Kristal Lee

This week's shout out goes to romance author Naima Simone for her blog post That Man is for Me at Naughty Author Chicks. I was struck by the serendipity of finding her article on my anniversary.

Naima discusses that "my husband isn't my inspiration [for my heroes] because he's my real life. He's my fiction come true. I realize there are certain moments where he expresses his love in ways that would seem unbelievable if they were written in a romance book. But it's the little things...the things that don't exactly beat the path to the bedroom but they seduce the mind all the same. They say in subtle, low-key ways, I'm paying attention. I'm sacrificing for you."

She goes on to talk about the little things that her hubster does for her and I began pondering the little things Professor X does for me.

He keeps our local pizza pub number in his speed dial because he knows pizza cures whatever ails me.

He rubs my feet, my shoulders, and especially my wrists and hands without any expectation of reciprocation.

He calls me from the grocery store just in case I might remember something that isn't on the list.

He took me to see Clash of the Titans, foregoing Avatar until the DVD came out, just because he knew I was a fan of the original movie.

He DVR's his sports games and waits until after I go to bed to watch them so that the time we're together is spent doing something we both enjoy.

He puts out a clean towel on my vanity stool at night so that when I stumble into the bathroom at 5am I don't have to rummage through the linen closet with the blurry sleep-walker vision.

He kills the sneaky viruses that attach themselves to my computer during my web surfing before they can damage any files.

And, he supports my journey to become a published author, sometimes with more faith than I have myself.

When I think of all the little things Professor X does for me on a consistent basis I know that my fictional heroes' actions pale in comparison. They may have more brawn, but my hubster has more heart. He's the real deal, not a figment of imagination, and that makes all the difference.

Thanks Naima for reminding me of that.

What are some of the little things your hubster (or significant other) does that makes him your real life hero?

Over the last few weeks, I’ve blogged at New Kids on the Writer’s Block as Kaelee Morgan on the topic of writer’s voice. Mostly, because I wanted to understand what it is, if I had one, and how to develop it. I’ve learned that #1, we all have a voice, and #2, we have to learn what it is before we can develop and refine it. Like a songster’s voice, a writer’s voice begins with the raw basics and is refined through practice. How refined that voice becomes depends on the practice. Only perfect practice produces a perfect result.

As writers, we MUST learn the craft of writing in order for our practice to be spot on. Our writer’s voice becomes more defined once we’ve mastered how to use writing tools and we begin to shape and use those instruments according to our natural style.

Writer’s voice is as individualistic as we are. A familiar reader should be able to pick up anything we’ve written and identify it with us. Voice is that distinctive.

Don’t believe me? Pick up a book written round robin with several authors. When reading the book, you get a clear sense of when the author has switched. The sentence structure is slightly different, the word choice, even the tone. There is distinction in voice.

I began pondering this uniqueness, the individuality, and imminent recognizability. Not only in voice, but who I am as an author.

When I decided to pursue a professional writing career, I made the choice to use a pen name, Kaelee Morgan. It wasn’t a hard decision. Looking back, it was easier than it should’ve been. Almost without thought, really.

I told family members and friends that I was using a pseudonym, they all asked why. I glibly answered, because I have a day job in the public arena with a large and politically “hot” agency. Self-protection, self-preservation I deemed it.

I hit the bulls-eye with the self-protection, self-preservation bit. But not because of the crap about the day job.

Looking back at my much younger years, I remember writing, writing, writing, and signing my work as Anonymous. Not because I was embarrassed by what I wrote, but because I was embarrassed to be complimented. I wrote a short story in school that my teacher raved about, to everyone. Before long, my story was the talk of the school. In a good way, but the attention was a tad overwhelming. Overwhelming because there’s a vulnerability in writing out your heart and everyone scrutinizing it.

A pen name provides a layer of protection. Some authors choose pen names out of reasonable necessity. Or perhaps because they write in different genres or for different publishers.

I chose a pen name out of fear. Not fear of rejection, but fear of recognition. Kinda backward thinking, I know. Especially considering that I’m not a shy person, nor do I have a problem with self-confidence. I do, however, like privacy.

While studying voice, I dug through the Hope chest to rediscover short stories, creative writing assignments, poems, and research papers from my past. And there I found my voice. Raw and in need of refinement, but definitely my voice.

Somehow, over time, I lost some of what makes me, me, in writing. Maybe this had something to do with me opting for a pen name, maybe not. Most likely not. But, the lesson learned in studying voice is that I just gotta be me.

Shakespeare wrote “a rose by any other name would still smell as sweet.” I suppose that’s true, but would that flower be as endearing to the masses if called a bloody thorn stalk? Somehow, I don’t think so. The essence of the flower is constant, but our perception of it changes.

After meditating on this for quite some time, I decided that come what may, I want to be known as me. I don’t need an alter identity to shield from the public eye of my day job or from family or friends. In reality, I was only hiding from me. So, I’m foregoing the pen name, Kaelee Morgan.

I’ve changed everything over to the real me, Kristal Lee. No layer of protection now. No cushion to hide behind. Nothing but the simple, direct, often quirky, me.

I’d love to hear from those who’ve chosen to use a pen name, or two. Why did you decide to use a pseudonym? If you use more than one name, do you notice a change in your voice, or does it remain consistent?
~Kristal Lee

**Reposted from NKotWB

I was playing on Plinky and came across this prompt: What movie always makes you cry?'

Can you guess what came to my mind? Probably not in a zillion years, but try.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Okay, here it is….
|
|
|
Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer.

Yep, that’s right. You didn’t guess that did you?

I always, always cry at the part where the other reindeer are laughing at Rudolph because the black cover comes off his nose and it’s glowing red. It breaks my heart how cruel reindeer can be.  Really, who knew about the mean streak in Santa’s magickal beasts. The ones that pull his sleigh full of toys, delivering  joy to so many girls and boys on Christmas Eve. Go figure!

Now, tell me…what movie always makes you cry and why.
~Kristal Lee

My “Books To Be Read” has taken over the top of my dresser and the floor space on either side. And, my “Magazines To Be Read” pile has taken over the armoire. I won’t mention what’s pending in my Nook.

When those precious moments of personal reading time become available, I dive into whatever tickles my interest at that time. This week, I grabbed a popular women’s magazine because the cover mentioned an article on ways to improve memory. Not just a couple of ways, 23 ways. Since I have a background in psychology, I was eager to glean as much as I could from the article.

I only had a few minutes to devote to the article and spent 95% of my time looking for it. I checked the table of contents. Hmmm…not there. I did find an article entitled “Memory Lame.” A play on words, but ironically accurate. I don’t know if the cover was a misprint or if the wrong article was published or if they forgot to print the article in its entirety. But the write-up certainly did not a address 23 ways to improve memory. I counted 8, and that was a generous count. Maybe they expected people to forget that they had promised 23 techniques.

Now, I’m annoyed. I chose this magazine based on the front cover teaser. The magazine failed to deliver the goods. Isn’t there supposed to be truth in advertising?

Building up a reader’s expectation and failing to fulfill them is a critical mistake for anyone trying to build a readership or maintain one. Such a shortfall undermines the reader’s trust. She is more hesitant to invest time or money in the author’s next project.

Lesson learned and filed in my writer’s rolodex. Don’t promise what you can’t deliver and always deliver what you promise.

~Kristal Lee

My former day-boss used to hand out weekly goals with an inspirational message scribbled at the bottom of the page. Only one left a lasting impression on me.


If you only work 40 hours a week, you have a job not a career.

In less than a microsecond, I knew my daily occupation was a “job”, not a career.

I like my day job. It’s interesting, challenging, and a continual learning experience. But, I don’t want to slave at my desk for extra hours or come in on weekends. I give my all during the 40 hours I’m there. But when the LED display on the clock flashes that time to go home, I do. Because at home is where I work on my career.

Dictionary.com defines career as ” a person’s progress or general course of action through life or through a phase of life, as in some profession or undertaking.” For me, that’s writing. That I’m not published and not paid to write doesn’t deter me from doing it any way.

I’m committed. Every spare moment is dedicated to writing or learning the craft of writing. If I had more time, I’d spend it writing. As surely as I live and breathe, I write. It is my general course of action through life. I hope to make progress along the way because I do have the goal of becoming a successful published author. But, I think a career is about the journey, not the just the final destination.

So, do you have a job or a career? Or both?

~kristal lee

My parents are visiting. I’m happy they are here. I haven’t seen them for a couple of months. And, I’m particularly grateful that my dad was capable of making the trip. He’s battling prostate cancer, finishing his radiation treatments last week.
He feels good, looks good, and hasn’t had any side-effects to date. Again, I’m grateful.

A cancer diagnosis often turns the world topsy-turvy. My dad faced the tilt-a-whirl news with the same quiet, steadiness that I’ve always known him to have. He read the literature the oncologist passed to him, listened to the recommendations, proceeded with the treatment, commenting that he hoped the daily doses of radiation would be administered in the mornings so that he could be about his gardening in the afternoons.

Henry David Thoreau wrote that “most men lead lives of quiet desperation”. I believe my dad leads a life of quiet inspiration. Without lectures, he has shown us love, dedication, and faith. An abiding faith that allows him to take what comes and push forward, steady, unwavering, and unflustered.

He continues to work his garden, piddle in his workshop, and watch Braves baseball. And I am grateful.
Grateful for one more year, one more month, one more day with the quiet man who is my dad.

~Kristal Lee

I’m a Type A personality masquerading as a Type B. Outwardly, I appear laid back, even-tempered, and mellow. And I am, outwardly. On the inside, I’m a rocket ship on steroids firing off to all four corners of the universe and every destination in between. Usually at the same time and faster than ludicrous speed.

And because of this, some times the little things derail my trajectory.

Over the last few weeks, we’ve been dealing with yard issues. A grass jungle in competition with the Amazon. Central Florida, rainy season, and St. Augustine grass are the ingredients you need to build your own. Oh, and a yard man waylaid by a family emergency and his own bout with the summer flu.

Although I’m prone to exaggeration, growing up in a Southern family descended from Irish immigrants who believed story telling was a momentous event and the bolder, the more outrageous, the better, I’m not embellishing when I say that our grass is up to my knees and climbing.

Hear that pop? It’s the sound of my Type B persona cracking.

Home Owners Associations, neighbors, and snakes. Oh crap!

Each day that creeps by without the sounds of a mower fists my stomach tighter than a fishing net caught in a boat motor. I called other lawn services for assistance. If they remember to show up, their quotes are more than my hubby is willing to pay. I, on the other hand, would take a second mortgage on the house just to get the job done.

This week has been especially tough and my stress has rocketed past my intergalactic shuttle blowing my Type B cloak to smithereens. I begin wondering, where in CF could I buy a machete. Soon, I might have to whack out a path to rescue the dogs.

And then something wonderful causes a shift in perspective.

I let the dogs out to play, hoping they won’t get lost in the tangle and drown. While I fear having to traipse after them with nothing but flip flops to protect my feet, they have no qualms about diving in and parting the green sea.

Well, one of them doesn’t.

Brave little basset.

All I can see is the white tip of his tail above the lush blades bending to the slight breeze the same way that the leaves in the trees rustle. He leaps. He stalks. He hunts with the determination of Pooh tracking his honey pot.

For that little basset the mountainous green blob about to swallow the house is a land of adventure. A land of opportunity. A land no longer deemed just the place to do his doody.

Watching him play, and grin—yes, he has this weird dog grin, open mouth, flash of teeth, long, lolling tongue, helps de-escalate my stress and teaches me that when things aren’t perfect maybe it’s because I’m looking at the situation the wrong way. Like a kaleidoscope, when we don’t like what we see, we can shift perspectives for a new outlook. Sometimes that slight modification of attitude sets the universe back on its axle and we move forward once again.

It works.

As I began writing this post the endearing sounds of a weed-eater enchanted my ears. My heart beat a little faster than normal. I race the dogs to the French doors, throw back the sheer curtains, my hand flies to mouth, my fingers fan my lips.

There he is…my yardman…my hero for today. Fighting his way through the backyard wilderness to conquer the monstrous turf eating at my sanity.

Some might think, poor little basset. He’s lost his novel land of exploration.

Not to worry. He’s just as content to chase the lizards and geckos from the back porch. Or bark at the deer meandering behind the fence. He’s happy-go-lucky that way. Amazing that he has such resilience after being abused and abandoned and rescued from a kill shelter before finding his forever home with us.

Reminding me again, we can’t control the challenges we face but we can change the view. After all, life is all about perspectives.
~Kristal Lee

** Some may have wondered why we didn’t cut the grass ourselves. The short answer is that we don’t own a lawn mower. Those who know us understand why.

1. Pay it forward. Help others when they’re in need. One day you will need help, too.
2. Be happy with yourself. If you can’t, how can you expect someone else to be?
3. A gift is quickly forgotten. A memory is cherished for a lifetime.
4. It’s up to you to make your dreams come true. No one will be as invested in your dreams as you, so don’t expect someone else to make them come true.
5. Reading a book broadens your mind. Watching television widens your waist.

Thanks Mom! Happy Mother’s Day!

~Kristal Lee

Today I had anticipated blogging on love and relationships. However, perusing my local online newspaper, I came across a subject that I simply couldn’t get off my mind.

ANIMAL ABUSE

Most, if not all, of us have heard about Michael Vick’s conviction and incarceration for his involvement in a dog-fighting ring that tortured, maimed and killed dogs. And, his subsequent “reformation.”

But, do you know that felony animal-abuse incidents are occurring in your own home-town neighborhoods. Yes, the house next door. Where your kids play with their friends. Where you visit with neighbors, co-workers, and family members.

I was shocked, horrified and disgusted to read about an arrest of a 21 year old man who repeatedly sodomized his dog, a Whippet mix, so viciously that that animal services workers were forced to euthanize her. He pleaded no contest to animal cruelty charges and was sentenced to three years probation and forbidden to own animals.

WTF???!!!

No mandatory counseling? No charges of lewd and lascivious behavior? No charges of a sex crime? Simply because the victim was an animal???

Unbelievable!

According to Kathleen Kennedy, a spokesperson for the Orange County Animal Services Department, perpetrators of animal abuse have a five times higher rate of escalating into committing violent crimes.

Research also demonstrates a correlation between animal abuse and domestic violence.

I applaud The Cruelty Hurts campaign, launched last April by Orange County Animal Services. They have endeavored to develop cooperation between local law enforcement officers and have partnered with Central Florida Crimeline which actively prompts citizens to call their anonymous hotline. One tip lead to the discovery of a cock-fighting ring that was also harboring guns and illicit drugs. Another may have saved the life of a woman who was the victim of domestic violence. When officers arrived in her home to investigate a report of animal abuse, she was able to silently alert them to her own predicament by mouthing, “Help Me.” Which of course, they did. But if someone hadn’t picked up the phone to report suspected animal abuse, who knows what might have eventually happened to her.

I urge everyone to be aware of what’s happening around your home. Take walks through your neighborhood and get to know the people in your community. Check on those abandoned and foreclosed houses in your area to ensure that no animal was left behind. (Believe me, it happens every day. Our shelters are full of abandoned animals whose owners have moved out without them.)

And, please take animal cruelty seriously. Animal-abuse is a crime and can be prosecuted as a felony offense. Keep in mind that animal abusers often escalate to more violent crimes. You and your family could be at risk if an animal-abuser is allowed to continue that behavior unchallenged. Please don’t confront them yourself, as this could put you in harm’s way. Call your local crimeline and/or local law enforcement if you suspect someone of abusing or neglecting an animal.

Encourage community leaders, representative, congressmen, senators, and even our President to develop stronger and better measures for dealing with animal-abusers. Mandatory counseling for anger issues is a good place to start. And in cases where sex acts have been perpetrated upon animals, sexual behavior counseling seems a good idea.

Animals cannot defend themselves against such violence. It’s up to us to stand in the gap. Be an advocate and make your neighborhood a safe haven for all.


**Check out the article “Animal-abuse crackdown helps fight other crimes” by Kate Santich at OrlandoSentinel.com.

Seems some experts have determined that play time is not only good for kids, but adults as well. In fact, its essential to our well being. There’s even scientific research to prove it. Who knew that scientists were interested in playing? There’s even a National Institute for Play in California! According to some studies, play is a natural stress reliever with the proven health benefits of lowering blood pressure, increasing energy and reducing fatigue. Playfulness with a partner can increase romantic attraction and boost libido.


So, what qualifies as play? Whatever you find fun to do in which you have no goal except the sheer enjoyment of doing it. You remember those things, don’t you? The things that make you go wheeee! and woohoo!

Personally, I like stomping puddles in the rain. Its childish, undignified, and I’m definitely too old to be doing it, but that makes it all the more fun. I’ve also been known to walk by a ringing phone in a store,–you know, the ones hanging on the wall that the sales associates use to call different departments– pick it up and have a kooky conversation with the associate on the other end.

Sometimes a potentially embarrassing moment can be the constructs for a new game. While I was eating crab legs in a restaurant, water shot from the shell as I cracked it with my hands. It squirted over my shoulder like a miniature geyser and sprayed the woman sitting at the table behind me, who incidentally thought condensation from the air conditioning vent had dripped on her. Of course, then it became a game to see if I could do it again. Disappointingly to me, but probably not to the other patrons, I was unable to recreate the event. But that doesn’t deter me from trying whenever I eat crab legs.

Now, I have scientific endorsements for when I have moments like those and encouragement for more. Oh, I will relish telling my family and friends…Play, play, I must play.

For more information on Play, check out the article “Go Out and Play” by Margaret Renkl in the May 2010 edition of Ladies Home Journal.

~Kristal Lee

I'm a moody viewer, i.e., my mood dictates what TV program or DVD we watch at home. It's not uncommon for me to abruptly announce to hubby (in the middle of a show), "I don't want to watch this anymore. Put something else on." To his credit, he complies graciously...mostly. Usually my mood fluctuates while watching dramas. There's enough of that in my daily life so I'm not entertained by it. But sometimes, I'm just not in the "mood" for whatever is on.
Recently, we watched "ROLE MODELS," a slapstick comedy with Paul Rudd and Sean William Scott. The familiar anxious dread lurked in the shadows from the start. The opening segment was rude, crude, and those dudes were definitely getting on my nerves. But, I persevered. And I'm glad I did.

Starting out, the main character was self-absorbed and extremely unlikeable: male, turning 40, unhappy in life, and dragging down those around him.

Don't get me wrong, I'm certainly no Pollyanna. I believe we create our own inner turmoil with our compliance and acceptance of others' expectations as our own, assuming facades to camouflage our inherent nature in an effort to be accepted. To be "normal".
As the film progressed and the character stepped outside of his own disappointments and problems to aid a young boy, he learned that the way to true happiness is to be true to oneself. Conformity at the expense of one's nature equals self-destruction.

The universe is full of angry, accomplished, bitter, begrudging , resentful, successful souls. What it needs is a cosmic counter-balance of courageous, fly-in-the-face-of-convention, self-accepting, free spirits.
So, listen to the rhythm of your own soul and dance to its beat, even though someone may laugh. The world needs laughter. Find your inspiration in unlikely places and then follow where it leads. Skip backwards down the yellow-brick road. And when you find yourself on the road less traveled, be adventurous and take a friend.

Worry less about what others want you to be, think, say, or do; and, meditate more on who you are, what you think, and what you want to say and do.

Banish the stigma of being different. If the world needed us to all be alike then we would've been born clones, not individuals. Embrace your uniqueness. Dare to be different. Be true to yourself. Find happiness wherever you can and know in your heart that conforming to someone else's ideal of "normal" is way over-rated.

~Kristal Lee