Talent

Motivation

Miss Poison Poison In Lethal Doses, Talent, Writing, Your Calling , , , , , , ,

I’ve always wondered what motivates people to be judgmental about things and/or people they’ve never attempted to understand. Character trait, flaw, or simply their nature? I’m never certain, but it grates on my nerves.

The majority of my family looks down upon me with much disdain because I’m “a writer”. I’ve never understood, nor will I ever, why having an actual talent marks me as “not good enough”, especially considering 99% of them have never read my work or heard me speak in public. If you think reading my work is interesting, it’s an entirely different experience hearing me express myself in a public setting.

Here are some facts about how I arrived here, as “a writer”: After realizing I’d never be an Olympic gymnast because my parents refused to let me move to Colorado Springs and train on my own, I set out to be a police officer. I studied forensic science. My goal was to be an FBI agent at some point. I was then stricken with an illness that started taking small dreams away from me, until it took the larger ones with it, as well.

I’m a trained singer, but never pursued it professionally on any level. I love it, but it’s not my passion. It’s an interest, a talent, but it’s not my life.

My writing, though? It has always stood out, from day one. Anyone can put words on a page, but it takes talent to tell a story and convey emotion. I wouldn’t do it if it didn’t give something back to me.

I don’t judge the person who decides to become an accountant, even though I’d personally die a slow, painful death to use that word in conjunction with my own name, so why does “writer” sound a whole hell of a lot like “street beggar” when it comes out of the mouth of so many people? Why is it so incredibly disrespected?

I never set out to be a reporter or a journalist, but I did study journalism. I took a plethora of creative writing classes, for which I was eventually banned. I refused to adhere to what the professors determined “proper writing”. I wanted to write the truth and I wanted to write what I believed in. I did not want to write nonsensical bullshit I had no interest in or no opinion on. In their minds, I was disrupting the entire program by refusing to conform. It’s hysterical when I think about it now, but at the time, it was incredibly frustrating. There were so many mixed messages everywhere I turned. To this day, there still are.

Last year someone told me I should, and I quote, “Get a real job.” Having been nothing but a writer and editor for so long, no normal 9-5 job will hire me. When you can’t get a job at a grocery store part-time and not a single store in the mall will hire you due to a lack of previous retail experience, it’s downright insulting. When Walmart and fast food places take a pass on you, you almost question yourself. “What have I done? Did I do something wrong? Why aren’t I ENOUGH?!”

It took a few months of unadulterated shock, but I realize now that it simply isn’t my path. It never was, or it would have fallen into place. If that’s a disappointment to someone, then that’s their problem. That anyone would encourage me to be less than who I am is a testament to how they perceive me, as opposed to how I perceive myself.

I’m not perfect. I make an exerted effort to be who I was raised to be; strong, smart, independent, sassy, honest, loyal, and real. I’ve been through a LOT. The past ten years or so have greatly challenged me and greatly harmed me, and while that is no excuse, I do feel it takes some people a little longer to get back on their feet when they’ve walked through hell-fire barefoot. If you’re 100% healthy and able-bodied to do just about anything, that’s great. When you’re throwing up 70% of your week due to excruciating migraine pain, are barely able to complete simple tasks like cleaning and laundry without feeling weak and drained of your life force, and have to fight off taking a nap at 10:00 in the morning, then you might very well be capable of holding down what some people consider to be a “real job” or a “normal job”, whatever that may mean to most people. However, I respectfully disagree that writing is any less a “job” or any less “real”.

Does writing always pay my bills? No. Does editing always pay my bills? No. Do they help me make ends meet and provide me with a strong sense of self? Yes, if I’m careful with every penny. Will I continue to struggle? At times, all good writers have struggled. There are times I will make decent five figures in a year and other times when I’m barely able to eat.

I’m motivated to write because it’s part of who I am. I’m good at it. I try very hard not to judge what other people do to pay their bills, get an education, etc. And yet, I’m judged because being “a writer” is apparently something others deem unworthy of respect. It may not always be glamorous, but at least I have strong command of the English language and know precisely how to hold someone’s attention.

I’m not motivated to hurt others or disrespect their lines of work. I don’t care if you work at a gas station or an insurance company. I don’t care if you’re a lawyer, a nurse, or a locksmith. I do, however, care if being “a writer” is something you believe is beneath you.

It’s so much more important to be a good person, to be honest, real, and loyal to those you love. I believe your health is your true wealth. I believe all of these things are far more important than the number of zeros in your bank account. Life is short, and while money can make you comfortable, it can also make you complacent. If someone had handed me a black American Express card instead of notebooks, pens, and computers, I’d probably be a very selfish, shallow, ignorant, vapid human-being, with no real understanding of the world around me or the immense value of those I hold dear.

So, I have two words to say to those who simply do not understand what it’s like to have genuine talent and follow through on it, regardless of where the path takes them. Yeah, those are the words.

copyright © 2017 by Lisa Marino & Blackbird Serenity, LLC. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Lethal Poison And The Scorpion

Miss Poison Being Real, Creativity, Evolution Of Language, Experience, Feelings, Honesty, January, Pieces Of Me, Poison In Lethal Doses, Read, Talent, Truth, Writers, Writing, Your Calling , , , , , , , , ,

manifesto

The title sounds slightly gruesome (I’m a writer who, up until a few weeks ago, was researching serial killers. Leave me alone, okay? LOL.), but it is merely a reference for people who’ve known me my entire career, or at the very least, a good enough chunk of it, and know what to expect from me.

It seems like only yesterday when I was first given the idea to write something immensely simple. After that, it was as if I’d been plugged in to something unique and special, and I certainly was. Back then, I didn’t know what it was precisely, or where it would lead, but the path less traveled has been both good, and not so good, to me.

A lot of people ask themselves “When do I get to call myself a writer?” or “When am I officially a writer?” First and foremost; there are many different types of writers. Some people write music, poetry, movie scripts. Some write books, plays, or simply share their thoughts in a creative way. When you do it and can’t stop doing it because you are driven by a genuine need to share your thoughts and acquire feedback, good or bad, then you, my friend, are a writer.

Don’t get me wrong, though. It’s important not to twist things; plenty of people “write” and aren’t true writers. It’s a fact. Many are published authors who I will not call out by name, but nevertheless, they’ve hit a lucky strike at the end of a rainbow because there is zero talent to what they’re doing. It’s published gibberish that would make any true writer cringe. I spend more days cringing when work is submitted to me for editing than I do enjoying the work of another writer. Sad, but true. Sometimes, no matter how strongly you guide someone, they simply cannot be a gifted storyteller. There’s no shame in that. I believe it is inherently within a person, or not. It is not something I will ever feel is taught.

Some people come at you, as a “writer”, from a different angle. Satire, humor, playfulness, honesty, anger. The list is never-ending. Choose an emotion and/or a genre and I assure you; someone, somewhere, is writing about it.

I’m told we all have our “gifts”, our niche, in life, and that it is through exploration and exploration alone that we stumble upon said gifts. But there are many people who are lucky; achieving a measure of success through connections, as opposed to genuine talent. Then there are those who are born with immense gifts they’re simply waiting to share with the world, gifts they are, too often, not aware of.

If my gift with the written and spoken word had not been encouraged, supported, applauded, then I might be doing something boring at this very moment; something I loathe with every fiber of my being.

I know far too many people who’ve been in the same job for twenty, thirty, or forty years and absolutely HATE what they do. I have my moments. I’ve never hesitated to discuss them openly and honestly, but my gift? No, I don’t regret it; not any of them.

I’ve spent the majority of my life being put down, shunned, laughed at, and/or insulted for being creatively talented, as opposed to a “follow the rules” type. I would rather live an authentic life, as opposed to one chosen for me by others. I would rather pick and choose my wealth of knowledge, as opposed to doing what is “expected”. That is precisely how one masters the art of being gifted with a talent.

I speak the way I write. I live the way I write. It’s one of the reasons people like and respect me. It’s one of the reasons I get feedback that doesn’t require anyone kissing my ass telling me how great I am. I don’t walk around trying to be anything I am not. In turn, I feel it helps the words be more clear for others. Because it’s honest; it’s easy to relate. I’ve had many people tell me when they could not relate to something I wrote or said, but they still respected the hell out of me for putting my thoughts out into the universe so boldly. I never looked at it the way they did, not until receiving that level of feedback. I was simply writing, and they were reading with their senses fully engaged. I call that mutual respect.

Several years ago I started shutting down certain aspects of myself that I was told were “wrong” or “needed work”. It turns out the people whispering lies in my ears were wrong. Very wrong. The only time I need to work on something is when I choose to work on it, and only then. I am fully entitled to my feelings, thoughts, unique point of view, and even more entitled to live my truth. It is more important to me to tell the true stories than it is for me to pretend.

Whispering lies to someone is a form of manipulative abuse. It’s a way of telling someone they’re not good enough in YOUR eyes, usually because YOU don’t like certain attributes they possess. Often because it makes you uncomfortable, or because you’re jealous you don’t possess the same level of strength. I’ve had people tell me they could NEVER be the kind of friend I am to others, and then turn around and tell me my friends wouldn’t love me if they had to live with me. That came from a former best friend, and it came from a place of jealousy because she couldn’t even be a solid best friend to ONE person, leave alone multiple people. She did not understand how crucial being a good friend is to the core of who I am, and so, a friendship I thought would always be present is a friendship no longer. Her choice. Her immense loss.

Most people don’t think I’m funny, which is perfectly okay. My friends and my brother find me HILARIOUS, and that’s because they get me. I don’t care if other people lack the ability to grasp my humor, because those that do are invaluable to me. Criticizing my sense of humor is only going to make me laugh at you, it isn’t going to poison my mind against my wacky, twisted humor. I have to live with me. I have to look in the mirror and be able to face that person day in and day out.

I wasn’t raised to worry about being liked or loved by others. I’m secure enough in myself to not need the approval of everyone around me. Sure, at least once a day it would be nice to not be insulted or told I’m wrong, or be accused of things I’ve never even thought of, leave alone committed, but that’s not MY issue and I’m not going to carry it with me any longer. I do, however, have to be true to myself.

So, Lethal Poison is back in business. This Scorpion may glow, but she’s not afraid to sting, either. You decide which side you’d like to be on. I’ll keep speaking the truth.

Vi veri universum vivus vic~ “By the power of truth, I, while living, have conquered the universe.”

copyright © 2017 by Lisa Marino & Blackbird Serenity, LLC. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

 

Writing Means…

Miss Poison Honesty, Pieces Of Me, Poison In Lethal Doses, Talent, Words, Writing , , , , ,

awordafter

Writing Means

Writing truly means different things to different people. As I approach my 28th year as a writer, which feels like “just yesterday”, I find myself very introspective about the beginning, middle, and present day.

It’s hard to believe I was ever this quiet, small, shy, introverted child that wasn’t highly talkative. I only spoke about things I understood to the fullest capacity, and in my ways, I’m still like that. I won’t talk about something unless I’m highly knowledgeable about it. However, I think shy is probably the last word anyone would attach to my name now.

Writing is not just a comfortable form of communication for me; it’s my voice.

Over the years, people have asked me not to be myself, not to utilize my gifts, and to suppress who I am. They would tell me how much they loved me, but their love came with all sorts of chains. No one that truly loves you tells you not to be who you are. No one that truly cares about you will walk away from you simply because you’re honest.

Honesty and realness do tend to make some people uncomfortable. It took me a long time to realize that those aren’t my issues, and I don’t have to carry them with me. I accept everyone on a case-by-case basis. If you’re good to me, I am going to be good in kind. If you lie to me, stab me in the back, or harm me or anyone I value, you might as well just call the morgue in advance because eventually, I will react.

I’ve learned over the years to walk away from people who do not help me grow. I do not mean that in a “I use people” capacity, quite the opposite. I believe in growth and I believe that we can empower each other in our individual life journeys. I believe that if you help people, you will be helped in your own times of crisis.

Sometimes a person is pure poison to you. Everything about them is cruel, vindictive, malicious. Their intentions are cast in something that can physically make you ill.

An old friend once said “My step-father’s aura is black, an evil shade of black.” As a person who has been able to see auras on and off her entire life, I totally understood what she meant by that. It was all of his anger, hatred, self-loathing, bitterness, etc., and she could physically see it coming off of him. Auras are often about perception. For instance, the purest auras I see are from children and animals. They are always a silvery shade to me, or a platinum radiance. To me, that always represents innocence. I don’t see it with every child or animal, but I do see it often enough that it rarely comes as a shock. Moreover, these are the same children that notice me and my aura. It makes them smile and point at me, giggling happily. I have no idea what it looks like to them, but whatever it is, it has always been very positive. Some animals very clearly see it too, because they look at me differently and treat me differently than their brethren.

In life, we all have specific affinities for very specific things. I was born with a lot of my gifts, things I’ve never discussed beyond like-minded individuals, and other gifts surfaced with age. Some people are “late bloomers”, but eventually almost all of us find something we excel at in ways others do not.

I work in a position where I have the power to tell people “This is not your forte.”, but in 20 years, I’ve never said it to someone. I’ve never felt it was my job to tell a person what they can and cannot accomplish. No matter how much professional power you may possess, I don’t think it gives you the right to shatter someone’s dreams. I’m direct, I am honest, but I am fair. I’d rather tell someone to go back to the drawing board than crush them altogether.

Not everyone has natural ability, but that can often be made up for with sheer determination and hard work. Rome was not built in a day and not everyone is born with supreme talent in any specific field. Much like our looks, it’s all a quirk of nature. Other things I have to perceive as blessings. Sometimes our gifts help us emerge from troubled situations, horrible upbringings, pain we never think we’ll be able to cope with.

No one’s life is perfect. It doesn’t matter how it is drawn for you to see, the grass is not always greener. I usually say “The picture in the window is not the truth.”, and I believe that. I know far too many people who came from picture perfect families to the outside world, but behind closed doors, were living in a realm of hell that is incomprehensible.

Many people come to me and say “Oh, I love to write.” or “I’m a writer too.” While I won’t denounce their claims, I can only speak for myself. I write because it’s my place in this world to do so. I write because it’s more to me than a source of income. I write because my ability with the written and spoken word is one of the greatest gifts I’ve been given, and to ignore those gifts would be a travesty.

There were many years where I only wrote when I had to. I didn’t want to “just be a writer”. I still don’t. I want to be the creative being I am supposed to be, always expanding my horizons. Never settling for opinions based on hot air.

The reason this is a writer’s platform and not a “blog” is based solely on the fact that I am a writer. A person can call it whatever they like, but I will never refer to it as “my blog”, because that’s not what it is. I have a blog and I am unhappy there, which is why this platform is so important to me and why I devote more time to it. It’s not just about building an audience for something new, it’s about attracting the right kinds of people to my work, people who will remain interested in the things I write, my published work, and the things I have to say. Call it a base-line, if you will, but for me, it’s a platform of reality.

Writing means I get to do that, I get to be myself here, without judgment. I get to speak my mind and if someone doesn’t like that, there is always an UN-FOLLOW button available to them.

In life, many things come and go, but talent? Talent stays with you, forevermore.

copyright © 2015 by Lisa Marino & Blackbird Serenity LLC. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

Brain Fog

Miss Poison Be You, Being Real, Believe In Yourself, Doubt, Musings, Negativity, Pieces Of Me, Poison In Lethal Doses, Power, Support, Talent, The Mind, Writing , , , , , , , , , ,

It feels like a horrible Monday, the way my brain is fogged up and refusing to fire on all cylinders. No, I haven’t been drinking, but apparently having a holiday in the middle of the week has screwed me up, BIG TIME.

I did manage to get a lot of work done this morning. Considering I have a migraine that is coming and going, that’s astounding. I did have to remind myself not to edit this person’s work (When I edit, it’s probably because it’s necessary, but also because I am a fixer of words.), merely to critique it and give an honest opinion. That is going to prove VERY hard. I sat here for over an hour with my jaw damn near on the floor while I read.

I am professional. I adhere to very specific guidelines, but I am truly astounded by the idiocy submitted to me at times. It’s easy to miss a word here and there, to lose track of little things, but it’s another thing entirely to write for the sake of writing. It’s like listening to a person talk, except you’ve tuned them out after the first 100 words and now you’re staring at them in utter amazement that they haven’t noticed that you’re just not listening. When I space out, I often feel disconnected. For me, it’s not entirely dissimilar to an out-of-body experience. However, when I’m reading something that feels like someone is rambling for the sake of rambling, I stare at the screen and think “Did someone REALLY write this or is there a hidden camera here somewhere?” I’ve contemplated looking.

For today, I think the best thing to do is focus on my health. I’ve already done some work, far more than I originally intended to do, so tomorrow is another day, or later perhaps, if I feel like being masochistic.

I’m in excruciating pain from this migraine and the rest of me from the neck down to mid-thigh doesn’t feel so hot either. I’m disturbed that today is Friday, but will take the weekend to really rest (and work). Next week has its own battles, none of which I am looking forward to. However, my faith is strong and I believe everything will work itself out. Not because I’m being unrealistic, but because I have a very good sense of self and most of what I am attached to. Sometimes I think we’re trapped in the middle of someone else’s major life lesson, and while it doesn’t always feel good while we’re in it, it’s important to remember who you are and exactly what you are capable of.

I know many people teach their children that they can “be anything they want to be”. It wasn’t much different for me, however my mother never would have encouraged or supported anything short of talent. If I wasn’t good at something, she would say “Don’t quit your day job.” Not to be mean, but because she was a firm believer in my talents and did not believe in sugar-coating anything regarding her children.

I’ve heavily doubted and questioned a lot of my talent over the last year or so. Maybe I’ve had those issues deep inside my own head without even realizing it for far longer than I know. I’ve made myself sick from the doubt and unending questions in my mind. It’s a bit like being brainwashed, except you’ve done it with one negative moment where you allowed yourself not to fully be you. The second you allow a sliver of doubt in, it takes over.

I adamantly refuse to allow anything or anyone to tell me who I am. I refuse to be defined by other people’s beliefs or opinions. Ultimately I can refuse these things because I know who and what I am. At the beginning and end of each day, I am a fighter. There is great power in that, I just have to remember to allow the fog to clear.

copyright © 2015 by Lisa Marino & Blackbird Serenity LLC. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

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