The One Question that Makes Me Tremble

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I have attended many social functions where people ask me about my husband’s work. I never have an issue discussing his paintings because I am so passionate about his art. My husband seems to leak talent and I am always in awe of how graceful he is when completing any task. Mr. Armusik makes everything seem easy – even the hardest and most detailed job.

I have had women gush over my husband and his work. They seem excited as they ask detailed questions about my life with him. They often wonder what it’s like to live with such a man – is he tortured, distant or always creating. Is Mr. Armusik as romantic as his work? I usually laugh at this and suffer the arduous task of censoring myself.

The truth is he is a joy to live with in comparison to me. I am far from a carnival ride. I am moody and self-loathing at my worst and sarcastic and witty at my best. Perhaps I am being a little extreme but you get the point. But in some twisted way, we make sense. After nearly 16 years, I am quite sure we cannot breathe without each other.

After I disappoint the women by telling them that Eric is the perfect man, they ask the dreaded question – “what do you do for a living?” I watch in horror as they pucker their lips or fondle a diamond earring. I sweat as they stare into my eyes with X-ray vision that seems to melt and destroy my soul. My voice is lost and my mouth is dry. But somehow, I muster the nerve to plainly tell them I am a writer.

Then, I quake in my five inch heels. I pray that they will not ask the one question that makes me tremble. But as sure as the sun sets they ask the fucking question – “What do you write?” I feel fuzzy and at times could swear I see spots. I try to quickly think of a simple response but nothing comes to mind. Ordinarily, I am quick on my feet. I can tell you off and hand you your head before you know it’s missing but this question knocks me off balance.

I have stared at the black ceiling as I tried to fall asleep at night and pondered the perfect answer to this question only to be left with nothing. Sometimes, I wish I could just hand those ladies a book and walk away. But in my heart, I know there is an answer. I just wish it didn’t take so long to articulate.

Sometimes, if I feel reckless I just tell them I write Gothic novels. If I want to really make myself seem basic and inane, I tell them I write vampire books. Both of these answers always illicit the same reaction – a nod of the head and then a change of subject.

I always avoid the subject if I can. I find it difficult to simply articulate what I do in a few casual sentences. How do you sum up something so complex without sounding crazy or trite? It’s difficult. If I wrote typical vampire trash or cheesy sci-fi, it’d be easy. I could say that I write about teenage vampires going to a special academy where they engage in gratuitous raunchy sex and deal with basic dilemmas with predictable outcomes. Or, I write children’s books about vampire’s who eat deer and remain chaste until marriage. It’s all the same just packaged different. It’s all unimaginative garbage without developed character’s or story lines.

Years ago when I began working on my novels, I never thought that writing anything with vampires in it would be embarrassing. Sadly, I feel cheap when I mention that vampires are a component to what I do. It seems that people, especially older, mature people, have a tainted view of such subject matter these days. I cannot blame them – I have read some of the crap while waiting in Target for my children to pick out books. I know how manufactured and silly the subject matter has become. And more importantly, I know how saturated the market is with such trash. All of this makes what I do seem trivial without reading my work.

So now, in the comfort of my well-made bed, I will attempt to explicate what I do. I will try to explain why women, who would never pick up this sort of novel, are now my biggest fans. And why men love the series as much as women.

In reality, it’s simple; I am a gifted story teller. I understand the simplicity and complexity of the human condition. When I write, I write from the heart. I abandon all pre-conceived beliefs, rules, or judgments and let the words flow without even one oppressive thought. In my world, I am free. I am emotionally naked and loving. And because I can allow myself the beauty and freedom of perfect truth, I am, in that world, completely honest.

Maybe that honesty is the key to my success. Maybe it is so refreshing and different for this genre that people are sucked in and overwhelmed. And perhaps, this sort of abandonment is what is lacking in most novels today. It seems difficult for people to unwrap themselves. Everyone wants to be packaged and homogenized – I shudder at the thought. And this is the very reason; I will never work with a publisher again.

When I sit down to write, the outcome is dependent on my day and mood. If my children were bad and messy or someone ticked me off, a character in my novel with be the recipient of my wrath. Though I have a general idea how the novel will unfold, I never commit to anything. Rather, I allow it flow, to be organic and pure. I listen to my characters and honor their judgment and desires. Nothing is ever forced or manipulated. I hardly change a damn thing. I may add, but I never change because that act, in my opinion, is unnatural and disingenuous.

I believe this is what makes my work so compelling and adored. I create a real world with real people going through identifiable stuff. I am mindful of the language and emotions expressed because I want the experience to be life changing. I want you to think about it all day and dwell on the last passage or monologue. I want you to become close friends with my characters and expect things from them. I wish for you to be disappointed in them when they fail because you care that much about their well-being. In an intense moment, I want to make you gasp out loud or laugh so hard, your belly aches. And when there is heartache, I want you to cry for them and because of them. And because I am a natural writer, I am well equipped to make you feel things you have forgotten or wish you would never have to feel again. I want to welcome you and then make you feel uncomfortable – even simultaneously. I want you to change your perspective after reading my work. I want you to feel empowered and charged because underneath all the fiction, is a powerful self-help message that is unique to this genre.

I want to entertain and inspire. I want women to acknowledge their potential and personal power and I want men to learn how to love a woman with passion and respect. I want to unify people and join them in the universal struggle of life by illuminating the various struggles we all face but feel are unique to us. Through Nadija, I am able to soothe the fears and feelings that we are alone on this journey. And though there are supernatural elements in my novels, they are primarily about the human condition and our universal struggle to remain joyful and thankful – even in the times of adversity.

A good writer will not make you skip to the sex scenes. A good writer will keep your attention until you arrive there. I am such a writer. And when you have to wait for my next novel, it will be torture because you will miss your friends and lovers because the novels are rich in developed characters, language and insight. They bridge the gap between romance and horror. And though bad and grotesque things happen, they are not horror novels – they are Gothic novels. The difference is that I make death seem pretty even in the wake of disaster. I leave the slasher crap to people without the capability of writing true emotions because I am not interested in such inane literature.

I once had a friend buy my books but admit she was afraid to read them. I was confused. I asked her why she was afraid and she then explained that she was fearful of the horror. I nearly fell over from laughing. I did what I do best and instilled a healthy fear in her that made her pick up the books – it worked. In four days, she read the first two novels and became one of my biggest and most enthusiastic fans. She is so passionate about the work that I felt compelled to have her test read the 3rd book coming out this May. This time, she read Lucifer Rising in a day and a half and took notes. Not bad notes, but notes reflecting her emotions as she read. She told me she did not want to forget her thoughts at those points.

Needless to say, I was humbled and gracious. I was thrilled that I could win my friend over as easily as I have done with hundred’s before her. And the reason was simple; I promise the reader an epic adventure brimming with emotion, laughter and authentic romance. What more can you ask for in one book?

Remember, for a limited time, the first novel in the series, Memoirs of a Gothic Soul is available on Kindle and Nook for 99 cents for the month of April, 2012. Paperback versions of all three novels can be ordered now through rebekaharmusik.com.  There is now no excuse not to join my cult.

Change is Uncomfortable

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I am not the smartest chick in the world. If I were to make that claim, I’d be a fool. However, I am aware that I have an above average IQ, and excellent critical thinking skills. I am also very knowledgeable in things that interest me and a virtually idiot in things that don’t. I hate math.  Therefore, I could care less at excelling in it. In the end, this apathy kept me from a 4.0 grade average.  However, my general apathy concerning such trivial matters, made it easy to swallow.  The truth is, G.P.A’s only matter for a finite amount of time.

What really matters is passion. I was passionate about literature. I was passionate about music and art. I was passionate about faith and the human condition. Perhaps that is what makes me such an authentic and compelling writer – passion for words, and the human spirit.

In college, I used my free time to foster many different relationships. The diversity was a far better teacher than most professors. For me, it was invaluable. The more I delved into the psyche of a person, the more I learned about myself. I learned to enjoy being uncomfortable or challenged because that was when I learned the most. This constant emotional exercise made me an excellent listener and observer. I get people. I understand what makes people tick.

I have a great gift for dissecting people. I know immediately if you are worth perusing as a friend, or an amusement to pass the time. Some people are not deep or interesting enough to entertain more than a few months. People come into our lives, if only briefly, to teach us something.  Some stay longer because they click spiritually and are assisting you on your journey. But sometimes, the universe allows jackass’s in our life to test our resolve. Will we be easily enchanted or influenced? Will we cave under pressure or deceit? Or will we rise to the occasion and stand firm in our beliefs no matter how unpopular? Each person has value despite the hurt or pleasure they bring. It’s learning to see the lessons they inspire that becomes the real bitch.

Sometimes, we wallow in regret. If only we listened, or nurtured that relationship, maybe we’d be better off.  If only we had the clarity to stay strong and follow the more difficult path, we’d be further ahead. Guilt is the unsettling and permanent footprints of regret. And guilt and regret are wicked sisters to entertain because they will suffocate us. It’s better to see the merit of a relationship before we end it on terms that do not serve us.  And it is better to see the errors of your ways before you become a victim to your own stubbornness or stupidity.

I have had the luxury of all these experiences. I have had numerous people come in and out of my life. Some, I miss because we went our separate ways and others; I fantasize about killing when boredom leads to lazy contemplation. But I am not different than most except I see and recognize the value in every relationship. I always ask myself what they came to teach me. Most times, it’s to illuminate a flaw of mine that needs mending and attention, other times, it’s to help me figure something out, and that is the extent of the relationship. Most times, it’s to bring change. Fleeting people, as I like to call them, often promote change or clarity. They will prompt some sort of epiphany that will serve me in decision making in the present or future. Or, they serve as a foreshadowing for what is to come, if I am not prudent enough to remedy a certain flaw or behavior.

Awareness is essential in personal growth. We must employ empathy when in engaging in life because it allows us a more fulfilling experience. If we can see the beauty in differences or exchanges, then we are growing and learning. But if we remain steadfast in being hurtful or hateful, we are murdering the potential for advancement and beauty in our life.

Energy is everything. Energy is what animates us. A shift in one’s awareness can reap awesome rewards. If we attempt to only fraternize with positive, emotionally healthy, and ambitious people, by proxy, we are harnessing that enthusiasm; we are building an impenetrable wall for negativity. Happiness and contentment will always overshadow the harm of crappy energy. It’s the law of the universe not something I’m making up.

Almost a decade ago, I decided I needed to figure out my gifts. I needed to see my empathic side as more of a blessing than a hindrance.  I started to research Reiki and found a woman who has been one of the biggest influences in my life.  For those of you unfamiliar with Reiki, it is the channeling of universal life force – energy.  It is not affiliated with any religion but is easily understood by all faiths.  In my belief, God is energy. He is the strong vibration that we crave – the balance that brings inner peace and harmony. When there is a disconnect, we are spiritually bankrupt and on empty. The Reiki practitioner is nothing more than a conduit for this energy. They lay their hands upon you, and allow the energetic flow to heal and nurture the body and spirit. In a way, it is a spiritual cleansing. It clears the person of all the negative blocks that keeps us from being one with God. I like to think of it as removing junk – the icky particles of crap that creates a dark residue on our soul. This junk can gum up our bodies and eventually, manifest itself into physical ailments. Negative thoughts are acidic, and that acidity destroys the delicate alkaline balance our bodies crave. You remain acidic long enough, something will begin to grow and metastasize.

Carol was my game changer, she was the peace and logic I was searching for and in the end, I went through such a transformation, everyone noticed. Let’s be honest, everyone has issues. At the core of my issues, was an overt problem – a poor self-esteem that was nurtured by jealous girls at an early age. Most times, we carry the crap around like luggage and we being to own it, coddle it and then, when we feel really crappy, we swaddle it and give it attention. All the while, we are painfully aware that we have the inner power to change it but choose to define ourselves by all that bad crap.

Without going into details, I hit a point in my life that I needed to rid myself of all the things that kept me from happiness. In reality, I have it all. A wonderful and ideal marriage, beautiful and healthy children, a gorgeous home, a fantastic family, and the list can go on. But something inside me ached. I wanted to free myself of the pain I caused myself without reason. I am by nature far too self-actualizing. When someone hurts me; I ask myself what I could have done to provoke it. In reality, if more people suffered from this illness, there would be less need for medication and therapy.

When I walked into this woman’s Reiki studio, I did not know what to expect. But what I did know, was that there was such a bright light inside of this woman that I coveted it! This chick was Zen and I wanted that!

Carol’s first lesson made me realize I was the obstacle. This revelation was earth shattering. Was she suggesting that I needed to take responsibility? I wanted to punch her. I was so pissed that she did not want to engage in the “blame game” that I was so accustomed to.  But after some time, I learned to stop pointing fingers. I also began to
understand the special gift’s God gave me. Carol helped facilitate an understanding of how energy affects me more than others and how my sensitivity to energy can make me miserable. After many years, I understand it all. I get it.  Though there were times that I was so mad at Carol for being right, that I wanted to stop seeing her. In the end, I remained brave and determined. I was far too smart and evolved to allow this painful exercise to stunt my spiritual growth. Change is uncomfortable – that, is a fact.

Long story short, I became more interested in energy work. More enthusiastic about ridding myself of negative beliefs and sabotaging my happiness, that I was obsessed. Reiki brought me closer to God, enhanced my spiritual growth and gave me a better appreciation for life. I now see even more beauty in painful transitions because even though they suck, I know the outcome is awesome. In reality, nothing is truly bad, it how we perceive it. If we are intent on dwelling on the pain, we never get to experience the pleasure. Life is really about experience and change – it should never be stagnant and uneventful. Rather than focusing on the negativity in our life, we should use the negativity to instigate a metamorphosis. Had I not had all those bad experiences, I would not be the emotionally charged writer I am today. All the pain was pretty because it shaped me, molded me into this person before you. I am strong, empathetic and understanding. I am responsible and forgiving. And after all these years, I see the beauty of being me. I’m starting to love myself more every day. After all, life is far too short to feel uncomfortable in your own skin.

I wish you all well on your journey. God Bless!

 

 

 

STOP BEING A DAMN VICTIM

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I have had a rather taxing week. And sadly, I still have several days to suffer through before I can wrap it up and call it history. Ordinarily, I prefer to keep my life uncluttered energetically. I only choose to engage with positive people who inspire me, make me laugh or contribute to my growth. This is primarily why I keep my facebook personal page very tight and small.

The truth is I hate facebook. I hate that it gives bored, misdirected, uneducated, vapid fools, a forum to express, oppress and puke their unfounded, unsubstantiated, opinions they deem as fact. It makes me murderous. Facebook needs an enema.

My last blog was spawned by a post one of my facebook “friends” made that offended me deeply. It was a goofy cartoon about the Pope and the song was “Kill the motherfucker”. Now, if I was not Catholic, I would still think this 20 something girl was immature and simple-minded. Some things are just not funny. Some overt displays of stupidity speak volumes about the intellect and meat of a person.

Because I was fond of her boyfriend, I bit my tongue. I just dismissed her as someone not worth knowing. Anyone who continually vomits that sort of hatred is most certainly not someone I want in my home or around my children. But once again, she posted another hateful and immature reference to the Pope. I knew she was baiting me. I knew damn well she read my blog and reads my facebook posts. So this time, I just simple commented, “very immature”. Well, this started the ever bitter cycle known as facebook drama. I assume that people who entertain this sort of exchange do not have jobs, careers or shit to do – I was correct.

Even after I tried to maintain my cool by simply saying that I was offended, it was not enough. She continued to soil my inbox with crazy, belligerent and unintelligent bullshit that I was unable to decipher. I was unsure what the hell her point was other than it was her right to be immature and stupid.

Then, the boyfriend becomes caught in the vortex of this situation. I feel bad for him because he certainly is above the nonsense and terribly aware that his girlfriend is being irrational. But, alas, love clouds even the level headed man’s judgment. He did what I feared he would do, he remained neutral. When people refuse to stand up for what is right, they essentially become a silent advocate for the bad behavior. I suspect, this is the very reason people walk around being douchy. No one calls them out. They are so used to surrounding themselves with people who never challenge them, that they become broken and flustered when people do. Then, instead of seeing the error of their behavior, they dumbly defend it. If my child is wrong, I explain to them the nature of the indiscretion and make them apologize. Apparently, this is a lost art. No one gets the concept of old fashioned humility. It used to build character – something greatly lacking in most people.

After I thought the nonsense was over, she once again messaged me. This time, she said she was sorry she upset me, but she refuses to refrain from posting anti-Catholic/religious crap because she was entitled to her opinion. I deleted her. I was painfully aware at that moment what I was dealing with – a perpetual teenager caught in the drama of their own self-created angst. There was no convincing her that she never once, expressed her opinion but rather used silly cartoons and other manufactured facebook crap to hurt people. I’ll be wicked enough to say, that I never heard one intelligent statement or opinion come out of her. She mainly relies on the ever tiresome “share posting” that makes facebook nearly intolerable at times. I have no idea what sort of events shaped her beliefs. Surly someone that vigilant has something to share? Sometimes the lack of real thought borders on vulgarity.

Then this morning, I wake up and check my messages because I am waiting to hear from a friend who is going through a tough time. I see I have two messages. Apparently, as I relaxed with my husband last night, the drama cyclone continued. The first message was from the girl. I read it with bored amusement. She first went off about how my religion requires me to forgive her and what sort of Catholic would I be if I did not. What sort of example would I be for my faith? For the record, I am paraphrasing, because it took several reads for me to get her point. She also stated that I was a fool for thinking my religion never hurt anyone and that she respects my work and my husband’s work but has no respect for me as a person. She also spelled my husband’s name wrong.

Let me be clear, if someone says that they will not refrain from offending you, how the hell are you to forgive them? Had she apologized and explained she made the post in haste and after great reflection, she understood how hurt we must have been, I would have thanked her for her courage and forgot the incident. I would have been impressed that she was a mature young woman who exercised reason and empathy. But, if there is a cancer in your life, you remove it. Rather than allowing her to anger me, I got rid of her. I have an easy time with this because ephemeral relationships bore me.

After I finished reading her message, I had an instant headache – the painful result of reading inarticulate, painfully excruciating, bullshit designed to be nothing but offensive. I am tired of the hysteria and craziness that even the slightest provocation, causes these types of people. There is always an unvarying performance that I have come to expect from people who are intellectually “stuck”. I only told this girl that I was offended and that she knew Eric and I were Catholic and if she respected us, she’d refrain from continuing it. I never attacked her. I never told her what she believes in has killed people, hurt people, or was plain stupid. I never post anything offensive because I have RESPECT for the various faiths my friends hold dear to their hearts. And also, I find that sort of childish posturing to be indicative of a low IQ and poor vocabulary.

Also, I never said that my religion never hurt anyone. This is basically a reading comprehension issue and I cannot be held accountable. And, I was also unaware that the Church was still burning witches, Protestants, and anyone who disagreed with Her. I was also unaware that in this day in age, She was still the “Big Bad Antagonist”.  Either I am living in a vacuum, or people still need to feel victimized to maintain some self-worth.

Agh, the perpetual victim… He looked at me wrong, she hates my orange hair, he made a funny face, they want me to have rules – BLAH, BLAH, BLAH! Grow the fuck up already. That self-imposed victimization will get you nowhere. Sooner or later, you become the obstacle to your own ambition. If you are expressing yourself with the
intent to be a victim, you are stupid. If you think that by feeling the heavy, oppressive foot of society on your back, makes you a martyr, you are misguided.  Yeah, I get looks because I choose to dress a certain way but I expect that! I am interesting to look at. I am not one to wear jeans and a sweatshirt so why should I be shocked when someone stares? I am also old enough to realize that I make my differences and interests work for me. I use it to make money.  Essentially, I capitalize on my unique perspective on life.

Let’s also be honest here, is anyone really shocked by tattoos, scaring, piercing, black clothes or hair anymore? Um, it’s become rather normal. When I was young and dressed this way, it was still odd. I didn’t care – it was not the sum of who I was. I was intelligent enough to know that I needed an education and would soon have to give a little in order to be taken seriously. It seems that these kids need a catalyst to propel their urge to be victimized. I say go ahead, I hope you like living in utter poverty and self- inflicted torment. But it sure would be  impressive is you beat the “man” and made something of yourself rather than bitching that all rich people in the world are assholes.

Yeah, that mindset is fine in high school but it does not serve one well in real life. If they could find a way to make sloth and victimhood profitable, maybe I’d admire them. But in the end, they are all uninteresting. After 22, the intent to shock and awe becomes infantile
and weird. I’m not saying you have to change your interests and appearance, I’m saying do not allow it to stunt your growth intellectually and financially.

In the end, money is a necessity. Sorry to burst the bubble. You can either thrive and evolve or wither and die. You cannot live a life based solely on absolutes. As we grow, our awareness and what’s important should change. To live in a box means only one thing – eventually, it becomes a cage. To become intoxicated by childish doctrine only
reaps one thing, staleness. It becomes a nightmarish repetition.

Sadly, we live in a world that hates real conviction. We really do live in an oppressive environment that keeps people from standing up for what they believe in fear of being ridiculed. I see it everywhere – especially in politics. People love to define themselves. I hate definitions. I find them suffocating. I never want a label or belief to stifle my growth. But some people love it. They thrive on the label; they put the bumper sticker on their car and call it a day.

My advice is to be daring. Be bold and go forth and blaze a new path, a new courage and never look for approval.  Never allow anyone to tell you what you believe is wrong, subject for viciousness, or unsavory. If all these people love expression and diversity so much, they would embrace all free thinkers instead of setting limits for their tolerance.

Love yourself enough to set the bar higher. Celebrate your differences and be industrious! Never allow anything to impede your success – even yourself. Never be a victim because that cycle never ends – it is nothing more than a lack of responsibility made manifest. In the end, we are all on a solitary path. We have a very limited amount of time here to make a difference. Sitting home and massaging the fears, beliefs, and ideas of your tortured friend’s, is a waste of your finite time. Spewing evil and malicious sentiments only puts negative energy out there. The mission for happiness and contentment is a solo journey and it begins with a healthy dose of self-love and respect for others. In the end, we reap what we sow.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Ever-vexing Subject of Religion

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I am too religious for the profane and too profane for the
religious.

This is the story of my life. I was raised in a devout
Catholic home. My great aunt was a nun, my parent’s had close friends who were
priests and the majority of my childhood was spent in church and revolved
around “churchy” things. I am not embarrassed or sorry. In fact, my faith
shaped me into the enigma that I am.

Before you assume my parents are religious freaks, think
again. I have very cool, fun and often, irreverent parents. They are not the
sort to beat you over the head with a cross. In fact, I suppose that is why I
will never change my facebook religion info to “recovering catholic” or some
jackassery like that. There is nothing that says immature to me more than those
simple words. What the hell are they recovering from? Why not leave it blank?
Or better yet, go for the all-encompassing “spiritual”. And more importantly, this is not high school anymore so the “I’m cool
and anti-religious” shit is not really necessary. Who do they impress with that
babble? Clearly, not me.

I’m one of the very few, who will not be embarrassed to say,
they attend mass and look forward to it. I love my religion – it’s dark,
mysterious and soothing. I love the history, the rituals and most of all, the
strength it gives me in perilous times. If you cannot see the Catholic faith in
that way, it’s best you don’t practice. If you cannot feel that way about your
preferred faith, just forget it and move on.

As a little girl, I wanted to be a nun. The only thing that
tuned me off was the thought of cutting my hair and the no make-up thing. So, I
decided that I’d wear black, say my rosary daily and try not to curse too much.
Just as good – right?. In the end, I would have been the worst nun ever. I’m rather
certain that no order allows heels, corsets and fishnets. Also, my potty mouth
would have gone over like a lead balloon. Some sins are just too hard to break.

As I write this, I am on the way home from visiting one of
my friends who happens to be a priest. To some, the very thought that I have
close friends who are priests is disturbing. To those who actually know me, it’s
not terribly surprising. I like to drink, I like to discuss theology and have a
love for religious items. I find priests to be excellent company. Most assume
they are pious to a debilitating degree but I have laughed more with them, than
with most people. Under their collar, they are smart, fun and interesting men
with convictions. Also, most priests do not revolve their recreation time around
homilies or confession. Like most people, they have thoughts and interests
outside their work.

So back to the recovering Catholics…

Yeah, I don’t get this. I do know that some love to use the pedophilia
card as the reason for their “conversion”. I always like to remind them that
such illness is not isolated to the priesthood. All professions, faiths and
neighborhoods have their sicko’s – the church is no different. In fact, in
recent months, we’ve unfortunately seen this sickness in sports. I believe if
the Church had a football team, more excuses would have been made and less
rocks thrown. It’s something for the Holy Father to consider.

To lose faith over the sins of a few, seems rather feeble minded
to me. I assume they were not really into their faith to begin with. It’s like
a doctor changing professions because a colleague screwed up. It’s goddamn
ridiculous and fickle. I think it’s best to be steadfast. I hope the guilty
endure the eternal flames of hell – amongst other assorted tortures. But I will
not let them win in destroying my faith. Their sins are not a reflection of the
church. When I’m wicked and heartless, it’s not the fault of the Catholic Church.
I accept responsibility. Though these assholes were indeed wearing a collar, they are not
the Church.

Over the years I have been subjected to the mind numbing
experience of dumb people discussing and debating religion. 99% of the
recovering Catholics have no concept or understanding of their faith to begin
with. Most will come at you like rabid dogs with talking points they heard, but
did not quite understand, from someone a tad smarter, but none the less, just
as misinformed. Nothing agitates me more than regurgitated bullshit. Nothing
screams “follower” more than the individual who joins a group to be cool. Cool
people don’t need a group, or a set of prescribed beliefs and nonsensical
theories, to be cool.  I also refuse to
adopt a belief to fit nicely into a classification. I see this all the time
with young adults. They are far too smart for religion but too dumb to finish
school.

Okay, so I’m a bitch – whatever. I cannot help myself and
never professed to be a good Catholic. But, I just adore these kids think that
they are so different, oppressed and daring when in fact; they are still
followers of a group. They are indoctrinated with a set of principles that are fed
to them and they happily devour it. They are far from thinkers. You want to feel
different, oppressed and daring, try being me. Try having your work, beliefs
and persona at constant war with each other.

Once upon a time, in a faraway land called my youth, there
were kids who called themselves “straight edge”. Essentially, they did not
drink or do drugs, were vegan and wore X’s on their hands made with sharpies. I
used to think they were assholes. Not because they adopted a sober life-style
but because according to law, they could not consume alcohol or do drugs for
that matter. What was so hard about being straight edge? What was the
sacrifice?  Long story short, by 21, they
were the biggest drunks I knew.

Cause induced indoctrination without reason, but rather for
acceptance = short lived stupidity with bad results. And for the record, this
is as far as my math skills will take me.

Before some of you get angry, I have a weak spot for all
faiths. I’m just using Catholicism as an example because it’s what I know. I
have friends from all faiths and spiritual backgrounds and would never, ever, treat
their beliefs the way mine are often treated. Easter time is the most difficult
time for Christians. This is when the immaturity and rudeness is at its peak. Last
year I de-friended over 10 people who thought it was necessary to make fun of
the Passion of Christ. I find nothing humorous about poking fun at Christ’s
sacrifice. I find nothing humorous about poking fun at any faith in general.

The road to supreme intellectualism and understanding often
leads to disappointment and unhappiness. There is something so beautiful about
sublime faith. I have intellectualized my faith and in the end, was left conflicted.
I have lost my faith and then found my faith and with each vacillating thought,
learned something new about myself.  Deep
inside, there was always a deep satisfaction that my heart said it was so,
therefore, it is. Sometimes, it takes far more intellect to believe and
understand. My faith is an important part of who I am. To some, it’s the most
shocking and bizarre part of me.

Underneath it all, I’m still searching for redemption. I am
wretched and sinful. I try but fail over and over again. I am not a perfect
Catholic but my heart yearns for the enrichment of faith and the spiritual sustenance,
and hope it provides.

I am not beyond redemption because I desire to be a better
person – sometimes. Some may say, “Hey, this chick is mean, judgmental and has
a foul mouth! Why is she talking about religion?” I have a simple answer that I
hope sheds some light on the matter. I accept and admit my inadequacies, I know
how despicable I can be at times but I try to be better person – I never said
it works.

 

 

 

I Mourn the Death of Social Graces

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Gone are the days when someone worries if they offended
someone. Manners are a thing of the past. Such social sentiments are forgotten
and buried deep in some dark chasm that is lost to this newest “crop” of
people. I mourn the loss – more so than most. I find it shameful that we
allowed such practices to die without regard.

When I was a child, my parents were stern in their beliefs.
Some standards, my brother and I learned by example while others, were repeated
daily. My mother’s daily mantra was sweet but stern, concerning manners and
social graces. In my rebellious youth, I wondered if she was preparing me for
some royal court that she intended to enslave me to. Sadly, nothing that
fabulous ever happened. It seemed that my parent’s only desire, was to make me
a lady.

I have had my fair dose of social impropriety these past few
years. So much so, that I have become even more of a shrew. I have vowed to let
no one in my small, protected circle, in fear that I will be once again, be
utterly disappointed. I hate being disappointed. At heart, I am indeed an
optimist but that slowly fades when someone forgets to bring their manners to a
social gathering.

I will openly admit that it is difficult to be in my good
graces. I have a set of crazy, unattainable rules in my head that very few live
up to, or attempt to follow. I am easily and quickly disenchanted. I am
offended easily when someone feels the need to practice crudeness in my
presence. In other words, I’m difficult to please. I will not even dignify you
with a reason why you are no longer a part of my life. I am that heartless.

To some, this is ghastly and unimaginable. To others, it
seems logical that one have a set of standards they live by. In my opinion, everyone
should have a list of internal rules that keeps them in check and makes them
accountable for their actions. Some of my “rules” are indeed, amendable but
most are concrete and I shall never waiver. I refuse to entertain boorish behavior,
lies, exaggerations, piggish table manners or nonreciprocal guests in my home.
I am a woman/hostess scorned, and will not allow it in my life anymore.

By now, you surly loath me and that’s fine. One of the many
perks of not giving a damn, is the apathy it graciously provides. I have never
been one for popularity. I am far too opinionated and unconventional for such
silliness. I am, if anything, consistent and unwavering. The beauty of being in
my good graces, is always knowing where you stand, and also, enjoying my
carefully planned dinner parties and generous nature.

Where did the all these walls and bitterness come from?
Well, years of toxic relationships and flirting with potential disaster. I am
not a good friend. I am however, an exemplary wife and mother. I am a very
devoted person. When I love, I love deeply and passionately without reservation.
But, I will cut off your head without notice or an ounce of remorse. I am far
from merciful. This is something that was cultivated – I was not born this way.

Generally, people are guided by selfish agenda’s. They are
enchanted by self-gratification and what pleases them, rather than what pleases
others. To be a decent person, we must reject this desire and replace it with a
sense of utter selflessness. It is imperative, that we foster a deep yearning
to rise above our innate nature and self-imposed limitations. We must, at all
times, employ empathy and unconditional love. The downfall of such a practice
is sheer disappointment and a hatred of all mankind.

I’m kinda there…

I have been used, abused, lied to and discarded. I have
trusted blindly and have given myself without reservation to only be
disappointed in the end. I stood horrified as someone babbled something
inappropriate or hurtful in my presence. I was moved to tears when someone purposely
and without provocation, hurt my feelings.
I have been belittled, ostracized, and taken advantage of often and in
the end, was left confused and heartbroken. Truthfully, friendships matter
little to me – they are ephemeral and tiring.

I see many women nurture their female friendships with a
passion I feel should be reserved for their significant other. If they put as
much time, effort and thought into their romantic relationship, outside needs
would not be as necessary. I am not against close friendships, in fact, I am
envious in a way, that women could tolerate being around other women for long
amounts of time. In all honesty, it mystifies me. I have never been very good at
nurturing female relationships.

Thankfully, I was lucky to meet the man of my dreams who
satiates all my physical and emotional needs. Mr. Armusik is my best friend and
has never, ever, disappointed me. And after all these years, he still finds my
dark sense of humor and general wretchedness, endearing. Plus, he is an exceptional
conversationalist. After 16 years, we never tire of talking for hours – he is
the most interesting person I know.

I suppose you are wondering what spawned such a negative
rant in the beginning of a New Year. Well, like others, I have vowed to make
changes. I have resolved myself to a social purge that will essentially, rid me
of expectations. I want to be swaddled in the cozy blanket of contentment – to be
free of those who choke the creativity, and love out of me. I am a lady on a
mission. I will not be denied this one request! I beseech God to grant me the serenity,
and awareness, required to see assholes coming before I become entangled in
their boring web of self-created drama. Mr. Armusik always reminds me, that the
most bland and uncreative individuals, must create drama to amuse themselves –
what else do they have to pass the time?

We are very jaded and guarded. We are well aware that most
have alternative reasons for wanting to be close to us. And for the record, I am
remarkably aware, that it is not my sunny disposition, that some find alluring.
I am moody and difficult to a debilitating degree and Mr. Armusik is often
bored and tends to nod off during dinner parties, if the conversation is not
favorable or stimulating. This usually is a source of contention between us – I
feel he needs to consume more coffee on such occasions.

In many ways, we are interesting, unconventional and
romantic and this can be very seductive. Many like to study us or emulate us. Some
want to simply say that they know us and our children. We have a tendency to
not allow people in because they tend to suffocate us, or use us. There is
never a happy medium.

On many occasions, I have given books to people who I
thought were “friends”. Many have not had the decency to read them, acknowledge
I gave them to them, or worse, gave them to someone else. I think there is
something intrinsically wrong with someone in that case. If I freely give you
something that took over a year to produce, and you treat it with such apathy,
I should have the right to take your life. Such putrid behavior speaks volumes.

I have had dinner parties where people showed up without a
hostess gift or left without saying thank you. If you ever have or will have,
the pleasure of being invited to my home, you will see that I do not do
anything mediocre or simple. I go overboard. I arrange flowers, press linens,
polish silver, and cook for days. This effort should, at the very least,
require or stimulate a thank you. I feel confident to assume, that most have
never attended a dinner party like mine. And the best way to end such invitations,
is to not be thankful or complimentary.

I have attended parties where 99% of the guest that attended,
showed without a gift of gratitude! Perhaps the art of entertaining, and how
costly it is to do so appropriately, is lost on most. When people pay at the very
least, a generous amount of money to please and entertain you for an evening,
the very least you can do, is show gratitude. Apparently, this is no longer a
common practice.

Selfishness and crudeness is unacceptable. Calling yourself
a friend and not respecting our life-style, hard work or art, is a perfect way
to get thrown out of our lives. I will not miss you or mourn you. If you are a
cancer, I shall remove you without a moment’s pause.

Despite my bleak outlook,  I chose to remain positive. I believe that good and trustworthy people exist. Where they are hiding, is another matter.

Happy New Year to everyone! I wish you many blessings and
God’s graces.

 

 

 

In Defense of Being Me

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Last night, before watching a movie with my husband, I checked
my Facebook. I was happy to see the great feedback concerning my first blog post.
After all, I never intended on doing such a thing but surprisingly found some
sort of satisfaction from the process. As I scrolled down the news feed, I saw
that someone I knew posted a link to the blog. How sweet! I then noticed that
some man felt the need to bash my potty mouth. Yep, I knew it was going to happen.

I read the comment and was a little stunned. It was apparent
that this gentleman did not take the time to read the blog but only the first
few sentences that were present on the link. He stated that I used language
only appropriate for lower-class environments. He also said, that I could
express myself better, if I upgraded my vocabulary. Huh?

First of all, I was not aware that a potty mouth was part of
the criteria for the lower-class status. It seems rather ignorant if you ask
me. I grew up in the North End of Wilkes-Barre, Pa. – it was not exactly Beverly Hills, and
I knew/know plenty of educated and classy people that would fit into such a
socioeconomic status. So when I hear such blanket statements, I vibrate with
rage.

The last post was meant to simply illustrate a point concerning limiting
beliefs. By saying that I would be more effective if I upgraded my vocabulary,
it was apparent that this man did not get the point. To assume that I always
write with such overt vulgarity, is LIMITING! I was poking fun, making a joke,
trying to show the absurdity of the woman giving up on a novel because of a few
well injected expletives. This man made an assumption; he assumed that my
entire novel is riddled with gratuitous profanity. He also assumed that I was
not friends with the individual who posted the link.

Normally, I could give a crap what most people think. After
all, if I gave into such negative energy, I would be emotionally paralyzed. I
was aware at a very young age that I chose a different path. I was not bred for
mediocrity or normalcy. I also was aware that most people were not going to
give me a chance – something that still happens today. I am always amazed when
people openly admit that they were afraid to talk to me, or were shocked that I
was indeed, a lovely, caring and funny person.

This man also was nice enough to remind me that not all
people will be my admirers. This was shocking. The fact that someone would not
like what I have to say, how I live my life, raise my children, or my work, was
like an emotional tsunami!  I was also equally
thrilled that he pointed out that my every word would be up for scrutiny. He
also gave me some sound advice. He told me not to be rash, unwelcoming,
inarticulate, defensive and small-minded. This seemed almost doable. But one
must take pause before they go down the path of being welcoming. And in all
serious, I have never, ever, been accused of being inarticulate – in fact, I
think I made my point to this fellow that his assessment was unfounded and
unsubstantiated. It was almost typical, the standard rush to judgment without
any concrete evidence to support his claims.

I also hate when people assume they know me. This man said
he knew hundreds like me – this is where I began to tremble. Honestly, if this erroneous
statement has any substance, the world is fucked. And yeah, I think the word, fucked
is appropriate here.  Listen, I am a
complex woman and it is difficult, even under the most ideal circumstances, to
define me. To see a photo of me and read one post does not even come close to explicating
who I am. I know my close friends will agree with me.

When I married my husband, I was also aware that my life
would never be as private as I would like it to be. Eric is constantly giving
interviews in national magazines, on TV, and all over the damn internet. I’ve
also had my home exposed in many magazines, and have had more people tour my
house than I would like. We are forever being picked apart, dissected and
analyzed like a science experiment. I have read things in publications that
made me cry and made me proud. I have also had people try to tell me how life
really is before they realized that I was either older, or close in age. When
this happens, I invoke the eternal wisdom of Napoleon Hill. He said that when
people try to school you, ask one question, “How do you know?” –  I seem to invoke him often.

So those who do know me, know I am no stranger to having my
life exposed. But that does not mean I like it. I hate when people come here
with cameras and note pads but it is the nature of my husband’s profession and
Eric is amazing at what he does. But when criticism comes our way, we never
really welcome it or embrace it. Only a fool would look at such things and take
it to heart. And I am not talking about advice, which is certainly a different
ball of wax; I’m talking about artistic criticism.  When someone attacks the nature or subject
matter of my husband’s work, I ask one question, “Could you paint that?” I
would say that 99% of the time the answer is, no. I feel the same about my
work. If the only negative feedback you could muster is that I use some
profanity in my work, then I say you need to assess your life, more than my
work.

So many important pieces of literature contained profanity –
it is sometimes, an absolute necessity. If I hit you in the head with a brick,
chances are you going to yell something colorful – that’s human nature. And I
have always been more interested in human nature than human expectations. I
gravitate to what compels the heart and mind of a person. In each and every
character I write, I try to become them for a moment and listen. I listen to
their abstract heart, I want them to tell me what they want, and whom they want
and most importantly, what they want to say. In that moment, I become them – we
are seamless. They are no longer something abstract, or created, because we now merged
and blended into one being. And then, because we now share a heart, mind and experience,
I cry when they cry, feel what they feel, and I mourn them when they die because
we will never again, share a moment.

Because of this connection, I am less interested in
censoring the moment to adapt to some unspoken, moral or social code. And if
for a brief moment, you assume I am low class because I am not afraid to feel
and be in the moment, than I embrace that stigma with open arms. Because it
seems to me, that behaving, is boring and inhuman. And quite frankly,
are we not above such social sorting? Can we really package people that simply?
Dismiss someone for a choice of words and damn them to a title? How many
amazing authors would we have shelved if this were the case?

I am not what you believe me to be. I am deeper that just my
surface or few untamed words. I feel things that most have difficulty articulating.
I experience life in a totally unique way which is why I am so good at what I
do. It is also the reason that my husband and I have such a bond, we understand
the torment, the pain and the utter beauty of living. We are the voices for
those who cannot express their emotions or who cannot experience the world outside
their own self-imposed limitations.  At
the end of the day, I know who we are.  I
am very fortunate and blessed to have a wonderful, talented husband who adores me
- even after fourteen years, and three beautiful, healthy children.  And I am also so very grateful for my friends
and fans that gave me a chance and got to know me.

Pre-order Rebekah’s upcoming novel Mariposa, out this October 31, 2011 at rebekaharmusik.com.

Miss Potty Mouth vs Miss Prude

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Well, Eric showed me where my goddamn blog was. He was correct, I did have one. So, after much thought and encouragement, I am here to make you laugh, poke fun at myself and bitch about all the injustices of the world.

Anyway, last night I was on the phone with my friend, M. She told me that one of her co-workers informed her, that she could not finish my tome because of the harsh language. What the fuck? Since when did my friend switch jobs? Was she now employed by a nunnery? I was stumped. But after a few moments, I acknowledged this was a reoccurring theme in my life. I have a potty mouth. A bad one. I am a walking condradiction. I possess a lady like appearance, I have grace and poise but I open my mouth and have difficulty censoring what I’m inspired to say. I have no filter. My mother has given up and my father shakes his head. I am indeed, beyond redemption. I do not intend for it to happen, it just does. I’ll raise an eyebrow if someone comes to my home for dinner wearing jeans, but I have no issue saying ‘fuck” when the moment compels me. I am an enigma.

This love of all things irreverent makes me who I am. My husband often jokes that I can either divide or bond people based on their love or utter hatred of me. Sadly, he is correct. You either love me, or want to spit on my corpse – there is never a happy medium. But, after many years of reflection, I have decided it matters little. I can invoke passion by simply being.

I did not intend to write a stale novel. I wanted my series to be honest, moving and thought provoking. I wanted my main character to over-flow and the only way to do that was to give her my vices and virtues. I thought the literary world was already saturated with bland, boring and contrived characters with the emotional range of a teaspoon. I thought my readers deserved more. They deserved a fantasy novel they could relate to, a novel they could attach themselves to and think about when they finished. The world is full of bad vampire fiction and I didn’t think the world could stand another novel. And truth be told, I could not stomach reading any of it because in my mind, I had the best story unfolding since I was a teenager. My series germinated and matured with me – I gave it time, love and attention. It was never constructed for money – it was simply a passion – a passion that motivated me.

Toni Morrison was correct; you should write the novel you wish to read. I did that. I wrote the novel other writers were incapable of writing or afraid to attempt. I didn’t need to renounce my faith or keep it clean, happy or asexual. I did not need to cheapen my work or appeal to kids – that seemed like an easy way out. I am a writer, not a negotiator. Once you sell out, you’re screwed. Once you think you have the perfect formula or gimmick, you’re doomed. People can sense a phony from a mile away. They can also tell if you are writing for money rather than passion. And in the age of the vampire, there are a lot of writers looking to make a fortune on a topic they are not qualified to write about. I’m sad and embarrassed for them. I’m embarrassed that a vampire in a story is simply enough. I am also sad and deeply vexed that the readers do not demand more.

It is a fact that most artistic endeavors have been done at least once before. In order do something awesome, you must inject your intent with creativity and individuality. I have an overactive mind. Often, I am not in the present but in some alternate world. I write in my head all day long. I took the concept of vampires and made them complex, gave them an origin, an intricate past and created a new world based on old concepts. I often have readers ask me where I found the story of Lilith and the fall of the angels. I always laugh because I just made that shit up. Its called creativity – something greatly lacking in today’s fiction.

I also despise definitions and formulas. I hate the idea that vampires have to be either evil, cranky, self-loathing, or worse, vegetarians – which in my opinion was a very limited, uncreative attempt, at a redemptive vampire. I choose to block everything out and simply channel what I knew best in order to tell the most authentic story. My characters have life because I am not afraid to juggle complex people. When you read novels with flat characters, it’s because the author was lazy, unimaginative and lacking innate talent.

So this brings me back to Miss Prude. It turns out that this woman is the wife of a preacher man. Yep, apparently they have a contractual agreement that prohibits her from reading foul language. I was not aware that religion or marriage could enforce such laws. I was crestfallen.

This revelation kept me up. Maybe we needed to rescue this woman from such oppression. My mind then drifted to what sort of costume I’d wear if I was the super heroine of oppressed women. I decided on black patent leather boots with five inch heels and fishnets. Maybe a corset, but I wondered if it would affect my range of motion when I beat the crap out of these puritanical husbands. Then my mind drifted once again, I wondered if this woman was shackled to a bed while her husband prayed for my redemption. Thankfully, it sounded like she didn’t make it to the sex parts or sick parts of my book.

After several wasted hours, I came to a conclusion. The world is a fucked up place and even with five inch boots, I could not save the world from bland literature. After all, that market has been cornered. I have no interest in writing for children and young adults. In fact, I’m not even sure what age a young adult would be. I much rather write from the heart, and forget about offending people. Let’s be honest, I have a talent for offending people with a glare. I didn’t have a chance. I was doomed when some religious lady decided to pick up my book because it looked pretty.

And before you assume I’m anti religious, guess again. I’m a practicing Catholic, which essentially allows me the ability, and the right, to be judgmental, and hypocritical, while blessing myself. So no, this is more about people not living. God does not want us to be perfect, that is His job. Me, I want to laugh, live my life the best way I can, and at the end of the day, count my blessings. I never want to be limited.

So, Miss prude, who missed out on a great book and series because you felt my heretical heart was not worthy of your time, I’m sorry. I’m sorry that you could not read the 90,000 other words in the damn book. I’m sorry that random profanity was ruining your chances at salvation. And more importantly, I’m sorry that your world is that stale and boring. But, Miss Prude, maybe you’re right. Maybe I am unsavory and not lady like because I have a potty mouth. But maybe, just maybe, I do possess other redemptive qualities that cancel my foul mouth out. I’m not talking moral relativity; I’m talking old fashion Catholicism. You know, we grade sins from good to bad. So in actuality, my piggy mouth is not as bad as my impure thoughts. However, here is the rub, I can go to confession and like magick, I become saint like. So won’t it be a fuck of a thing, if in heaven, my heretical ass is standing in line before YOU, clad in my knee-high black boots and fishnets?