July 19, 2017
What a wonderful weekend we had! And for us, another unique way to celebrate a wedding anniversary on Friday. It was number 45 this year—and they all said it would never last!
As I’d mentioned we would in my last essay, David and I attended an author/reader event, KallypsoCon 2017, this year held in the near-by city of Burlington, Ontario this past weekend. This is a relatively new event in the world of book conventions, created and organized by Kallypso Masters. Kally is a wonderful writer and an exceptional human being.
It’s also a relatively small book convention—purposefully so. This year there were eleven “featured authors” and 100 readers.
This convention will never “grow”, because the purpose is to give the readers who attend a chance to meet and interact with each one of the authors. It’s truly an intimate gathering compared to those that boast more than a thousand attendees, and are organized for the purpose of making money for the corporations that hold them.
Dinner on Friday night, which was the first official event, featured an author at all but one table. The one table without an author had the guest speakers for Saturday evening. Then, after dessert and before the fun and games in the next room, we participated in “speed dating”. Controlled by a “timer”, authors (and the guest speakers) rotated so that by the end of the session, every reader had met and spoken to each of the authors and the guests.
All the readers had to do was sit and wait for their favorite author to come by. That was a fun idea, and a great way to break the ice for everyone!
The games were another way allow the readers to get to know the authors better. The first game called “five fun facts”. Each author had earlier sent in to the organizer 5 facts about themselves. We took turns pulling a “fact” from the box and reading it aloud, and the audience had to guess which author the fact was about.
I can tell you that some of my fellow authors have lived damned interesting lives! They’ve climbed mountains and won dance competitions, lived in Japan for a year and a half, were on a rodeo team, and one has even ridden a camel in the Sahara and spent the night in a Bedouin camp!
The next game left everyone in stitches. We were each given excerpts of someone else’s novels to read aloud (with names omitted), and the audience of readers had to guess who the author of the excerpt was. There was great emoting, and accompanying miming, and general hilarious Tom Foolery all around! And laughter…lots and lots and lots of laughter.
It’s hard to be anything but honest when you’re surrounded by and smothered in laughter.
What a genius way to kick off an event. What better way to make authors approachable than to have them ‘perform’ in such a friendly, relaxed atmosphere?
Saturday was filled with a Q&A session, a book signing, and another wonderful buffet dinner. In the evening, we had a presentation about BDSM by a couple living that lifestyle. What impressed me most about the evening’s program was the very real bond of love between the two. As an author, and one who has written stories featuring this interesting relationship dynamic, it’s invaluable to get real true info from people who really, truly know. Forget some of the books you may have read; this was the real deal.
Yes, we saw floggers and ropes—but the lion’s share of the information was on the relationship dynamic, itself. There is a power exchange in all relationships, whether you realize it or not. In lifestyle relationships, that exchange, and the boundaries, and the feelings, are constantly discussed because that is part of the deal. Communication is key, and in that one facet, the rest of us could learn a thing or two from them.
My favorite part of the weekend by far, of course, was meeting readers, exchanging hugs and conversation, and being inspired by the presence of those who share with me the desire to touch lives as we entertain.
Love,
Morgan
http://www.morganashbury.com
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
Wednesday, July 19, 2017
Wednesday, July 12, 2017
July 12, 2017
I’m busy getting ready for my one and only “author event” for 2017, which begins tomorrow. This will be the very first event of this sort that I have ever attended in my own country! One could even say that I’m not going to the event so much as the event is coming to me. Well, that is, one could (and did) if one wasn’t me. I would never make such an arrogant statement myself, unless I was employing extreme sarcasm.
Which I must confess, from time to time, I do.
KallypsoCon happens each year in a different location. Next year, for example, it will be held in Utah. But this year, it’s “KallypsoCon 2017: Canada Bound”. I’m looking forward to becoming reacquainted with some of the authors and readers who will be there, and also meeting new friends. There’s a definite energy to be had, spending time with those who are involved in the same vocation as I am. I don’t know if doctors or lawyers or teachers feel that way, when they attend events for their professions. I don’t know if this energizing is particular to a gathering of those involved in the creative arts. I suppose it depends on whether you look at your occupation as a job, or a calling.
I also love hearing from readers, because what I do for living is a particularly solitary endeavor. I don’t have an assistant at the moment, and while I do have some wonderful reader/friends who help me out with my reader’s group and with beta-reading my books, I tend not to “fish” for ideas or suggestions. My stories are my stories, products of my imagination, and so the tough stuff—coming up with the ideas, the plot twists, etc—that’s my responsibility. I’ve always believed that if I want people to plunk down their hard-earned money to buy one of my books, then I best be doing all the work and taking all the care involved in its creation.
I have participated in brainstorming sessions once or twice in the past, and I’ve found them very stimulating. Such encounters between writers is never one-sided, and as an author, I’ve given suggestions as well as received them. That’s a sort of authorly quid-pro-quo, and really, part of the professional process as far as I’m concerned.
What I don’t want to do, ever, is indulge in what I call “writing by committee”. I understand the motivation of those who do, and if that works for them, then more power to them. Some writers set themselves some really tough deadlines, where they have to produce new work on an accelerated schedule. The only way to do that is to have someone—or several people—taking over after the first draft has been etched, editing and polishing and getting it ready to send off. I’m not talking about editing here, which most of us experience; I’m talking about other people who take the author’s first draft, and produce the second. Now, I’m not knocking that process at all. Each of us has our own process, and to write in any way that ignores our intrinsic instincts and inner process is to betray the craft for which we breathe.
I’m pretty good at writing, at coming up with characters and crafting a tale about them. My writing speed has slowed some over the last couple of years, but I do the best I can. What I don’t excel at, what I’m not really very good at, is promotion. By nature, I’m a shy woman. If you’ve met me, you may dispute that. The truth is I’ve learned to be outgoing, but it takes a lot out of me. I would go to large conventions in the past, where I would meet hundreds of people, and stand in a room and “pimp” all the authors who were contracted with my publisher. I was delighted to do that, to give back to a company that took a chance on me. However, when I would return home, I’d be a wreck, energy-wise, for at least a week. To recover, I needed quiet, and I needed to just be me.
So, since I do suck so badly at promotion I’ve had to begin to think of that necessary activity in a different way. I’ve begun to think of it as socializing. I’m not touting my work, so much as I am taking a break from it to meet people who happen to like reading the same kind of books as I happen to write. I could never be cut-throat in my approach, either. I see other authors—in this case, the wonderful authors who will be appearing at this same event—as colleagues, not as competition.
I honestly believe there’s room enough for us all to succeed and to prosper. A few of these authors—Kallypso Masters (http://kallypsomasters.com ) Lexi Blake ( http://www.lexiblake.net), and Cherise Sinclair (http://cherisesinclair.com ) I’ve read and truly enjoyed. They have different styles, but share a talent and a bent for turning out wonderful, character-driven, page-turning books. The rest of the authors appearing, I’m sure I will read in the weeks and months to come. I’m always looking for new-to-me-authors to read.
This is a short event, from Thursday to Sunday, and within 40 minutes of home. I’m looking forward to being energized, and making new friends.
Love,
Morgan
http://www.morganashbury.com
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
I’m busy getting ready for my one and only “author event” for 2017, which begins tomorrow. This will be the very first event of this sort that I have ever attended in my own country! One could even say that I’m not going to the event so much as the event is coming to me. Well, that is, one could (and did) if one wasn’t me. I would never make such an arrogant statement myself, unless I was employing extreme sarcasm.
Which I must confess, from time to time, I do.
KallypsoCon happens each year in a different location. Next year, for example, it will be held in Utah. But this year, it’s “KallypsoCon 2017: Canada Bound”. I’m looking forward to becoming reacquainted with some of the authors and readers who will be there, and also meeting new friends. There’s a definite energy to be had, spending time with those who are involved in the same vocation as I am. I don’t know if doctors or lawyers or teachers feel that way, when they attend events for their professions. I don’t know if this energizing is particular to a gathering of those involved in the creative arts. I suppose it depends on whether you look at your occupation as a job, or a calling.
I also love hearing from readers, because what I do for living is a particularly solitary endeavor. I don’t have an assistant at the moment, and while I do have some wonderful reader/friends who help me out with my reader’s group and with beta-reading my books, I tend not to “fish” for ideas or suggestions. My stories are my stories, products of my imagination, and so the tough stuff—coming up with the ideas, the plot twists, etc—that’s my responsibility. I’ve always believed that if I want people to plunk down their hard-earned money to buy one of my books, then I best be doing all the work and taking all the care involved in its creation.
I have participated in brainstorming sessions once or twice in the past, and I’ve found them very stimulating. Such encounters between writers is never one-sided, and as an author, I’ve given suggestions as well as received them. That’s a sort of authorly quid-pro-quo, and really, part of the professional process as far as I’m concerned.
What I don’t want to do, ever, is indulge in what I call “writing by committee”. I understand the motivation of those who do, and if that works for them, then more power to them. Some writers set themselves some really tough deadlines, where they have to produce new work on an accelerated schedule. The only way to do that is to have someone—or several people—taking over after the first draft has been etched, editing and polishing and getting it ready to send off. I’m not talking about editing here, which most of us experience; I’m talking about other people who take the author’s first draft, and produce the second. Now, I’m not knocking that process at all. Each of us has our own process, and to write in any way that ignores our intrinsic instincts and inner process is to betray the craft for which we breathe.
I’m pretty good at writing, at coming up with characters and crafting a tale about them. My writing speed has slowed some over the last couple of years, but I do the best I can. What I don’t excel at, what I’m not really very good at, is promotion. By nature, I’m a shy woman. If you’ve met me, you may dispute that. The truth is I’ve learned to be outgoing, but it takes a lot out of me. I would go to large conventions in the past, where I would meet hundreds of people, and stand in a room and “pimp” all the authors who were contracted with my publisher. I was delighted to do that, to give back to a company that took a chance on me. However, when I would return home, I’d be a wreck, energy-wise, for at least a week. To recover, I needed quiet, and I needed to just be me.
So, since I do suck so badly at promotion I’ve had to begin to think of that necessary activity in a different way. I’ve begun to think of it as socializing. I’m not touting my work, so much as I am taking a break from it to meet people who happen to like reading the same kind of books as I happen to write. I could never be cut-throat in my approach, either. I see other authors—in this case, the wonderful authors who will be appearing at this same event—as colleagues, not as competition.
I honestly believe there’s room enough for us all to succeed and to prosper. A few of these authors—Kallypso Masters (http://kallypsomasters.com ) Lexi Blake ( http://www.lexiblake.net), and Cherise Sinclair (http://cherisesinclair.com ) I’ve read and truly enjoyed. They have different styles, but share a talent and a bent for turning out wonderful, character-driven, page-turning books. The rest of the authors appearing, I’m sure I will read in the weeks and months to come. I’m always looking for new-to-me-authors to read.
This is a short event, from Thursday to Sunday, and within 40 minutes of home. I’m looking forward to being energized, and making new friends.
Love,
Morgan
http://www.morganashbury.com
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
Wednesday, July 5, 2017
July 5, 2017
Today would have been my mother’s 98th birthday, and my son, Anthony’s, 40th.
Anthony was born after my mother passed away. Actually, he was born the very next year. We commemorated the one-year anniversary of Mom’s death in April, and then he arrived, three months later, on her birthday. We have “Christmas in July” in this family, because my brother’s birthday is on the 1st, my mother’s, and then Anthony’s on the 5th, my daughter’s on the 13th, our wedding anniversary on the 14th and my birthday is on the 21st. July is a very busy month in the Ashbury household.
July is also the month we lost Anthony, on the 30th, in 2006. That makes this an emotional month, as well as a busy one. It’s no wonder that the beginning of July always gives a bigger meaning to the start of summer for me.
There can be no doubt that summer has indeed arrived. The temperatures are rising and the days are long. This is the last summer before my beloved retires. Originally—that is, after his last vacation time over Christmas—he’d said he didn’t want to take any vacation, since it would be his last year, and he would in fact be on vacation from November onward into infinity. That resolve didn’t last very long at all. He went back to work after the Christmas break the first week of January, and by the second week of January he was looking for a good excuse to take a week off. I have one “author event” this year, very close to home. I’ll be at KallypsoCon 2017 in Burlington, Ontario from July 13 – 16. That’s “just down the road” from us. David has booked that time off work, and he’ll be serving as my “assistant” during this author/reader convention. What does my assistant do, you may ask?
Well in this case, he becomes my “go to” man for whatever I may need, and also wherever I may need to go by being the power behind my wheelchair, if I need it. I can walk. I use a cane, but I am able to walk—but not for long distances or extended periods of time. Usually, when I attend conventions, I rent a scooter. However, I couldn’t see taking on the expense of one this time when we’re driving just down the road, in our own car, and I have the wheelchair in the trunk of my car, anyway.
There was a time when I would have abhorred using the device, as I know my mother did. That phase of my life—that martyrdom phase—has passed, thankfully. I walk as much as I can, and ask for help when I can’t. Asking for help has been one of the hardest things for me to learn how to do. Give help? No problem, I’m happy to. You need something? I am there, baby. Ah, but ask for help? Not so easy for me.
It wasn’t until I looked on that trait as a kind of unattractive pride that I began to change. I’m still not quite there, and my first instinct is to extend a hand rather than take one, but I am, after all, a work in progress.
I’m looking forward to this event, because I haven’t attended a convention for a few years now. I love meeting readers. They’re my focus, and while sometimes I may be a bit late answering the e-mails I receive from them, I do answer every single one. There might come a day when I can’t do that. But for now, I want my readers to feel free to email me, or send me a pm on Face Book. I will respond!
I’ve never attended this event before; it’s a fairly new one as conventions go, but wildly successful, usually selling out very quickly. The organizer, Kallypso Masters, (http://kallypsomasters.com ) is an author I’ve met and admired, a woman who is as warm and genuine as they come. She writes military romance and BDSM and possesses both talent and skill in generous proportions. Her stories are all page turners and definitely worth reading.
This convention is different in that there are limited numbers of authors, and readers. 11 authors, 130 readers, which allows for plenty of good, honest, interaction. I’ve been told that this is a stellar promotional opportunity. I know it is, but I suck at promo—at least what some people interpret as promo.
In my professional life, as far as I’m concerned, there are two things—writing, and readers. I love writing. I love interacting with readers. Whether the sales happen or not I tend to leave up to a higher power.
As I’ve said before, I don’t write for fame or fortune. I write to connect, to touch and hopefully, to uplift. That’s just who I am.
Love,
Morgan
http://www.morganashbury.com
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
Today would have been my mother’s 98th birthday, and my son, Anthony’s, 40th.
Anthony was born after my mother passed away. Actually, he was born the very next year. We commemorated the one-year anniversary of Mom’s death in April, and then he arrived, three months later, on her birthday. We have “Christmas in July” in this family, because my brother’s birthday is on the 1st, my mother’s, and then Anthony’s on the 5th, my daughter’s on the 13th, our wedding anniversary on the 14th and my birthday is on the 21st. July is a very busy month in the Ashbury household.
July is also the month we lost Anthony, on the 30th, in 2006. That makes this an emotional month, as well as a busy one. It’s no wonder that the beginning of July always gives a bigger meaning to the start of summer for me.
There can be no doubt that summer has indeed arrived. The temperatures are rising and the days are long. This is the last summer before my beloved retires. Originally—that is, after his last vacation time over Christmas—he’d said he didn’t want to take any vacation, since it would be his last year, and he would in fact be on vacation from November onward into infinity. That resolve didn’t last very long at all. He went back to work after the Christmas break the first week of January, and by the second week of January he was looking for a good excuse to take a week off. I have one “author event” this year, very close to home. I’ll be at KallypsoCon 2017 in Burlington, Ontario from July 13 – 16. That’s “just down the road” from us. David has booked that time off work, and he’ll be serving as my “assistant” during this author/reader convention. What does my assistant do, you may ask?
Well in this case, he becomes my “go to” man for whatever I may need, and also wherever I may need to go by being the power behind my wheelchair, if I need it. I can walk. I use a cane, but I am able to walk—but not for long distances or extended periods of time. Usually, when I attend conventions, I rent a scooter. However, I couldn’t see taking on the expense of one this time when we’re driving just down the road, in our own car, and I have the wheelchair in the trunk of my car, anyway.
There was a time when I would have abhorred using the device, as I know my mother did. That phase of my life—that martyrdom phase—has passed, thankfully. I walk as much as I can, and ask for help when I can’t. Asking for help has been one of the hardest things for me to learn how to do. Give help? No problem, I’m happy to. You need something? I am there, baby. Ah, but ask for help? Not so easy for me.
It wasn’t until I looked on that trait as a kind of unattractive pride that I began to change. I’m still not quite there, and my first instinct is to extend a hand rather than take one, but I am, after all, a work in progress.
I’m looking forward to this event, because I haven’t attended a convention for a few years now. I love meeting readers. They’re my focus, and while sometimes I may be a bit late answering the e-mails I receive from them, I do answer every single one. There might come a day when I can’t do that. But for now, I want my readers to feel free to email me, or send me a pm on Face Book. I will respond!
I’ve never attended this event before; it’s a fairly new one as conventions go, but wildly successful, usually selling out very quickly. The organizer, Kallypso Masters, (http://kallypsomasters.com ) is an author I’ve met and admired, a woman who is as warm and genuine as they come. She writes military romance and BDSM and possesses both talent and skill in generous proportions. Her stories are all page turners and definitely worth reading.
This convention is different in that there are limited numbers of authors, and readers. 11 authors, 130 readers, which allows for plenty of good, honest, interaction. I’ve been told that this is a stellar promotional opportunity. I know it is, but I suck at promo—at least what some people interpret as promo.
In my professional life, as far as I’m concerned, there are two things—writing, and readers. I love writing. I love interacting with readers. Whether the sales happen or not I tend to leave up to a higher power.
As I’ve said before, I don’t write for fame or fortune. I write to connect, to touch and hopefully, to uplift. That’s just who I am.
Love,
Morgan
http://www.morganashbury.com
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
Wednesday, June 28, 2017
June 28, 2017
When I was about ten years old, I decided to write a script for my favorite television show of the day. I was the youngest of three children, with a mother who by then was a single mother who worked full time to support us. My mom was not affectionate by nature. I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of times she hugged me in my life. I didn’t understand at the time, of course, that some people simply aren’t able to show affection, even with their own children. My daddy had been one to hug and snuggle and read stories to me. But he was gone.
One of my fondest and earliest memories is being tucked into my bed in the winter by my daddy, who took my sheet and two blankets out to the space heater that was in our living room. He warmed each one, one at a time, and then tucked them around me. I was about five and still in a crib. I shared this bedroom with my parents, and my sister, so until my parents got a three-quarter bed that I could share with her, the crib was all there was space for in that tiny room.
To this day, I get a wonderful, cherished feeling whenever, being chilly, I’m comforted by a warm blanket.
My father died when I was eight and a half, and by the age of ten, I missed him keenly. I’d already learned that I couldn’t talk to mom about daddy. She’d either refuse to talk about him, or end up in tears. In later years—when I was 16 or so—she could talk about him some, but not then, not when I was ten. Her loss was still too new. At the time, my brother was twenty, and totally into the woman he was dating, the woman he would marry the next year (they just celebrated their fifty-second wedding anniversary). And my sister was too busy with her many “boyfriends” to pay me much mind. And when she did pay attention to me, it often didn’t work out well for me at all.
So, there I was, a ten-year-old child, lonely, hurting, and inwardly raging that life was unfair. Why not, then, create my own world, one that could be fair? I lost myself in writing, from that time forward. I made the mistake of showing my sister, once, something I had written (I kept trying with her, for all of our lives. It never worked out, but at least I know that I did what I could). That day, the day that I, full of hope, showed her my great screenplay, was the day when I learned that I have a very thin skin and that ridicule is nearly the most painful thing in life to endure.
Her ridicule didn’t stop me from writing, however; it only stopped me from sharing that writing with others—until well after I was married, in fact. When times became particularly difficult to endure, all through my life, my writing was there, a sanctuary for me, a place where I could lose myself, forget reality, and simply be. My ability to write is the greatest gift I’ve ever received, next to my family.
It took my becoming an adult who had an early heart attack at the age of 48 to consider that the time was right for me to do more than just escape into my own stories. Now, as a woman who has survived, so far, nearly fifteen years post-triple by-pass, as one with more than 50 novels published, I can see how all things have worked together to bring me to where I am today. And I can how see those times that were the hardest to bear in fact have ended up being blessings to me.
Nobody likes emotional pain. Loss is hard, no matter our age, or who (or what) we lose. If our heart has been engaged in the relationship, the loss of that loved one, even that beloved pet, hurts. No, no one likes emotional pain, and yet to some degree we all experience it. For me, emotion pain became the foundation for the development of empathy. Empathy is crucial if one is to be an author of works that move or touch other people.
It was never my goal to get rich writing. It was never my goal to become famous, writing. Did I imagine the pleasure of maybe, someday, stepping into a book store and seeing my book up on the shelf? Oh, most certainly. But not because it meant either fame, or fortune.
That joy would stem from a logical conclusion. If my books were on the shelf in a book store, that meant people were reading them. And if people were reading my words, then I had to be touching lives and/or moving hearts.
I’ve heard some wonderful stories from readers that have brought me to tears, because they’ve shared with me how my words have done just that—how my words have helped them.
That is my goal. That is my mission. That is my ministry.
Love,
Morgan
http://www.morganashbury.com
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
When I was about ten years old, I decided to write a script for my favorite television show of the day. I was the youngest of three children, with a mother who by then was a single mother who worked full time to support us. My mom was not affectionate by nature. I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of times she hugged me in my life. I didn’t understand at the time, of course, that some people simply aren’t able to show affection, even with their own children. My daddy had been one to hug and snuggle and read stories to me. But he was gone.
One of my fondest and earliest memories is being tucked into my bed in the winter by my daddy, who took my sheet and two blankets out to the space heater that was in our living room. He warmed each one, one at a time, and then tucked them around me. I was about five and still in a crib. I shared this bedroom with my parents, and my sister, so until my parents got a three-quarter bed that I could share with her, the crib was all there was space for in that tiny room.
To this day, I get a wonderful, cherished feeling whenever, being chilly, I’m comforted by a warm blanket.
My father died when I was eight and a half, and by the age of ten, I missed him keenly. I’d already learned that I couldn’t talk to mom about daddy. She’d either refuse to talk about him, or end up in tears. In later years—when I was 16 or so—she could talk about him some, but not then, not when I was ten. Her loss was still too new. At the time, my brother was twenty, and totally into the woman he was dating, the woman he would marry the next year (they just celebrated their fifty-second wedding anniversary). And my sister was too busy with her many “boyfriends” to pay me much mind. And when she did pay attention to me, it often didn’t work out well for me at all.
So, there I was, a ten-year-old child, lonely, hurting, and inwardly raging that life was unfair. Why not, then, create my own world, one that could be fair? I lost myself in writing, from that time forward. I made the mistake of showing my sister, once, something I had written (I kept trying with her, for all of our lives. It never worked out, but at least I know that I did what I could). That day, the day that I, full of hope, showed her my great screenplay, was the day when I learned that I have a very thin skin and that ridicule is nearly the most painful thing in life to endure.
Her ridicule didn’t stop me from writing, however; it only stopped me from sharing that writing with others—until well after I was married, in fact. When times became particularly difficult to endure, all through my life, my writing was there, a sanctuary for me, a place where I could lose myself, forget reality, and simply be. My ability to write is the greatest gift I’ve ever received, next to my family.
It took my becoming an adult who had an early heart attack at the age of 48 to consider that the time was right for me to do more than just escape into my own stories. Now, as a woman who has survived, so far, nearly fifteen years post-triple by-pass, as one with more than 50 novels published, I can see how all things have worked together to bring me to where I am today. And I can how see those times that were the hardest to bear in fact have ended up being blessings to me.
Nobody likes emotional pain. Loss is hard, no matter our age, or who (or what) we lose. If our heart has been engaged in the relationship, the loss of that loved one, even that beloved pet, hurts. No, no one likes emotional pain, and yet to some degree we all experience it. For me, emotion pain became the foundation for the development of empathy. Empathy is crucial if one is to be an author of works that move or touch other people.
It was never my goal to get rich writing. It was never my goal to become famous, writing. Did I imagine the pleasure of maybe, someday, stepping into a book store and seeing my book up on the shelf? Oh, most certainly. But not because it meant either fame, or fortune.
That joy would stem from a logical conclusion. If my books were on the shelf in a book store, that meant people were reading them. And if people were reading my words, then I had to be touching lives and/or moving hearts.
I’ve heard some wonderful stories from readers that have brought me to tears, because they’ve shared with me how my words have done just that—how my words have helped them.
That is my goal. That is my mission. That is my ministry.
Love,
Morgan
http://www.morganashbury.com
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
Wednesday, June 21, 2017
June 21, 2017
My, but aren’t we human beings difficult creatures? And aren’t we just filled with complaints? If it’s not too cold outside, it’s too hot. If it’s not too dry, why, then it’s too wet. We go from “I wish the air would move a little”, to “Oh dear Lord, that wind is going to sweep me away!”
Sometimes I wonder if our complaints about the weather are made because it gives us an outlet to bitch. You have to admit, that is one thing you can grumble about and that really, no one individual can feel they’re the target of your vitriol. If your nearest and dearest complain about the weather, well, that has nothing to do with you, does it? You can tell them to have at it without a care.
I think we need to complain, and I believe it’s a way for us to unleash our aggression. Ideally, that’s one of the benefits of the sports we put our young boys and girls into. Oh, sure, I’ve heard all the opinions about building team work, learning fair play, self discipline, and getting exercise. As a member of society who really wants society to work, I can agree with all those benefits. But it is essential for us, as we grow, to learn how to get rid of that aggression.
The problems arise, when we fail to remember one salient point about humanity. For all that we’re intellectual and sentient beings, for all that we consider ourselves civilized, we are also a part of the natural world. We’re animals, with animal instincts, and not all of those instincts, thanks to our origins, are refined or even polite.
I firmly believe if we do not give our young boys and girls, men and women, sufficient outlets for their natural animal-based aggression as they grow, we harm them, sometimes irreparably. In my opinion, aggression repressed is not aggression destroyed—it’s merely aggression delayed.
There are parallels between the natural world and people living in society because despite our best efforts to be civilized, despite our best efforts to believe we are above the natural world. I believe that when humans are forced from a young age to tamp down their natural aggression, it never goes away, it truly is simply delayed. Delaying aggression only builds pressure within. Eventually, pressure suppressed long enough is a pressure relieved by a cataclysmic explosion. We see this in nature, and we see this in us.
Just ask the folks living around Mount St. Helens. Or look at the people who are guilty of road rage incidents. Or, that very modern-day phrase, people known for “going postal”.
When I was a kid—and sorry, the older I become, the more I turn into one of those old-timey kind of folks always saying that, but I digress. When I was a kid, there would be fights in the school yard. Teachers would pull kids apart after a few punches were exchanged, and, (this is important) aggression expelled. If the cause was severe, there would be a meeting in the principal’s office, but otherwise, it was just a school yard fight. Sure as hell, no police would called, and no one stuck labels on anyone else for these childhood fisticuffs.
I understand the movement toward all the efforts to stop aggression (not talking about bullying here, that’s something else altogether), I understand the motive is to stem violence. But what we have to do is channel that need to blow, that need, yes, for violence, into something that uses the energy and emotions that combine to create that aggression in the first place.
I believe that this is a need as basic to humanity as food, water and air. I really believe that. I also believe we can ensure our kids learn to recognize it and then to relieve it in a healthy manner.
Simply telling kids it’s wrong to feel that way isn’t good enough, and it’s not the way to go.
Love,
Morgan
http://www.morganashbury.com
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
My, but aren’t we human beings difficult creatures? And aren’t we just filled with complaints? If it’s not too cold outside, it’s too hot. If it’s not too dry, why, then it’s too wet. We go from “I wish the air would move a little”, to “Oh dear Lord, that wind is going to sweep me away!”
Sometimes I wonder if our complaints about the weather are made because it gives us an outlet to bitch. You have to admit, that is one thing you can grumble about and that really, no one individual can feel they’re the target of your vitriol. If your nearest and dearest complain about the weather, well, that has nothing to do with you, does it? You can tell them to have at it without a care.
I think we need to complain, and I believe it’s a way for us to unleash our aggression. Ideally, that’s one of the benefits of the sports we put our young boys and girls into. Oh, sure, I’ve heard all the opinions about building team work, learning fair play, self discipline, and getting exercise. As a member of society who really wants society to work, I can agree with all those benefits. But it is essential for us, as we grow, to learn how to get rid of that aggression.
The problems arise, when we fail to remember one salient point about humanity. For all that we’re intellectual and sentient beings, for all that we consider ourselves civilized, we are also a part of the natural world. We’re animals, with animal instincts, and not all of those instincts, thanks to our origins, are refined or even polite.
I firmly believe if we do not give our young boys and girls, men and women, sufficient outlets for their natural animal-based aggression as they grow, we harm them, sometimes irreparably. In my opinion, aggression repressed is not aggression destroyed—it’s merely aggression delayed.
There are parallels between the natural world and people living in society because despite our best efforts to be civilized, despite our best efforts to believe we are above the natural world. I believe that when humans are forced from a young age to tamp down their natural aggression, it never goes away, it truly is simply delayed. Delaying aggression only builds pressure within. Eventually, pressure suppressed long enough is a pressure relieved by a cataclysmic explosion. We see this in nature, and we see this in us.
Just ask the folks living around Mount St. Helens. Or look at the people who are guilty of road rage incidents. Or, that very modern-day phrase, people known for “going postal”.
When I was a kid—and sorry, the older I become, the more I turn into one of those old-timey kind of folks always saying that, but I digress. When I was a kid, there would be fights in the school yard. Teachers would pull kids apart after a few punches were exchanged, and, (this is important) aggression expelled. If the cause was severe, there would be a meeting in the principal’s office, but otherwise, it was just a school yard fight. Sure as hell, no police would called, and no one stuck labels on anyone else for these childhood fisticuffs.
I understand the movement toward all the efforts to stop aggression (not talking about bullying here, that’s something else altogether), I understand the motive is to stem violence. But what we have to do is channel that need to blow, that need, yes, for violence, into something that uses the energy and emotions that combine to create that aggression in the first place.
I believe that this is a need as basic to humanity as food, water and air. I really believe that. I also believe we can ensure our kids learn to recognize it and then to relieve it in a healthy manner.
Simply telling kids it’s wrong to feel that way isn’t good enough, and it’s not the way to go.
Love,
Morgan
http://www.morganashbury.com
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
Wednesday, June 14, 2017
June 14, 2017
Each Mother’s Day, I go to the floral department of my local grocery store and purchase three miniature rose bushes in pots for the girls. By the girls, of course, I mean my daughter, my second daughter, and my daughter-in-law. It’s a small tradition that I began years ago. You may have guessed I’m big on traditions. There’s so much uncertainty in life, it’s nice, I think, to have a few things one can count on.
The girls, for their part, individually chose to plant those rose bushes in their gardens, rather than keep them in the pots. Another tradition, and one that means the world to me.
Come Father’s Day, there’s just my oldest son, as well as my husband, to show appreciation for. Rather than a rose bush, I’ve tended to gift our son with other things instead. Most usually, it’s clothing. This year for the first time, I will give him a gift card. That seems to be my fall-back gift, lately. It isn’t that I don’t want to take the time to actually shop, although my stamina for that activity is much less than it used to be. It’s more my belief that it’s better all around if the person being gifted can choose their own gift.
I don’t recall celebrating any Father’s Days when I was a kid. I’m sure I did, with my siblings, but there is just no memory in my head of ever doing so. There never has been. When I was eight and a half, my father died, and after that devastating point in my life, the next fathers I knew were my husband and my father-in-law. In those days, the gifts were more of a token, as was the card. It seemed more important to give a nod of recognition to the fathers, on their day.
Fathers play a vital role in the lives of their children. They are the bulwarks, the guardians, the ones we look to in times of trouble, or fear. Fathers, in the ideal state, never tremble, never show uncertainty or dread to their families. We cling to them, our fathers, and receive our sense of security from being able to do so.
What an enormous burden we lay upon the shoulders of our fathers!
In this day and age, it is sad to say, the role of father is being redefined. I say sad to say, because so many younger fathers think their job is done after the procreation moment. However, for those who choose to go beyond procreation, choose to become fathers to their children, that role no longer has a single sense to it, in that individual families, individual fathers, seek their own definitions. In some families, for example, the women remain working outside the home and the fathers stay home and take care of the house and the child until the child hits school age. That is different from all that I knew—although my mother did work outside the home when I was little and my father did cook and clean and do laundry sometimes. But just because the role of the father is different than what I knew, that really doesn’t make it less.
People should have the freedom to define themselves. What remains steadfast, in my opinion, is the general principle of parenting. If you are bringing children into the world, then as adults, whether you’re the mother or the father it is your responsibility to care for that child, to nurture, to protect, and to equip that child with the tools he or she will need to become a productive, happy adult.
That is a tall order for anyone to fill. It requires taking one’s eyes off one’s self, and keeping them firmly fixed on someone else. Someone smaller, weaker, and needier than you.
A tall order, indeed. So, to the fathers out there, I say Happy Father’s Day. We honor you for your service and encourage you in your mission. It’s not an easy one, but then the truth is that nothing worthwhile ever is.
Love,
Morgan
http://www.morganashbury.com
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
Each Mother’s Day, I go to the floral department of my local grocery store and purchase three miniature rose bushes in pots for the girls. By the girls, of course, I mean my daughter, my second daughter, and my daughter-in-law. It’s a small tradition that I began years ago. You may have guessed I’m big on traditions. There’s so much uncertainty in life, it’s nice, I think, to have a few things one can count on.
The girls, for their part, individually chose to plant those rose bushes in their gardens, rather than keep them in the pots. Another tradition, and one that means the world to me.
Come Father’s Day, there’s just my oldest son, as well as my husband, to show appreciation for. Rather than a rose bush, I’ve tended to gift our son with other things instead. Most usually, it’s clothing. This year for the first time, I will give him a gift card. That seems to be my fall-back gift, lately. It isn’t that I don’t want to take the time to actually shop, although my stamina for that activity is much less than it used to be. It’s more my belief that it’s better all around if the person being gifted can choose their own gift.
I don’t recall celebrating any Father’s Days when I was a kid. I’m sure I did, with my siblings, but there is just no memory in my head of ever doing so. There never has been. When I was eight and a half, my father died, and after that devastating point in my life, the next fathers I knew were my husband and my father-in-law. In those days, the gifts were more of a token, as was the card. It seemed more important to give a nod of recognition to the fathers, on their day.
Fathers play a vital role in the lives of their children. They are the bulwarks, the guardians, the ones we look to in times of trouble, or fear. Fathers, in the ideal state, never tremble, never show uncertainty or dread to their families. We cling to them, our fathers, and receive our sense of security from being able to do so.
What an enormous burden we lay upon the shoulders of our fathers!
In this day and age, it is sad to say, the role of father is being redefined. I say sad to say, because so many younger fathers think their job is done after the procreation moment. However, for those who choose to go beyond procreation, choose to become fathers to their children, that role no longer has a single sense to it, in that individual families, individual fathers, seek their own definitions. In some families, for example, the women remain working outside the home and the fathers stay home and take care of the house and the child until the child hits school age. That is different from all that I knew—although my mother did work outside the home when I was little and my father did cook and clean and do laundry sometimes. But just because the role of the father is different than what I knew, that really doesn’t make it less.
People should have the freedom to define themselves. What remains steadfast, in my opinion, is the general principle of parenting. If you are bringing children into the world, then as adults, whether you’re the mother or the father it is your responsibility to care for that child, to nurture, to protect, and to equip that child with the tools he or she will need to become a productive, happy adult.
That is a tall order for anyone to fill. It requires taking one’s eyes off one’s self, and keeping them firmly fixed on someone else. Someone smaller, weaker, and needier than you.
A tall order, indeed. So, to the fathers out there, I say Happy Father’s Day. We honor you for your service and encourage you in your mission. It’s not an easy one, but then the truth is that nothing worthwhile ever is.
Love,
Morgan
http://www.morganashbury.com
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
Wednesday, June 7, 2017
June 7, 2017
I’ve come to a greater appreciation that it’s the quality of a moment, and not it’s duration, that is the most important aspect of any event.
Remember how I waxed near poetical about anticipating the day when I would be able to take in the aroma of my lilacs and lilies-of-the-valley at the same time? That was a moment I’ve been anticipating since I panted both the lilac bushes, and the lily bulbs at the front of my house.
Lilac bushes don’t seem to grow quickly, at least not compared to other flowering shrubs. They take time. Lots of time. I wish I could remember exactly how many years ago I panted mine, but it has to have been at least 4 years ago. They’ve only grown a few inches in height in that time, and have gained a bit of girth. Every spring, I count the appearance of those tiny green buds as the bushes/trees proclaim new life, a victory. Last winter wasn’t as harsh, here, as the winter before. That doesn’t mean I was any less on pins and needles, waiting to see those buds. I really don’t take their survival for granted.
What I didn’t know was that this spring’s blossoms would finally reach the point of being bountiful enough to release a good amount of fragrance into the air. And yes! I was finally able to inhale both scents at the same time. I didn’t know it was going to be this year. But, as I am prone to do, I’d hoped.
It was a wonderful handful of mornings. Not a full week, more like four days. Yes, I’ve been waiting for years and I got about four days during which those two aromas mingled.
I wonder if that’s a metaphor for life, in general. Do you suppose that a lot of things are that way, that the anticipation appears to outweigh the actual event? I know many would say it’s so. I hope I am never among those that do.
You see, I count anticipation as part of the event. I’ve always done that. I enjoy planning for a trip, working out what clothing I’m going to take, what sights I want to see, even what I might like to bring back for my grandchildren as gifts. To me, that has always been a part of the experience of vacation. That way, the “trip” if you will, isn’t only the week or so of the actual time away from home, but includes the months leading up to it.
Similarly, the years that I’ve spent hoping for, and waiting for, that sense of scent (pardon my pun) had as its crescendo, the few mornings recently past, when I stepped onto my porch, inhaled deeply, and received as my reward an emotional homecoming of sorts. But the anticipation of that first day, that first moment, that first breath—well, that was as much a part of the experience, don’t you think?
We live in an instant society, when we expect everything to be fast. I’m guilty of that myself. Patience? I pray for it every day but many days sadly go without that admirable quantity. You should see me at my computer some days. I open one browser, click on the site I want that’s in my bookmarks—and if it’s not opening in five seconds, I’ll close that browser and open another. Nope, sometimes, there’s no patience here.
But that saying, patience has its rewards? It’s true, if you make anticipation a part of the event or experience you’re aiming for.
That almost seems counter to what I said last week about not wishing away time, but it’s not. It’s more like savoring your time. I try to savor each day, to find something to appreciate and be thankful for.
Because, at the end of my time here on earth, I don’t want to regret that I was in too much of a hurry to look forward to and embrace the small miracles of life.
Love,
Morgan
http://www.morganashbury.com
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
I’ve come to a greater appreciation that it’s the quality of a moment, and not it’s duration, that is the most important aspect of any event.
Remember how I waxed near poetical about anticipating the day when I would be able to take in the aroma of my lilacs and lilies-of-the-valley at the same time? That was a moment I’ve been anticipating since I panted both the lilac bushes, and the lily bulbs at the front of my house.
Lilac bushes don’t seem to grow quickly, at least not compared to other flowering shrubs. They take time. Lots of time. I wish I could remember exactly how many years ago I panted mine, but it has to have been at least 4 years ago. They’ve only grown a few inches in height in that time, and have gained a bit of girth. Every spring, I count the appearance of those tiny green buds as the bushes/trees proclaim new life, a victory. Last winter wasn’t as harsh, here, as the winter before. That doesn’t mean I was any less on pins and needles, waiting to see those buds. I really don’t take their survival for granted.
What I didn’t know was that this spring’s blossoms would finally reach the point of being bountiful enough to release a good amount of fragrance into the air. And yes! I was finally able to inhale both scents at the same time. I didn’t know it was going to be this year. But, as I am prone to do, I’d hoped.
It was a wonderful handful of mornings. Not a full week, more like four days. Yes, I’ve been waiting for years and I got about four days during which those two aromas mingled.
I wonder if that’s a metaphor for life, in general. Do you suppose that a lot of things are that way, that the anticipation appears to outweigh the actual event? I know many would say it’s so. I hope I am never among those that do.
You see, I count anticipation as part of the event. I’ve always done that. I enjoy planning for a trip, working out what clothing I’m going to take, what sights I want to see, even what I might like to bring back for my grandchildren as gifts. To me, that has always been a part of the experience of vacation. That way, the “trip” if you will, isn’t only the week or so of the actual time away from home, but includes the months leading up to it.
Similarly, the years that I’ve spent hoping for, and waiting for, that sense of scent (pardon my pun) had as its crescendo, the few mornings recently past, when I stepped onto my porch, inhaled deeply, and received as my reward an emotional homecoming of sorts. But the anticipation of that first day, that first moment, that first breath—well, that was as much a part of the experience, don’t you think?
We live in an instant society, when we expect everything to be fast. I’m guilty of that myself. Patience? I pray for it every day but many days sadly go without that admirable quantity. You should see me at my computer some days. I open one browser, click on the site I want that’s in my bookmarks—and if it’s not opening in five seconds, I’ll close that browser and open another. Nope, sometimes, there’s no patience here.
But that saying, patience has its rewards? It’s true, if you make anticipation a part of the event or experience you’re aiming for.
That almost seems counter to what I said last week about not wishing away time, but it’s not. It’s more like savoring your time. I try to savor each day, to find something to appreciate and be thankful for.
Because, at the end of my time here on earth, I don’t want to regret that I was in too much of a hurry to look forward to and embrace the small miracles of life.
Love,
Morgan
http://www.morganashbury.com
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
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