Pluck’s Blog

The first week of my blog tour is over. Sitting in front of a hotel window overlooking Lake George in the Adirondacks I have some time to reflect on how it went. At the end of Day 1 Deena of A Survivor’s Thoughts on Life emailed me asking me if it turned out okay and expressing the hope that my other stops would turn out better. I replied:

I think the blog stop worked out fine. It gained some exposure for both of us. I know several people read the post even if they didn’t write comments. Some people emailed me privately. One has asked me to write a book with him on friendship. You cannot tell right away how successful a marketing campaign is or isn’t. Some books sold.

Book marketing is hard work. I had to take time to read my hosts’ blogs and write a post for them to use on their blog. My hosts read my book, wrote a review and helped moderate the comments. During the blog stop I monitored comments and responded to readers as close to real time as possible. I also twittered about it motivating people to read the posts and comment. I offered the incentive of a drawing for a free book. Mary Morgan won the drawing for re-tweeting the announcement and Cat M won for writing a comment.

Day One of the tour I stopped at Aida Calder’s Forgetting the Former Things and at Deena’s A Survivor’s Thoughts on Life. Both women posted reviews of my book on their blogs. I then posted my reaction. Several women followed me at Forgetting the Former Things, commented and retweeted my messages about the virtual book tour. Deena asked me questions throughout the day and I responded.

My third blog stop was at The Apostle Wive’s Club. A few women who had commented at Forgetting the Former Things followed me there. Before “meeting” the owner of the blog I had never given any thought of how the Catholic Church responded to priests who broke their celibacy vow and married. Their reaction appears hypocritical. Over the past decades the Catholic Church has covered up sexual abuse and reassigned offending priests. Why are they so forgiving of pedophiles but not of priests who fall in love and marry?

The fourth tour was at Book Hookup where Donna Sundblad asked me to write about what inspired Not of My Making. Read The Healing Journey

The blog tour has gotten me out of my comfort zone and I have “met” several interesting people. That has been one of the unplanned benefits of book marketing. Immediately following my de-churchings I became mildly agoraphobic and withdrew into myself. Book marketing forced me to be assertive and outgoing. I wasn’t going to sell many books if I withdrew into the safety of my home.

If you missed the blog stops you can still read the posts about Not of My Making, spiritual abuse, friendship and book writing. They are located at:

Forgetting the Former Things

Haunted by the Ghosts of Spiritual Abuse

Aida Calder’s Review of Not of My Making

A Survivor’s Thoughts on Life:

Interview with Margaret W Jones, Ph.D.

Is Shunning a Form of Emotional Abuse

Deena’s Review of Not of My Making

Not of My Makng, Part 2

Not of My Making, Part 1

Not of My Making, Initial Reaction to Book

I Met Someone Today – Divine Appointment?

The Apostles Wives Club:

Margaret Answers Your Questions

Book Hookup:

What Inspired Not of My Making?

Week Two of the Tour will start May 2^nd. Please join me. The schedule is:

Now that I have poured out my heart and soul into writing and producing Not of My Making, Bullying, Scapegoating and Misconduct I needed to get the word out that my book is available. Following advice gleaned from books and the internet I submitted my book for review and was pleased to receive outstanding reviews from Midwest Book Reviews, TCM Reviews and Lightword Reviews. I even received an unsolicited review from Joanne Carnevale of A Reader and Writer Reviews. I was ecstatic. I was surely going to succeed and sell all the books I printed. But just as I was riding the wave of my success an individual who hasn’t read my book posted a comment to Midwest’s review of my book challenging their credibility and implying either I or Pluck Press paid for the review. Neither of which is true.

Now why would someone out of the hundreds of books Midwest reviews pick on the review of my book to disparage? Why not go directly to the reviewers profile page and challenge her directly? Were they somehow connected to the antagonists I wrote about in Not of My Making? I checked their profiles. One person had his or her name as Ghost, another just an initial and last name. They provided so little information about themselves that it has not been possible to find out anything more about them.

I was uncertain how to handle it. I wondered what kind of impact if any it would have on book sales. I decided to explain Midwest Book Reviews policies and inform Ghost and the others that I had not paid and will never pay to have my book reviewed. They always had a come back. I found myself talking about the credibility of Midwest Book Reviews and a reviewer who I never met instead of about bullying in churches.

I didn’t want to be arguing about the veracity of book reviews. The publishing industry established its customs and procedures long before I came along. I have to use them to my best advantage to accomplish my own goal. I want to share my story and make people aware of adult bullying in churches. I love church and want to help make it a safe place for all.

Read my book and judge for yourself. I invite you to participate in the discussion about bullying in schools, work and churches. Have you ever been bullied? Have you bullied someone? Did you watch someone get bullied? If so, did you intervene or did you do nothing? Why did you do what you did? How can we decrease bullying and help others find a place within the communities to which we belong?

The weekends have been busy. Too busy. So when Susan Epstein announced on Twitter she and her co-authors would be signing their book the cat who lost its meow at the Sun Up Gallery on Saturday and Sunday I hesitated. I recognized it could be useful to meet another author and see how successful the book event was. However, I had been on the go for days and I really needed to get some rest.

I was still undecided when I sat down at my computer and squeezed in one last task before going to bed Saturday night. As part of my marketing plan for my book, Not of My Making, I searched Facebook for classmates from my high school. I came up with a couple of dozen names. I didn’t recognize any of them. I pulled my yearbook off the shelf and looked up the men. The faces were familiar but I didn’t remember a thing about them. The women were more difficult. Facebook didn’t list their maiden names. So I sent them all invitations to join me on Facebook and went to bed.

In the morning among several replies I found “Your memory is better than mine. Who did you hang out with?”

Who did I hang out with? No one. Absolutely no one. No one would be caught dead being seen with me. I was a reject. At best I was ignored. At worst I was teased and bullied. There were a few kids who were kind and who spoke to me occasionally. But no one was openly my friend.

“Who did you hang out with?”

I took a deep breath and typed in the names of a few classmates. Maybe this will convince her I am really a former classmate.

Within minutes I had a reply. “Sorry about the last post.” She and several other women sent me their maiden names. With my yearbook on my lap I linked up the names with the faces. As I turned the pages my stomach churned and I felt confused. Who were the bullies? I couldn’t remember. Kids either teased me or stood silently by while I was demeaned. There were a handful of kids who were kind. I do remember them:Hattie, Gioimia, Steve, and Rose. But the names in front of me I didn’t remember. Faces were familiar but there are no memories to go along with them.

“Mom.” My daughter was standing at the door to my study. “I’m ready.”

“Okay.” I put on my coat and picked up my bag. Driving to church I told my daughter about Susan Epstein’s book signing.

“Why don’t you want to go?” she asked.

“I’m tired and need some rest.”

She sighed. “Me, too, but it could be a good connection.”

During the church service I felt tears welling up. I just wanted to stay home where I was safe. Worried I was going to start weeping I swallowed and prayed. A peace descended over me. I would make the drive to Westerly to meet my Twitter friend.

After the church service, I dropped my daughter off at our house and drove to the Sun Up Gallery alone. I plugged in my iPod and listened to Christmas carols as I cruised south on Interstate 95. I felt safe.

My decision to go to the book signing turned out to be a good one. Sun Up Gallery was a lovely upscale gift shop. There was a guitarist playing holiday songs. The owner of a local winery was handing out free samples. I found Susan with her co-authors, Antoinette and Richard in the next room. After I introduced myself Susan became excited, “This is my first Tweetmeet.”

“Mine, too,” I said as we hugged each other.

Richard handed me their book, the cat who lost its meow. The cover was a photo of the artist cloth that inspired the story. It had the same texture. I ran my hand over it. Richard proudly showed me the actual cloth Susan and Antoinette had found on the beach. I skimmed their book as we talked. Proceeds from the sale of their bookmarks were going to National Association to PROTECT Children. It became obvious we had a lot in common. I suspected I was not the only survivor turned thriver in the room.

I read the cat who lost its meow when I returned home. I read while I made mashed potatoes for Sunday’s night dinner. At first, I didn’t get it. Did I miss something? Perhaps my fatigue prevented me from giving it the attention it deserved. Monday morning I re-read it.

Oh! I get it now. I’m a cat that’s lost its meow. Abused, neglected, abandoned and unloved I lost my meow. With God’s grace I got mine back through writing and publishing my own story. I have found love and acceptance with my husband and children. In my current church I have found people who strive to do what God has asked them to.

the cat who lost its meow can be appreciated on many levels by adults and children. It was lovingly crafted by three beautiful and caring individuals. I will certainly read it to the children I work with in my therapy practice. When my grandson is old enough to understand, I will read it to him, too.

I have been asked if I enjoyed writing, Not of My Making. Yes and no. Writing Not of My Making was a lifeboat that I clung to. My very survival depended on it. My former friends had done everything they could to prevent me from telling my story to others. While they were successful within our church community, they couldn’t prevent me from talking to others outside of church nor keep me from writing a book about it. The First Amendment of the United States Constitution protects my right to report the facts and express my opinion. I developed a deeper appreciation for freedom of speech and a greater awareness that without the First Amendment those with more power would silence those weaker and more vulnerable themselves.
In order to write Not of My Making I rearranged my schedule so I would have four hours on Monday mornings to focus on the task. When I first started writing the book I would type until flooded with anxiety. I would then spend the rest of the time curled up on my couch in a fetal position. Eventually as I wrote and processed the events leading to my dechurchings the anxiety became less crippling. I could use the entire four hours plus any other free moment to work on my book.
So the answer to the question is that writing Not of My Making was hard but necessary work. I am glad I did it. The process helped me clarify issues and find my voice. It has also given me a new career. In addition to being a psychologist I am now an author and publisher. I have come full circle. I am now more of myself than I have ever been.

A couple of years ago I was struggling with my memoir, Not of My Making. I knew something was wrong with it. So I read Your Life as Story by Tristine Rainer and used what I learned to revise my book. While I was rewriting my manuscript I learned a local college was offering a four session class on Saturday as part of their continuing education program. With some trepidation I signed up.
Attending the class was a bit of a stretch for me. I had become mildly agoraphobic following my dechurchings. But writing my book was important enough for me to risk joining a class of complete strangers. I decided I would sit in the back of the class removed from everyone. When I arrived I was relieved to find a small lecture hall with desks on risers. I climbed to the top row and took a seat. From that vantage point I could hear and see everyone in the class while remaining isolated. I relaxed a little.
A thin, young woman with black hair entered the room. “Don’t get too comfortable,” she said. “I am going to find a better classroom.” She then left. I hoped she would be unsuccessful. I felt safe where I was. The young woman returned and told us to go upstairs to the room directly above us. I waited for everyone to collect their things and file out before I stood up and followed. The new room appeared smaller. The chairs were arranged in a circle. It would be difficult to be invisible there.
The young woman returned and introduced herself as Hannah R. Goodman. First, she said, we needed to warm up. She asked us all to take off our shoes and stand with our eyes shut. She then led us through a guided meditation. What was I getting myself into, I wondered. I felt uncomfortable. I took some deep breaths. After the meditation Hannah asked us to sit down and write. Several people had trouble with this. “Write what?” someone asked.
“Whatever you want,” she said.
After approximately five minutes, Hannah asked us to share our “warmups.” This wasn’t what I had expected. My heart rate increased. I looked around the room to see if escape was possible. I would have to walk across the room in front of everyone. Hannah said we could pass if we wanted to. I considered this but I was there to learn, wasn’t I? I took a deep breath and read. It wasn’t so bad. Hannah made some positive comments about everyone’s work. Hannah then began talking about writing from the body. I groaned. It sounded like a strange mix of yoga and New Age mumbo jumbo. This is hokey. I won’t be coming back, I thought. But I am not the type to waste my money. I wanted to get everything I was promised. So I returned. During the second class I noticed my writing had improved. Something about Hannah’s enthusiasm and acceptance of everyone’s writing had fostered positive growth. So I completed the class and kept signing up every time it was offered. When the college discontinued their continuing education program I hosted a four session class at my house but there wasn’t enough interest to keep the group going. Several weeks after the class ended I received an email from Hannah announcing the start of Saturday classes at the East Bay Chamber of Commerce in Warren, RI. It was the same distance from my home as the college but in the other direction. I signed up immediately.
WheneverI take a class with Hannah I write more often and my skills improve. Her energetic and provocative style challenges and inspires me. Instead of looking for talent she assumes everyone can learn to write well and everyone has something important to say. I hired Hannah to do a content edit of Not of My Making. One of the first things she noticed was that I hadn’t chosen what voice to write my book in. Parts of the book were written in the detached professional style that had been fostered in graduate school while other parts taken from my journal were more emotional. Hannah encouraged me to write in my own voice and to show not tell. It took me a year and a half to finish the recommended revisions but I now have a book that I am proud of.
Thanks, Hannah. You are a great writer instructor, editor and friend.

Recently my writing instructor asked everyone to reflect on what their rules for writing were. Some of those rules hinder writing while others encourage it. Most of my rules have been helpful.

• 1. Use your journal to vent feelings, process thoughts, practice writing skills etc.
• 2. Never destroy anything you have written in your journal. You can’t predict when you might have a use for it.
• 3. Don’t edit while writing your first draft.
• 4. Record the date and time of each journal entry.
• 5. Don’t worry about who is going to read your journal entry or what you are going to do with it. You can decide that later.
• 6. Always travel with your journal but if you forget it, then use any piece of paper. You can always glue it into your journal later.
• 7. Cross out or scribble or curse if you feel like it.
• 8. Keep writing until you feel satisfied.
• 9. Start your book or piece at the easiest point. You don’t have to start at the beginning. I started Not of My Making in what is now the middle of the book, went back to the beginning and then wrote the end.
• 10. Don’t be afraid to adapt and change with circumstances. Before the birth of my grandson I would have suggested you set a specific time to write each week or day. I would have also said to turn off the television and find a quiet, private place. Now I agree with Hannah, my writing instructor,

“Don’t wait for the perfect moment to write.”

I am now learning to write even when I am watching my grandson or my husband is watching sports or even while I am cooking.

Some final tips: I like to use different color pens for writing assignments, letters, spiritual entries, summaries etc. I also use a highlighter to mark key words and/or I title an entry after I have written it. When I am looking for something specific in my journal it makes it easier to find.

Yesterday afternoon I went to my writing class in Warren, Rhode Island taught by Hannah R. Goodman. We meet in an old mill building that has been converted into retail and office space. The conference room is on the first floor in the center of the building so it has no windows. Lighted with bright fluorescent lights it is like an underground bunker. There are many sounds. People walking overhead. The heat coming on and off. And yesterday there was this creaking. I hadn’t heard that before. What the hell was it?

There are eight people in the class counting myself. We all know each other from previous classes except for Keri. She is new. She drove all the way from Warwick. Now that’s commitment. At the beginning of class, I announced my book, Not of My Making, will be sent to the printer by mid-March. People congratulated me. Somewhere during the following chitchat I said something about wishing the events in the book had never happened. Linda said look at the good that has come out of it. I wrote a book. It is like I had to lose myself to find myself. I have finally emptied myself as Andrew Sung Park wrote in The Wounded Heart of God, from other people’s false projections.

I am feeling fabulous lately. I am sleeping soundly. I am productive. I am growing my practice, learning to market myself and writing better and better. I have a lot to be grateful for. I have a good husband, healthy children and a grandson. I’ve come a long way.

My life has been well lived. It doesn’t matter what my enemies think. I have defied the rules. When all I was supposed to aspire to was popularity, marriage and children I went after and earned my doctorate. I didn’t marry the right man either. I crossed racial lines and married the man that was good for me. After 31 years, we are still in love with each other.

Breaking the rules is better than going along and being nice. During the conflict at my former church when confidences were broken and I protested, I was told it was wrong to be angry. I was also told I wasn’t civil. I appear to have a different definition of civil.

Any way, I wrote Not of My Making about my experiences. Now I am moving forward. I have finally come into my own. I am one hot grandma on rollerblades.