Other person: I need a broom.
Me: I didn’t ride mine here today so I can’t help you.
Everyone else: *crickets*
They love me, really.
Other person: I need a broom.
Me: I didn’t ride mine here today so I can’t help you.
Everyone else: *crickets*
They love me, really.
Despite having worked hard, going more than one “extra mile” and achieving some good things, I have spent much of the past few days feeling absolutely, irretrievably inferior. Totally sub-standard. An awful disappointment.
It’s not a new experience, by any stretch of the imagination. It happens far more often than most people will ever know or realise. Even so, it is never pleasant feeling as though most of the world thinks you’re rubbish.
It’s not as though any of us is perfect. I certainly make no claim to be… which is a good thing because I am most definitely not.
And yet, when others discover a flaw or weakness, or find I have made a mistake, they very often speak or act as though they feel they have a right to be outraged and judge me for my imperfection.
So here’s a news flash.
I am not perfect.
Neither are you.
Everyone makes mistakes.
Everyone misses a beat every now and then.
But you know what is more hurtful than someone making a mistake?
Treating them as though they are less than you.
Because, you know, they’re not.
If someone does something that bothers you, or offends you, and you feel the need to talk to them about it, for goodness’ sake, be kind. And if you can’t be kind, then wait until you can.
And please, please, oh please, go to them and speak to them rather than anyone else. Going behind their back and kvetching about it is only ever going to cause more complications and trouble, so unless that is your actual intent, it is a response that should be avoided.
Similarly, there is nothing achieved by being judgemental. In fact, it is entirely counterproductive.
Sure, they might comply with what you ask or insist of them. But they might do that if you simply asked them to do something to resolve the issue, too— especially if you ask nicely and say please.
The saying that “you get more out of people with honey than you do with a stick” became a proverb for a reason: it is generally true. It is certainly true of how I respond to people.
If someone treats me with kindness, I will do everything in my power to not let them down.
If they dump judgement on me, I am just going to keep on beating myself up over it, because if someone tells me I am not good enough, I will believe them. I will also probably never again fully believe that they have any respect for me at all.
And if someone else, completely unknown to them and in different circumstances, tells me the same thing, I will believe both of them, twice as hard and twice as long.
It’s not deliberate, and it doesn’t matter if that is not your intention: that’s how I am wired.
The consequence is that it makes everything I need to do in a day more difficult. I doubt myself and second guess everything, even the things I know I am good at.
To be honest, life is actually hard enough without that. It’s bad enough knowing that I made the mistake in the first place, or that someone resents me for not measuring up to their standards. Add chronic pain, anxiety and depression into the mix, and it very quickly becomes both exhausting and excruciating.
It’s almost certain that that doesn’t just apply to me, either. Many people have internal battles or burdens of one kind or another that they keep hidden, but which add another level of complexity to whatever else they have to deal with in a day.
So when someone screws up— and we should all understand that everyone will, from time to to time— be kind. Tell them gently, person to person, and let them fix it, or at least try to.
Please. And thank you.
I try to spend some time each day away from screens and away from work of any description.
It’s good therapy to walk, listen, and breathe, far away from such demands.
It refreshes me, body and soul, and boosts my creativity and concentration.
One of the places I like to visit is the small lake in my town. It has a walking track, an exercise circuit, benches to rest on, barbecue and picnic tables, a playground, and a friendly group of ducks.
Just now, as I wrote “a group of ducks”, I began to muse over which was the correct collective noun for ducks. I suspected that “flock” was used when in flight, and that “brace” was used when they were on the ground, but thought I should check.
A little research in the interests of accuracy yielded surprising results. Did you know there are more than a dozen different collective nouns used for ducks?
According to collectivenounslist.com, those are:
Some of these terms are more commonly used than others, and I cannot help but think some of them are archaic words. Badelynge definitely looks like the kind of spelling one finds in Chaucer or other Middle English texts. I also suspect that this word has been transformed into “badling” as language and spelling evolved over time.
How, though, are we not commonly calling a group of ducks a “twack”? It’s highly expressive and so delightfully onomatopoeic! Furthermore, it couldn’t possibly be mistaken for a term relating to any other creature.
From now on, ‘badelynge’ and ‘twack’ are the terms I’ll be using to refer to my ducky friends at the lake. Hey nonny nonny!
I was saddened to read what happened to Sharon Cathcart the other day in response to a blog post about racism. Nobody should have to put up with another person’s bad behaviour simply because they are standing up for what is right.
Sadly, there can be no doubt that racism and white supremacy are still living and active in our world.
We see their outworking on the news, on the streets, on social media, and in the actions of hateful people. It can be public or private. It can be overt or concealed.
It seems the only thing it cannot be is eradicated.
I do try, in my own sphere of influence, to teach and challenge others to embrace equality, acceptance, and empathy for what others have endured, and what is still experienced by many.
I try to make people aware of what white privilege is, and why it’s wrong to perpetuate it. Yes, I’m fully aware that I’ve been a beneficiary of it all my life. I’ve had advantages others haven’t, simply because I’m white. That doesn’t mean I am willing to sit back and allow it to perpetuate.
This is why I teach my students about the effects of European settlement of Australia on the indigenous people, then and now. It’s why I teach my students about segregation, oppression, and the Civil Rights Movement, and have them listen and respond to speeches by Martin Luther King Jr and JFK. It’s why I thave them study texts such as ‘To Kill A Mockingbird’, ‘Rabbit Proof Fence’ and ‘No Sugar’. It’s why I teach about inequality, wellbeing, and social justice. And I make sure they understand that for everything that has happened in the USA, Australia’s track record is no better.
It’s why I challenge people who tell racial jokes, or call people names, or avoid people who don’t fit their ideal.
It’s why I object to the way in which my country continues to detain people who are legitimately seeking asylum on small third-world islands nearby. It’s why I object to policies and practices that continue to discriminate against indigenous Australians.
And it’s why I write blog posts like this.
I do not ever claim to be perfect, but I detest prejudice, discrimination, and everything that goes with them. It’s not just about race: nobody should be excluded, abused or marginalised for being different in whatever way.
I, too, have had hateful messages left on a blog post or three. I know they are intended to upset me, and to deter me from posting something similar again.
Sadly for those responsible, it has the opposite effect. I always figure that if someone is vehement enough to threaten or abuse me over something I have written, I have probably touched a nerve that deserved touching. As my grandfather used to say, “If you throw a stone at a pack of dogs, the one it hits will yelp the loudest.”
He was a wise man, my grandfather. That statement was never made about actual rocks, nor about actual dogs. It was invariably made about bullies, and various other sorts of horrible people, and the way they would always lash out or blame someone else in response to any accusation or opposition directed at them.
That’s the same reason people leave nasty messages on blogs and social media. They resent the fact that someone is calling them out on their hate.
It’s okay for them to say what they want, though. They have rights, you know.
I was coming back here to write about something else, and found that I had a threatening e-mail (via my contact page) and comment (permanently deleted) from a white supremacist in reference to the link I shared about the 16th Street Baptist Church bombing. Suffice it to say that this individual now has the rare distinction of having been blocked.
This is what white supremacy looks like: threatening anyone who dares to show support for people of color, or to speak out about what happens to them.
And that is actually what I came here to write about. When my dad died, I mentioned that he had given away the bride when one of his African-American students, Joe, married a white woman. Her own family refused to attend.
Anyway, we tried very hard to find Joe in time for Daddy’s funeral. The number my mother had was disconnected, and the…
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In her blogpost titled ‘Did That Dragon Call My Name?’ Susan Bass Marcus reflects on why she enjoys writing her blog. Like her and, I’m sure, many other authors, I really enjoy writing my blog as a different form of creative outlet than writing fiction.
Mine is quite an eclectic blog, I suppose. Shakespeare, my love of words and language, books and reading, life as an Indie author, teacher life, my involvement in community and school theatre— it’s all fodder for my musings and ruminations here at WordyNerdBird.
I enjoy the opportunities to explore ideas that I would not seek to explore in fiction. There are some aspects of life that are well suited to inclusion in a story, and others that really don’t work so well, yet they are still worth thinking about and exploring.
It’s good to share aspects of my life – as a teacher, an author, a poet, a reader, an actor or director, a blogger, or a member of the human race – in a way that others can hopefully relate to and feel as though they know me a little better each time. I also hope that some of those posts are thought-provoking and help others to see things from a different perspective.
I love sharing what I know about Shakespeare and making his writing more accessible to new readers. I try to do that in a way that is down-to-earth and easy to read, so that my pieces are interesting, enlightening and not too long.
I always hope that people will find my posts about choosing and using the right words helpful to them, whether they are students, authors, bloggers, or whatever else they do. I love language and how it works, which definitely qualifies me as a grammar nerd and a word nerd, and I appreciate the opportunities to share that knowledge and joy with others that a blog like mine provides.
Susan Bass Marcus blogs quite differently than I do, because we are individuals with different styles and interests. Her posts are interesting and helpful, so I trust you will enjoy her reflection on the pleasure she gets from blogging, too. She is definitely a blogger worth following, and an author worth reading.
I am used to imagining the ways that dragons think and respond to humans, to change, and to challenges. For years, I studied dragon lore and felt the need to write my own story about them, which I did; and while two novels about the dragons that inhabit my mind have been published, I am still writing about them. Why? Because I have more to say. In a way, I have just begun to tell their story. Aurykk, the golden dragon, and his nephew Draaco, call my name and I answer, but not without feeling some anxiety and hesitation. It’s that darn opening paragraph.
A member of the Chicago Writers’ Association, Andrew Reynolds, once posted a blog entry that summarized responses to a question he threw out to the membership: Why [do] we write? His post: “[W]hen the question popped up as part of a discussion about writing among a group of writers I am…
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Today was hard.
It was spent in the presence of someone I’d rather never set eyes on again. It was spent in pursuit of justice. It was spent blinking back tears and swallowing my revulsion.
There is still anger burning within me that I cannot quench. My heart is heavy with the reopening of old wounds.
And I am powerless, unable to do anything but look on and observe.
I suppose it’s a good thing that I don’t have the psychic power to set someone on fire from across the room. I could do so, quite willingly, if I were able.
It’s fair to say that if a certain person did happen to spontaneously combust, I would make good use of my bottle of water by drinking it.
I do not, as a rule, harbour such feelings toward other people. I am fully aware of my own sins and imperfections. But when people commit to the unconscionable and then defend it, any concept of “benefit of the doubt” or “we all make mistakes” is well and truly cast aside.
I can feel another horror story coming on, but it’s not ready to be written yet. The ideas need to percolate more. And so, I must bide my time.
It will come… and, I trust, so will justice.
My back has been giving me grief the past few days. Today, though, it has been plain nasty.
By the last lesson of the day, the spasms were so bad it was all I could do not to cry in front of my students. Then, as soon as most of the students had left the building, I started the slow, painful walk to my car.
Getting home was a relief. The process of lying down was no fun, and it still took some time for the spasms to ease.
So how did I get to be in such a bad way? I sat down at work for more than fifteen minutes. Sadly, that’s all it takes.
Since my spinal surgery last October, Sitting has been a huge issue for me. I can walk, I can even manage stairs, which I had really struggled with for a few years prior to that. But if I sit on a regular chair for any period of time, I am in pain. The more tired I am, the worse it is.
So, the only sitting I tend to do these days is in the car on the way to and from work. That, too, can be exhausting.
My current physiotherapist insists that it’s just my brain telling me my back might hurt.
I disagree. Those spasms are not the fruit of my subconscious spine having a panic attack. That level of pain is actually my back hurting– and way more than it should.
I’ve been doing the exercises and stretches, and there just doesn’t seem to be any improvement.
So, I’m going to listen to my body and not the physio. Well, not that one, anyway. I’m going back to my former physiotherapist and I’m going back to the doctor, because I can’t keep doing this.
It’s been seven months since my surgery, and I should be able to sit long enough to have dinner or do some work without suffering for it by now.
This weekend we’re attending a family reunion in Anglesea. Just before lunch was served, we sat in a room full of relatives and listened as one of our cousins shared a reflection on relationships among family.
He said, “Think about tthe friendships and relationships you have. Consider the negative, the strained, and the unhealthy…”
“Never mind about the unhealthy,” I muttered. The cousin sitting beside me laughed.
“Can you imagine if they all went Marie Kondo on me?” I continued.
“Does she bring me joy?”
“No, she brings sarcasm, snark, inappropriate humour and painful honesty.”
Seriously, I’d be here with maybe three people.
There is a very particular thrill in waiting for a new book to hit the shelves.
There is something extraordinary about seeing a book you have written hit the shelves on release day.
Months of work. Writing. Refining. Painstaking editing. Preparing a marketing plan and creating ads.
And then the day comes, and you wait for the clock to tick over. Because time is a contrary beast, it drags its heels and makes you wait.
The waiting, though, is as exciting as it is tiresome. It really is a lot like waiting for Christmas or a birthday,
There is another layer of joy in this anticipation for me. After several really challenging years, it feels as though 2019 is starting in a very positive way that closes the door on those painful chapters.
That’s because while there are still poems in this collection that explore the darkness and the shadows that can plague us, there is a greater focus on looking at experiences and challenges with the clarity of hindsight that enables us to see through the deceptions and illusions to which we so often fall prey.
I see in many of these poems a fulfilment of the desperation expressed in some of my darker work. There is, quite frankly, more light and more hope .
It is that positivity and hope that I intend to carry into the new year.
So that’s where I am at this point in time.
New year. New book. New beginnings.
Bring it on!
I feel like one of those athletes who stagger over the finish line and collapse… but I made it!
Today was the last day of term and the end of the school year.
The last two weeks since I returned to work after my surgery have been brutal and I feel like I have run a marathon, especially having had dad in hospital again at the same time, but I’m proud of myself for doing it, and looking forward to a very well-earned rest.
One of the things I really enjoy doing on this one particular day of the year is turning all my morning alarms off. It may take all of ten seconds, but it’s a ritual that restores my sense of “owning” my time again. I love being able to embrace my inner night owl once more, and take my daylight hours at a slower pace.