t Dr. Phil.

While some agencies only request a one page query, in a non-fiction proposal you don’t attach your pages. Initially they don’t want ‘em. They just want to see if you have an idea they can market.

And if you were able to successfully hook them in your query, then they might ask you for a proposal.

If you can hook them in your proposal (which can be anywhere from 20-40 pages long) they might read the two sample chapters you attached.

If they read those and like them, they might ask you for your manuscript.

If they like your manuscript, they might offer to represent you.

If they offer to represent you, they go to bat for you by trying to convince a publishing house that you are indeed a good investment upon whom they will make a good return.

In essence, I need to be a valuable commodity.

Except as a non-fiction author, I’m a no-name brand playing in a big name game.

For now.

Once I get one book under my belt, I just know... *call it a gut feeling*... that I could become a recognizable name brand. And I have more book ideas to keep me busy (and any publishing house) for the next fifteen years. Let’s just say I know I can deliver.

The question is will someone let me stick my foot in the door? Cause if they do, I’ll be damned if I ever let them slam it shut...

Next - PART II writing a proposal