We Can't Let Bad News Break Us By Sandy Semerad

          The other day I walked in the house and found hubby Larry in a funk. When I asked him what was wrong, he said, “I saw another shooting on the news.”

Larry, being a kind and empathetic person, had absorbed this pain, and as he explained in detail what happened, I became sad. Until then, I’d been in my happy zone, listening to Elvis on Sirius radio.

“Don’t watch the news,” I told Larry.

Strange advice, coming from me, a news reporter for many years, but when I first started my career as a journalist, it was a different era. I tried to stick to the facts, give all points of view, and avoid reporting on certain things. Like suicides, for example. Reporting a suicide created more suicides.

Nowadays nothing seems off limits. The 24-hour news monster has taken over. This monster is impossible to satisfy, and seems to prefer a diet of sensationalism with violence and killing and political mud-slinging.

To avoid the flatulence of this monster, I’ve decided to watch the news less and spend more time trying to become more peaceful and compassionate.

Compassion is our highest calling, according to author and philosopher Joseph Campbell. But how can we become compassionate when we blame others for the problems in our world?

In pondering this question, I recalled the words of a song I heard Elvis sing the other day:

“Walk a mile in my shoes

Walk a mile in my shoes

Before you abuse, criticize and accuse

Walk a mile in my shoes.”

As a writer, I often try to imagine myself walking in the shoes of others, and I suppose that’s why I like this recitation from the Dalai Lama:

“Today I am fortunate to have woken up, I am alive, I have a precious human life, I am not going to waste it. I am going to use all my energies to develop myself, to expand my heart out to others, to achieve enlightenment for the benefit of all beings, I am going to have kind thoughts towards others, I am not going to get angry or think badly about others, I am going to benefit others as much as I can.”

In order to achieve a true state of compassion, we should focus on our commonalities, rather than our differences, according to his teachings. We all want to be happy. We’ve all known pain and suffering. And we all appreciate a smile and a sympathetic ear.

I like to think I’m a compassionate person, but I have a problem when it comes to people who deliberately hurt others, and yet, according to the Dalai Lama, I can’t reach that final stage of kindhearted living, unless I want to ease the sufferings of those who have caused suffering.

If someone hurts us, we shouldn’t react angrily, he says. We should withdraw. Analyze the situation and ultimately realize that the abusive person is the one who is suffering, and then we should offer compassion.

 “If you want others to be happy, practice compassion. If you want to be happy, practice compassion.”—Dalai Lama

Daughter Andrea claims she’s found more compassion and peace since she stopped watching the news every day. She recently canceled her cable subscription and bought a box that converts her regular television to a smart T.V. This allows her to select the programs she wants to watch. She feels lighter now, unlike some of her friends, addicted to the news, who emit heavy, negative vibes, she says.

I certainly don’t want heavy, negative vibes, I told her, and I’m determined not to let all of this bad news destroy my day. I’d rather work on trying to eliminate my own flaws and in the process, become more compassionate.

Maybe if we all choose this path, our positive energy will spread to everyone, everywhere, or to quote one of my favorite spiritual song, “Let there be peace on earth and let it begin with me…” 

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Calling all Muses, Dead and Alive, by Sandy Semerad

As a writer, I’m always searching for a muse, and when country music superstar Merle Haggard died recently, I became reacquainted with his story and found him more inspiring than ever.

Haggard grew up dirt poor and became a hellion. He was sent to reformatory schools, but no school could reform him.  At 20, he robbed a restaurant. After he was arrested, he broke out of the county jail, was recaptured and sentenced to San Quentin. In prison, he gambled and brewed beer and was thrown into solitary confinement. There he conversed through an air vent with a death row inmate.

This conversation changed him, he said, and when Johnny Cash performed at San Quentin, Haggard was inspired to become a musician. He taught himself to play the guitar, and after his release, he worked in the oil fields, as he wrote and performed music. He eventually composed 38 number one hits.

I find his story amazing. He overcame impossible odds to achieve great success, and he found his muses in unlikely places.

Going for a simple walk can bring out a muse for me. I love to walk on the beach near where I live. Nature created the white sands from crystal rocks. The gulf sparkles like emeralds in the sunshine. I sometimes hear music in the gulf’s roar. The other day, Larry and I were walking our dog P-Nut, and I started to sing a tune I was hearing.

I asked Larry if he’d heard the tune before. He plays the piano and has performed with many musical groups. He also composes music.

“Sounds different,” he said.

I explained how the tune flowed through me. He didn’t think this was strange at all, but creative.

In thinking about the creative process, I remembered the time Larry asked me to sing, “If I Can Dream,” at the church where he plays piano. This song was written for Elvis Presley. Elvis was the only artist to record the song, as far as I know.

On the morning of my performance, I walked to the podium to sing, but then I flew into some kind of unconscious zone. The congregation clapped afterwards, so I figured I did okay.

Larry said, kindly, “You nailed it.”

The preacher smiled and said, “You wiggled your hips while you were singing.”

“You channeled Elvis,” Larry teased me.

But all joking aside, I’ve had many strange things happen to me, mostly when I write. I can never predict how my characters are going to behave. I think I know them. I have created their back story and outlined extensively, but then when I start the writing process, my characters always surprise me. They’re like jazz musicians. They know the structure and the rules, but they want to jam and do their own thing.

My characters eventually return to the story line, but I often have to figure out how to rescue them or not. Sometimes they create such a mess I must call on my slumbering muse. She’s the one who appears in my dreams after I go to sleep while thinking about the problem. This muse seems to have the ability to provide a solution by morning.

Most of the time, I draw from my own experiences, as a newspaper reporter, columnist, broadcaster, political activist, exercise enthusiast, wife, mother and grandmother. I’m more comfortable writing about what I know. Some of my favorite authors do the same. John Grisham, an attorney, writes great legal thrillers, and many of Stephen King’s protagonists are authors. In fact, King is considered one of American’s most prolific authors. Also, my fellow authors at Books We Love write tales on subjects they're passionate about.

In two of my novels (Sex, Love & Murder and A Message in the Roses), my protagonists are reporters. However in Hurricane House, the lead character is not a journalist, but a catastrophe Investigator (CAT, for short). Creating this unique protagonist seemed to make more sense. Luckily I know a CAT, and he generously shared his knowledge with me. As to describing the hurricane, that was easy. Larry and I have survived a few of those.

I created A Message in the Roses, from a murder trial I covered as a newspaper reporter in Atlanta. But even though I lived through this trial, I had to immerse myself in 80s music again and read news accounts from that time before my muse decided to resurface.

While working on the sequel, I’ve tried to set reasonable writing goals, allowing for my day job and family responsibilities. This time around, I’ve had to call on a variety of muses, alive and dead. Will they lift me to a higher plane and help me write my best novel yet? I hope so.

To read more about my writing, please visit my website: www.sandysemerad.com

          

Here’s my latest novel, A MESSAGE IN THE ROSES:

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My "Glory Days" aren't over, by Sandy Semerad

            You've probably heard Bruce Springsteen’s song Glory Days. His old friends are sitting around, talking about glory days while life passes them by. I refuse to live like that. My glory days are here, with more to come, I hope.

            

            While the past has provided fodder for my novels, I don’t live in the past and can cover mine in a few paragraphs:

I grew up in Geneva, Alabama with an unconventional mother. She wore big hats and heavy jewelry that jangled when she played the piano in church. A classical pianist and impressionist painter, Mama followed her bliss after Daddy died (I was seven when he passed). She traveled to artist jaunts, sticking me and my sister Alice Kay in summer camps--Sarasota, FL and Cape Cod, MA. On a whim, she once took us out of school in the middle of the year, because she wanted us to see the Carlsbad Caverns in Albuquerque.

At nineteen, I ran off and got married. Mama and I were living in New York City at that time. She wanted me to become a singer, model and movie star. Instead, I married Tim Ryles, from Hartford, Alabama. Back then, my life revolved around family and two amazing daughters Rene and Andrea. Along the way I earned a B.A. degree in journalism from Georgia State University in Atlanta and worked as a newspaper reporter, broadcast news director, columnist and editor. I barely had time to breathe and often daydreamed to escape reality.

Tim and I separated. I moved to the Florida Panhandle and got a job, reporting and writing columns for a local newspaper. A year or so later, a publisher of chamber of commerce literature offered me a better position, involving travel.

I have been traveling hither and yon ever since. I’ve worked with chamber publishers for many years. Being on the road has given me a chance to write the stories in my head. I’ve had three novels published: Sex, Love & Murder, (previously Mardi Gravestone) Hurricane House and A Message in the Roses (The sequel is in progress).

Would Mama and Daddy be pleased with me? I hope so, although I don't often think about that question.

Mama might be happy to know I still sing, sometimes at the Presbyterian Church in Freeport, Florida, where husband Larry plays rocking New Orleans piano. He and I have also written songs together.

            

          As to dwelling on the past, I’d rather live in the moment. I want to treasure each second of the here and now. I want to feel truly alive while I’m on this earth.

Whether I’m writing, reading, exercising, traveling, cooking, walking our dog P-Nut, (Miss Kitty trails along), or spending time with Larry, my daughters or grand Cody, I try to take a moment to say, “Thank you. I’m grateful.”

When I see a butterfly on a flower, I think, I want to drink all the sweetness I can out of life.

Did you know butterflies have none of the DNA of the caterpillars and chrysalis from which they emerge? One of my characters in A Message in the Roses mentions this, and it’s a scientific fact.

Butterflies are a true metamorphosis, and like the butterfly, I have evolved. The birth of a New Year reminded me of this. I feel new. The past is gone. My glory days are happening now, with more to come. I hope you feel the same.

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To read more, visit my web site: http://www.sandysemerad.com/