Category Archives: Uncategorized

It’s My Book and I’ll Brag if I Want to

Self publishing= self promoting= a difficult equation (I hate equations anyway because I hate math).

My book was finished over two years ago, but as a teacher, I found the only time I really had to put into the process of trying to publish it came in the summer, and so each summer I would research and see that trends were constantly changing.  I know this is usually true of most anything, but technology is changing the publishing world so quickly that I just couldn’t keep up with what I would need to do anymore, so I risked self publishing. I figured it was the only way I’d ever actually have time to publish my masterpiece.

Now I have to self promote, and that seems even harder.  I use Facebook, this blog, and word of mouth, because that’s really all I have.  The thing is, I know my book is awesome.  I’m not usually the type to seriously brag, but why not do it when I’m sure of something?  Yes, I’m biased, but it’s true.  The book is funny, and real (well, it’s fiction, but it’s realistic), and covers a time in life we’ve all had to survive…middle school.  I’ve also been told by some people who know me that reading the book is like listening to me talk, which means I managed to capture my “voice” in the book, something of which I am proud.

Cover art by the talented Sydney Schake

As of now, my book is only available through Amazon’s Kindle Store.  So, of course I get people who say things like, “That’s cool, but wouldn’t you like to actually have it published- you know in a real book?”  (…as if my book is the Pinocchio of the book world). Yep, that hurts.  They might as well be saying, “You know you didn’t really get your book published.  I wasn’t planning to read it anyway, but I just really wanted to pop your bubble in case you were proud of your accomplishment.”  Thanks for the support people!  How’d the book you wrote do?  Oh yeah, that’s right, you didn’t write one!  Stop tinkling in my Lucky Charms!

Yes, I would love to open up a real printed copy of my book, press my nose up to the pages and breathe in that new book aroma, and to fan the pages against my skin like feathers.  I also have this secret dream that maybe someone will just happen to come across my book and I will get an offer for it to be printed.  It could happen, right?  Of course, there’s also the print on demand setup I’m thinking about doing.  It’s still not quite the same, but some people told me they’re holding out because they don’t want an electronic copy.

For now, I really just want to promote my book as much as possible.  Most of the people I know who are actually going to read it already have, so I need help from the outside.  You can help by checking out my book (teaser included on Amazon page) and “like” my Facebook author page. 

“If you don’t expect too much, you won’t be disappointed. This isn’t a ‘self-help’ book to boost your friend and/or money making abilities. In fact, I’ll teach you how to NOT throw the perfect party, how to NOT land the boyfriend of your dreams, and how to NOT be popular.”

Set in the early 1990’s, in this story the author retells the experiences of Drew Hotchner, an “extraordinarily ordinary” girl through Drew’s possibly wiser and honest adult self. Drew struggles not only with the unavoidable awkwardness of being in middle school, but also with having to start over again her entire social world after she experiences the culture shock of moving across the country. Through her humorous adventures in trespassing, accidental theft, and throwing punches at her best friend, the relatable Drew learns who she really is. And if you can admit you are also extraordinarily ordinary, just as Drew claims to be, that we all just want to know who we really are, and that sometimes we surprise ourselves along the way, this might be the book for you.

My Own Pink War

During October, I love seeing all the pink out there in support of fighting breast cancer.  The barrage of stories of survivors and those who support them warms my heart and inspires me.  My neighbor is a breast cancer survivor, and she is an awesome woman and mother.  She’s strong and funny and one of the best neighbors anyone could ask for.

I also remember a story from a few years ago about the cross country team at the school where I teach.  I hope I get this right.  I believe the mother of one of the runners had been battling breast cancer, so the team decided to wear pink socks in her honor when they ran at competitions.  They traveled up to New York for a competition and apparently inspired some of the other teams up there.  I love the cool stories like that.  And now I will also proudly wear pink.

Maybe I should not be as proud of the rest of the outfit (it was homecoming week).

It wasn’t always that way for me though.  Once upon a time, I loathed pink.  I’m not sure I really know why I detested pink so much, but I think it had to do with what I felt it symbolized at the time- froo-froo girliness- yuck!  I wasn’t a tomboy or anything, but I was never really girlie either, and pink seemed to epitomize all things frilly and girlie… and weak.

Somewhere through the course of time I began to accept and even like pink.  As I grew older, pink began to symbolize the strength in femininity: pink tool kits, pink camouflage (though I’m not sure what one can blend into with this), and pink firearms.

Walther P22- I need this!

And now grown, rugged men wear pink to support their moms, their wives, and their sisters.  It seems my pink nightmare is truly over.

Now, go in pink, I mean peace.

“It’s Not a Handout. It’s a Hand Up.”

On Saturday, I got to work with my hands and help build a house for Habitat for Humanity with a crew from my church (epic church). If you have never done a build, I encourage you to give it a try if they are anywhere around your community.  A more fulfilling endeavor will be hard to find, trust me.  I’ve now done three, and I can assure you that taking a look at the progress at the end of the day is an amazing experience.

I’m going to take a paragraph here to dispel the myth that I am an amazingly altruistic, selfless person who always puts others first and spends all of her free time doing for others.  Maybe you didn’t think that anyway.  But if you’ve read my other posts, you may be inclined to believe that all I do is fight human trafficking, go on mission trips, mold young minds, and build homes for people.  I wish that were accurate, but I must be honest in telling you that I really just don’t feel like posting the bad stuff about myself, though I assure you that I am a selfish jerk more often than I’d like to admit.  It’s just that most of the people who read my posts don’t know me, so I thought maybe I could fool you, but it just didn’t feel right.  I am trying, and I want to always be a better person.  Does that count?

Anyway… I was just thinking about how amazing it is to be able to see the progress made in building a house.  When we arrived, only a slab existed on the property.  In a few hours, the frames of the exterior walls were all up and we were nailing on the exterior plywood.  Some worked faster than others, but we all worked hard.  By the end of the day’s work, that slab had complete exterior walls, and I got to help.  Awesome!

In my usual job, I’m constantly building, but I usually cannot see my progress.  Building minds and building houses seem so different.  But maybe they really aren’t.  Sure, I don’t always see the results in teaching (and it would be so much more rewarding if I always could), but I work just as hard at either.  Sweat, labor, and determination go into both, though in teaching the sweat may be more symbolic.  And the pain and exhaustion feel about the same.  My muscles ache; I slam my thumb with a hammer; I get dirty.  You get the point.  One is physical while the other is mental and emotional, but at the end of the day, I’ve been a part of building something that will last.  I can continue this analogy, or I can just make my real point now, which is that sometimes it’s just nice to see a tangible result from hard labor.

I ate all that food for lunch and had three cookies after. Don’t judge. I needed the fuel.

Stop it BEFORE it Happens

This is the time of year I really kick up my running training for a crazy 200 mile relay race called Ragnar, which has me reminiscing on the past few years:

In November of 2010, my team of twelve ran from Tampa to Daytona Beach and we raised, united with another team of twelve, $2040 for Love 146, an amazing organization that fights human trafficking.

Half my team (6 travel together by van)

January of this year, my team of twelve (some repeats and some newbies) ran from Miami to Key West for the same cause and raised $1020.

Team This is STILL My AWESOME Back

No worries.  I’m not fundraising.  My point here is that now I’m in training mode for my third Ragnar (Miami to Key West again), and it’s weird NOT to be fundraising.  We decided that this time we just wanted to run for fun because the fundraising for a cause  can get stressful, and we just wanted to be ridiculous without worrying about who we are representing this time.  After all, this year our team name is Ragnarrhea, and we are each assuming poop related names for the fun of it (I’m Exrecia).  Classy, I know.

Terrinator after the completion of my last run

The point I’m attempting to make, though I have now beaten around the bush so many times all the branches have been demolished, is that though I am not running for the cause this year, I do not want to forget to remind others of the importance of the cause.

I’ve always been one who cares about justice, and I’ve gotten in trouble on a few occasions for speaking up in a moment of passion, but until a few years ago I really didn’t have a particular cause I believed in, but now I do.  I’ve mentioned it here before, so you may have read about this already and are now yawning.  That’s fine, but I may have some newcomers, and I cannot chance missing the opportunity to create awareness whenever possible.  After all, I am “The Terrinator.”

In June, I wrote what turned out to be my most read blog post, “Human Beings are NOT Commodities.”   For further information on human trafficking, please give it a read.  The long story short is that human trafficking is modern day slavery.

I’ve been reading about and watching videos posted  indicating that our government is recognizing the issue and taking steps to combat this horrible act of inhumanity, which makes me happy.  But the true and basic concept of this is that it is already unconstitutional because of Amendment XIII, and it has been unconstitutional since that amendment was ratified on December 6, 1865!  Slavery is not new, it just wears a new face.

Robert and I recently decided that since abolitionism is a huge passion of ours we wanted to give regularly to the cause.  (It’s no great amount, but if many people gave even a small portion, a large impact could be made.)  When I went to Love 146.org to sign up, I was given the choice for which part of the process we wanted to impact.  My heart really lies with the recovery and rehabilitation of these survivors; however, I instead decided to give regularly to the prevention aspect.  I am both logical and optimistic.  If we can reach out and prevent this from happening, there will be no more need for recovery…eventually.  That’s my goal.

You don’t need to share my passion.  But you should find one of your own then.  It is healthy and human to care, and when you can see even a glimpse of your impact, you will feel fulfilled.  Touching lives is why we exist.

Love 146 is only one of many organizations out there set on extirpating human trafficking.  If you are interested in learning about more, you need do little more than just Google (I love that this is a recognized verb now) human trafficking and research the many organizations on your own.

The Book

What  a profound title… or not.  This has always been my favorite of my poems.  Although vague, it has always been very personal to me.  But then again, most poets have those special selections, right?  It just so happens that other people have always liked this poem as well.  I’m not saying this to brag- just making a statement.  Of course, I’ve always felt nobody really got it.  That’s the thing about poetry: no matter how much one analyzes and dissects the poor creature, nobody will ever really know what the poem is unless the reader can go back in time to the moment of the poem’s conception and get inside the head and heart of the artist.  Since, to my knowledge, that remains impossible, our poems remain always a bit of a secret.  I like that.

The Book

Should my heart be an open book,

for everyone to see?

My chapters are long,

and hard to read.

My pages barely touched,

yet yellowed and delicate,

tattered and torn.

If walls could talk,

what would my heart chambers speak?

Read my forgotten book.

These walls and barriers do fall down…

one

by

one.

It is purely a mental game,

in which my feelings play.

The book is open,

but not plain to read.

To see me, one must

read between the lines.

I swear I am there,

deep

down… somewhere.

Read me.  Find me.

Join the story.

Become a part of me.

If you do, it will be seen,

somewhere in this book.

The book…

It is me.

–Terree L. Klaes—

1997

We Need to Talk

Here’s a piece of something.  I don’t know what:

Angie rolled her eyes at her mother, not so much in the directly disrespectful manner of an average fifteen-year-old girl as out of expectation of what was to come.  Another lecture of how life and kids were back when she was Angie’s age.

“But Mom, when you were my age, I bet you were already about 40,” she said, punctuating her sentence with a laugh.

Not that her mother would ever really tell her about her childhood.  Vague lessons in life and generalities about time spent on a farm, in “the city,” and in an RV bumping around the U.S. were all Angie ever heard of.  Somehow her mother always managed to avoid giving specifics by adding more generalities on top of the others, until she had built an entirely empty empire.  When Angie was little she never questioned anything her mother said, but she wasn’t so easily fooled any longer and she wanted real answers before her mother passed away.  After all, once the cancer defeated her mother, Angie didn’t want to be an orphan.  There had to be some family somewhere.  Somebody had to have driven that RV, right?

Her mother took Angie’s hand between her two frail ones and held it to her lips, pressing them gently to the back of Angie’s hand, as soft and yet strong as a hummingbird flutter.  “I know what you’re thinking, Angie, and you’re right.  We need to talk.”

Morbid Whimsy

I can’t keep avoiding the need to write new material much longer… I just hate to begin something and not have time to really dig in.  To begin creating a world and the lives to fill it up, only to have to abandon it and the characters for indefinite periods of time is difficult for me- separation anxiety or something.  It’s like I’m afraid of what they might do without my supervision, and I’ll miss them.  Yeah, I’m well aware of how crazy that sounds, and I’m ok with it.  If I could, I’d lock myself away for days to write out a good story.  Instead, I spend days writing out lesson plans and essential questions (if you’re not a Learning Focused teacher, don’t ask)…

So, just for the sake of posting something different from the string of recent serious posts, I’m sharing another old poem of mine.  My mom and sister (mostly my sister) used to tease me because of all the depressing poetry I would write.  But hey, I was in high school.  Anyway, this poem comes off as a bit morbid, but I had fun writing it, because it wasn’t really serious at all.  Well, you’ll have to read what I mean…

My Death by Terree L. Klaes

I died while walking

on the beach one night,

In the chilling cool water,

and the shimmering moonlight.

My body sank deeply

into the sand,

With nothing exposed,

not even a hand.

My corpse quickly

was engulfed by waves.

And I was sure my body

would not be found for days.

But then slowly I opened

my eyes to see…

I had simply fallen asleep

next to the sea.

1997

Remembering 9/11

After September 11, 2001, many of us were feeling confused about what we felt after such an atrocity.  I did what I usually do in that case, and I wrote about it (of course then I had no outlet to share it with anyone, so I never really did).  I felt after all these years had passed it might be interesting to see what was going on in our minds at that time and see if we really are remembering.

From 9-22-01:

There are so many people affected by the tragedies that occurred on September 11.  In one way or another, we are all affected by them, as we should be as decent human beings, and as Americans.  Our country will never be the same again.  These horrific acts of terrorism rocked our sense of security in this country, and put us in fear, just as the terrorists had hoped.  Don’t be afraid.  Don’t give in to their desires.  We are a strong country, with a strong history, and American pride.

I consider myself fortunate in that when I was growing up, my parents felt it was important to instill in me a love for this country.  I can remember asking my mom what made the United States such a wonderful place.  She replied, “Because we have freedom in this country.”  Freedom.  This word did not take shape in my mind until I was older, but I always knew it was important and that it made this country special.  Then when I went to school, I learned about all the people all over the world who had risked everything they had in order to come to the United States of America, in order to live in a country that offered them freedom… And I learned of the men and women who have fought for over 200 years now to gain and to preserve this freedom.

It is the hatred of this freedom that brought this dreadful assault on our country, and cost the lives of possibly thousands of innocent citizens.  It is no accident that the worst of the attacks took place in the city that has long been the symbol of our freedom, and of hope.

I can remember when I was in elementary school, putting my hand over my heart, looking up towards our classroom’s flag, and saying “The Pledge of Allegiance” before sitting down for our daily lessons.  I also remember learning and singing “America the Beautiful.”  It was a privilege to be one of the students chosen to put up the flag in the morning.  We were proud.  The last time I saw American pride like that was during Desert Storm…until now.  We are proud again.  We sing “America the Beautiful” again… and we look towards our flag again with a proud intensity this country has probably not seen since the strikes on Pearl Harbor.

It is a shame that it took such a tragic event for this country to put up the flags again and come together.  But we have.  We truly are the United States.  A renewed fire burns in each of us as we watch the heroes in New York City banding together, sacrificing their time, their sleep, and their lives, in hopes of saving even a single person from the devastation that was the World Trade Center.  The fire continues to burn as we watch the sickening celebrations in some Middle East countries, where children dance in the streets, and others pass out candy, being taught to hate already. And the fire grows even stronger as we listen to our president tell us that the state of the union is strong, and that justice will be done.

Now we need to take a stand and support our country and our nation’s leaders as we seek retribution for the attack on our freedom.  We are a changed country, and we can’t go back now.  We should never go back to the complacent lives we lived before.  We must keep the flags waving, and remember why we’ve come together now… to protect and defend our freedom.  This truly is a great nation, and we need to believe in this, not just now, while the events are fresh in our minds and hearts, but also through the coming events, whatever they may be… and forever.  We need to pray, and continue to pray, not just for the missing, or the families of the missing and the dead, but for our country as a whole, and our leaders… and the men and women who will fight for justice in faraway lands.

I thank God every day that none of my loved ones were lost.  This does not mean I am immune to the feelings of loss as I see and read about stories of everyday people who were senselessly murdered in this catastrophe.  I feel as if I know these people, and I grieve with their families, co-workers, and friends.  There was a young woman who came into my store the other day with her small son.  She was looking for anything she could find that was patriotic.  “His grandfather died at the Pentagon, and his father is in the Navy, helping with recovery efforts,” she told me.  Then she said something that rings true to me.  She told me there is nobody in this country who is not somehow touched by this.  She was right.

A new feeling now settles in on me.  I’ve always been interested in the history of wars in which the United States was involved.  I’ve studied books, watched movies and documentaries, and visited museums.  This one will be different.  For the first time, I’m old enough to really understand the situation, and I’m old enough that I know some of those men and women being deployed now to fight are my friends and former classmates.  This will be more personal.  I stand behind the fight and these men and women, and I pray that the Lord will bring them back quickly and safely to their homeland…the land of freedom.

God Bless America!

There was no Youtube when this happened, but images were online, videos circulated, and we all shared the tragedy through these.  Now Youtube has several videos in remembrance, but I just picked one, because many of the images are the ones I remember from that time, and the song that felt like the backdrop to everything for a time was  “God Bless the USA.”

On the day of September 11, 2001, Robert and I had the day off together.  I got up and turned on Today.  Being a bit groggy, I thought the images I was seeing live of the Trade Center were scenes from an upcoming action movie.  When I realized they were not, I went to wake up Robert.  I told him he had to get up because somebody was bombing New York.  We spent that day in a daze, not knowing what to do or how to react.  We could not stop watching the news.

Finally we decided to go out of the apartment and headed to the mall where I worked.  It was quiet and shops were starting to close down.  We went to see my coworkers for a bit; they too had been given the go ahead to shut down.  Nobody was out shopping that day.  As we headed towards the mall exit the song playing was Louis Armstrong’s “What a Wonderful World.”  Oh, the irony and eerieness of hearing that song in that moment.  And yet, how hopeful it was to hear it.

Anyone Can Make a Change

“Be the change that you want to see in the world,” wise words once spoken by Mohandas Gandhi follow me, surround me, breathe me in and spit me out on nearly a daily basis, and yet I often don’t do anything about them.  Until I let these words absorb into who I am and my daily actions, they are meaningless words that just sound good together.  How hypocritical of me to talk of loving others, but then not go through any motions to show it.  I think it.  My heart feels it.  But I often don’t do it.  I need to commit to the action of showing love in order to truly make any impact of change in our world.

I teach my students to “Show, don’t tell” when writing because it makes for more interesting writing.  How much more interesting is it to “Show, don’t tell” real actions of love and compassion?

The last statistic I read about our world’s population was the estimate that sometime before the end of this year we would break the 7 billion figure.  Let me put that into zeros for you:

7,000,000, 000.

Lots of zeros, right?  Now imagine if every one of those people just did one small thing on a daily basis to help or encourage a friend, a neighbor, a loved one, or even a stranger…  What an amazing impact we can all make as a collective mass of humanity.  Sort of the whole “pay it forward” concept (though I saw the movie and it was actually depressing).

See, we often feel our small impact will be negligible in the grand scheme of the world, and so we just don’t do anything.

“Don’t fail to do something just because you can’t do everything.”  Bob Pierce

An old parable (my paraphrase):

After a violent storm ripped through the coastline, thousands of starfish were washed up on the beach.  A young man went for a walk to assess the damage and saw an older man off in the distance, repeatedly bending down and standing back up.  As the young man got closer he saw that the older man was picking up one starfish at a time and casting it back into the sea, which seemed ludicrous to the young man as they stood amidst thousands of stranded starfish.  So he asked the older man what he was doing.  “What difference will it make?  There are thousands of starfish out here.”  The older man stooped to pick up yet another starfish, tossed it into the sea and replied, “It made a difference to that one.”

That’s good stuff right there, and I remind myself of that little story whenever I think I cannot change anything or make any difference in the world around me; after all, there’s so much help needed.  But we can each be just a little bit of the change our world needs, if we all participate.  Small gestures to big gestures… we just need to do what we can.  Maybe it’s buying a restaurant gift card anonymously for a couple whose husband is out of a job and they never get to go out (Thanks to whoever got us the Olive Garden gift card when Robert was unemployed.  No one ever fessed up, but it meant the world to us at that time), or just a smile you give while you pass someone walking out of the grocery store.  Maybe yours is the only smile that person saw all day.  Maybe you are the one who can give a hug or encouraging word to someone who is thinking of ending his or her life, because you are there and listening.

You CAN be the change you wish to see, and then maybe others will follow your example.

This beautiful song and photo montage really captures my message.  Carrie Underwood’s “Change”

“There will always be poor people in the land. Therefore I command you to be openhanded toward your brothers and toward the poor and needy in your land.”  -Deuteronomy 15:11

Gone, but Not Forgotten

And this one time… right now (this will make the most sense to Desiree Smedley), my best friend was sad, and I didn’t know the right words to say to make her feel better, so I just sat down and started typing in order to let her know I care and wish I could take away the pain of the loss of her father.

Last Friday, John H. Smedley, Sr., Warren County’s Commissioner of Revenue and my best friend’s father, passed away due to complications after heart surgery.  Just a few days before that, the man had driven himself to the hospital, so this was all quite a shock for everyone.  Since he was the father of my best friend, I saw him quite a bit from my senior year in high school until I moved away three years later (and then every time I came to visit).  He was the kind of guy who would tease his daughter’s friends and crack jokes. He had a great sense of humor and didn’t mind embarrassing himself for a good cause.  He loved his family, and I’m sad to say one of the grandchildren he left behind was Desiree’s little one, Chase.  They had quite a bond.

Chase and his Poppy

What do you say to someone who just lost her father, something you can’t personally understand and hope you never have to?  How do you find the right words for a dear friend who says she doesn’t even think it’s really hit her yet that he’s gone?  How do you comfort someone when you are hundreds of miles away?  I literally cried on her shoulder many times over what I now realize were trivial teenage problems (of course, each time was a crisis to a seventeen-year-old who had never really experienced tragedy), but I can’t be there to let her cry on my shoulder now, and I feel so helpless because of it.  For a person who usually considers herself to be a wordsmith, I can’t seem to find the right ones to put together this time.

So…

I’m going to post some pictures in tribute to a man who was dearly loved and will be missed by many (got them from Desiree’s Facebook).

Check out the dance moves!

More dance moves

It is my understanding that he later won this womanless beauty contest.

But in all seriousness, John H. Smedley, Sr. was a well loved and respected man.

The Commish

Desiree, for all those times we sang this at the top of our lungs while riding around in Barney and D Puppy, here’s Offspring’s “Gone Away” for you.  And because I truly am Randomgirl, I added Fireflight’s “Name,” which will make you cry, so please have tissues handy.

I’ve been trying to come up with something special to do for you all week.  This is what I came up with, and I hope you like it and that you realize I put it together with love for you and your dad.  Consider this my big hug to you.