Every day I count wasted in which there has been no dancing ~ Nietzsche

I've been coming to a single conclusion for the past while. Life is too short.

Life is too short to hold grudges.

Life is too short to let your last words be harsh ones.

Life is too short to waste your breath on dead causes.

Life is too short not to go for what you want.

Life is too short for bitterness.

Life is too short for hate.

Life is too short for unending anger.

Life is too damn short to hang onto past hurts.

Life is too short for regrets.

Life is too short not to grasp love when it's near.

Life is too short for drama.

Life is too short not to laugh every day.

Life is too short not to dance every day of your life.

I hope you dance. 

It Goes Both Ways

For the writers amongst you, I have a question. Do you ever pick up bad language or attitudes from your characters? As nuts as it sounds, I do. When I get toward the end of a book, heading towards and through the black moment and climax, my characters swear. A lot. And it's not "fudge-buckets" or "sugar."

Some writers will tell you that they are completely separate entities from their characters, having no bearing on the writer him or herself. I think that's garbage. Characters are a part of the writers who create them. Somewhere inside the writer, a part of this character that we have identified with is running amuck. No, the writer is not the character but the character is a facet of the writer. You wouldn't be able to write convincing characters if you didn't identify with the little terrors to some extent.

So I hit the 'do or die' part of my current WIP last week and since then, well, it's a good thing that I live alone. I am swearing a blue streak and not only at home but in the car, at other drivers. In the grocery store, at missing produce and products and other shoppers (under my breath). It seems that I'm grumbling at everything for the past week. I'm ready to fight. I'm not sure if this is good for my health or not - on one hand I'm venting frustrations but, on the other hand, studies show that profusely negative venting is not good for you - you just become angrier and angrier.

It's a little disconcerting that characters can influence your behavior. But I'm thinking I'm not alone in this. In between the angry music I'm listening to in order to get the mood right, I am listening to calming, peaceful music to haul me out of my self-induced insanity. And it's tiring. 

I know that many people think that writers perform a core dump and vomit words onto the page, and presto, a novel appears. Writing is the most difficult thing I've done and I've done a lot of insanely difficult (and stupid, let's not forget stupid) things. The saying that writing is easy, you just open up a vein, is entirely true. You pull things out of yourself that weren't necessarily supposed to set foot out of the primordial sludge. Things that aren't nice, aren't pleasant, aren't fun and sure as hell aren't civilized and happy pink thoughts.

It's tough - especially when you set out to make your characters' lives a living hell. Which I do. I've been known to cry, to have to take walks to calm down, swear, shout and on occasion to throw things around (I limit myself to pillows so I don't damage anything). Easy? No. Necessary for writing? For me, yes.

I fully admit that I create screwed up, flawed characters. Who wants to read about a character who has ALL of his or her shit together? I don't and I'm betting you don't either. Is this a tortured part of my psyche screaming to get out? Maybe. Is this a twisted, dark side of myself erupting from my sub-conscious? Maybe. Am I a masochist? At times, I think all writers are masochists. I don't think people generally look at the darkest parts of themselves without a ton of motivation.

So when a character you're reading really gets to you? Makes you angry and squirm uncomfortably? The writer probably wasn't the happiest camper either. Who needs therapy when you can write messed up characters who explore all the dark areas? Just remember, it goes both ways - the character is influenced by the writer and the writer is influenced by the character.

Scary.

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times...

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times… it’s been quoted so many times that I don’t think anyone really pays any attention to the words anymore. But listen again… it was the best of times, it was the worst of times. It’s still true after one hundred and fifty years or so.

People have wonky memories when it comes to good times and bad times. In truth, the good times were probably fairly good but the veneer of time and distance puts a special happy filter on the good times. And the bad times are probably worse than you remember. Yes, some things are truly awful—losing loved ones, illnesses, divorces, wars, destruction and just feeling that life will never improve. Feeling isolated and alone. You’re in the black hole and you’re never going to see the light again.

People complain about getting older, especially in North America. Here, we are obsessed with youth, dismissing anyone older than thirty as ‘old.’ “I’m old,” someone says in their thirties, forties, fifties, sixties, seventies and then in their eighties. So, I’m just going to say it. YOU ARE NOT OLD. There. Got that off my chest. It felt so good to say that I’m going to say it again. YOU. ARE. NOT. OLD. With one exception—if you give up and insist you are old. Then, yeah, you are. And you may as well die right now. Give up. Go back to the dust from whence you came.

We are all aging. We are on the road to death the instant we are conceived. No, I’m not being morbid. Just very honest. But if you use your chronological age to justify acting like an old fuddy-duddy, then you are doing yourself a great injustice. You cheat those you love of your life. You’re cheating yourself out of your life. What kind of existence is that?

Life is not easy. It never is. It never was. It never will be. There will always be tragedy, heartbreak, illness and disability. Bad things will always happen. That is the nature of life. But beside those bad things are good things. The good things that are made that much better because of the bad things. I think we all forget this when we are frustrated or unhappy or having a shit day at work.

Nothing is going your way, it seems, for years. And it may very well be years. You or someone you love may be sick for years. Not just a case of the sniffles, but something that is chronic. Painful. Debilitating. Financially devastating. You may be unemployed and wondering what the hell you’re going to do when the money runs out. Will you ever work again? And after a while, doubt seeps in and you think no one in their right mind would hire you: you know nothing. To what could you possibly contribute? You’re an idiot.

And you hit rock bottom.

You have a choice.

You can stay at rock bottom, wallowing in misery and the illusion of agedness. It’s your choice. Or you can kick off from the bottom of that ocean of self-doubt and swim to the surface. Not to be trite, or Pollyanna about that whole thing, but things really do work themselves out, one way or another. Something that you thought was the worst thing to ever happen opens a door to a new way of being. That journey is a tough one. No one said it was easy. “Good” is not a destination. “Life” is not a destination. “Bad” is not a destination.  Life is a journey encompassing the good, the bad and the not-so-bad. Because when you arrive at where you’ve been heading for your entire life, you’re dead as a doornail.

So all this talk about “arriving” at your life is crap. What you’re experiencing now? Right now? This is your life. The only one you’re going to get on this earth. You can walk around bemoaning your age, railing against your "fate" (another piece of garbage people use to support their misery) or you can live your life to the max.

I have/had a great-Uncle, whom I never met and I believe is no longer in the land of the living, who went trekking down the Amazon when he was in his eighties. His eighties. That is one man who was never old. My parents are not old even though most of the people I meet their age are old. My parents are busy people, despite being retired for a couple of decades. They go places, do things (don’t ask me what but they’re always busy) and it keeps them young. People regularly think mum is anywhere from 15-20 years younger than she is. She looks great. I won’t tell you her age but, while a majority of people my age are mostly grey, she isn’t.

It annoys the hell out of me, this “I’m old and ancient” crap. One would swear by what some of these people say that they should get walkers and support hose by the time they’re forty. Start lawn-bowling any day. Feed the pigeons in the park. People younger than me are claiming that they’re old. I’m not old, so if they’re old it’s because they’ve chosen to be so.

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times” is always going to be true for someone somewhere every single day. I’ve lived that saying for my whole life. Nothing is ever perfect. There will always be a fly in your chardonnay. But it’s up to you whether you let that fly swim the backstroke or fish it out and enjoy your wine. 

Salut!

Some New Year Thoughts :)

A new year has come around again. New challenges, new people, new experiences, new stuff all around. But is it really? People hope that the new year will be better than the last year but they still carry around something that is not new: themselves. Their hopes. Their joys. And their sorrows.

This seems like a "well, yeah...duh" moment but really it's not. Things don't tend to happen unless you do something to change your behaviour, your outlook on life... you. Sure, a few people will win the lottery but most of us have to change ourselves to improve our lot, our happiness, in life.

If I look at my life as objectively as I can, I can see all the things that have gone wrong, things that have failed, and I am the common denominator. Yeah, some things were plain bad luck but other things? Other things were sheer idiocy, a measure of naivete, a lack of understanding of my own self-worth and an unhealthy dose of stubbornness. I can out-stubborn most people, if I put my mind to it. :S

I find that so many people wander around totally oblivious to the destruction they wreak upon themselves and the lives around them. If things are habitually going wrong for you, you need to take a look in the mirror and decide what responsibility you have in the whole mess. I highly recommend counseling. I sought counseling a few years ago after a very emotionally destructive period of my life. It's not easy to have to look yourself in the eye and be honest with yourself. Most people won't do it: it's hard, it's painful and it takes a LONG time to see the patterns in one's behavior that led to one's own demise, so to speak.

At this point, I think most people could use some counseling. We're all kind of screwed up in some way or another - some of us more than others. And there's really no excuse not to take a look at one's behavior and say, like a certain tv psychologist does, "How's that workin' for ya?" Someone said the definition of insanity is to do the same thing over and over again while expecting a different result. So by this particular definition, I think there are a LOT of troubled people out there.

So for this New Year, 2011, I want to wish everyone good mental health. And I want to share my yearly list of what I have learned in the past year - oh joy, you're thinking :) but here goes (and yes, a lot of these are cliches but they're known for a reason):

• Just because something is difficult is no reason not to try
• Never say never
• Stop whining and just do it
• Live with intention
• Walk to the edge and look into the abyss
• Listen well
• Never stop learning
• Play with abandon
• Laugh until your sides hurt and tears run down your face
• Cry your heart out if you feel like it
• Do what you love
• Black Rat snakes have very cool and smooth skin and if I didn't object to feeding a snake a poor, terrified mouse once a week, I would get one
•  Don't let the bastards get you down - there's no reason not to have fun - annoys the bastards :)
• I can be my own worst enemy, my own worst critic, and I have to stop that kind of thinking in its tracks
• I am my own best champion
• Trusting my gut instincts is the ONLY way to go - whenever I have doubted my gut and gone with my head, everything goes sideways
• Being obstinate is different than being determined - obstinate gets me into trouble, determination gets me ahead
• And the last one is a quote by Mary Ann Radmacher: "Courage doesn't always roar,  Sometimes courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day saying, "I will try again tomorrow.”

Much Love to You,
Brooke

Alone Again - A poem

Alone again, I’d grown used to your absence,
To the sounds of silence and the hum of my hitched breath
Something whispered to me,
Urged me to slay the deafening emptiness that felt like death

You were not gone, you were not with me,
But you stole moments here and there,
As if to say, “She’s still with me” to stave off your despair
Alone again, I did not want to see the deep game you played,
I did not want to see what over the tracks of my approaching train was laid

Alone again, I struggled, I weakened, I finally tapped a line into the mist

Along you came to resume your game, hoping I wouldn’t see what you resist
I can’t live this way, I can’t be yours
While with my questions you stay silent and you declaim

Alone again, my questions gutter silently into the ashes of an unfed flame

© Brooke London 2010

Fabulous, Darling!

Recently, I started patronizing a Second Cup (like Starbucks) near my home because I like the coffee drinks more there. Most of the time, I get the same barista. I always ask her how she’s doing and her answer is always, “Fab-u-lous!” in this British Caribbean accent. She draws out the “fab” part and shakes her short curly hair out of her eyes, almost poses like a supermodel and flashes an impish smile. This is her standard answer to everyone, I’ve noticed, and everyone walks away from her with a smile on his or her face, along with their coffee. She is one of those wonderful people who welcome the world.

It’s amazing to see how people relate to her. One simple word, one flip of the hair and one smile and she has you. Yes, it is part of her schtick, part of how she deals with the world, but it’s very effective. I don’t think anyone walks away without tipping. I don’t think anyone walks away without smiling at the woman. And isn’t it nice to have someone smile at you whenever you walk in? And isn’t it nice to have someone walk away from you with a smile on their face?

Such a simple thing makes a big difference.

Growing up, it was understood in my family that I would be some kind of professional something. I would get a meaningful university education and go on to do challenging, thought-provoking work. No doubt being paid more than a barista, at any rate. But who is better off? Someone who greets people and makes them smile and feel good about themselves, or someone involved in "serious work" who can’t smile because they’re too miserably aware of all their pressures and deadlines. Working 70 hours or more a week. No time, no energy to actually live a life. As opposed to someone working a less stressful job, not expected to continually hit efficiency benchmarks and baselines for performance —just show up at work, do your job, go home and live an actual life. Make people happy. Make yourself happy. Don’t drive yourself crazy.

Maybe it’s better to be a regular person. My barista has learned or instinctively knew that stressing yourself out only leads to an early death even before you hit the grave. I have a streak of curiosity a mile wide. This curiosity seems to necessitate me having to try everything, examine everything, analyze everything to freaking death. I’ll tell you, it’s a pain in the ass. 

I often ask myself why isn’t anything just straightforward and simple. The most obvious answer is because I’m not straightforward and simple – my world reflects who I am, just as your world reflects who you are. In this barista’s world, she is fab-u-lous. And she is. That is what the world reflects back to her. What the world reflects back to me is different—a torturous rat’s nest of ups and downs is what I’m getting from this mirror of life. The next logical question is, how can I change this? To which I have no answer. Everyone talks about simplifying their lives, minimizing the junk they’ve accumulated over a lifetime. I have donated probably in the range of 600 books now that were formerly cluttering up my bookshelves. I’ve weeded out my kitchen and my closets, trying to get rid of the stuff cluttering up my life. I don’t need more stuff in my life, I need more life in my life.

Those of you who have been following my blog posts for a while know that I divorced last year. It’s taken me some time to figure out what and who the hell I am since leaving. I’ve had to do a lot of work to heal from that disastrous, hell-bound mistake. A lot of work to trust my judgment again. And it’s coming, slowly. I’m listening to my emotions, instead of only my logic. Pure logic has not served me well. And perhaps I went a little overboard on the emotional side of things at first. But I think I had my emotions buttoned-down and suppressed for so long, that when I finally gave myself permission to feel what I was feeling, I was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of emotions. I thought I’d drown in my emotions but instead washed up on the shore of my new life, like so much flotsam and jetsam. My life—the undiscovered country. I was Christopher-freaking-Columbus and had just escaped the savage sea.

So, I have this opportunity to re-create my life better than it was before. Like the Six Million Dollar Man but without the super abilities. Things have changed to the more positive for me. Maybe a little older. Hopefully a lot wiser. And maybe, just maybe, I can be "fab-u-lous, darling", too. I think I’d like that. :)

All You Have to Fear is Fear Itself

Yesterday, I was corresponding with a friend looking for information on how to do a public reading in front of a live audience. I’ve never done a reading in front of an audience but on November 2^nd, I will be doing just that.  The Prana Café and Teahouse in Toronto is going to host my very first public reading. I’ve been doing readings on the radio but those were a little different. Doing a reading in front of a group of people I don’t know is somewhat intimidating.

 My friend congratulated me on doing this, saying that most people wouldn’t do something that scared them. When I first became published, I made a decision to say yes to any promotional opportunities that came along and, with one exception, I’ve done exactly that. Even though every time I’ve done one of these promo opportunities it has scared me to death.  

The problem is these days that writers are expected to have a number of personalities. One is the writing personality who is an introvert. Writing is not something that I can do with somebody else.  All of it comes from somewhere within and I dump it out into the computer. The other personality is the one that’s supposed to know how to deal with people, how to do readings and how to look confident and comfortable doing everything. It’s a dichotomy, and it’s one that every published writer these days has to deal with.

It’s not just in writing where this expectation has happened. I’ve been in information technology for many years. I started off as a computer programmer and I’ve done just about every job in information technology. It used to be, as a programmer, that you could hide in your cubicle and nobody bothered you as long as you were doing your job. Now, technical people are expected to have excellent soft skills as well. Companies want their technical people to not only be technically proficient but be able to relate to other people. There are places for pure technical people but, more and more, technical people are expected to be more than just technical. They are expected to be socially well adjusted and not scratch or adjust their privates in public.  Most women don’t do this but some men still haven’t caught this part of social etiquette. But aside from the very obvious like this, social skills are vital.

I have never considered myself an outgoing person. But since being published and doing signings, doing interviews and doing all the external things related to writing, I’ve learned how to be more comfortable in social settings. I’ve learned how to reach out to people to a certain extent. I’ve learned how to be more outgoing and confident in myself. I attribute that to directly to the peripheral writing activities.

The thing is with fear, unless there is a very real possibility of being physically hurt, it’s all in your head. People will say they can’t do something whether that’s public speaking or traveling by themselves or meeting new people or any number of things. But what they are actually saying is that they don’t have the guts to try, that they won’t do certain things because they’re afraid.

I think with fear you have to break it down. Some of the questions I ask myself when something scares me are:

1)    Am I going to be physically hurt?

2)    How realistic are my fears? I mean, are people going to throw rotten fruit at me at this reading? Are people going to start laughing at me? Are they going to be unkind, are they going to hate me? Am I going to lose my voice suddenly? (At the first public speaking event I did a number of years ago, I actually did lose my voice because I was so nervous. Perhaps some people at this point would have thought, oh my God, that is the worst thing ever to happen and I’m never doing that again; my thinking was, okay, the worst happened, it will only get better from here. And it did).

When I look at things this way, I realize that very few things are actually going to harm me. In fact, doing these things will help me. I have what I call the “bubble theory of life”. My bubble theory of life is that life is like a big elastic balloon. If you’re not pushing on the balloon from the inside, breathing life into it, pretty soon your balloon turns into a straitjacket and you can’t do anything—you have allowed your fears to immobilize you. So, breathing air/activities into your balloon expands your boundaries.

I’m not talking about throwing yourself off a building or mountain climbing. I’m not talking about things that could possibly hurt me because quite honestly I have a fear of heights and I’m quite comfortable with that fear. J Now some people could turn around and say well your bubble theory of life says that you should be throwing yourself out of an airplane and they could be right, but I really don’t see any point in doing that. It doesn’t help me. So it’s not a priority for me. 

What is a priority for me is anything that will help me in my day-to-day life. I try to be pragmatic about the things I do. Everything is for a purpose. If I need to do something to get to where I want to go, then I’ll do it.  I’m also not talking about the things that I have to do as opposed to the things I want to do. Having fun is just as pragmatic as being responsible. Everyone needs a balance for good mental health and an enjoyable life.

So instead of turning down opportunities and adventures because they scare you, give it a shot and just say yes. Yes, I will do that. Yes, I will go there. Yes, I will do that public reading. Because after all, you only get one shot at life and you might as well make the most of it.

I hope that I will see some of you at my first public reading of Pitch Dark. The Prana Café & Teahouse is located at 2130A Queen Street East, on the corner of Queen and Hammersmith in The Beaches in Toronto. The date is Tuesday, November 2, 2010, the time is 6:30pm - find a seat, schmooze and order one of their fabulous coffees.  The readings begin at 7:00pm.

Cheers!

Truth - A Poem

Many roads lead to a city named Truth, 
but few find the path and are lost forever, 
never knowing why or what to say 

To those who blindly followed and prayed for a better day,
surrounded by the blooming lilies of hope and joy so wild

Many roads lead to a city named Truth, 
how I wish I could turn back the feet that led to sorrow and a forever-lost child 

For on the road to Truth, 
though I faithfully followed the signs and arrived on time, 
Truth betrayed me and left me behind

© Brooke London 2010

A Story Begins…

... late. At night. Just as I’m tired and ready to crawl into bed. Listening to a piece of music. And my muse takes flight.
 
I close my eyes and pictures take form in my mind, painted by the strains of music, a scene laid out before me, waiting to be captured in words. The scene raises so many questions, questions that will not be answered until the end of the tale. Now, I don’t know what the ending will be. I only have a starting point. And all those questions.
 
So I confine the words into a chapter; the sights, the smells, the sounds, the tactile sensations of what I see. And I put it away to simmer on the back burner of my mind.
 
Over the next weeks, maybe months, I’ll find out who my characters are: what they want, what they would live for, what they would die for. I delve into their minds. I find out what nightmares disturb their sleep. Events that challenge my characters are thrown into the pot. The plot grows organically out of my characters: what is their story, what will force them to reach for everything they’ve ever dreams of, ever cried over and never wanted.
 
And one day, I sit down with my simmering characters and events and write their stories. I have basic events and crisis’ lined up for my characters but I don’t know when exactly these things will happen. They will happen when they are meant to happen. I can’t tell anyone the story because it is still unfolding for me.
 
It unfolds until I type the words “The End”.
 
I like creating stories this way, it keeps me entertained while I am writing – I’m like a reader with the advantage of being able to write the story as it comes to me. I think every writer has his or her own method of writing.
 
This is mine.

Brooke London's interview on "Book Discussion with Fran Lewis"

Fran Lewis graciously hosted me on her show today. It's a two hour show and I appear half way through. Enjoy! :)
http://www.blogtalkradio.com/rrradio/2010/07/21/book-discussion-with-fran-lewis/

You Can’t Go Back

Back in May I visited my family near Edmonton. And I decided I wanted to see the places where I grew up and lived during my childhood and young adulthood. It was strangely depressing.

There were two houses and three schools that I visited. The first house was the one I lived in until I was fifteen. It was an older suburban area, middle class. The house looked small. Years ago, Dad had put in a small brick retaining wall across the lawn near the sidewalk with a little built up spot next to the driveway. My older sister’s boyfriend had backed up into it and knocked it off. My dad had put it back on all those years ago but not cemented it in. It still wasn’t cemented into place – I won’t tell you how many years that was, but it was a loooong time ago. The street looked Alice-in-Wonderland tiny, maybe because I had been so short for most of the time I lived there.

The elementary school I went to looked old and broken, the asphalt playground area strewn with asphalt debris and forgotten toys. It also looked much smaller than my memories. The portables were gone and the church next to it had converted to another denomination. It had been a Roman Catholic church attached to the school when I attended. I can still remember Sister Ryan telling me to stop fidgeting in my seat when we went to visit the church – had I never been in a church before?? I was seven years old. Sister Ryan scared the hell out of me but, looking back, she was a good woman who took me aside and taught me to read when I needed the help.

We then drove to the house where I lived from ages fifteen to twenty-two, when I finished university. It had been a rather posh area when we moved in. Now, the front yards were cluttered with dandelions, rioting amongst the new and dead grass. The street also looked smaller – probably because now people parked their cars in the street instead of their driveways. The yards were unkempt and messy – it was obvious that neither the yards, nor the houses had seen any upkeep or improvements since I left all those years ago. Now, it looked like people didn’t care about the high grass and the once beautiful houses. It looked destroyed and it slumped at its heels. I was disappointed, surprised and a little let down.

The places where I grew up did not match the vibrant memories I had. The places where I grew up were not what I expected. The places where I grew up no longer existed anywhere but in my mind.

Maybe I shouldn’t have gone back to see. Maybe I should have left well enough alone. Maybe it’s best to leave past homes alone. Let sleeping dogs lie. I was a little depressed after my visit to the past. It’s amazing how things tend to look good in retrospective inner mind context but so much different in reality. I guess I had romanticized the places where I grew up in some way. In my mind, the houses and areas were pristine and now…now they were run-down wrecks that had seen much better days.

A couple years ago, during a day in the summer after I left my ex, I went back to my former marital home. Just to see. My ex was probably at work. What I saw was expected but still depressing. This is where I had spent nine years of my life, not happy years, but years nonetheless. The yard was a mess with the grass and weeds growing to my knees, the foundation of the house was cracked even more. It looked like the ‘Trailer Park Boys’ had moved in. And that hurt too.

The places of my past are not happy places. They actually weren’t happy places when I lived in them but memory had given them a gloss of happy unreality.

I won’t visit those places again. 

Brooke London Internet Radio Interview podcast

This is a clip of The Asylum for your Soul Show Whistle Radio 102.7 - A Soul Asylum Poetry, and Double K Records Production from March 30, 2010 with Brooke London. The clip is just over 30 minutes long and includes the interview and music for the show.

Enjoy!

All the Angry People, Where Do They All Come From?

It seems like the world is one big blob of pissed-off-ness. Walking down the streets, driving on the roads, malls, airports, churches. Everywhere I see people who are ANGRY for some reason. And do you know where all this anger is taking us? Nowhere. It’s a dead-end road.

I grew up in an angry, chaotic childhood. I traveled around an angry, chaotic world. I’ve been employed in angry, chaotic workplaces. I’ve lived in an angry, chaotic marriage. The one common element? Me. And the world at large.

Have you ever known a truly calm, peaceful, unflappable person? A person who doesn’t let anger creep into their lives, who lives life in harmony with themselves and others. I haven’t. Everyone seems to be living in his or her own personal hell.

There always seems to be a reason to be angry. Oh, he cut me off, the bastard. Oh, my boss is a jerk, the bastard. Oh, my workload is so unfair, those bastards. Oh, my life is hell and I am going to blame the whole world, you bastards. Oh, life is so hard for me while it’s so easy for everyone else, those bastards.

People walk around thinking everyone else is the enemy. The politicians, the economists, the terrorists, the intelligence agencies, the countries that populate the world. Anger is fear. Fear that someone else is going to hurt us or take something away from us. Fear that our circumstances will never change. Fear that we are alone in the world, without support and without love. They say that love makes the world go ‘round but that seems unrealistic. It seems that anger makes the world go ‘round. And that’s not a good thing.

Angry people make stupid choices. Angry people are so busy being self-righteous that they don’t see anything good in the world. They are crippled by unreasonableness. Everything and everyone is a target for their anger – why should anyone else be happy when I’m not? they ask themselves. Bitter, vindictive people go out of their way to spread their fear and paranoia.

Anger is like a contagious virus. I see it on the 401 Highway in Toronto, the busiest highway in North America. One person, apparently having a bad day, cuts off another motorist and flips him the bird. The second motorist responds by becoming angry and starts driving more aggressively, cutting other people off. Pretty soon, the 401 becomes an arena for gladiator road warriors. The 401 is crazy and so are most of the people who drive it. Because of this, I drive very defensively in Toronto – too many people having too many bad days, doing too many reckless things. I try to be aware of what is happening 100 meters behind, ahead and to the side of me (the 401 is 16 lanes wide – there’s a lot of space for aggression).

I turn on the news and everyone is angry. I go onto news websites and all the comments on all the stories are angry. I speak to people who seem ready to explode with anger – those ones scare me.

Anger is a natural emotion. Angry responses are each person’s choice. None of this but you did this wrong so I’m pissed off with you and I’m going to demonstrate how angry I am – I have no control over my emotions – you made me do it. No personal responsibility, no integrity whatsoever. Well, you may not have control over your emotions, but you do have control over what you do with your emotions. We all do, but rarely do we see people exercising control over themselves. They just erupt like Mount Vesuvius and rain their rage down on everyone within spitting range.

After I left my ex, I was angry. I was angry about how I let him treat me. I was angry with him. I was angry with me. I was angry that he took my piano out of spite (he didn’t play but he didn’t want me to have it because he was angry that I was leaving him). But anger doesn’t help me. Anger eats you up. Unfortunately, it doesn’t spit you out; it devours you until your whole existence is one of chaos and turmoil.

I have been learning how to let go of anger. It hasn’t been an easy process. I’ve had to cut some things out of my life such as news reports and negative, angry people. Driving in Toronto used to be a real problem anger-wise for me – so instead of reacting to the stupid things people do, I sing at the top of my lungs in the car and let it go. I don’t have to take on someone else’s anger. I’ve talked to people who are in my life, who will always be in my life, and explained how their anger affects me.

I am an emotional sponge, something I am working on not being. I suck up negative emotions around me very easily. So now, I work on controlling whom I come in contact with. Yes, I have de-friended a couple of people on Facebook, who only seemed to spew and stew with anger. I don’t need this garbage in my life.

I meditate. I try to concentrate on the positive instead of the negative. I don’t always succeed but at least I am aware of my shortcomings and I work on my issues to understand why I’m feeling what I’m feeling. Walking around angry without knowing why you feel like crap is no way to live a life. And your body knows this – anger causes stress hormones to flood your system and you become prone to all sorts of health problems.

I think many of us are angry because of the pace of life these days. Between jobs, family and friends, we’re loaded down with more than we can handle. I think at least a partial solution to this problem is to simplify one’s life as much as possible. No, your kids do not have to be in some sort of organized activity seven days a week, requiring you to be licensed as a taxi driver. No, you don’t have to do everything yourself – you can ask for and require help. No, you don’t have to be perfect. No, you don’t have to have everything your way. No, you don’t have to walk around angry.

Even simple things, like your physical environment, are important. If your physical environment is messy, then it affects you emotionally. Try to pare down what you have. What do you really need? What are the things that are just getting in your way and bogging you down? Make a distinction between wants and needs. Yes, I would like to buy that cute pair of shoes and a few hundred dollars worth of books, but do I NEED to? No. I don’t need another pair of shoes, I don’t need more books and I don’t need more STUFF that I forget about as soon as I buy it.

And I definitely don’t want to go to the mall where there is temptation to buy stuff everywhere. Have you ever noticed that people in malls have this glazed look in their eyes? You know. The “I must buy something or die” look. They gaze longingly through shop windows at some item they’ll wear or use twice and then never look at again. Mall people are especially bad at Christmas because they get aggressive. They wait until the last possible moment and then desperately run around angry and upset. This is why I don’t go into malls between November 15^th and January 15^th – those people are crazy.

At any rate, anger is yours to deal with. You can let it eat you up or you learn how to deal with it constructively. Your choice. I’ve made mine.

Milk, please?

I just watched a commercial on television that extolled the virtues of a nice cold glass of milk. The milk looks wonderfully white and clean in a clear glass on a wonderfully white and clean background. One can almost forget that the milk came from a somewhat smelly animal in a barnyard. And milk comes out out the cow very warm.

When I was traveling in Asia, I landed in Bangkok coming from the beach area of Phuket. Beautiful beaches – I highly recommend them to anyone adventurous enough to go to Asia. But I digress…

Anyway, I landed in Bangkok – and why would I land in any city in Asia during the day??? Just never seemed to happen – at night. I was a bit leery being on my own, so I grabbed a taxi and asked the driver to take me to a hotel than wasn’t too far down on the price scale (that would come later). I got to the hotel at around 11pm and, after the staff chased a four-inch cockroach out of the room, I realized I was hungry.

I perused the English room service menu and didn’t recognize a thing except toast and milk. So I ordered toast and milk. I couldn’t figure out why it took 45 minutes for it to arrive. Until it did.

The toast was bread that it appeared they’d waved over an open flame for a minute. And then there was the milk. I took a sip of it and found it was very warm, body temperature warm. And something got stuck to my lower lip. Hmmmm. I pulled the offended piece of whatever it was off my lip and gagged.  

It was a hair. From a cow. The hotel obviously had a cow somewhere in the vicinity of the kitchens and they had milked this cow for me. They absolutely gave me what I asked for. I poured the rest of it down the drain, nauseous and definitely not hungry any more.

Now I realize that any dairy farmers reading this are going to scoff and say, “So, what’s the problem?” But for me, that was about on par of being chased around the room by a four-inch cockroach.

I refused to drink milk for a long time after that. I took calcium supplements. For the past several years, I’ve seen commercials encourage people to drink milk – ice, cold milk. So I started drinking milk again but every time I see one of those commercials, I think ‘cow hair’.

Ugh.

Men??

I want a man to be a man. I know they exist, these men, this man I look for. I just have to see past whatever they’ve gathered around themselves, hiding who and what they are. For all know, my perfect man could be five feet tall and ninety-eight pounds. I’m sort of hoping he’ll at least be somewhere around my height (5'5") if not taller, but who knows what lies in a human heart, under mystifying package? So I talk to them all, the short and tall, the big and small, the wide and thin, the wiry and slim. Wondering. Is this him? Is this you? And why does it matter so much that I find you? To say I want to dive into your ocean seems trite. And dangerous if I dive in only to find you’re two inches deep. Break my damn neck.

So I am left with this inexplicable urge to be skin close in a relationship with a man and yet run like the Hounds of the Baskervilles are on my heels, like a squirrel darting up a tree to escape from danger. But the danger is not really from someone else, it’s from me. What if I can’t handle more than what I’ve already handled and fear locks me in, locks me down, won’t let anyone in. The question becomes, “will I choose what is best for me?” The question becomes, “will I be alone for eternity?” I’m not settling this time. Settling set me miles backward last time. I was careless with my life, I was careless in my choices, like one more cigarette to be burned and thrown away.

Just some things running through my head lately. Just wish they weren’t sprinting.

Start 2010 with Places to Find Pitch Dark :D

Pitch Dark, my debut novel of Romantic Suspense, is available in both e-book and paperback formats in many places for your convenience. The updated book trailer is on YouTube  for your viewing pleasure :)

Paperback is available at
Cerridwen Press

Barnes & Noble

Amazon USA

Book Depository USA

Alibris USA

Amazon Canada

Amazon UK

Eruditor Low Cost Book Store in the UK for £13.95

Amazon Germany/Austria

Amazon France

Booktopia Australia

Fishpond Australia Australasia's Biggest Online Bookstore for $34.97 AUD

Eden Terrace in New Zealand for $NZD34.12

Libreria Universitaria Italy

Ebook is available at:
Cerridwen Press

Amazon Kindle for $9.99

Pitch Dark has been receiving great reviews:

RT Book Reviews Magazine, November 2009 issue, gave Pitch Dark an impressive 4 out of 5 stars, saying "This story has the perfect mix of romance and suspense, with plenty of twists to hold your interest. London has created two strong-willed and passionate characters. Connor and Alyssa strike sparks off each other whether they're fighting or making up."

Night Owl Romance, Reviewer Melinda, gave Pitch Dark its Reviewer Top Pick designation, saying, "Pitch Dark was an awesome read from beginning to ending. I loved the whole suspense, betrayal and lies twisting in the book.

The attraction between Connor and Alyssa was great. You can tell they both are afraid to love because of their pasts but man the heat between them is explosive. Even the grandfather in the book was great to read. His attempts of matchmaking will really make you smile. This is the first I have read of Brooke London and it won’t be the last. Brooke London knows her men, action and how to create chemistry between her characters. All of that just makes her books worth reading.

Joyfully Reviewed said, "I thought that Alyssa and Connor were the perfect foil for the other, being so different. I just loved learning new things about both of them that enhanced their personalities. While the sparking passion and corky humor would have kept my attention, it was the thrilling suspense that kept me turning the pages to discover just what would come next. If having espionage, betrayal, spies and danger along with your romance has you grabbing for a story as it does me, then Pitch Dark is a must read for you."

Madame Butterfly gave Pitch Dark an 'A' grading, saying "Pitch Dark is one of the best romantic suspense novels I’ve read in a while. There’s a nice easy flow to Brooke London’s writing style and from this book, she has an ability to write well rounded, complex characters while keeping them from coming across as stereotypical and stale. Her ability to slowly build up on the plot and keep the tension going at just the right pace is just as fine. I’ll definitely be looking out for more of her books.
Sex rating: Crotchless panty- the sexual situations are written with a lot of intensity and passion, but with soft, non graphic, sensual language. This is not an erotic romance on that level. Still, very spicy though."

Literary Nymphs gave Pitch Dark a 4 out of a possible 5 Nymphs: "An impressive read. Quality literature, recommended for anyone who enjoys the genre." The reviewer noted, "Pitch Dark is a good suspense story...I did not want to put it down."

New Year, New Directions

Yes, it is that time of year yet again—December 31st, New Years Eve. The night when one and all are supposed to party like it’s 1999. But like Christmas, New Year’s Eve has lost a lot of the sparkle as I have become older. Quite honestly, I’m probably going to be in bed and hopefully asleep by 10:30pm. And when I wake up, it’ll be 2010.

Crap, 2010??? How the hell did that happen? Through all the good and the bad, time marches on. What happened to being 21? What happened to traveling around the world just because? I’m hardly in my dotage but responsibilities tend to take precedence over being footloose and fancy-free. That said, I still take risks and try new things.

2009 was an eventful year for me, I got published, for the first time/hopefully not the last time, and divorced, hopefully the only time, on the same day. How many people can say that? Between these two events, I’ve managed to keep busy and stay relatively sane. Not completely sane because, honestly, that would be boring. ☺ I received a Rising Star award from my publisher, which I am now looking at on my bookshelf. Not a bad start for a first time published author. I learned how to use Photoshop fairly well (the light version, the full version is out of my price range). I updated my blog today with new graphics and a new color scheme/look, which I’m quite pleased with. Always room for improvement though.

Just over a year ago, I was invited to be a member of a great critique group of ten people who keep me on my toes and offer loads of encouragement / support / advice / information, both personal and professional. And this year, I discovered how truly valuable my group is. Ladies, I love you lots! If you’re a writer, a critique partner/group you trust is invaluable. The women in my group are great – not a wilting flower amongst them. We all have strong opinions and strengths and a great synergy has been created. We’ve connected both as writers and as women (hear us roar – LOL!!).

Not everything has been great but such is life. I’ve learned from my mistakes and my difficulties. I know they, whoever they are, say that difficulties build character but I think I have enough character now, Universe, so please lay off just a bit ☺. I am in a much better mental space now than I was in a year ago at this time. My emotions have settled, I’ve settled into my home, I’ve settled into a routine, I’ve settled somewhat into my life. All of which makes me feel, well, more settled overall.

I don’t make New Year’s resolutions on principle but this year, I am going to make a few.
1. Become a terrific photographer
2. Get my second book finished (I’ve got 11 days to go) and published.
3. Restart and finish my third book (a paranormal romantic suspense) which I’ve been itching to get back to for a while.
4. Find a great agent.
5. Put together a course on the different aspects of writing novels. I have a different way of setting things up that I’m pretty sure no one else uses.
6. Meditate daily.
7. Exercise daily to get the creative juices running.
8. Complete my morning pages every day (see Julia Cameron, The Artist’s Way).
9. Live consciously and be happy.

So the past year has been one of leaving my past behind and starting to look to the future. 2010 will be the year when I consolidate the gains I’ve made in 2009. I’m looking forward to this year. The shackles have been shaken off and I’m ready to fly. I’ll see you in the sky. ☺

The Undomestic Goddess

I have never in my life claimed to be a “domestic goddess”, unlike the many people who write cookbooks or give tips and tricks to the hopeful on how to fold fitted bed sheets properly. Growing up, domesticity wasn’t really a big thing for me (okay, I can hear my mother laughing hysterically at that gross understatement). Don’t get me wrong, my mother tried and, I think, for the most part she succeeded admirably with my sisters, both of whom cook and pull off domesticity very well. Me, well, not so much.

When I first moved to Toronto, my younger sister and I lived here for a while in the city. I remember she came over to my place once and for some reason she was looking through my cupboards, probably to help me cook something. She turned to me in amazement and said, “You have no canned goods, no staples! How can you cook with no canned goods?” I think my answer was, “Um, cook???”

She used to go through cabbage roll phases – I’d go over to her place, which would be permeated with the smell of cabbage, and she’d have multiple pans filled with cabbage rolls, cooked and ready to go into the freezer or for lunches or dinner. An organized domestic goddess even in her early 20s.

My older sister married young and had three kids out on an acreage. She would plant these huge vegetable gardens, bake bread every day it seemed. Make loads of pies and freeze them. Those kids ate well. She’d put on these huge holiday feasts for a zillion relatives and friends. Another organized domestic goddess early on.

And me, well … I watched Oprah many years ago when Martha Stewart appeared on her show. Martha showed Oprah how to fold a fitted bed sheet. And, I swear, I tried to fold a fitted bed sheet into a nice, even, neat square. On the tenth try, I balled up the sheet into a messy roll and shoved it into the linen closet.

Baking is fairly straightforward but I seldom get the urge to bake. Cooking seems to be a lost art for me. I don’t think I got the domestic gene that apparently my sisters got. But I can’t blame genetics. My interest in the domestic side of life is sadly lacking – I just don’t care enough to be domestic. I wish I had more domestic interests. I’m one of the few women I know who hates decorating. Every woman I know seems to be a decorating maniac, changing the decor with the seasons. I moved into an apartment once and someone asked me if I was going to paint the walls to something other than white. I said, “No, I like white.” I don’t notice these things, never have.

I’d rather be doing almost anything other than domestic stuff – writing, reading, watching tv, going out, anything but. In a perfect world, I’d have a maid and a chef, but as I haven’t won the lottery, it is up to me to at least try to be somewhat competent domestically.

And the really strange thing? I love cookbooks. I love cooking stores. I love cooking implements. I just don’t love cooking. Or baking. Or decorating. I manage to keep my place clean for the most part. It’s not that I’m incapable. I can follow recipes in cookbooks and get the correct result. Mostly. I’m just not interested. Which is why I’m eternally grateful to have a double side grill press – I can grill everything year around. And it takes me five minutes to make dinner – perfect for someone who can’t be bothered.

If I have people over for dinner, I can actually cook fairly well. At least no one has died yet and I’ve had no complaints. I think it’s easier to get motivated to be domestic if other people count on one being domestic. Like a parent. Or a spouse – but the cooking should be shared – or have one person cook and the other person clean, just to equitably distribute the tedium.

Maybe the issue is that my head has always been elsewhere than at home. I work at home but I’m not AT home. I’m thinking of plots, sub-plots, characters, politics, world events, science, psychology and human behavior, quantum mechanics (although not so much anymore), the state of the world and society, and information technology. And romance fiction. It’s a real hodge-podge of interests and none of them include anything in the domestic sphere. You’d think that I’d at least appreciate baking more because that is based on chemistry.

I think I tried for so long during my disastrous marriage to be a domestic person that now I feel like running screaming from the kitchen if I’m required to make anything that takes more than six minutes. Ten minutes at the outside. Square-peg-in-a-round-hole syndrome.

I still don’t keep canned goods. I still can’t fold a fitted bed sheet. I still don’t like cooking. I’ll never be Julia Child or Nigella Lawson or Martha Stewart (but that last one is probably a good thing – no pun intended - as she is a veritable menace to women everywhere by insisting that one should only use kosher salt, fresh eggs from your own chicken coop and being a perfectionist without mentioning that she has a huge staff to do all this stuff for her 24 hours a day). Women have enough to feel inadequate about without someone telling us we need to keep an immaculate home, cook and bake everything from scratch and do everything to perfection. Why doesn’t anyone tell men to do this? But I digress. Sorry. ☺

I guess the point is, I get on well enough by keeping my kitchen and domestic adventures to a minimum. It works for me. I start cooking and the smoke alarm goes off. The universe is telling me, unequivocally, to be an undomestic, unconventional goddess.

And I can live with that.

A Banner Day for Pitch Dark!

I am having a banner day today! Pitch Dark is now available on Amazon USA, Canada, UK, Germany / Austria and France AND the Barnes & Noble websites! Excited bouncing happening here!! Select the links below to take you to the website of your choice :) Discounts from the list price are available at some sites.

Barnes & Noble

Amazon USA

Amazon Canada

Amazon UK

Amazon Germany/Austria

Amazon France

WOW!!

Wonderful review of Pitch Dark in RT Book Reviews magazine, November 2009 issue!

PITCH DARK received a fantastic four out of five star rating from RT Book Reviews magazine! I am thrilled to death with the review - my first attempt at fiction got published and landed four stars out of the gate with a well-recognized and well-respected voice in romantic fiction. Thank you to reviewer Barb Anderson!

RT Rating:
Category: ROMANTIC SUSPENSE
Publisher: CERRIDWEN
Type: Romantic Suspense

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This story has the perfect mix of romance and suspense, with plenty of twists to hold your interest. London has created two strong-willed and passionate characters. Connor and Alyssa strike sparks off each other whether they're fighting or making up.

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Summary: Former intelligence operative Connor Donnelly, now the CEO and president of Energy Unlimited, has been negotiating a co-venture between his company and a company owned by Douglas Tiernan. Douglas' granddaughter, Alyssa, wants to protect her grandfather's interests and offers to meet with Connor at his headquarters in Colorado.

Alyssa and Connor are wary of each other but also very attracted. When their lives are threatened, they are thrown into a world of espionage and terrorism, and Connor and Alyssa will have to combine their skills to stay alive. (CERRIDWEN, Jun., 349 pp., $18.99) HOT

—Barb Anderson

The HOT rating means: Most romantic fiction falls into this category. Ranges from conventional love making to explicit sex.

The Four Star Rating: Compelling. A Page Turner.

Yay!! Got it right the first time and it'll only get better from here!