Author: Tori Lennox

Just your average writer chick enjoying her literary fantasies.
Novels · Writing & Creativity

A Love Affair With Words

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As much as I’d like to wax on about the plump Mama Cardinal delicately eating seeds outside my window, I won’t. I’ll try to stay on point and blog about writing instead. I don’t know what initially started my love affair with story telling. Probably the love for reading I learned from my mother. Or, more likely, the fact I love words. I love descriptive words in particular. Words that make me envision what the writer is attempting to share. I love words and phrases that make me feel deeply.

Things like: “Stance shifting to the left, Edward stared into the swirling mists. Shrouded in mystery, worn by the ages, the monument stood poised defiantly against the tempestuous sky. It’s creator long forgotten in the murky past, it was here his eyes came to rest in the blood-soaked shadow of the mighty Cross. It was here where it all began. The bane of Drummonds past and present.” While I’m sure this will simplify as I continue to write this historical “romance” – I hesitate to tack the romance onto the genre since it’s more realistic than most romances – this paragraph illustrates my love for descriptive words. Whether that’s a good thing remains to be seen. What makes me feel and create pictures in my mind isn’t necessarily what will do the same for my readers!

While I don’t live by my emotions anymore, I enjoy a story that grabs me by the heart or the gut and doesn’t let go. The words that grip me don’t necessarily have to be eloquent, polished, or polite at this stage in my life. I’m long past the Southern “ladylike” pretentiousness of my younger days. I gravitate towards more visceral instead.

However, I don’t advocate being rude, crude, or vulgar either. That doesn’t captivate me. I can’t embrace the casual profanity of today. I won’t say I never have. I did for a season until it hit me that wasn’t who I was. It didn’t make me feel better or more accepted. I was still on the outside looking in. Added to that, I knew I was capable of expressing myself, for myself, in better ways.

All that aside, I’ve developed an appreciation for more compelling wordage whether in my real life or in my writing. I’m not into “shock” for empty shock value. I am into writing “action” scenes realistically with no apologies or trigger warnings. My B.A. and my secondary life passion is the study of Ancient through Medieval History. When I write hand-to-hand combat, while not overly graphic, it isn’t pretty or sanitized. My goal isn’t to gross my readers out; but to convey the very real urgency of that life-or-death encounter. To make my reader have a similar emotional rush to the one they’d have if they stumbled onto that encounter in real life.

While this train of thought isn’t complete, this post is long enough. I’ll pick it up again later. While I won’t promise another post tomorrow, I will write soon.

Until next time,

Calla

Writing & Creativity

I’m discovering…

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That following the dream is far more enjoyable in the right season. As I sit here watching a menagerie of squirrels, birds, and lizards haunt my patio garden replete with potted splashes of color through our French doors, I’ve never been more at peace. I won’t say, “I’ve never been happier” because that emotion relies on events beyond my control. I also won’t say my critters are captive even if it feels that way due to the massive white vinyl fences encasing my backyard on two sides. I will say, however, that my little friends are lured to my abode thanks to the corn cobs and bird feeders hanging from the massive oak tree shading my concrete patio.

I’m sure by this time you’re wondering what any of that has to do with writing. On the surface, nothing. In reality, everything. I have an office area set up in my bedroom filled with a nice desk and lots of book shelves filled with actual books. It’s a nice comfy space with a nice comfy roller chair and window blinds I can open to let in the bright Florida sunshine. Sounds perfect, right? Then why am I sitting at the dining room table with my laptop in an old chair that makes my butt hurt? Because I’m stupid? Maybe.

Or it might because the scene right outside my door inspires me and reminds me how much I’m enjoying creating my universes in ways I never have. I wrote my first “book” when I was maybe three. I still remember sitting on the dining room floor against the wall with my crayons and my pad writing this elaborate tale about a bear. A half century later, I don’t recall the specifics. I just know it was something else because all of my stories back then were dramatic as only a toddler can make them.

My next foray into writing was in Middle School. I started novels I never finished but I read voraciously. As my safe, happy universe morphed into one of secret abuse, reading and writing were my only escapes. I wrote my first two plays when I was fifteen. One was performed in church and the other was submitted to a Drama Competition. I finished writing and illustrating my first children’s book at around sixteen. My Mom convinced me to show my masterpiece to a local children’s book author she’d worked with at the college. I think she thought he’d encourage me.

This man took one look at my work and laughed in my face. He told me my work was garbage and it would never get published. It didn’t matter I made an acquaintance who saw my work and offered to agent my book the next year. She had big plans that were quite ambitious and the contacts to make it happen. Unfortunately, the damage was already done. I didn’t take her up on her offer because I didn’t believe my tale was good enough. For a number of years, that became the main theme in my life.

Over the next eight years I dabbled in writing. I finished my first 150,000 word historical novel and a shorter 70,000 word romantic suspense when I was 26. I’ve already discussed my misses in publishing in past blogs, so I won’t go there again. I will recap by saying I’ve had a few opportunities with both agents and major publishing houses over the years. They all came at wrong moments of unexpected turmoil and trauma when I knew I wouldn’t be able to honor any contracts I signed. Since that time, writing has been very off-and-on for me largely dependent on my state of mind. Well, I’m in a good place now with ample time on my hands to pursue my passion.

As I sit here at my dining table watching a squirrel decimate a two pound bird seed cake, I’m bringing this blog to a close so I can go back to editing the contemporary romance I plan to submit to a major publishing house in the next week. Whether they accept my offering or not is irrelevant. How much they’re willing to pay if they do is something I’ll contemplate before signing. Either way, I have other viable options and the time to pursue them.

What matters in this moment is I’m pursuing my dream with the belief it will come true because I’m finally in the right season of my life to follow through to the end.

Until next time,

Calla

P.S. For the foreseeable future I’ll be sharing my adventures in writing.

emotional healing · General · Introductions

On to the newest adventure…

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It’s been a while since I’ve written although I did post a page yesterday. I’ve been busy completing my novel over the last month or so. I should have it submitted by the end of next week. We’ll see what happens after that. Once I’m done, I’ll probably take a short break before I start the next book just to clear my head and do “fun” writing like, say, my blog. Maybe work on a couple of those unfinished fanfic pieces. Who knows? While I’m focused when it comes to projects, I tend to be more rambling in my more casual pursuits.

None of that is really important in the big scheme except I’m adding a podcast into the mix. Again, I don’t know what the subject matter will be. I’m giving the same warning I did with my blog. What I talk about will vary with my mood. I’ll probably start with a few of my past blogs that were liked. From there, I’ll move on to new things. Most of those “things” will probably revolve around life lessons and emotional healing. Those seem to be the blogs that catch the most interest.

For this first endeavor, let’s get acquainted. Hi, I’m Calla. Not my real name of course; but, short for Calladragon, my pen name on Fanfiction.net. I’m from South Carolina; but, I live in Florida now. I’ll be 57 in June so I’ve been around the block a few times and that’s what I’m most interested in sharing. The lessons I’ve learned the hard way. That’s not everything I’ll “talk” about – but, it’s probably a big part of it. While I can’t tell you precisely how to heal your traumas because I’m not you, I can share my story in a very open, honest way I would have found both embarrassing and humiliating a few years ago.

I’ve come a long way in the last five years. I’ve reached the point where I understand part of healing is taking responsibility for my part in what happened to me. It doesn’t matter if it’s something as simple as choosing to do something my instincts screamed not to do. I did that so many times and I paid in blood every time. Sometimes literally. As stupid as that makes me sound, I’m a well-educated, intelligent woman. I’m just like so many of us and I didn’t learn from my mistakes. Part of that was because my self-worth was destroyed as a child, the other part of the equation is I tried to fit in when I was different instead of valuing those differences.

I’m not making excuses for my behavior, just making statements of fact with the clarity that comes from hindsight. The sad truth is most of us don’t learn from our mistakes. Not immediately. That being said, I’m not victim blaming. I’m telling you the first step to dealing with your trauma. Take responsibility for your part if it’s just, “I walked into the grocery store to buy a quart of milk at the wrong time,” and forgive yourself for it. Then acknowledge you’re not responsible for what someone else chose to do to you and forgive them. That’s hard to do. Actually, both of those things are hard to do. However, you can do it if you persevere. I did. It took me years to forgive myself and to forgive others. When I finally did, I realized that was the key to healing and restoring my self-worth. To walking away from depression and self-loathing.

That’s probably the kind of thing I’ll talk about in my own words in my own voice. Eventually. That own voice thing is a big step for me since I don’t like how I sound on recordings. Right now, I want to get my mind around the idea of a podcast and practice a little bit before I take the plunge to record my own work.

The only other thing I think you should know is something I’ve already disclosed in past blogs. I’m a Charismatic Christian. Don’t let the Christian part turn you off. I haven’t always been one and I’m not trying to convert you. I want to reach anyone who’s hurting no matter your belief system. Honestly, that’s what I’m supposed to do – share the love in my heart with you. That doesn’t mean I have to hold the same belief system as you. That doesn’t mean I expect you to believe exactly as I do. It’s just an important part of who I am and I don’t apologize for it. It’s also an integral part of my personal healing journey. When I finally decided I wanted to believe Jesus loved me in spite of how little I valued myself, that gave me permission to attempt loving myself. It took a lot years of confronting abuse to crawl out of the abyss into the warm sunshine but I’ve finally done it.

I’ve rambled enough for now. Thank you for letting me share my thoughts.

Until next time,
Calla

Been There, Done That · Food For Thought · observations · Opinions

A casual observation…

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I haven’t written in a while because I’ve been consumed with my novel. It’s almost finished and ready for submission! Close enough I can taste it! However, I felt compelled to take a break to work through a statement that set me off. Actually, I’ve been mulling whether I want to write anything about this for four or five days. I decided I did. On the surface, the statement is nothing that significant. More a meaningless variation of a platitude uttered too many times in a day. That being said, this statement probably wouldn’t have bothered me if it hadn’t touched my life and my beliefs. But it did.

I found the statement lurking innocently in the A/N of a fanfiction. Yes, I read, and have written, fanfiction. No, I’m not on a rant against the evils of ff. It’s more a rant against the inadvertent damage we do with our blind mission to “speak no evil” and “hurt no one.” While I don’t advocate insensitivity, emotional cruelty, or hurting someone to satisfy base curiosity, everything that causes pain or offends isn’t automatically hate speech or one of those “sins” you shouldn’t do. While I know my take isn’t popular today, my perspective comes from the fact I’ve lived through what this young woman commented on in her Author’s Note.

It was words to the affect of, “That’s victim blaming. Don’t do it.” I believe it was those exact words or very close to it. Before you get your hackles up because I’ve dared say victim blaming is okay, that isn’t what I’m saying at all. I’m speaking as a Survivor who “victim blamed” myself for years so I don’t believe in victimizing a victim. I also don’t believe in being a victim when you can choose, over time with healing, to be a survivor instead.

This young woman clearly believes what she’s saying and it’s “right” on the surface. I don’t fault her for that. However, it’s also “wrong” when you scratch a little deeper because that attitude silences dialogue that has the potential to educate, share, and heal. Thank God other women, and a few men, were willing to listen to and talk with me over the years. Thank God I’ve been able to listen to, empathize with, and talk with other women who were hurting over the years. If you don’t think those conversations were painful, and sometimes offensive, they were. But they were necessary.

For the record, I’m not talking about therapist or counselors or abused women hot lines. While I’m grateful for those professional outlets, I’m talking about other human beings who’d lived through the same thing. Sometimes worse and sometimes not as bad; but still people with a frame of reference willing to help me navigate the darkness and worthlessness I was experiencing. Ultimately, it was up to me to work through my issues after that. But I couldn’t have done it without the compassion and understanding I would never have received if we hadn’t dared to open emotional doors and speak through the pain. I wouldn’t have been able to do the same for others if it hadn’t been done for me.

While I don’t fault this young woman for sharing the politically correct mindset so prevalent today, I’m writing from the perspective of someone who’s actually lived through what she feels so strongly about. Not someone who has a friend or relative who’s lived through “it” or read about it. Nope. As someone who has survived physical, mental, and emotional abuse at the hands of a spouse, actually two spouses, and being molested as a child and raped as an adult more than once. That being said, I’ve earned the right to my beliefs.

For the backstory, if you’re interested, this young woman wrote a fanfic in which the protagonist is raped. Nothing graphic. Just a blip on the screen to further the story line. Apparently someone wrote a review asking why this character didn’t do something to stop it. The author responded in her Author’s notes at the bottom of the chapter very emphatically that asking this was “Victim Blaming” and don’t do it. She further commented how even the strongest person can freeze at a time like this.

Okay, I’ll agree that victim blaming does exist. However, asking why the victim didn’t do something to prevent this isn’t necessarily victim blaming. It’s not the question itself that’s the problem. It’s the reason behind the asking that may be. Believe me, I asked myself that question for years and, from people I’ve talked with, I can tell you experiences differ from survivor to survivor. From my perspective, I never froze and I was never helpless. My mind was more focused on staying alive and not getting hurt more than I already was. For me personally, I never had a deer in the headlights experience. I also never had a “victim” experience. I had to see myself as a survivor to regain any semblance of self-respect.

For what I’m saying to make any real sense, you should know my first scrape with the “r” word happened when I was 19. I don’t remember much about it since some kind of drug was used and I “lost” several hours. The “friend” who’d orchestrated this event wrote me a letter years later apologizing for what she’d done; but she wasn’t willing to fill in the blanks so the flashbacks made sense. My next brush with rape was in my twenties. I was married and marital rape does exist. The last thing I wanted to do was have sex with the man who’d just beat the stuffing out of me for some imaginary slight like not dressing like a whore in public. (For the record we were both college educated, white collar professionals, from “good” – not wealthy – families so this nightmare should never have happened. Right? Don’t believe that one.) But, I did, and I pretended to enjoy it. In my world I had two choices, I could either perform “willingly” or perform unwilling after being forced.

Since my body was getting used either way, I chose the path of least resistance which was both shameful and degrading. I did it because I was 1200 miles from home, isolated, and at a physical disadvantage. It took me 4 years to escape that situation and it took me another twenty-five years to fully embrace those traumas don’t define me. But, I did, and that’s why I have issues with shutting down dialogue as victim shaming. Being able to share both heals and helps someone cope with the same situation or, better yet, avoid the situation all together.

My general problem with the whole no hurt, no offend, no harm, no trigger, no mention, no whatever culture I live in is important dialogues get shut down before they get started. If I’d lived in the culture I find myself in thirty years ago where no one reached out to me because they were afraid of the consequences of doing so, I would still be the self-loathing, wounded, angry, bitter, suicidal woman of little value to myself or anyone else I used to be. I’m grateful I didn’t live in that world and I’m asking you to take a look at the society we live in now. It’s taken what should be common courtesy and respect for another human being to a place that is both frightening and harmful. It’s a world where you’re reluctant to speak for the fear of being punished for daring to have an opinion that differs from the “norm.”

My norm is a little more compassionate and real.

Until next time,

Calla

Writing & Creativity

Finding My Way Again

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When I started this blog back in August of 2019, I promised myself I would update weekly. That never happened. Like most of us, I have tons of excuses, most of them legit. My Mom’s fall, her strokes, Covid-19, work, my dog’s death, my injured back, my personal health…You name it, I could probably claim it up to a point. The truth is closer to I just lost the spark. Thankfully not my fire for life. I’m too much of a fighter for that. But that burning desire to share, yeah, that went out the door. Procrastination became the word of the day.

I’m really good at that in my personal life although I’m very responsible when it comes to bills and work. Things I’m held accountable for. Not so disciplined when it comes to “want-tos.” I’m working on that. I left my job in December to take care of my Mom full time. She’s doing great; but there are a lot of things she can’t do for herself any longer. In spite of the occasional head butts, it’s working out great. I’m not making money; but I’m happier than I’ve been in a long time and that’s priceless.

However, I’m old enough and wise enough to know a major lifestyle change means a major change in how you live. I started changing my mind set before I ever left my job. Since I know how I operate, I immediately started implementing those changes on my first day home. I’d promised myself I’d deep clean the house in ways I never had while I was working. Once I had the house in good shape, I’d maintain it weekly. It took a while to develop the habit, but I’ve kept my promise. It hasn’t been easy since I abhor housework. Honestly, I’m proud of myself for finally growing up enough to dive in and just get it done. It makes me feel good to finally be doing something I know I should have been doing all along. However, the weekly cleanings drive my Mom nuts since she says the house isn’t dirty.

While that might be true, I know me. I have to maintain the habit or I’ll lose it. I have a daily to-do list that has to get done before I can do anything else. As restrictive as that sounds, having a loose schedule I’m dedicated to following is actually liberating. As long as I maintain my rhythm, I get the necessary things done with time left over for personal pursuits.

You might wonder what that has to do with writing? The answer is, a lot. I’ve always been a sporadic writer which means I create when the mood hits. That’s all fine and dandy when I’m in RL mode with writing on the back burner. Truthfully, that’s been most of my adult life out of necessary. To put it bluntly, I’ve lived in survival mode with little time or energy left over for hopes and dreams. I’m not in that mode any more. I now have the luxury of time and a peace of mind I haven’t had in a long time.

So, instead of just working on my novels, I’m writing with purpose once again. I’m in the final stretch on two relatively short novels roughly one hundred and twenty words together. I’ve written fanfic double that. The wonderful part of having dedicated time every day to write is I’m not driven to just get it done while I can. My attitude towards writing is different. I now have the opportunity to edit for mistakes and to fine tune the different aspects of my story.

In the end, all I’m really saying if I’ve fallen in love with my craft again. I’m enjoying writing characters that will elicit emotional responses in my reader. I’m enjoying writing stories I believe readers will identify with – both the events and the characters. I’m excited to be within fifteen to twenty thousand words of completing one of my two works in progress. It’s always exciting when I taste the finish line.

Once that novel is finished, I’ll turn my attention to the remaining wip. That one’s much harder to get right. My protagonist has physical issues that make her more complex to write. First off, I have to strike a realistic balance between her strengths and her vulnerabilities. She’s “real,” not superwoman. While she’s learned to live within her limitations, she hasn’t stopped trying to stretch her capabilities. She’s human with the same fears and doubts that plague all of us. That’s just some of the challenges she presents without adding the other elements to the story.

As if you can’t tell, I’m champing at the bit to get back to this one; but I won’t short change my other novel. The upside to the wip is I’ve been working on this book off and on for years so Lauran isn’t someone I’ll ever forget. She’s an interesting character I already know and love because her story has gone through several incarnations over the years. I finally feel like I’m getting it right. At least for now. We’ll see if I still feel the same when I get back to work on that story.

Right now, I know I’m enjoying writing more than I have in a long time.

That’s a good thing.

Calla

Uncategorized

My World Keeps Getting Turned Upside Down….

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It’s been a while since I’ve written with good cause. My Mom had another stroke the first week in November. Fortunately, I recognized the signs in time to get her to the hospital in time to prevent any serious damage. Actually, I give that credit to God and the wonderful medical professionals she had this time around. In spite of how well she was doing, it took a few days to get my Mom stable. After that, she was sent upstairs to Rehab where she proceeded to have an issue they feared was another stroke not an hour later. My Mom was sent back downstairs to the hospital where they finally determined it was a seizure instead. After wading through another few days of blood pressure issues, she finally responded favorably to a new combination of medications. My Mom finally went back to Rehab somewhere around the middle of November where she did very well. Eventually, she was released on November 28, 2020, thanks to her wonderful doctors, nurses, and therapists.

While I worked full time throughout her hospitalization, my whole world changed when my Mom was discharged. I’d been struggling with the feeling I should be doing more with my life for a long time. Don’t get me wrong. I was where I was for a season and a reason. I’ve prayed for a lot of people who’ve crossed my path at work over the years. I’ve encouraged a lot of people along the way as well. However, I’ve known it was time to move on for a while. I just haven’t felt compelled to find a new job. To leave the financial security my job afforded me especially with a pandemic ravaging the world. My Mom’s illness changed my perspective on a lot things.

To make a long story short, we were confronted with the reality my Mom can no longer live alone without constant supervision due to her condition and her medications. Her mind is great and she’s mobile with her rollater. In fact, she’s doing great to be almost 92. There’s just a lot of things she can’t do for herself like prepare her meals. Forget the special diet she’s on. There’s also the risk of falls which could be deadly due to her medications and her age. You might wonder what all of that has to do with me. The answer is a lot. She made it very clear she wanted me to become her caretaker since I’ve lived with her fourteen years and I’m familiar with those almost imperceptible signs something is wrong. After a lot of soul searching and prayer, I’ve honored her wish. I worked my two week notice and came home permanently ten days ago. Just long enough for the reality of what I’ve done to sink in.

Contrary to what you might think, I’m at peace with my decision. I know it’s what I’m supposed to do. More than that, it’s what I want to do. I know it won’t be easy, but I’m grateful God has made a way for us to tighten our belts and make it. I’m also grateful to have the opportunity to do something so worthwhile with my life. To repay some of the love my “Mom” gave a hurt, angry woman all those years ago. The love she still gives every day.

I don’t really have a lot to say in this post. It’s just an update, and I hope, a little encouragement that no matter what happens, you can get through it. You have to believe that and persevere. I’m at the point where I’ve literally had to let go and let God. But that doesn’t mean I’m at the mercy of this season of change. I still have to be responsible. I also to be a good steward of everything coming into my hands in ways I haven’t been in the past. That’s a lesson I’ve been gradually learning over the last few years. As up in the air as things are in my life at the moment, I’m sleeping better than I have in a while.

I think that’s because my life finally feels like it’s falling into place. I’m enjoying being with my Mom, getting a lot done around the house, and I’m wrapping up a novel I plan to submit in a couple of months. The writing has flowed easier, with more clarity, than it has in years. I think that might be because I’m where I’m supposed to be doing what I’m supposed to be doing so I’m finally at peace. There’s something to be said about abandoning my preconceived ideas of success and just operating in love. As counter intuitive as this sounds, there will be plenty of time for me when my Mom no longer needs me,

I’ll post again soon. As I said, I just wanted to let everyone know I haven’t abandoned my blog. I’ve just had my hands full with real life. To be honest, I’ve been struggling a little with staying in that good place. It’s been a year filled with ups and downs of every kind. There have been so many times when I’ve looked up from the challenges only to realize I’d drifted farther away from God than I wanted to be. Even at this time of year. I had to correct my course several times. Several times I’ve had to remind myself as bad as it seems, it could be so much worse. That I still have so much to be grateful for. You see, there’s one thing I learned the hard way, and that’s while I might (briefly) take my hand off of God, He never takes His hand off of me.

He won’t take His hand off of you either.

Calla

A Story for Another Blog or How a Not-So-Good Southern Baptist Became a True Blue Charismatic (Part I)…
Been There, Done That · emotional healing · Food For Thought · Judeo-Christian Perspective · observations · Opinions · Religious

A Story for Another Blog or How a Not-So-Good Southern Baptist Became a True Blue Charismatic (Part I)…

Tori LennoxLeave a comment

It wasn’t an easy journey and I’m not going to recap the whole sordid tale. You’ve read bits and pieces in past posts. (For anyone interested in the whole story, Been There, Done That…Had the Smashed Up Face to Prove It by Calla MacKenna is on Amazon.) Instead, I will say by the time I ended up in Florida thirteen years ago, I was a tired, bitter woman. My ex-husband’s bad business practices had cost me everything from my house to my savings three years before. I say “my” because this man had nothing to do with the accumulation of those assets and everything to do with losing them. However, that being said, it was my decision to allow this man into my life so I’m equally at fault for my financial losses.

Since I’ve admitted that, I might as well admit my ex-husband wasn’t my husband when all this happened. We were “engaged” when we went into business together and we were successful at first. About six months into the business I started seeing signs of what I later learned was mental illness well-hidden beneath charm, charisma, and well-documented past successes. Unfortunately, I eventually learned that while he had been wildly successful in the past, he’d tanked every one of those past endeavors the same way he tanked our business. None of that came to light until many years later when his family set his cons straight.

While losing everything was bad enough, my ex added insult to injury by cheating on me almost from the start. That’s the reason I didn’t marry him. By the time I suspected he was doing this it was too late to kick him out of my life. The business was thriving and I had too much to lose if I rocked the boat including my pride. None of that mattered in the end. The business failed and I was trapped with no way out or so I thought.

Reality was far different.

In life that’s often the case. Our perception a.k.a. “our reality” often differs greatly from the truth of the situation. I actually wasn’t trapped in anything; but, I lacked the life experience to realize this. I could have kicked this abuser out of my life, ridden the storm out where I was, and started over exactly when the dust settled. It wouldn’t have been pleasant; but, it was doable. I didn’t do that. I chose the “easy” way instead. Right. Nothing about the past sixteen years has been easy. Thanks to my ex I eventually ended up in Florida exactly as God intended instead.

If you’re wondering why, the answer is simple. I had nothing, no-one, and nowhere to go. Or, more accurately, that was my perception of my reality. For a person who’d always paid my debts in full on time, this mess was devastating . I didn’t know what to do or how to handle the nightmare I’d stepped into. In those first desperate moments I decided it was better the devil I knew than the hell I didn’t. Fear will make you do stupid things and I was terrified. Scared enough to stay with a man I practically hated. That’s how I thought things were playing out for several years.

I now know God was slowly turning what was meant for evil to good. He had me even when I didn’t have Him. In the end He was steering me where He wanted me to go even if it took a roundabout journey through eight different states. Near the end of the journey I tried to return home to South Carolina. I had a good job lined up and I was a third of the way home when I felt compelled to turn around and return back to the place I’d just left.

My ex had become deathly ill a couple of months earlier. He’d spent two weeks on life support and he still wasn’t fully functional. However, he was still able to harm me physically and he had which was what led me to finally leave in the first place. The only problem with my bid for freedom is there was no-one but me left to care for him since he’d alienated everyone else. I knew he’d die if I left him. Or I felt that way. Whether it was true or not, I couldn’t take that risk even though I wanted to. I tried to. However, I couldn’t live with myself if I left and something horrible happened to him. So, I did what I had to do. I turned around and changed the course of my life forever.

A few months later, we found ourselves in Florida living with my ex’s stepmother. A few months later, we got married even though we didn’t have any real relationship left by that time. As stupid as this sounds, I agreed to make his stepmother “happy” largely because I’d never lived with anyone and I’d never wanted to. To my crazy way of thinking at the time, getting married would somehow legitimize the nightmare of the last few years and erase the shame of failure. It didn’t do any of that. In fact, all it did was add another divorce to my tally and reinforce the fact otherwise intelligent, sane people do insane things for stupid reasons.

Moving on, my ex’s stepmother finally cracked my hard emotional shell enough to become my “Mom.” My real mother died from cancer back in 1996 so I was more than willing to accept love from anywhere I could get it. I gradually started watching the religious stations with her every chance I got. While I was still in a dark place, I was on my way to rediscovering the faith I’d once abandoned. A few months later I started visiting the Charismatic church Mom attended even though it wasn’t my kind of place. In fact, I found the whole experience unsettling and freaky.

I’d heard my real Mom talk about visiting Charismatic churches back in the ’60’s; but, I’d never visited one myself. The only reassurance I had in those early days that I wasn’t taking the high road to hell was the fact I loved, respected, and trusted my second Mom and I knew she felt the same. I also knew she’d been raised Southern Baptist like me. If she thought the nuttiness was okay, then it had to be. Besides, I was desperate for healing and redemption. Again, any way I could get it. This Church seemed a likely place to accomplish that. You see, I’d been embraced with love and acceptance from the moment I walked through the door. But. I wasn’t comfortable.

Reading this, you might wonder what my problem was. That’s simple. Those people said and did things totally foreign to my background. Things most good Southern Baptists would never do like prophesying, laying on hands, shouting, dancing, and speaking in tongues! I wasn’t sure whether to bolt or make the sign of the cross. I didn’t do either. I stayed instead. Every time I entered that sanctuary, I was saturated in the presence of the Holy Spirit and I knew that was where I belonged. I could feel it in my soul. Besides, I might as well give this whole Word of Faith thing a shot. I’d already tried everything I was willing try and I hadn’t ended up where I wanted to go. At that point, I was as close to rock bottom as I could get so I had nothing left to lose. But, I had everything to gain even if I didn’t know it.

However, it took me quite a few years to get from there to here…

Until Part 2, I remain,

Calla

Been There, Done That · emotional healing · Food For Thought · observations

When the going gets tough, the tough keep going…

Tori LennoxLeave a comment

Or we lose everything. I believe that with all of my heart. I haven’t posted anything relevant to emotional healing in a couple of months because I’ve been in a dark place that has nothing to do with Covid-19, work, or any of the normal stressors we’ve all been wading through. I knew I couldn’t share encouragement when I was drowning in negativity. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying I’d given up in the midst of the battle. I hadn’t. I was temporarily overwhelmed by a sea of grief and depression caused by events beyond my control.

On June 9th, 2020, I caught my purse in the door and twisted wrong on my way to the car. By the time I arrived at work. I could barely walk. I spent the next five weeks out of work in incredible pain. Three months later I’m finally coming out of the inflammatory flare and resuming a more normal life. If that wasn’t enough, my five year old dachshund was hit with sudden onset Addison’s disease. She was in a severe crisis at the same time I was barely mobile. Allie ended up in the veterinary hospital for a couple of weeks receiving the appropriate treatment. While I checked on her every day, I couldn’t see her because of Covid-19. Not until she took a turn for the worse and her Vet called me in to see her. To make a long story short, five weeks ago I was holding my pup on my lap discussing treatment options on a Tuesday night and unexpectedly putting her to sleep the following night. It hurt so bad to lose that dog I thought my heart would literally burst. Thankfully, I was off the next day and I was fine. However, by the time I got to work on Friday, I wasn’t. I suddenly couldn’t talk. Actually, I could talk, just not coherently. My speech was garbled. While I knew what I wanted to say, I couldn’t get it out coherently. I scared the heck out of my bosses. Eventually, we determined I hadn’t had a stroke. I’d just finally reached the end of what I could take.

Between my Mom’s fall in October, the bedroom/bathroom renovation, working full time, Mom’s stroke, her recurring kidney infections/hospitalizations, and taking care of her, the Covid-19 shut down, my illness, Allie’s illness and losing her, and mounting medical bills my body finally reached it’s limit physically, emotionally, and mentally. The inability to talk was the physical manifestation I was done.

It was also an embarrassing experience I had to come to terms with. No, I don’t think anyone should be ashamed of being depressed or overwhelmed. Or of seeking treatment for those conditions. Both responses are normal parts of life for most of us. However, it isn’t for me. Not any more. I spent most of my life in a negative haze of depression. I had no joy. I was suicidal at times. I have no problem admitting I had the pills in hand more than once. Only my fear of being separated from God stopped me from taking them. That and the fear I wouldn’t take enough to actually kill me only cause irreparable physical damage. Yes, I think too much. Even while contemplating offing myself. Yes, I’m laughing at myself and my inherent weaknesses. When I finally fought my way out of that haze a few years back, I decided depression was a state of mind I didn’t have to accept. Not as long as I acknowledged I was prone to slipping into that mindset and I chose to actively fight it by finding something positive in the negative. However, my go-to strategy didn’t work this time. Losing Allie, even though her passing was peaceful and painless, catapulted me into a state of debilitating emotional pain and depression. It also made me combative and impatient. Overwhelmed. Angry. Short-tempered. Not a very nice person to know. Being in extreme physical pain didn’t help. No, that’s not an excuse just a fact. I didn’t even like myself very much which didn’t help my overall state of mind at all.

Over the past couple of weeks I’ve started exiting that dark head space. To do that, I had to make myself find the silver linings in my recent experiences. It wasn’t easy; but, I had to do it. Find those something positives and say them out loud. Over and over until the positive loop started overriding the negative loop already playing in my head. I had to start with the fact that, in the midst of my grief, I still have Stinky to love. He’s my fifteen year old dachshund and the “brother” Allie liked to aggravate. I’m blessed he’s a happy, healthy boy. I’m also fortunate he never really bonded with his “sister” because of their different temperaments so he doesn’t miss her at all. Next, I had to accept new medical bills aren’t the end of the world. They’ll be paid before I know it. Getting out of debt is something I’ve been working towards for a while so I’ve just had to accept that it’ll take a little longer than originally planned. And, finally, while I’m still in mild pain, I’m grateful what’s wrong with my back isn’t anything that can’t be managed with treatment and diet. I don’t need surgery. Lastly, while I still have some occasional blips with my speech, it’s improving every day as I let go of the things that stress me.

In closing, I want to say struggles are a part of life. How we each handle those struggles is what sets us apart from the crowd. Don’t accept being depressed, overwhelmed, or lost. Get help if you need to. There’s no shame in that. I’m grateful for the short-term medication that helped me get control of my emotions to the degree my speech was pretty close to normal in a couple of weeks. I wouldn’t have been there without help. I also want to encourage you not to give up the fight. Whatever the battle, it’s temporary. I can’t promise the struggle you’re going through won’t last days, week, months, or even years. I can promise you’ll emerge on the other side if you don’t give up the fight. I can also assure you, as long as you still have breath, you can rebuilt your life and find some degree of happiness. I know that from experience. I’ve started over so many times it would make your head spin. There’s nothing wrong in that either. We all try. We all fail. If you’re tough enough, you start over again.

I want to encourage you to do just that. Fight the battle, whatever it is, and never give up. When it’s finally done, start over again. Embrace joy where you find it. Understand happiness truly is whatever YOU make it. Where you finally end up might not be the ideal life you imagined. But, it will be the life you make it and that’s a wonderful thing.

Stay strong and I’ll “see” you soon,

Calla

Been There, Done That · emotional healing · Judeo-Christian Perspective · observations · Religious

Life is an ever evolving journey meant to be embraced with joy…

Tori LennoxLeave a comment

Even when your reality is anything but. For most of my life I’d read something so saccharine with a cynical snort and a tragic dose of wistfulness. I think a lot of us have that attitude. I just couldn’t find a whole lot of joy in my life. If you’ve read some of my past posts, you know my story isn’t pretty.

I lived forty-four of my fifty-six years on the cusp of suicide. I wanted my life to end; but, I wouldn’t end it. The only thing that stayed my hand was the possibility of being eternally separated from God. Even though I wasn’t remotely Christian during most of that time, I did believe in God. He was enmeshed in the very fiber of my being whether I wanted Him there or not. I didn’t. Not really. You see, my God was a God who punished my every transgression. He wasn’t a merciful Jesus who forgave my sins and loved me anyway. I was wrong.

For most of my life.

Please don’t miss the significance of what I’m about to say: how I viewed God wasn’t His fault. It was mine. However, He was still my Father and I loved Him. I now know I identified with the vengeful aspect of God the most because I viewed myself through a similar lens. Without mercy. My concept of right and wrong was absolute. There weren’t any shades of gray in my black and white. Under the right circumstance, that’s a good thing. It keeps you resolute to your moral convictions in a world of every changing values. In this instance, it was a bad thing. My rigid self-perception meant that since I couldn’t forgive myself, my God couldn’t forgive me either. Even for the things I had no control over. I believe a lot of you are in a similar boat.

We’re both wrong.

God’s capacity for forgiveness is far greater than we can fathom. While I know that’s true now, I didn’t back in the day. What I did know, as screwed up as I was, is that I couldn’t imagine a life without my Creator in it. I knew that was possible if I took my own life. Whether my belief was true or not, I can’t answer. Opinions go both ways. All that really matters is that fear was enough to stay my hand when I had the pills in hand. It’s a question I still can’t answer with any certainty. Ultimately, I think only God can answer that one since only He is privy to the influences operating on and in a person’s life in those desperate moments.

Moving on, like my past couple of blogs, this one isn’t for everyone. If you’ve made it this far, you can see this piece is overtly religious. I struggled with whether to start a separate blog for my “spiritual” pieces since I’ve tried to straddle the fence between generalities and my personal beliefs as much as possible in the majority of my posts. In the end, I decided I’m not two different people so I won’t write two different blogs. Instead, I’ll tag my future pieces with strong religious overtones as “Judeo-Christian/Religious” instead.

This is one of those blogs.

While I had a clearly defined purpose when I started this a few days ago, that original intent has fallen by the wayside. I don’t work from an outline. I write from the heart. From where I am mentally, spiritually, and emotionally in the moment I’m writing. Honestly, in this moment, I’m struggling to survive the past ten months and come out on the other side. If you’ve read my past posts, you know I’m the primary caretaker for my 91 year old Mom who’s been through a lot since she took a bad fall in October of last year. She’s had a stroke and battled several serious infections since February of this year. Fortunately, she’s doing well and has been for a couple of months.

Now it’s my turn to push through my own physical battles. On June 11th, I twisted wrong and sent myself into a very painful inflammatory flare from hell. I couldn’t walk two feet for almost three weeks. It took five weeks total get the flare under control enough I could return to work. We’re still trying to figure out what caused this. If that’s not enough, I had to put my beloved five year old dachshund to sleep this Wednesday due to a rare illness she couldn’t overcome. Today is August 1st, 2020, four days later, and my world is still crazy. On Friday, I developed a speech disorder that has scared the heck out of everyone. I haven’t had a stroke. I’ve had all that checked out. But, again, we don’t know what’s causing it beyond stress. Between Allie and myself, I have medical bills I will only be able to pay with divine intervention which I fully expect to have.

You might wonder why I’m writing all of this.

Honestly, it isn’t what I started out writing or intended to write. The truth is, I’m writing this to strengthen myself in my faith. I don’t have a choice. Not if I remain true to my beliefs. God doesn’t promise me I won’t have pain or bad things won’t happen. He only promises He will get me through them. He also promises, if I’ll let Him, He will take these bad events and use them for my good. That’s the promise I’m holding on to as I struggle through the pain of ending Allie’s suffering and my own physical, mental, and spiritual pain. Something good is coming from this.

I’ll let you know what it is as soon as it manifests.

There’s a lot more I’d like to say about how a Southern Baptist girl from South Carolina suddenly found herself a full-blown Charismatic Christian. But, that’s a story for another blog. Honestly, my conversion wasn’t sudden. It took me about a year to get over being spooked by certain aspects of the faith I’d grown to love. It took me a full ten years to get the gift of tongues so it hasn’t been an easy journey. But, it’s been the most meaningful journey of my life.

I’m going to end this blog with the Bible Scriptures I’m standing on to get me through this moment. Whether you’re a believer or not, I think they’ll help you. Oh, and if you’re a believer who thinks the Old Testament isn’t for us or it doesn’t apply – you need to rethink your stance! These verses apply to any believer…

“When I am afraid, I put my trust in you.” Psalm 56:3 (NIV)

“Cast your cares on the Lord and he will sustain you; he will never let the righteous be shaken.” Psalm 55:22 (NIV)

“Let us come before him with thanksgiving and extol him music and song.” Psalm 95:2 (NIV)

“Your love, Lord, reaches to the Heavens, your faithfulness to the skies.” Psalm 36:5 (NIV)

This is just a handful of the scriptures I’m standing on right now. A couple of the others are Isaiah 53:5-7 and 1 Peter 2:24 for my healing. Pull out your Bible and look them up or do the Google thing. They’re powerful promises we all need. As for that debt that will be paid, I’m looking at Matthew 11:23 since I’m casting that debt into the sea.

However, the looking is the easy part.

To stand and stand again is a little harder; but, it must be done.

Until next time,

Calla.

Food For Thought · General Quirkiness · History · observations

Pensive Moments…

Tori LennoxLeave a comment

Usually means I’m pondering some aspect of my humanity. Of what it means to be human in the broader sense of the word. I do that frequently. I’m fascinated by people and by what makes us tick. I often wonder why we think, believe, and act the way we do and I’m amazed by how little we’ve changed over thousands of years. That we’re still motivated by the same desires and emotions that have motivated us since the beginning of time. Both the good and the bad. Sometimes all that pondering sends me hopping down some pretty weird rabbit trails….

No, I’m not preparing to launch into another commentary on current events. I said my piece in the preceding blog. I will make the generalized statement people have been twisting stories and facts to suit their purposes for millennia. That hasn’t changed either and I doubt it ever will. That tendency seems to be hotwired into us. While I’m not sure this post will help anyone in a discernable manner, I hope it makes you rethink from where, and from whom, you get your facts. That’s something we all need to do every now and then.

What started my mental meanderings in the first place was a recent attempt to watch a popular History Channel program that touts panspermia and the “undeniable” reality it was impossible for us lowly humans to have amounted to much without “alien” intervention. Alien as in extraterrestrial entities. Not alien as in someone from a different country. So, I’m not a true believer when it comes to little green men or grays although I was a rabid X-Files fanatic back in the day. I wanted to believe, and I tried. I just couldn’t quite get there with the evidence shown.

Now that I’ve disclosed my biases, you might wonder why I was watching that program in the first place. For starters, I read the book that spawned the television series when I was young. All of eleven or twelve years old if that. I reread the book a few years later when I was in college. By that time, I was a history freak so I wasn’t convinced by what I was reading. The so-called hard and fast evidence I found so fascinating as a tween wasn’t nearly as persuasive to a young adult with a significant background in ancient and medieval history.

Fast forward to the present when I thought it amused me to see just how far these “experts” were willing to twist the history I’m so familiar with in their quest to “prove” some off-the-wall theory of the week by rewriting history in a deceptive manner. I wasn’t amused. I was disturbed. For one thing, you can’t accurately interpret what an ancient artist was trying to portray when viewing an ambiguous picture or petroglyph through twenty-first century eyes. Nobody can.

That’s true of history in general. You have to consider the historical context of the event or artifact in question when you’re attempting to accurately interpret a discovery. If you don’t, your interpretations are rife with error. Any attempt that show on the History Channel makes towards legitimacy is undone when the “authorities” flip back to their mantra, “Ancient astronaut theorists say yes” instead of supplying any real proof to support their theory. Again, this is nothing new. People have been playing the disinformation game for thousands of years. Take the battle of Kadesh (Qadesh) fought in 1274 BC in modern day Syria. Both the Eqyptian Pharaoh Ramses II and the Hittite Prince Muwatalli II claimed victory. In truth, the battle was so inconclusive the two sides met fifteen years later to sign the first nonaggression pact known to history.

Hopping off that rabbit trail, I’ll get back to the first point I want to make. (My second point will appear in a separate post.) That point is it’s easy to twist history to suit your purposes. Especially in a culture that abandoned learning anything about history years ago. Basically, all anyone has to do is repeat their story long enough and strong enough that people start to believe it. Once that happens, most of the work is done.

The History Channel has done that and done it well. Back in 1995 when the HC started, it quickly became my favorite channel. I watched their history programs nonstop. Some of their programming was great; some not so great. Having a history degree, I knew the difference. The archeologists starring in the questionable programs tried to prove their pet theory with differing degrees of success. I still watched and enjoyed these programs for what they were. Mainly entertainment. However, I didn’t believe most of what I saw because the supporting proof usually wasn’t there when I dug deeper into the information they presented.

While I loved watching the history programs, I watched the UFO and cryptozoology programs gradually bleeding into the history programming as well. Again, the programs were interesting; but, not wholly convincing. Over the years, the history programs started disappearing as reality shows and UFO/UAP themed shows began to dominate the channel. They still do as we’ve gone from a world that viewed aliens and alien abduction with a degree of skepticism to a world where political candidates make government disclosure of UFOs part of their platform. Again, believe what you want to believe just as I do; but, television is a powerful influencer. I’ve learned to be careful about what I see and hear.

Once words and images get in your head and your heart they’re hard to get out.

To illustrate that point, I’ll compare Shakespeare’s well-known villain, MacBeth, as he appears in the play with the real man, Bethad mac Findlaich, Mormaer of Moray and King of Scotland. I bet the images you have in your mind of this character bear very little resemblance to the real man. Again, I’m presenting an oversimplified version of a complex story that will never be fully unraveled. You might wonder why I’m using such an off-the-wall example. It’s because this comparison was the basis of a college paper I wrote for a senior level Shakespeare class I was taking at the time. As limited as the historical record was, and still is, on the real MacBeth, I was surprised by what I discovered both back then and now.

You might be, too.

According to Shakespeare’s portrayal, MacBeth was a treacherous, power hungry tyrant who used murder and supernatural means to seize the throne of Scotland. To accomplish his nefarious desires, Macbeth not only consorted with witches; but he stabbed the elderly King Duncan I in his bed before framing the King’s guards for the crime. MacBeth then had anyone he, or his wife, perceived as threats to his rule slaughtered. That included former allies, their wives, and their children. Lady MacBeth was an equally vile character and a major instigator behind her husband’s bloody deeds.

While I’ll give Shakespeare credit for writing his wickedly good tragedy, he doesn’t get full credit for his characterization of MacBeth. Some of the credit goes to the writers of at least two popular histories circulating at the time: Holinshed’s Chronicles (1577, 1587) and Hector Boece’s Scotorum Historia (1527). Holinshed’s account was written more to please James VI of Scotland, a descendant of Malcolm III, than with any intent to record history accurately. Using legendary sources and romanticizing history to curry favor with the powers that be wasn’t an unusual practice in the past, and it isn’t an unusual practice today. That’s one reason you never accept what you read without doing your research including rigorously vetting your sources.

While there is some supposition in the real MacBeth’s life story, there is a lot we do know from sources like the Annals of Ulster which is generally accepted as being historically accurate. We do know both MacBeth and King Duncan I had legitimate claims to the throne of Alba (Scotland) through their mothers. We also know MacBeth’s father, Findlaech mac Ruaidri, Mormaer of Moray, was killed by his own people again according to The Annals of Ulster.

This is generally taken to mean he was most likely killed by his nephews, Malcolm of Moray and Gillecomgan. Or, possibly, by MacBeth himself. Considering both of Findlaech’s nephews assumed the title of Mormaer back to back after his death, my money is on one or both of them being the murderers. The reason I believe that is MacBeth was around fifteen at the time of Findlaech’s death in 1020. He didn’t have any reason to murder his father for a title he’d eventually get anyway.

Fast forward to 1032 when MacBeth may have been responsible for the death of Gillecomgan the current Mormaer of Moray. If it wasn’t him, the other suspect is Duncan I. Whether MacBeth was guilty or not, he assumed the title of Mormaer of Moray, married Gillecomgan’s widow, Gruoch, and adopted his son, Lulach, as his heir. Considering Gruoch was the granddaugher of Kenneth III, King of Alba (Scotland), marrying her only strengthened MacBeth’s claim to the throne.

None of that sounds like a man who murdered his father to take his title to me. It sounds more like someone who killed his father’s murderer to claim what was rightfully his. All of which happened frequently during the Middle Ages. Again, that’s my take and an oversimplified retelling of a complex situation. I’ll leave it at that

Moving back to Shakespeare’s play and the real MacBeth, he never murdered anyone in their bed. Duncan I (King of Alba) was 39 when he launched an attacked into MacBeth’s lands and died for his trouble. The men of Moray led by MacBeth killed Duncan during the battle at Bothnagowan in August of 1040. MacBeth then assumed the title of King of Alba with no known resistance. He had a relatively peaceful reign that lasted from 1040 to 1057. That doesn’t mean he wasn’t attacked or that he didn’t surrender territory; he did. However, in spite of some turbulence, his reign was stable enough for MacBeth and his wife to make a pilgrimage to Rome in 1050.

I think reading about this pilgrimage made the biggest impression on me. I realized if MacBeth felt confident enough in his rulership to leave Scotland for the six months or so it would have taken him to make a round trip to Rome, he didn’t fear usurpation in a time when usurpation was the name of the game. That indicated to me that he was neither a tyrant nor a weak leader. He had a certain degree of respect among his people. If that wasn’t true, he wouldn’t have gone to Pope Leo IX’s Papal Jubilee and left himself open to a coup.

However, MacBeth’s leadership was eventually challenged, as it had to be. That challenger was Malcolm Canmore (Malcolm III), one of Duncan’s sons, exactly as you’d expect. And, exactly as you’d expect in that turbulent time, MacBeth’s kingship ended as it began. On a battlefield. In 1057, MacBeth was killed at the Battle of Lumphanan by the future King Malcolm III. Lulach succeeded his stepfather as King of Alba for a few months before he died in battle against Malcolm who assumed the throne as Malcolm III in 1058.

From what I discovered during my past and present research, the real MacBeth was considered anything but a tyrant according to near contemporary sources. The Duan Albanach, a version of which was recorded during the reign of Malcolm III, refers to MacBeth as “Mac Bethad the renowned.” Strengthening the case that MacBeth was a respected leader is the fact he was buried on Iona where only the rightful Kings of Scotland were buried.

Wrapping this up, I’m going to make a fairly sweeping statement. Whether I’m right or I’m wrong, I think most people who know who MacBeth was believe Shakespeare’s version. That the man was a vile, blood thirsty murderer willing to slay anyone standing in his way. Even innocent women and children. While MacBeth was no angel, he wasn’t that character. That description fits his relative Malcolm II better in my opinion. In a time when the kingship usually went from brother to brother, Malcolm II insured the kingship went from him to his grandson (he had no sons, only daughters) by killing off as many rival claimants as he could. Somehow, he missed MacBeth.

So, in conclusion, from the evidence available, I believe MacBeth was a man of his time. Although he was the King of Scotland, he wasn’t the only king in Scotland in the 11th century. Nor was he the only man with a legitimate claim to the throne of Scotland. There were several players waiting in the wings to seize his throne, legitimate and not. The raw truth is most of the Kings of Scotland at this time didn’t die in their sleep. They were murdered, assassinated, or killed on the battlefield. That’s just a fact of life. Most warriors lived by the sword and they died by the sword. The real MacBeth was definitely a warrior.

As nutty as this post is in some respects, I believe I’ve made the point that it’s fairly easy to rewrite history of every kind. It always has been. Even in the days of cuneiform and hieroglyphs. If that’s true, and it is, I hope you realize how easy it is to do just that in a time when technology and social media rule the day.

Until next time,

Calla