Random Thoughts – Betsy Schow

In which we ramble about getting old

Image result for public domain boomer — http://www.boomerslife.org/boomers.htm

We are getting old. Me, myself and I… which makes we. Apparently the getting old is a thing. I don’t care for it. I can’t run like I did 10 years an 2 broken feet ago. My boobs prefer to stare at the floor versus the sky. And apparently I’m a “boomer” despite being born in the 80’s.

In a fruitless attempt to youngify myself and get hip, I have been updating and going on the twitch and twitters. I’ve been chirping. I have caught few worms. It’s fine because I’m mostly there to follow other people who amuse me. I’m @BetsySchow if interested.

One thing I’ve noticed is the generational thing. My parents hated tv and rock. For my kids I despised Sugar pop and Youtube. Why watch Youtube? If it’s a let’s play, just go play the game. Go do something.

I stand corrected. After get schooled by my kids I have discovered that some of these YouTube entertainers are funnier than sitcoms with canned laughter from my day. They interact with their fans. The small ones directly, the big ones, like Jacksepticeye, still try to find a way to interact with a community that is 28million strong. They guys are the rock stars and movie stars of a generation. As a writer… I feel like an endangered species.

I have no videos or imagery to watch and catch peoples eye. My voice doesn’t enter your home. Just my words. It’s like being 2d in a 4d world.

People I know are use Patreon and Kickstarter to fund their writing. Me? I long for the days of Stephen King–where you could isolate yourself in a cabin, going slightly mad, and churn out bestsellers. Those days have past. I can either evolve or go extinct.

This is me trying to evolve. Attempting to emerge from my hermitage and social anxiety through the interwebs in small spurts. Then I ran back under my heated blanket, my bones creaking and popping.

My kids are the generation of social media. So instead of being bullied by a class of 15 kids from town, they can be bullied by millions across the world. It makes me terrified and glad I went through my formative years without cell phones and had to walk to school up hill both ways in 6 inches of snow.

in which we ramble about rambles

Hello all. It’s a New Year and time for a new format. New format you ask? As opposed to the crickets because you haven’t blogged in years? Yeah, shut it. This year I’m going to ramble. Rambles are good for the soul. A sort of free therapy if you will. I am not going to proof the rambles, so expect the grammar to be atrocious and for me to not give two fox about it. Free writing is what allows creativity to flow, to be uncensored.

I wrote the bulk of Spelled in just over a month, and it worked because I just ran free. I didn’t know you were supposed to hem and haw and try to write perfectly. After I became a “writer” I learned I was supposed to suffer over these words. That I needed to be right. To be great. Which made it so I didn’t write anything? Took me over a year to write Wanted, and I’ll be honest, the book suffers from incoherent spots because I was writing in staggering bits and pieces and couldn’t get me head in the game. I was too worried how to get a big idea on a little page.

Not only that, I had that trouble now talking to my writing peers and fans. I needed to say the right thing. To be interesting. Not to offend. Everything I said would be used against me. I would be compared even to myself, to what I said years ago.

Welcome to 2020 and I’m trying to just be me. Imperfect, evolving, and mostly crazy me. And I’m convinced there are a fair number of other people out there trying to hide the rolly lumpy bits and only show their best insta and social media selves to the world.

Screw it. Be you. Be weird. And quit worrying about people who don’t like you. Because if people only like the plastic version you show to the world, they don’t really like you anyway since you haven’t given them a chance to know the actual you.

Ok. Intro ramble over.

Cya next time

Life, Death, and Hedgehogs

RIP Princess Pricklepants Aug 2009-Dec 2013

Last week, our beloved pet, Princess Pricklepants, died in her sleep. She was the spiky companion to my four year old, A, in particular. The hedgie would run on its wheel at night and that would let A know she wasn’t alone. Apparently the hedgie prickles kept monsters away.

There were only a few midnight dramas where A woke up, sure hedgie wanted to play, when in fact the small creature thought the little fingers reaching in were worms.

Point is, we loved this odd little creature. I, in particular, related to its defense mechanisms. Easy to startle, prickly and neurotic, but once she settled down, she would snuggle and turn over for belly rubs.

Finding her not sleeping but dead was traumatic for me. And now I had to tell my 4 and 6 year olds.

“I’m sorry buddies, but hedgie died,” I said and held out my blanket covered cargo.

Quiet stretched out through the room.

Then, “So what can we get now?” – L, 6 and socially and emotionally special

Hmm, maybe she hadn’t made the connection. I should probably try again.

Before I could A piped up asking for a cat. To which L replied that we couldn’t because Daddy is ‘lergic. And mommy already said we weren’t getting rid of daddy.

While I went downstairs with the body, the two argued about what pet would replace the hedgie. I bawled.

Where had I gone wrong as a parent? Where was the empathy? Maybe my children would be future sociopaths. I could practically hear the theme to The Omen in the background. Since I feel things so deeply, I was even more hurt by my kids lack of reaction.

I sat them down and explained that while we might someday get a new pet, no one could replace the one we’d lost. Each life is unique and special.

Then it was time to bury the hedgie. And A threw a fit.

“Put hedgie back in his cage.”

“Honey, he’s dead.”

“I still don’t want him to leave,” she said and reached for the shoebox casket. “He needs to stay here so he can’t go away.”

Aha. It wasn’t that I hadn’t explained the value of life. They didn’t understand the value of death. We hadn’t really had anyone die near us. Fish got flushed, so that didn’t count. For A, as long as hedge was still in the cage, he hadn’t really left her.

My husband and I are still trying to figure out the whole religion thing since even though we were raised with the same doctrine, our adult viewpoints have grown apart. While I take the kids to church, we don’t bring it into the home a lot. The kids know about God and Jesus, and being kind. Making good choices. But souls, heaven and the after and before life have not been discussed since it is a sore subject Jarom and I can’t agree on.

As we buried hedgie in the pond, I tried my best to explain at least my viewpoint in a way a 4 year old could understand. That our love ones remain with us even after they’ve died. The spirit lasts forever while the body can’t.

At least part of it took. Now A leaves mealworms near the spot where hedgie lived. I made the mistake of cleaning it up and now she’s sure hedgie eats them from beyond the grave.

As for L, the way her brain works is very concrete. Abstract concepts, including feelings, are still beyond her at this point. She couldn’t see hedgie anymore, so it was gone. But though she might not have recognized how she felt, she still felt an absence. “The cage is empty. It needs to be filled.”

Very practical, just like her daddy.

And she’s my little hedgehog with prickly exterior that can be near impossible to get through. But when I took the time to snuggle and rock her so she was comfortable, the tears came even though she didn’t know why.

When life gives you snow, make a snow caterpillar

I hate the snow. A lot.

However, when my daughter woke up to discover snow, she was bound and determined to make a snowman. She’s 4. And after watching FROZEN, she pretty much decided that all snowmen could talk. So she was devastated when she figured out that not only did she not have ice magic, but that the snow was too dry and powdery to roll into snowman balls.

She cried. I nearly cried because she would not go inside without her snowman, therefore I could not go in either.

Enter the snow caterpillar. She was pretty skeptical at first, but after some bumps and a few fishy crackers, a new friend was born.

He has since turned into an ice dragon, which everyone knows is so much cooler than a snow caterpillar or a snowman.

I’m going to keep the lesson of the snowcatepillar in mind as I make my goals for 2014. I may have a vision for what I’d like to happen. Unfortunately, life NEVER works out the way I predict. But if I can be flexible and keep working with what I’ve got, I will end up with something even cooler.

As much as I wanted to go inside after the first snow failure, I’m glad my daughter and I stuck it out in the 12 degree weather. Disappointment transformed into frozen delight and failure into success.

I hate the cold. And the snow. But I hate giving up even more.

The Origin of Happiness

When I say “Happiness”, what does that invoke in your mind?

Is it this?

or this?

A few years ago my vision of happiness was a combo of those. I could be happy … when I was a size two. Things would be easier … when we were making more money.

I thought I conquered my demons with the lessons I learned in my book, Finished being Fat. I was wrong.

While I no longer obsessed about my waistline or my own self value, I began to obsess about how others valued me. What I used to share out of interest became a job where my success was determined by someone else. The amount of views received, the likes on a page. How many books I sold that month. If my post on Facebook didn’t receive a certain amount of comments or thumbs up, then something must be wrong with me. I began to hate logging on or sharing, because I dreaded not receiving the validation I thought I was supposed to have. Eventually, all my interactions and dealings seemed to be for a specific purpose as opposed to real enjoyment and friendship.

I felt very lonely and depressed. All my dreams had come true: I was fit, a published author — what was I doing wrong? Everything and nothing.

As I have learned from my previous journey, a lot of things can be changed with a simple shift in perception. I needed to look at things differently.

Here’s how it happened. I was lying in bed eating coconut pancakes (so good, I will post the butter substituted recipe later) with my kids. I had the distinct thought “Life just doesn’t get any better”. In that moment, I was truly happy. It didn’t take long for my neurotic tendencies to seep in and I began to worry about something or other and the warm fuzzies died and sunk into my gut along with the carbs.

The lightbulb went on in my noggin.

Nothing had changed. A house hadn’t fallen on my sister. No outside force had changed my feelings, my own thoughts had. The origin of happiness (or unhappiness) was my own mind. Even though I no longer had the model picture taped to my mental fridge, I had subconsciously pinned expectations of what happiness looked like and it depended a lot on how I reflected through other people’s eyes as opposed to my own. Suddenly, I wasn’t unhappy because I wanted to look a certain way and didn’t. I was unhappy because I was afraid everyone else wanted me to look a certain way. That I was a disappointment and didn’t meet another’s expectations of what I should be- despite doing my best and meeting my goals.

Then the superwattage grow lights illuminated my brain fog — I was being stupid. Again. Without meaning to, I gave over control of my life’s steering wheel. I let results determine my success as opposed to the completion of the acts themselves.

I needed an amendment on happiness to go along with the Philosophy of Finishing. After a lot of soul searching, here’s what I came up with.

Happiness is not a destination, it is in each footstep I make along the journey. It cannot be found or taken away in the things I have or that happen to me. Only I have the power to build or destroy it within myself.

So here’s my little bit of fortune cookie wisdom.

Sing because you enjoy it, not because you want to be the next American Idol.
Write because you have something to say, not because you need people to hear it.
Give because you want to share, not because you want to be thanked for it.
Be fitter so you feel healthier, not because someone says you should look a certain way. (even you)

If you do that, you will find happiness in your actions, whether or not you cut a record, become a best-seller, or get the smokin’ hot bod you envisioned.

Positive results or accolades are always welcome and a bonus, but I think if I set my focus on enjoying the act itself, I can find joy no matter where I am or who sees it.

The Skank-ification of Halloween

Today, my mom was making a caterpillar costume for my 5 year old. It didn’t exactly work out too well. With less than a week to go until Halloween, we headed to the Spirit of Halloween store for a backup. The store walls were filled with costumes, and nearly all of them were skank-aroo. Let me ask you, what is the point of this costume?

Bloody Nurse Betty Adult Women's Costume

Aside from being gross, she looks like she’s about to have a Brittney Spears panty moment.

And this is what has become of the cowardly lion. Or maybe she’s a teddy bear. I can’t tell.

Point is, why would anyone want to look like this in public. And let’s be honest, the people that buy and wear these costumes look nothing like these women. Cheap fabric can only hold in so much before bursting at the seams… just sayin’ ladies.

And if it wasn’t enough that nearly all the women’s costumes looked like attire for the a corporate hooker party, the kids one’s weren’t a lot better. Other than the quintessential Disney Princess costumes, there was not a single thing I would let me daughter wear.

Look, mommy and me matching costumes.
Little Miss Muffet Tween Costume Classic Miss Muffet Adult Costume

Yuck. When I was a kid, I was going as toothpaste, my sister as the toothbrush. And as a tween, I went trick or treating as the cowardly lion. I think you can agree it looked nothing like the costumes of today.

Why is the world sexualizing our kids so young? And worse, why are we letting them?! Don’t buy these crappy costumes. Even if you put sweatpants under to make it more modest, don’t do it. Why support an industry that wants to make our little kids look like streetwalkers instead of trick or treaters.

If you are talented enough, make your own costume. If you’re not, like me, then find a friend who is. Anybody have a good pattern to make a caterpillar?

Guest Post: Bite of Magic Giveaway

Today I’ve ceded control of my blog to Danyelle Leafty with her magically delicious new book, Slippers of Pearl

Magic isn’t a handful of sparkling dust, a star-topped wand, or a tame word captured on parchment.

It’s alive. It has a mind of its own. And it’s hungry.

To celebrate the release of Slippers of Pearl and Bitten: A Novel of Faerie, I’d like to offer a bite of magic to all those who love kidlit–and fairy tales in particular.

There will be eleven winners and six different prizes available:

A Bite of Cobbler

3 Chapter Sample Here

Shoes, unlike magic, are predictable. They don’t change shape, bite, or alter a person’s destiny.

And that’s just how Faryn likes it.

But his Uncle Harvey has a bad habit of dying. While inconvenient, this hasn’t ever been a problem until now. Thanks to an evil witch and a poisoned apple turnover, Harvey is dead again—permanently this time.

As his uncle’s heir, Faryn has to give up shoemaking in order to accept and refine his magic.

Magic he never wanted.

Unwilling to let go of his dream, but unable to escape his destiny, Faryn combines the two and discovers a knack for making magical shoes. He also learns that turning a person into a goose is a lot easier than turning her back, and that he severely underestimated how much trouble magic can be.

The witch who killed his uncle is trying to control all the magic of the land, and it’s up to Faryn to stop her. If only he can get his magic to cooperate in time.

an autographed copy of Slippers of Pearl

a magical pouch to keep it in

and a Slippers of Pearl bookmark

A Bite of Faerie

(Available October 2nd-ish)

Fourteen-year-old Cherrie Wilding stopped believing in fairies after her Grams had a stroke that left her a silent, empty stranger. But whether she believes in them or not, one of them bit her, and now the venom is spreading through her system and causing . . . complications. Like an allergy to iron and a craving for milk.

It turns out that fairy venom has the power to turn mortals into small, winged versions of themselves. And it gets better. Grams’s stroke was the result of her light—her fairy soul—being stolen. The fairy who bit Cherrie demands her to help steal Grams’s light back.

As much as Cherrie wants to save Grams, her need to protect her older brother from the fairies and the rest of the real world wins out. Who knows what lurks in a world populated by winged menaces? But when the fairy talks Cherrie’s brother into going to the fairy realm, Cherrie mounts a rescue attempt to save him. To her surprise, it’s not her brother who needs rescuing—it’s the fairies. Someone is stealing their lights and imprisoning them, and it’s up to Cherrie and her brother to free them. But saving the fairies, keeping her brother safe, and returning home requires the help of the Phoenix. And the price for his aid doesn’t come cheap. If Cherrie wants to succeed, she must be willing to part with her greatest possession: her heart.

an autographed copy of Bitten: A Novel of Faerie

a faerie habitat

a Bitten bookmark

A Bite of Books

1 $25 Amazon Gift Card

Two Bites of Music

2 $15 iTunes Gift Cards

Six Bites of Braun Books Certificates

6 $10 gift certificates to Braun Books; redeemable in store or through Amazon

(A special thanks to Megan at Braun Books!)

To enter, leave a comment. Extra entries available through the Rafflecopter below.

Thank you to all, and best of luck!

You can friend me on
Facebook Author Betsy Schow

Twitter @betsyschow

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Freedom of Speech or Freedom to be a Psycho

Current events and public sentiment mystify me. Sometimes a thing is only right and just until it blows up in your face. Here is what is currently causing my nose hairs to twitch.

Recently there was public outcry over the detention of a former marine, Brandon J. Raub, who made some off kilter and well, violent remarks on Facebook. The sentiments were anti-government or anti-establishment I believe. Something to the effect of a revolution coming, day of reckoning. Saying he was sharpening his axe to sever some heads. The FBI and local police dept had some concerns for public safety as well as the man’s own mental stability. They held him for questioning and a psychiatric evaluation. People are outraged. They have set up donation pools for him. He has had his right to free speech violated. How dare big brother step in?

Other side of the coin. Recognize this guy?
Colorado shooting suspect James Eagan Holmes sits with public defender Tamara Brady during his first court appearance in Aurora, Colo., on July 23, 2012. (RJ Sangosti/REUTERS) ‘
This is James Holmes. The man responsible for the Aurora “Batman” mass shootings. Currently there is public outcry because a month or two before the incident, he made undisclosed and vague threats against the school establishment. The threats were reported, he was kicked off campus. Cue public outcry. Why wasn’t more done? Why wasn’t this maniac pulled from the streets and locked up before he hurt someone? The police knew he made violent statements, yet they did nothing.

Have you seen the problem with these two stories? If Mr. Holmes had been detained at the time of his statements, would there have been public offense and outrage at his detention? Would his rights have been violated? Why is it only after someone follows through with the violent and awful things they say, then… then it’s no longer freedom of speech.

Here’s a crazy idea. If you say violent, radical, psycho things… people should treat you like a violent, radical, psycho. I’m no law professor. I don’t have a fine knowledge of the constitution. I just don’t think we should have the right, or as a society should tolerate, the violent rantings of madmen. Much less hold them up as torchbearers for the freedom of speech. Freedom of speech should protect those who wish to oppose the ideas of the government. You can disagree vehemently without threatening to kill others or start a war. I’m pretty sure the founding fathers did not intend to the first amendment to be the freedom to be a psycho.

Foto Fiction: Unmentionable Vacation

I’m trying a new thing. Taking photos of odd sights I run across then writing little stories or thoughts for them. Gets the creative juices flowing. I took this picture while in Yellowstone last week.

Have you ever noticed that a sock is mysteriously absent after a wash? Or maybe your favorite bra has taken a hike? Well perhaps it really has. Yellowstone national park now boasts an all inclusive vacation package for lingerie that’s tired of the same old spin and rinse cycle. Activities include hiking, climbing flagpoles, swimming and sunbathing (as pictured below). No people necessary for the trip, your unmentionables can take the magical wormhole in the dryer. After they are rested and relaxed they will be ready to return to their daily duty. So if you come across that camisole you haven’t seen in a few weeks, and it smells vaguely like s’mores, you’ll know exactly where it’s been.

School’s Out for Summer

Finals are finished! I survived my first semester back at school after an 11 year absence.
It wasn’t easy, and not just because of the shortened summer block, or the 6 hour Anthropology final.

College is a whole different world from when I was there the first time in 1997. We didn’t have cell phones. No Facebook either. Heck, one of my first classes was on how to use the internet.

These days, every co-ed has their phone out – during class – texting or updating their status. I feel like an old mother hen with my consternation glare and clucking my tongue at all the young’uns.

It’s easy to forget that I was once one of those kids that might skip class to meet up with my boyfriend. Now I’m a mom trying to fit a few classes in here and there, and I want every ounce worth of tuition I paid.

Oh why is youth wasted on the young? I wish I could go back and give myself academic advice. Which classes to take. To stay in school and finish a degree before the kids and the mortgage. Not to blow off that one psych class. Ouch.

Instead I will settle on giving everyone else on campus academic advice. So while school’s out for summer (all of two weeks) and before fall starts, feel safe young co-eds. But in two weeks looks out, because I will be back in full force with wagging finger equipped and the patented mother guilt trip.