When I can do Nothing Else, I Can Write.

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When I was an undergrad student at SUNY New Paltz my major was English. My degree required six credits of writing courses and I took the opportunity to enroll in creative writing classes. I learned a method of writing called “stream of consciousness”. The technique, defined my Masterclass.com as such

“Stream of consciousness writing refers to a narrative technique where the thoughts and emotions of a narrator or character are written out such that a reader can track the fluid mental state of these characters” (Masterclass, 2019) 

Essentially, a fancy way of freewriting. Our professors would encourage us to use the technique when we were stuck on our writing pieces. “Write what comes to mind. Let the emotions flow naturally” With all the pent up frustration built up over the past few days, I decided to just write. I owe them that much.

A Most Peculiar Dream

Where do I start? When does it end? My voice, silent, my prayers unspoken, my Bible untouched. Lord forgive me. Forgive us. We failed. We continue to fail you, to break your heart. What’s one to do? You tell us to turn the other cheek and our skin has been slapped raw by racism, oppression and violence. The blood. So much blood. So little air. I hide in your fortress, yet the cries of the suffering overpower my ears. I see George Floyd, his eyes bulging oxygen swiftly leaving his body like leaves being swept up by a powerful Autumn wind. He looks at me and cries “help”. I look at the man with a knee to his throat. He eyes me, reaches behind him…

BANG!

I jolt up from my sleep. A nightmare. Yes. Has to be. Then I hear a gasp beside me. I turn and like my brother George, the air rushes out of my lungs. Breonna. Blood soaks through the blue fabric of her EMT uniform. Her eyes. Blank. I can’t tell if she looking at me or past me. I reach for her but she falls back. I try to grab her and her clammy hands grab my arm. We both fall.

I slam down on concrete. My ribs sting from the impact and gravel embeds in my palms. A shadow envelops me and I look up. A tall, African-American male stands over me.

“Are you alright?” He asks. He frowns and bends down so he can meet me at eye level. His eyes are the color of freshly ground coffee beans.

“Where-Where am I?” I stutter. What’s happening?

He places a hand on my shoulder. “Hey, let me help. It’s alright, don’t be afraid” He holds out his hand. I take it. It’s ice cold.

We walk and I glance at the young man. He smiles back.

“What’s your name?” I ask.

“Ahmaud”.

I stop.

“What?”

He stops in besides me. His smile is gone.

I can’t breathe.

“Run”. I gasp.

“What?”

“Run!”

I grab his hand. His palms have grown colder. Almost wax like. An engine revs behind us. Headlights.

I take off. We run and run and then BANG!

I fall back to the ground.

I wake up.

I see Ahmaud. I see Breonna. I see George. I see Tamir. I see Trayvon. I see Sandra. I see Michael. I see Alton. I see Eric. I see Philando. I see Amadou. I see Sean. I see Oscar. I see Rekia. I see Botham Jean. I see Aiyana. I see Emmett.

I’m stand up. I drift towards them.

I’m sorry I say.

Someone hands me a book. It’s black with Gold lettering on the spine. I recognize the title.

“Then fight back” they say.

I sit up. Silence. I’m back in my room.

I pick up my Bible. Time to read the battle plan.

(Written in honor of those we’ve lost to violence, bigotry, fear and hatred)

I John 1:7 Beloved, let us love one another, for love is from God, and whoever loves has been born of God and knows God. Anyone who does not love does not know God, because God is love.” (NIV Version)

When Words Fail

When Words Fail 

“Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness. For we do not know what to pray for as we ought, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with with groanings too deep for words” (Romans 8:26).

Imagine a writer without words to write. 

After a month long silence, my brain has finally transmitted the words which my fingertips are typing at this very moment. Encamped in my messy room for the foreseeable future, I thought I would be able to find the words to comfort myself and others around me. 

I came up empty. 

If you turn on the TV to any news station or scroll through dozens of posts through Facebook all you hear is news about the Covid-19 virus. The deaths. Thousands infected each day. Over crowded hospitals. Loved ones having to say goodbye through window panes or walkie talkies. 

Sometimes there are no words. 

So I turned to God’s word. Since April is officially National Poetry Month, I focused my Bible study on the book of Psalm. Psalm is primarily written by David, king of Israel, along with passages written by Solomon and Moses. Through the chaos unleashed by the Covid-19 virus, Psalm provided a tranquil oasis of God’s love, deliverance and goodness. Two particular scriptures stand out during the grueling progression of our new reality. 

  1. “But for me it is good to be near God; 

  I have made the  God my refuge, 

That I may tell of all your works” 

  (Psalm 73:28, ESV) 

  1. “He is not afraid of bad news;

His heart is firm, trusting in the Lord 

His heart is steady ; he will not be afraid,

(Psalm 112: 7-8a ESV) 

The above scriptures inscribed into my  heart as I battled with the uncertainty and anxiety from the new normal everyone is living with. Writing about goodness can feel as though I’m mocking the people who are suffering physically, mentally, emotionally, economically and spiritually. Why should someone speak on the goodness of God when it seems nothing good is happening anywhere?  

What I do know is God calls his children to be his witnesses. We may not erase the pain of our current circumstance, but we can share where our hope comes from. As our “new normal” continues, I am encouraged by stories of children singing to their elderly neighbors while maintaining a safe distance. I smile when I read an article of a 91 year old woman with a preexisting health condition recovering from Covid-19. 

I rejoice at the miracle that happened in my own family. 

For those who have been impacted by COVID-19 please know you are constantly being prayed for and lifted up to God. Sometimes words are just words, so I encourage my readers to reach out to me or people they trust if they need encouragement, support  and love. Let’s remember we are not alone and to take care of each other. 

With all my love

            The Bashful Butterfly  

The Importance of the Yourstory

toni morrison
Photo Courtesy of Vanityfair.com

If there’s a book that you want to read, but it hasn’t been written yet, then you must write it.-Toni Morrison

As we move into March (Woo hoo for spring time!) I am in awe of how time speeds past us faster than the Road Runner (and like Wile E. Coyote, catches us off guard and knocks us on our bum). I’m grateful to share my adventures, musings and confessions  with you. Let the sharing continue! 

One of my favorite pastimes is going to the movies; winter, spring, summer and fall. I stroll into the lobby of a movie theater (shout out to AMC Theaters) and am greeted by the aroma of buttery popcorn. After I purchase the salty, buttery goodness, I eagerly enter the subdued lighted room which will transport me to another world for the next two hours. Since I possess a short attention span, movies provide the perfect voyage to new worlds, complex characters and universal themes such as love, family, adversity, fate, and dozens of other themes. The craft of storytelling is an important part of film.  With every film I see, I try to absorb the message the author is sending to the audience. 

The last movie I saw was The Photograph, starring Issa Rae, Lakeith Stanfield, Y’lan Noel and Chante Adams. This post isn’t a review of the movie per se, however I definitely recommend going to see the film. With a predominantly African American cast, The Photograph tells the story about a young woman named Mae who recently lost her mother  to cancer. An art curator at Queens Museum, Mae meets a young man named Michael who works as a photographer. Mae’s mother, Christina, was a famous photographer who came from the countryside of Louisiana to pursue her passion for photography. Michael wants to do a profile of Christina’s photograph collection for the newspaper he works for and Mae becomes the platform for his research. The two meet at a gala sponsored by the Queens Museum, develop a relationship, fall in love, and, well, I’ll let you see for yourselves. 

Image result for the photograph movie poster issa rae
Photo Courtesy of Flickeringmyth.com

What I appreciated about The Photograph came from the universal themes of discovering your past, love, following your dreams, and longing for connection. Christina, the dreamer (Mae’s mother), falls in love with Isaac, a fisherman from Louisiana. Isaac wants stability and to build a life with Christina. Christina wants freedom to pursue her passion. Her steeled concentration of her passion led to her distant relationship with Mae. Mae tries to revisit that lost connection with the support of Michael (who struggles to maintain connection). 

Each scene of the film presents snapshots of the characters’ lives. One of the strongest elements of the film is the lighting and cinematography;the way the camera zooms in on Mae through Michaels’s point of view (love at first sight), the brightness of the countryside of Louisiana, the calm blue hues during a storm (this is where I caution parents with children under 13) while Michael and Mae make love for the first time. 

If you are looking for an action packed romp, The Photograph is definitely not the film. The subtleness of each scene is the movie’s core strength. More importantly, the film told a story with two African-American leads which didn’t involve drugs, gang violence, racism, poverty, or slavery. The topics listed are a part of the African-American experience, but that can be said for whites, Asian Americans , Latinx American, and Native Americans. 

I remember numerous conversations with my friend *Macy about how lucky young people of color are to have young adult authors such as Tomi Adeyemi, Nicola Yoon, Jenny Han, Elizabeth Acevedo, and Jason Reynolds to tell stories about youth who look like us.   Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’s Ted Talk, “The Danger of a Single Story” highlights how stereotypical storytelling can harm a group of people (her Ted Talk is amazing and one I will be covering her talk in a future blog post). I remember growing up and constantly reading stories about young African-Americans escaping slavery, dealing with gangs, or overcoming racism in the Civil Rights Era. 

Yes, those stories need to be told as they are an integral part of African-American history.  However, I could have used stories about powerful young black girl wizards, warriors, scientists, and superheroes. The reason I reclaimed my love for storytelling is because I aim to write the stories that were missing from my bookshelves. 

I am also a Christian who loves God and one of my goals is to write young adult Christian fiction. Oftentimes, I’ve observed the media portrayal of christians, particularly in America, as haughty, judgmental and hypocritical. When I write, I know I have the power to share my story, my testimony while showing the power, saving and redeeming love of Christ Jesus. God himself is a storyteller! The Bible is a true story of God’s relationship with mankind.  Genesis 1:3 read “And God said, ‘Let there be light’, and there was light” (NIV) . God used words to create us! Psalms 139:16 reads “Your eyes saw my unformed body; all the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be” (NIV). God writes the story of our lives, creates us and sends us off on an adventure to share His love. What a story to be a part of! 

Whether you’re Christian, African-American, white, Latinx, Asian, Native American, male, female, Differently Abled, or Klingon, we each have our own unique stories. Our stories can be powerful and engaging narratives that make a positive impact on our fellow humans. 

Now tell me, what’s Yourstory? 

Signed 

The Bashful Butterfly   

I was able to visit one of the locations in the film The Photograph. Taken by myself, Feb 20, 2020

A Teacher’s New York City Staycation

View from Central Park

“The heart of man plans his way, but the Lord establishes his steps.” 

-Proverbs 16:9

One of the perks of being a public school teacher comes from the frequent (or infrequent, depending on the attitude of the educator) breaks that come along during the school year. In New York City we are blessed with both a December break and mid February break (and if you’re a high school teacher you have a Regents week TWICE in January and June. No students for the win). Oftentimes I daydream of traversing across the globe to far off lands, mingling with the local folk, exploring ancient cities and then returning with tales of my adventures. 

Until I look at my bank account.  

The reality of my post Christmas holiday paycheck burst into the door of my travel dreams with a “not so fast sweetheart”. I remember there are spring and summer breaks to consider. Although we teachers are gifted with various breaks throughout the year, the breaks coincide with when EVERYONE ELSE has a break. Airline prices are more expensive during the summer and as a new teacher I do not want to risk my “sick days” disguise to be blown over an accidental Facebook post of me living it up in Jamaica in the middle of March. 

So what do you do when you are bitten by the travel bug, but need an affordable alternative to the hundreds of dollars traveling cross country or cross continent. 

*Cues drumroll* 

Staycation!  

During the week of Washington’s birthday, I decided to discover (and rediscover) places in New York City. I am blessed to call NYC home and with all the marvelous experiences at my fingertips, why not take advantage? Here were some highlights from my staycation on the Big Apple

  1. Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum & American Museum of Natural History
American Museum of Natural History

3. Greenpoint, Brooklyn 

4. Flushing Meadows Park-Queens, New York 

The photos depict the eclectic mixture of what New York City has to offer. The Guggenheim Museum and American Museum of Natural History are located in what is dubbed “Museum Mile”. Museum Mile stretches along 5th avenue, between 110th and 82nd streets (you’ll have to travel to the west side of Manhattan to get to the Natural History Museum, specifically West 80 street and Amsterdam).  The museums have incredible collections of paintings, sculptures, artifacts and Dinosaur bones! (where are all my Jurassic Park fans at?) 

If you’re looking to escape the inevitable frenetic energy of Manhattan, then the boroughs of Queens and Brooklyn have their own unique vibe. I visited Greenpoint, Brooklyn, located in the Northern part of the borough (G train). There I savored  a fresh, sugary, red velvet donut at Peter Pan’s Donuts and ate a classic new york slice of pizza at the famed Paulie Gee’s. If you want authentic Asian cuisine, head to Flushing New York (located in Queens) to feast on dumplings, pork buns, and Peking duck. After, walk off those calories at Flushing Meadows Park, home of the 1939 and 1964 World Fairs. 

By the time the week was over my sense of wanderlust was quenched. I’d encourage everyone to stop and explore your surrounding area. There are  wonders all around us as long as we take the time to seek out our own unique adventure. 

Please excuse me while I plan my next one. 

Signed

The Bashful Butterfly 

Thankful Thursday (Finding Gratitude in the Everyday and Everyday Challenges)

Thankful Thursday (Finding Gratitude in the Everyday and Everyday Challenges)  

“Rejoice always, pray continually, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus” (1 Thessalonians 5:16-18) 

Have you ever had one of those weeks you thought was going to be amazing, but turned out to be a total dud?  

The week began promising; I dubbed it the “week of the five Fridays”. Everyday leading up to the President’s week/February break (perks of being a public school teacher) was going to be Friday , I bought tickets to see Dear Evan Hansen on Tuesday (The play should be required viewing for EVERYONE, but more on Mr. Hansen in another post) and then 10 whole days of lounging, reading, museum hopping and movie binging. 

Then a student sprayed pepper spray in the hallways. Then my earpods were stolen. And my charger. And my portable charger. And $20. 

The week seemed determined to rattle and sink my spirits. By today my mind, body and spirit became depleted of joy and replaced by discouragement. I walked around foggy, listless, almost apparition like. I became angry at the student who stole my belongings. Angry at myself for putting myself in the position to have my belongings stolen. I called myself stupid, careless, irreresponsible and a whole slew of self-depricating terms. 

I neglected praying to God or reading His word. I was too busy brooding about how unfair the week treated me. 

Thank God for sisters in Christ. 

When I spoke with my spiritual mentor she reminded me to continue the daily practice we established at the beginning of 2020: Write down 5 things you’re grateful for. 

Gratitude has a way of reshaping our mindset. The official definition from Merriam Webster’s Dictionary defines gratitude as “the state of being grateful”. Gratitude becomes a decision. I could lament on my week or I could obey God and give thanks in ALL circumstances. Praise the Lord I was to come up with 10 things I was grateful for. I would love to share my “Top Ten Things Leah Is Grateful for (Right now) 

  1. Love of Christ 
  2. The word of God 
  3. Quiet times with God
  4. My Parents and brother 
  5. My sisters in Christ 
  6. Two more days until winter break! 
  7. Payday
  8. Seeing Dear Evan Hansen on broadway 
  9. The smoothie I had for Breakfast 
  10. A renewed joy of writing! 

Wow! I feel better already. Life can be a bummer, but that’s why God gives reminders throughout the day of his goodness. A smile from a stranger. A student telling you that you are the most relatable teacher in the school. A piping bowl of spaghetti. A warm house. A bed.  

Although the week started off crummy, I have the choice to walk in gratitude and praise God for the blessings that go beyond the material. When I’m tempted to wallow, I know God gives me the choice to choose joy. Peace. Gratitude.   

I would definitely recommend writing down at least one thing you’re grateful for each day. By doing so, you’ll continue to see God’s Grace each day. I certainly do. 

Signed
The Bashful Butterfly. 

I Published My First Blog Post! (Now What?)

“A dream doesn’t become doesn’t become reality through magic; it takes sweat, determination and hard work” 

~ Colin Powell 

Today moved slower than a sloth. I eagerly waited for the end of the day, raced to catch the bus home, sprinted up the stairs to my apartment, booted up my laptop and created a new document. Fresh off the thrill of launching my blog, ideas sped walked back and forth like commuters at Grand Central Terminal. Words ready to find a home on a new blog post. The momentum  revved up and here I am! 

Yet, I was here before. In my last post, I mentioned The Bashful Butterfly is my third attempt at blogging. Both times, I began afresh, surrounded by the expectation of a flourishing writing portfolio. I began as a  twenty-something Millennial woman navigating post graduate life. I was ready and I was a dreamer. The combination was enough, right?

Not quite. 

After two or three posts my progress halted. Disappointment snuck through my ego when I didn’t receive the views or comments I hoped for. I expected to go “viral” or thousands of reshares for one post. I didn’t create a writing schedule. I figured if I “felt like it” I’d post. The momentum faded and so did my passion for writing. I stopped writing for years (sans the yearly “New Year’s Resolution” list). I stopped (or never started) putting in the effort or building my writer’s portfolio. I wanted the fruit without the labor. 

With all creative pursuits, time, patience, and consistency are key. When we have a gift God has blessed us with, he entrust us to nurture the gift. Back in the book of Genesis, the Word says “ The Lord God took the man and put him in the garden to work it and take care of it” (Genesis 2:15)  

What does the verse have to do with writing? Well, a blog is like a garden. I have to work and take care of it. Key word: Work. I’m not a gardener, but I can guess gardens take time to care for. There’s seeding, putting down fertilizer, watering, checking, and waiting. Yes, the fragrance of a fresh new writing project is tantalizing. However, if I want to progress as a writer, well, I have to write. I have to toil in the garden, pull weeds (aka pesky sentence fragments, dangling modifiers, and run on sentences) and wait patiently for the buds to blossom. 

So I came up with three practicals for a novice writer/blogger.

  1. Maintain Consistency  

          When I started my new blog, I wanted to establish a consistent writing schedule. In the past, I would write when “inspiration sparked”. Well, sometimes inspiration takes a holiday on the beach and you’re left with your own grind to help you through your writing. I decided on a bi-monthly writing schedule (posting twice a month, just like a payday!) and post between Thursday and Sunday (Thursdays have been the reigning champ so far). When I’m consistent with posting, my readers know when to expect the next post and I hold myself accountable to a deadline. 

  1.  Ask for feedback    

      I teach 9th grade English and our school culture values feedback. As long as they are respectful, I encourage my students to think critically about the work of their peers and provide concrete next steps for growth. I am blessed to have writers who I admire and who are experienced in their craft. Asking for feedback on your  grammar, content, word choices, or sentence structure helps you see your work through a different perspective. 

  1. Apply the feedback 

      Oftentimes, I’ll ask for feedback on a project, smile, say “thanks” and then toss the feedback into the crevices of my brain. Or I’ll get defensive, scoff and think “well, they just don’t understand my creative genius”. If people take the time to read over my work, pick out what needs to be improved or expanded, then their time means they are invested in my development as a writer. My job as a student of the craft is to listen and apply the feedback given. 

Bonus: Enjoy the process 

With every endeavor the process will be a combination of joy, frustration, excitement, hair pulling, crying and saying “I got this!”. I thank God for the gift of words and the power words have to encourage! Will I get frustrated? Probably. Will I procrastinate? Most definitely. Will I always have perfect prose? Absolutely not! But I’m writing. And I love it!  

I want to thank all of you who took the time to read my first blog post! I am glad to let you into my zany world! 

Stay blessed! 

Signed 

The Bashful Butterfly

Introducing The Bashful Butterfly

“Everything negative — pressure, challenges — is all an opportunity for me to rise.” _Kobe Bryant  

I was unsure  how to begin my first blogging post on “The Bashful Butterfly”. I sat staring at a blank google document trying to come up with a snappy, witty opening line. Dozens of ideas raced through my head and but did not transfer to my keyboard. One of my goals for 2020 is to regularly post on a blog. “The Bashful Butterfly” will be my 3rd attempt at blogging. I posted to my previous blogs sporadically; years went by without a post. Part of the long stretches stemmed from changing life circumstances, disinterest in writing, low self-confidence and the pesky comparison bug that has spread throughout the 2010s. 

I read blogs from influencers who amassed thousands of followers. I saw pristine pictures accompanying  poignant prose. I thought to myself, “No one wants to hear what I have to say” or “I can’t write like (insert blogger name)”. I spent years daydreaming of the stories, personal anecdotes and random musings I wanted to put out on the blogging sphere. I became trapped in the labyrinth of unrealized dreams of my “writer life”. Jet setting across the world, writing about my experiences seeing world wonders, snapping pictures of myself in front of the Great Pyramids, the Serengenti, or in the middle of jostling energy of Tokyo.  

Then somewhere in my mid to late twenties, I abandoned my aspirations of starting the writer’s journey. Ages 23-27 were a blur of moves to cities in the southern United States, hopping from job to job, firings from jobs, and a life in genuine disarray. 

I decided I was exhausted of the zig-zag my life manifested into. If writing wasn’t my destiny, then I needed to be an adult. No more fantasizing about living the life of a scribe. I needed a career. Security. Income. Health insurance. 

    I became a ninth grade English teacher. 

   Teaching provides me with the security and an honorable profession. I am able to share my love of literature and writing with spunky fourteen year olds (although my enthusiasm often does not transfer to them). Yet, I feel a tug, a call to share my story.  The excitement of writing never left me. I wake up with my heart longing to begin the day with a fresh document on Microsoft word. Instead, I grab my laptop I use for school, folders with ungraded student work (due to my penchant for procrastination ), and lesson plans. My brain nods in approval, “finally, she’s making wise choices”. My heart says “But, why does she feel a pit in her stomach each morning she walks out her apartment?” The brain says “She needs health insurance”. The heart retorts “She needs to write”. 

And thus here I am. Here to take you on the zany adventures (which mostly take place my noggin) of a socially awkward thirty year old Christian woman. The more I type, the more my mind floods with anecdotes of growing up with a autistic brother, being bullied from grade school until I graduated high school, being raised by introverted, socially awkward parents, life with generalized anxiety disorder, depression, and life as a  teacher. 

Oh, did I mention I was a Christian, aka a disciple of the awesome Jesus Christ? 

If I want to be a writer, then I need to write. No more excuses. No more comparisons. No more doubts. No more succumbing the pesky procrastination bug.  

I have to write, because if I don’t, then I have neglected to use the gift God has blessed me with. The apostle Peter was on his “A” game when he said in I Peter 4:10 “As each has received a gift, use it to serve one another, as good stewards of God’s varied grace”. 

My hope is for my words to encourage young women who walk through life invisible. Who feel like no one sees them or they have no place in God’s kingdom. My words are for women who lived most of their lives blending in to walls, who were passed by unnoticed, longed for friendship yet were too timid and insecure to pursue it. 

2020 has started off tumultuous. Wildfires, earthquakes, deadly viruses and the deaths of cultural icons. If there was ever a time to start grinding on our dreams, the time is now. 

Thank you all who have read and I am thrilled to share my voyage with everyone who reads “The Bashful Butterfly”. Maybe you’ll laugh (Oh, what wit she has!) . Maybe you’ll tear up (Oh, this touches my soul!) or maybe you’ll scratch your head (what the heck was this girl thinking when she wrote this post??). 

Whichever thought crosses your mind, I am grateful for. 

Stay blessed folks. 

Signed, 

The Bashful Butterfly