Tag: Epiphany

Observe with Your Whole Self: A Writing Lesson for Life

Leave a comment

Writing has taught me a lot, but the coolest thing I’ve learned since I’ve started writing (book, poetry, and the Proof blog) is the awe-inspiring power of observation. I’ve been writing even before I began actively observing others and the world around me, and I can attest that your work becomes worth reading if it portrays real life rather than if it what you think real life is.

I don’t mean that memoirs are the only awesome literature. Or that you should Hemingway your WIP.

There can still be contented endings, beautiful people, and even happy coincidences. Those things do happen in real life (though they are few and far between, and for the love of Rufus, don’t be annoying with them, please.)

This is what I mean:

There is no way I can create a character that isn’t like me if I don’t open my eyes and my heart and soak in other people. Invest in them. SEE them for all they are—a perfect swirl of chaos and beauty.  Experience them, empathize with them, take their humanity and roll it around in my head for a while until I UNDERSTAND something integral, and why it’s there.

(This also applies to setting, in my opinion.)

I’ve had to do this first with me…and I didn’t always like the images I saw. (I still look inside for understanding because I just haven’t gotten to the bottom of my crazy.)

I don’t know if it’s this stage in my life or if I have writing to thank for this deep soul-diving. Probably a combination of both? But I’m so thankful because more than writing better, observing and internalizing has become imperative to living better.

It embeds in me the worth of who or what has my attention. And that breeds respect.

I imagine the soul is like a spider producing web; I press my hand into the other person’s, and they share with me a silver thread. I tie the end to my own strand…and, there. We are connected.

(Places are kinda like that, too.)

When Crabs and Spiders Collide

[This tiny, crab-like spider is way less scary than the other picture I took, so…You’re welcome.]

This path—writing, observing, connecting—has made me grow up…and out. I digress sometimes, but ultimately I remember the joy and find my way again.

Truth Bomb: It can hurt sometimes, what you see. Don’t let it stop you.

Are you writing real life from a point of understanding? If you’re not, shouldn’t you be? (This is rhetorical, unless you don’t want it to be.)

Have you discovered your observational superpower? Has it changed your life, too?

Sig

 

A Word to You Graduates

Leave a comment

Hello, Graduates! Congratulations on this crazy awesome milestone and having the guts to jump blindly off this cliff of adolescence into the abyss of adulthood.

Y’all are so brave, and I mean that.

I remember not feeling brave at all when I was a high school graduate, ducking into abandoned hallways or taking the long way to my car, so I could avoid people asking me the question all graduates hear:

“What do you want to be when you grow up?”

It was always followed by a sardonic laugh, like the person who asked it created the question for the pure joy of seeing me squirm and fish for words.

Ha, haa, huhhh…

Back then, I didn’t know what I wanted my career to be. I didn’t have a lot of talents, or so I thought. I never internalized what my “dream job” would be. Truthfully, the only career options I considered was what I could do that wouldn’t kill me and provide, you know, food.

It never occurred to me to “dream big”, to “search deep”, to “care” about what I should be. The question was so monstrous, so intimidating, I decided that I just wouldn’t “be” anything. That what I would “be” inevitably would pale to whatever dream I could conjure, so I might as well not conjure one at all. Ignorance is bliss and all that.

I was not a confident teen. I was driven by fear-fear lead to procrastination-procrastination to denial. Denial that I even wanted more than what I had allowed myself.

I’ve heard a lot of people blame the world for failures, but I was the worst kind of hypocrite. The world wasn’t my problem. I was my problem. And I had convinced myself that I didn’t need to know myself, that I didn’t need to believe I could be more.

I had been telling myself “NO” long before I donned a cap and gown.

For example, I was waiting tables my senior year of high school, and met a news anchor for the local television station. When the check was delivered, she put her card in the small, black folder and asked me to contact her if I wanted an internship with her.

I was elated. My heart burst forth lighting my path with rainbow dust. The opportunity of interning with her hung before me, a colorful piñata ripe with sweet possibilities. I held the stick. All I had to do was whack the thing open.

I didn’t.

I lived off the good feeling the offer gave me for a year before I realized I’d wasted it.

The phrase “my life will do” took the place of “I love my life” and, my young friends,  “doing” might make you feel good for a moment, but long-term, you want the “loving”.

I settled on a path in college, and didn’t dare question it until my senior year, and by then, I was so close to a degree, I just sucked it up and finished it.

Why did I do this? Why was I so self-destructive?

I’m not a thousand percent sure, but I have an idea that this is part of the reason:

I was asking the wrong question.

It shouldn’t be “WHAT do you want to be when you grow up?”.

It should be “WHO do you want to be?”

To get to that answer, maybe answer a few of these questions could help.

What kind of person do you want to be, inside and out?

What characteristics do you want to embody?

How do you want to affect others?

What about you do you want others to admire?

How do you want to feel at the end of the day?

I don’t want to give you the impression that answering this question is easy. In fact, my answer two years ago is different from the answer I hold in my mind today. It’s an evolving answer as we grow, observe, learn, and change.

BUT the hard work will be worth it.

In my heart of hearts I know if I would have ventured onto this path of self-discovery, my career choice would have been chosen to complement me, rather than an obstacle to overcome. And if I would have stumbled into a career choice that didn’t match my expectations, it would have been okay because at the end of the day, I would have known who I was. I could have recognized when I was in a situation that didn’t honor WHO I wanted to be and I could have made the necessary career changes earlier.

So, WHO do you want to be? WHO do you want your future spouse to fall in love with? WHO do you want your parents or guardians to be proud of? WHO do you want to face in the mirror every morning? WHO do you want your future kids to look up to?

Find that person, BE that person, and the WHAT, WHY, WHERE, and HOW will fall into place.

Cheers, class of 2017! Don’t be afraid to show my generation up!

giphy

Sig

The Unintended Effect of Embracing My Tribe

2 Comments

At some point, I don’t recall when, society began glamorizing what it’s like to be “awkward” and I had finally found my People.

I was elated!

I wasn’t alone!

There were others who had the tendency to trip on her own shoes, or say embarrassing random things in front of important people, or go to hug her husband and accidently poke him in the eye.

I don’t know if it started with Bella Swan, I feel like we can (almost) all agree that she wouldn’t have been so cute if she didn’t fly her Clumsy Flag high.

tumblr_luyxxg9vtu1qdshi4o2_400

There are amazingly hilarious shows like NEW GIRL and 30 ROCK that have main characters I relate wholeheartedly to. It’s like sitting with old friends and accidentally choking on biscotti sticks between stroppy life stories.

tina-fey-giving-herself-high-five

I had never felt so welcome.

And suddenly, I was even collecting embarrassing”events” like Pokemon cards. As soon as I would do something weird, I would catalog it so I could tell my other “awkward” friends. It was like a strange Girl Scout group, and for those of us who are somewhat socially moribund, it felt good to be a part of something, even if it’s an Embassy of Embarrassment where you must have at least three level 10 incidences on file before you could be a full member. And that’s only to join. To stay in, you have to meet quotas.

About the same time, I unconsciously decided that those descriptors were the best attributes I had. That I was only these awkward instances stitched together into a timeline.

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about the words I use to describe myself.

Awkward. Weirdo. Clumsy. Dummy.

All super uplifting, right?

And then I realized, those words weren’t just in my head.

“I am so awkward.”

“You don’t know me yet, but I’m a weirdo.”

“Listen to this dummy thing I did.”

“Mea, you idiot…”

It wasn’t someone else saying these things to me. It was me…demeaning me.

I  noticed something. Something I didn’t really like. I was starting to be ONLY awkward–ONLY a clumsy-dummy-weirdo. Before, I would have these moments of brilliance. I would at least feel confident with a pen in my hand. I used to hold on to these moments like you would a string tied to a helium balloon because, before awkward was cool, I wanted to be luminescent when I “grew up”. Well, at least mostly shiny.

moana-shiny-song-released-in-full

Slowly, though, those shiny moments separated farther and farther in time until I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen one. But I could totally remember the last 10 times I told myself I was an idiot.

To my tribe, I told funny anecdotes.

But I was not happy.

I wonder how many of them aren’t happy either?

I heard myself one day, “Gah, me equals awkward,” and it made me stop in my tracks. (Literally, I almost caused a traffic jam in the hallway.)

I. Heard. Myself.

How long had I been shoving myself in this soggy box? So long that I forgot what it felt like to be competent and confident in my talents. “I am not one for false modesty…” (Elizabeth Bennet said) but, in the past, I had not been one for false condemnation, either. Was I really a dummy-wierdo? God, I hope not.

For an experiment, I practiced not saying aloud the things I didn’t want to resemble.

It was hard.

It is hard.

I’d unintentionally ingrained this line of thinking to flow freely from my head to my mouth to my heart that stopping it took constant attention.

Until it didn’t. (I did it again today, but I’m writing this post, so I wonder if old habits truly do die hard, or if it’s just in the forefront of my forehead.)

I’ve noticed an improvement. I feel more “together” in the world rather than cliquishly “awkward”. I feel more capable with publicly verbalizing ten words in a row without accidently creating a dirty joke. I feel more Real Smiles than not these days.  I feel more like Sometimes Shiny Me instead of Always Awkward Me.

Now, I’m working on my thoughts. Even the disappointed tone I hear my inner voice use when I do something dumb. I can’t change the fact that I am naturally clumsy and that I think differently than most people I know (which makes me the life of the party, let me tell you.) But I can forgive myself, and I can release those moments, rather than hoarding them for future hilarious floggings.

I’m finding that I WANT to be forgiving. That I want to see what more I can be by just…believing I’m more than a failed trek up the stairs (true story). This is what I want to tell all the members of my trippy tribe. We don’t have to just be an after-dinner story. We are more than our awkward experiences.

I’m not saying you have to change anything after reading this. I just want to be real with you.  We are Writers and/or Readers. We KNOW words are powerful. Why did I NOT think that applied to Real Life, instead of to just the lives I create? For me, right now, it’s the lack of words that have made all the difference. But don’t we Writers already know that, too?

Until next time, *pregnant pause* (See what happened there???)

Sig

 

Strange New Things

Leave a comment

Hello! Long time, no see, Darlings.

I could tell you Everything from even before my last post, really the last two and a half years, every excruciating detail that has brought me to now, a Strange, New Thing typing this post, but…

your speculations are probably more spectacular than the truth.

And I’ve worked so hard to figure out where some big, bad things fit into my life, I don’t really want to rehash them all. My emotions might explode and get into your pretty hair.

So, I’ll sum up in a less aggressive way-bullet points!

  • A very important person in my life made a terrible and uncharacteristic decision. It hurt so many people and cause him great guilt and regret, ultimately leading to his depression and suicide. The suicide happened before we could reconcile. I was 31 weeks pregnant during his funeral. It sucked a lot.
  • After giving birth, I had postpartum depression. Again. It sucked a lot.
  • I was in an unhealthy job situation that, in combination with the above, sucked a lot.

Two and a half years later, I think I may possibly be able to get back out in the world because of the next few bullet points.

  • Strangely, forgiving him wasn’t the biggest issue for me. It was that I didn’t tell him I didn’t hate him as he assumed I did. I was just so. So. Sad. I have come to a “place” where I can forgive myself more every day and grieve properly with each allowance.
  • I’ve been back on the medication that helps me deal with postpartum depression for a long while now. Actually, I believe I’m finally in a spot where I can try getting off of them again, which thrills me.
  • I have a new, positive work environment and I like to go there, to be a part of the “team”. I didn’t know how bad the previous situation was until I experienced something different. I make less money, but can I just tell you Folks that quality of life is worth a million rubies?

So, I’m getting back on track. It actually started at the end of July 2016, but I was embarrassed to tell you all publicly. What if I wasn’t “fixed”? What if nobody told me I had crazy in my teeth? I’ve had a few months of pleasant days now, though, and I feel more…resolved, maybe? That might be the right word.

The next set of bullet points are things I’ve learned going through this mess:

  • Forgive others.
  • Forgive yourself.
  • Experience your emotions. Don’t hide them away.
  • Write it out to understand better.
  • Keep hold of your joy.
  • Live the best you can.

I’m feeling good about 2017. I truly hope you are, too.

Kanpai, Lovely People!

Sig

April and May 2015 Updates

Leave a comment

I don’t have a set number of hours to share with you for these months. I know. That sucks. It’s just that I have taken every spare moment to read on a couple of books, one on novel structure and one on outlining, and I haven’t been writing down when I start reading and taking notes, so I truly just don’t know. Is it fair to just say “a lot?” I don’t even know.

Why am I reading craft books, you might ask? Because after finishing the first draft of LibertyNovel and working with critique partners, I realized I needed help in this area. Lots and lots of help.  So what does a nerdy girl do when she realized she doesn’t know or understand something? She buys a book…or ten…and hope it whispers secrets to her.

LibertyNovel is shelved for the time being. I’m sad about it, but I owe the characters a better story than what is there, and I just don’t know the answer yet. So I will percolate until the time is right. Until then, I’m starting afresh with another idea and, oh my gosh, I can’t wait to share. But, for now, I call it MediatorNovel, and I love it so.

I wanted to be done with the outline by the end of May. That isn’t the case, but I’m finding there is a good possibility that I won’t have as much work to do after the first draft if I take care planning before it.

Soooo… here we go, again! Back to the drawing board but with so much more knowledge thanks to LibertyNovel and craft books! I’m so excited I could spit!

Love,

Mea

August Update

Leave a comment

August is over and the end of the year is getting CLOSER! How are you guys getting through your Goals? I’m truckin’ along! Some have been changed due to circumstance and pregnancy, but that’s life, y’all. We deal, right?
I’d like to tell you a little of what I’ve learned since I’ve started to finishing Part II of the First Daft. Before I even started writing, I drafted an entire back story, all the while creating the nuts and bolts of this story. I have an ENORMOUS amount of paper and files that will never see the light of day and that did not have any effect on what I am currently writing. (I reserve the right to change my mind about this as my first draft and first revision isn’t done, but right now I feel like I wasted a whole lot of time dreaming.) So I resolved to start writing and to worry about back story issues along the way. For Part I of the book the only thing I knew when I seriously started writing was at what point the section needed to end and the end of my book all together. These are two super good things to know, by the way. (Well, maybe I had an idea instead of a specific scene about where Part I needed to end, but as the end drew near, I had a specific scene.) But from here to there, I had nothing but a foggy image in my head, y’all. I made it up on the fly and, can I just say, there is a LOT of revising that is going to have to happen in Part I. A. Whole. Lot. I finally got to my ending scene. Reread the section once and got it to CP knowing that it was going to change shape completely, but she had it, and I had my milestone, and she loves me unconditionally, so I knew I would eventually be forgiven. But something had to change for Part II. I wouldn’t survive another almost-fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants section. This book would never get done that way. I know me.
So for Part II, I spent time drafting an outline-ish type thing. It was something like a timeline and felt like a lot of “Oh! And then THIS!” with a sentence or two or clever dialogue that sprang up or something. Originally, I wrote it on a flow pad. I think better with a pen in my hand, and when it was done, I transposed it to a document. This worked so very well. I had a starting and a stopping point not only for the second section, but also for each writing day. I’d open up the outline and know what I had finished before and what needed to be written that session. If I’d written something that made the story more interesting, no worries! I’d just alter my outline a little in retrospect, do a quick read through to eliminate plot holes, and move the heck on. I also starting keeping track of how much I wrote, when, and for how long on a chart, which is how I’m able to write these Monthly Update posts.
So now Part II is done, and I’m outline Part III. I have 10 scenes with sentences and I know where I want to end. While I was thinking, I wrote on the first scene and have it completed now. I like that I still feel the progress of writing while I’m in a bit of a holding pattern (outlining), seeing how to get to the end. I still hope I can get through Part III by December 10th (baby’s due date), but we’ll see.
I look forward and dread Revision. There will need to be some major overhauling. My hope is that by the end of it, I’ll be proud that I finished the effort. Because this has been such a HUGE effort.
In short:
Break your story into three sections, know where each section starts and ends, and loosely outline each section before your write it. This formula has worked for me so far, and I hope it saves someone who is starting from scratch months and years of my frustration.

STATS:
Words-2,632
Days with writing in them-3
Hours: 3 hours and 55 minutes
(Not including outlining days, lots of article reading, and a webinar)
Words to Date: 42,631

I hope y’all are pressing on toward the goal! Gotta go pick up my sweet son, now! Later!

The “Write” Mind

Leave a comment

I didn’t believe it.

I read a thousand articles and blogs by all these experienced writers saying that writing doesn’t have to be done in a certain place, at a certain time. I was skeptical because I had worked up an ideal writing situation. One that would involve me, sitting at a proper desk with a view of a willow tree blowing in the breeze, sipping a cup of fancy tea with a hand-woven afghan covering my shoulders, admiring the lines of sunshine crossing over my research and biscotti crumbs, my glasses resting on the peak of my nose while I tuck flyaway wisps of hair behind my ears from my handsomely messy chignon.

Those authors with published novels and book events, they didn’t know how I needed to write. I was so snotty, embarrassingly so, especially for not even owning a hand-woven afghan.

Here’s the thing about the dream scenario v. real-life writing. In the dream, did you notice ANY writing happening? No? Me, neither.

I’m a romantic at heart, and it is totally like me to romanticize the job. As a disclaimer, I’m not knocking dreams. Believe me. If it weren’t for them, I wouldn’t want to be a Writer. But I’ve learned a lesson as I’ve set writing goals and forced words out while waiting for a doctor’s appointment or ravaging fifteen minutes of my lunch break. The lesson: Novels don’t magically appear from your mind into querying form just because you position yourself exactly as you are in your dream.

Do you feel like you just learned the Tooth Fairy doesn’t exist? Me, too.

I don’t know why I couldn’t have learned this lesson from the above-mentioned thousands of articles that have basically said the exact. Same. Thing. Other than the fact that I have always been hard-headed. As it is, I’m learning it now. Maybe you’re not as stubborn as me and I can save you some pain from disillusionment. I’m writing this for those pliable minds.

The truth?

Maybe, in the future, there will be some days that look like “the dream”, which is why I am planting a willow tree this fall, but for the most part, life gets messy and unpredictable, and writing can happen EVERYWHERE.

It’s freeing. Suddenly, I’m not tied to a squeaky desk chair.

Don’t believe me?

I’ll give you an example. A computer breakdown thwarts my one hour grocery store trip, and there is only one cashier who can’t move to another register. (I live in a small town.) When I lived in the dream, I would be angry at the world for wasting my time and come home flustered, splatting negativity all over Husband until he was in a bad mood, too. Now, I have my book loosely plotted by scenes and I work one scene at a time, so if I get stuck in this type of situation, I pull out my phone app or the notebook-pen combo and just…start writing. It takes a few moments to think of what I’d last written, but that’s all. It helps, too, that I’m a more consistent writer, so I don’t have to struggle to remember what I was working on or how the scene is supposed to “feel”. When the computer magically starts working again and check-out resumes, I’m not mad. I can genuinely smile at the nervous employee, who expects to be yelled at by those in line, and return home with groceries and a happy heart because I’ve got more words to add to my draft.

See? All because I let go of the dream and got into my “write” mind. Bahaha! Cheesy, I know.

To further the cheese, here are clichés I begrudgingly use in this post because they are true:

1. Practice makes perfect- The more I switch mindsets from Mea-the-Mommy/Wife/Daughter/Full-TimeEmployee to Mea-the-Writer the less time it takes and the easier it gets.

2. Don’t sweat the small stuff- In a perfect world, every word I write expresses exactly what I want, preciously detailed, and elicits the feelings I want the reader to feel with no revision necessary. This beautiful, broken world, my Friends. If I get ten minutes, I can’t worry if that was the exact word I needed or if MC wore a green or purple cat sweater in the last scene. I write my best and give myself something to revise later. You can’t edit Nothing.

3. If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again.- I’m still learning the best way to keep my wits about me, to let go of the romantic image of Mea-the-Writer, and to revel in the slow but steady pace in which I’m able to carve out writing time. Early in this revelation, there were lots and LOTS of times when all I could do was stare at the paper/phone app, reread the same sentence over and over, and declare myself too verklempt to produce anything new. I had to figure out how to Get Over Myself and write what popped into my head. Though the words were not always usable then, I can now keep a significant number of words from the original impromptu writing jaunt. I’m so thankful that something (and sometimes someone *Shout out to CP!*) pushed me forward when I needed it.

I see this transformation, and I’m amazed at how this whole writing adventure bleeds into other aspects of my life–organization, attitude, relationships…

Just finding something you love and going after it full-force…

I have never been so driven. I have never been so happy.

I can’t wait to see what will happen next. I’m my own experiment!

To Planner or Not to Planner?

Leave a comment

I have a PLANNER, and I am USING it! Yes, dear friends, I have vowed to be more organized this year, and with all the irons in my metaphorical fire (mom, wife, job, writing, other family, maid, etc.), this has made all the difference. Something else, too… I’m not just putting Things To Do on this list, but also unplanned things I’ve accomplished. So, for example, if I spontaneously make a pair of earrings, I make a note of it.
Oh! And something else… I’m keeping track of my writing time in this amazing contraption! (AND my bank account!) So, when I feel like I’m a stagnating pool of Good for Nothing only capable of harboring mosquito eggs (I kind of grossed myself out a little with that one.), I look back at my planner and realize that I, somehow, carved 50 minutes out of last week last to write 481 words. That is 481 words closer to the end of my first draft, which should fill me with joy. But if that doesn’t help the BLARG feeling, I look at the days I marked Mommy/Son time and remember his sweet hugs and the way he looks into my eyes when he laughs.
Husband has sung the praises of his planner for two years-ish now, and I have finally, FINALLY, acknowledged his song. (I’m stubborn, and I’m working on it.) Now we are a duet, and I am here to tell you I get more done with a planner in my hand than I did without it.
I have a Two Page a Day planner so I can have my work list on the right, my personal list on the left, my bank stuff on the bottom left, and personal appointments or important notes on the top left.
planner 2
Also, it’s pretty, and studies show I am 50% more likely to incorporate pretty things into my life. (The other 50% is reserved for broken things because I love them.) (Wait…I don’t think that math makes sense…)
planner 1
So, if you are on the fence, Planner or Not to Planner, tip the scale to Planner, try it for a month, and if you don’t like it, you’re doing it wrong. Ha!
Later!

Nostalgia, You Foul Thing

Leave a comment

Wow, but I have just been smacked in the face. I was listening to an interview with Carrie Mesrobian, author of Sex and Violence where she spoke, among other informative topics, about nostalgia in young adult authors. Specifically, how there is a tendency to put our characters in trying situations and have them react in a way that we, as learned, experienced adults, hope they would, rather than have them react as an unexperienced, naïve, or impulsive teen would. Now, if it’s in my character’s nature to act beyond his/her years, then so be it. But not every character will be motivated to make well-thought-out decisions about EVERYTHING in his/her life, especially when they are at emotional odds. Also, not every character who does make an impulsively poor decision is a Bad Guy.
As someone who had a conservative teen experience, I look back on why I made the reserved choices from the decisions I was allowed to make, and doing so, I discover that I didn’t make “right” choices because I weighed the Pros and Cons of the situation and resolved that the result was moral and just in society’s view while it upheld my personal resolution to remain pure and unmarred by the wicked, wicked world. No. I made the “right” choice because I was fearful of the consequences presented by my parents if I weren’t to choose what they brought me up to choose, and if I were honest with myself, I was fearful to experience things outside of my comfort zone because I knew NOTHING of the outside world other than what my parents and my church told me. I don’t want to discuss religion and children, but I do want to discuss my teen cowardice and the way it is affecting my current writing.
I could have removed the veil of fear and judgment from my head and observed the “outside world” for myself, spoke to others on the border of my comfort zone, listened to their needs, desires, likes, dislikes and maybe I would have seen that I had nothing to judge or fear because my longings and their longings were the same. We could have been friends. But what if I didn’t come to that conclusion? At the very least, it would have been my conclusion and not other’s opinions that I took to my heart as fact. And that was my fault. No one else’s.
I know this now as an adult, and I purposefully keep my mind and heart and eyes open, but my teen main characters are as scared as I was to make impulsive, experimental decisions. I brought those same emotions from Way Back When to my writing and unknowingly grasp at them for character development—which totally sucks. Why does it suck, you ask? Currently, both my male and female Mains would rather talk menstrual cycles and ball sacs than discuss anything about their possible relationship or emotional fortitude. That’s why.
So, thanks to this interview, I am aware of my problem. I don’t want to dwell on the idea that after years of reprogramming, that mindset is still hiding inside me. I don’t want to brood in the gloom of What Was with arms crossed, sullen expression, and furrowed brow… as I am mentally at this exact moment. I want to step back; realize, once again, the past is the past; analyze it for what it is; and finally, use it to present life changes in characters to tell a good story.
Why was I fearful? What did I miss while I hid? What other emotions mixed with the fear (shame, guilt, regret?)? Would stepping out from under the shelter of complacency change anything, or would I have ended up the same as I am now, only with different experiences to get me to this exact point? What are the extremes? Answer—timorous reserve and dauntless openness. And somewhere in-between….. Well, hello, there, Beginning of a Character Arc. It’s nice to meet you.