Author: Alicia Joseph

I'm an animal lover. I volunteer at a dog shelter and love nothing more than watching neglected or abused animals get their second chance and find loving homes. I'm also an author of the books, Her Name, Loving Again, A Penny on the Tracks, Annabel and the Boy in the Window, and a short story called This Christmas. When I'm not writing, I'm usually reading. I'll read anything as long as it is well-written and has a compelling and beautiful story. You can find me on twitter @AliciaJAuthor.

I Ain’t Sinatra

Unlike Sinatra, I have more than a few regrets. Enough to mention, but I won’t in detail. Not here. My regrets stay locked tightly inside me and I fear if I accumulate any more, my insides will burst like the overflow of a shaken carbonated bottle. But my lid sits securely in its place–for now.

Some of my regrets I couldn’t control, but most, however, were of my own-doing. My past is filled with chances I didn’t take when I should have and chances I did take when I shouldn’t have. I quit when I was meant to fight and acted brave when it was best to walk away.

Live and Learn.

I meditate. Being still helps calm most of my mind’s chaos, while teaching me to accept my past knowing that I can’t change it. The part of my life already lived will not be given back to me. I’m tilting toward the brink of forty. If I’m lucky to live to see eighty, my life is already half-over. Half-lived.

Time may minimally ease the sting in the cuts of a person’s deepest regrets, but the guilt and shame in not feeling any sense of accomplishment in one’s life is a heavy burden to carry.

Luckily, that burden was lifted from me the moment I signed my first publishing contract. I waited twenty years and I would have waited twenty more because getting published is the validation most writers seek, and I was no exception to that need of validity.

In 1999, I was fresh out of college — an English major who didn’t want to teach. I want to be a writer, I’d say, and being a teacher sounded too permanent. So I took a job selling cellphones. I sold cellphones before I even owned one. I didn’t know how to power-on most of the phones I was meant to sell, let alone answer technically-specific questions about them.

“Is this a NiMH (nickel-metal hydride) battery or a lithium-ion?”

“Um…let me check on that for you, sir,” I’d say, and sneak behind a front display and whisper to my manager, “What the #uck is a nickel metal something battery and lithium something another?”

These exchanges happened often. I’ll never forget the $hit I caught from a customer when I told him a charger he wanted to buy was an OEM (original equipment manufacturer) Motorola product when it was actually an after-market brand. It was an honest mistake, but because he owned stock in Motorola, he was furious. And he let me know it.

I was a terrible salesperson, but that was the appeal. The only job I wanted to be good at was writing. The downtime waiting for customers was spent writing. But I didn’t yet know how to write and my first rejection letter proved this. I was around twenty-three years old and all I wanted was to be a published writer. I took the rejection well. I didn’t expect it to be easy, but I also didn’t know it was going to be so hard.

But the hard is what makes the moment so sweet when you finally get it right.

I signed my first publishing contract early last year and my book came out the following summer. Though I may have felt validation as a writer, that moment, a year later, has created one of the biggest regrets in my life, and that’s saying a lot. I know I can’t bring back the past, no matter how far I reach back. Like all my other regrets, this one has to live through its course, and will be felt every inch of the way.

Photo courtesy of freedigitalphotos.net

Why I’m Scared of the Dentist

I’m scared of dentists, but not because of drills, or root canals, or cavities. I’m scared of dentists because I don’t trust them. I’m at the point where if a dentist tells me I have a cavity (even a tiny one) I’m heading for a second opinion.

A few years ago, I changed dentists because I became unhappy with my previous one. I sought out the internet to help with my search. I sifted through reviews and found a dentist near me, who, by what was written, many people seemed satisfied with. So I called and made an appointment.

The office was located in the downtown-area of town, near the train station amid small-businesses and family-run stores and restaurants. I opened the door to a fashionably modern office. Shiny floors, no carpets. Music playing through over-head speakers hanging on the ceilings containing words – no elevator music here!

In the corner was a Keurig machine sitting on a table stacked with k-cups of flavored coffee and tea. I took my seat in the waiting room and thumbed through a magazine as background noise from the flat screen TV hanging on the wall and people chatting at the front desk filled the air.

The door leading to the back of the office opened and a pleasant looking middle-aged woman appeared and she called my name. I followed her down a hallway and she welcomed me into a mini-sized room.

A documentary of some sort was playing on a small-screen monitor a few feet away from me. I settled into my chair, ready for her to start cleaning my teeth, but the friendly woman told me to sit tight and she’d be right back. My attention swayed to the monitor and I listened as the narrator explained the danger of mercury – especially the mercury in our fillings.

I admit. I have a mouthful of silver resulting from a childhood of eating taffy and drinking endless gallons of pop. Who knew sugar caused cavities? Apparently, not my mom. And I’m sure it isn’t good to have all this mercury in my mouth, but I was left alone to watch this film for twenty minutes. I never had to look back so many times before in my life.

Where was this woman?

Finally, she popped in and casually asked how I was doing, as though only a few minutes had gone by, and then she reacted super surprised at something the narrator said in the film. “Oh my god!” she griped. “I didn’t know that could happen!” Whatever that was, I was to believe it was so horrendous that if I didn’t get these fillings out now, I would die… Like, right now, die.

I had resented so much already about my visit and I hadn’t even “opened wide” yet. First, I resented being forced to watch this film. They got me in the room, tucked me into a chair, laid a thin cloth around my neck, and I felt trapped. I had nowhere to go and they knew it. I resented that they used my time to force me to watch a film to scare the hell out of me so they can get a lead into selling me more service.

I’m sure replacing silver fillings isn’t cheap. Cha-ching!

I also resented that the woman thought I was stupid enough to believe that she didn’t have that documentary, the one replaying over and over with every patient she saw, memorized by now. I wasn’t buying that she was “shockingly surprised” by anything that narrator said. Needless to say, their scare tactic didn’t work. Silver fillings still shine brightly in my mouth and I will decide when it comes out.

Finally, she started cleaning my teeth and immediately a look of concern covered her face. “Your gums are very red,” she stated. “I really recommend a deep cleaning process. This isn’t good.”

“Okay,” I answered, unsure what this all meant. I knew good health began in your mouth, but when she started talking so fast and all I could make out were “heart” and “early signs” and “insurance doesn’t cover” and “four-hundred and fifty dollars”, I stopped her. This is the first I’d heard about my gums being this bad and never had I needed a “special” kind of cleaning and I am a regular dentist goer. I wasn’t buying this traumatic bit so I asked her nicely to just give me the cleaning that my insurance would cover.

I could tell she wasn’t happy with my decision, but didn’t say anything more about it. She started with the regular cleaning and, back in pleasant mode, she asked how old I was.

“Thirty-seven,” I replied.

“Do you have children?”

“No.”

“Are you married?”

“Nope.”

Huge head swing down toward my direction and she looked at me with astonished eyes. I felt so worried for her that I had to reassure her that I was okay with not being married or having kids. Seriously, lady. Here’s a paper bag. Take a deep breath. These things happen.

She quickly agreed that it was no big deal and carried on about the perks of being single and free. I was sure her act was an attempt to cover herself in case I took offense by her reaction. I didn’t, but some women may have. Hopefully, she has learned to keep a neutral facial expression when she has a patient in the chair.

When that lovely experience was over, it was time for me to meet the doctor.

A young, pretty brunette draped in a professional white doctor’s coat greeted me at my side. She offered her hand, as well as one of the best fake, forced smiles I’d ever seen. She spoke in a manner that immediately made me think – sorority girl.

She reclined my seat back and instructed me to open wide…as wide as I could, and then she and her assistant, sitting on the other side of me, went to work. I lay on the chair with my eyes closed as they chatted away. In between the two women’s banter, the doctor would tell me how wonderful I was doing and then, since it was December, asked about my holiday plans, while her fingers and some object sucking my saliva was in my mouth.

It wasn’t a great time for a conversation. But she hadn’t seem to notice as she carried on about how she wished all her patients were as wonderful as I apparently was being. (eye roll) Oh, and the office had some great items for sale that would make excellent holiday gift bags! Seriously. My dentist couldn’t say enough about how said items were the perfect present.

“Right,” I thought, because nothing would make me more popular than stuffing someone’s stocking with dental products. It’s what everyone wants for Christmas!

“Thanks Alicia! How’d you know?” My lucky recipients would ask while tugging the stocking close to their heart.

Yes, that’s exactly how that crappy gift would play out.

She didn’t find any cavities, but she did notice a small space between a couple of my teeth and a slight overbite. I told her I wear a retainer at night and she immediately asked if I’d heard of Invisalign. I had. She went on her sales pitch and I told her to give me the information. It cost three thousand dollars – that was all the information I needed to decide I was out, but she continued with her spiel.

She showed me some brochures and I said I’d take them home with me — to throw into my garbage. She left me alone with the assistant for a couple minutes and then came back, all smiley-faced, and asked if I was ready to make the molds.

I was suspicious. “Molds for the Invasiign?” I asked.

“Oh yes,” she smiled. “We can do that right away.”

For three thousand dollars I was sure they could do anything right away.

At that point, I was very upset. I had been perfectly clear when I stated that I needed to think about it. The entire office had felt like one big bully, but I remained cordial, and told her again that I would need to think about it.

Her pretty smile wasn’t working on this lesbian.

As we were wrapping up the appointment, the doctor offered me a Starbucks gift card in exchange for a review of my experience. “We thrive on reviews,” she explained, and, I could conveniently use the office computer!

I left without writing a review because my review wouldn’t be one she’d want to reward. Seriously? Reviews for coffee? I walked to my car, grimacing my freshly-polished teeth, knowing I’d been sold out by reviewers for a cup of coffee. Damn you Starbucks!

Note:

Dentists, please don’t bribe me to write a positive review for you. Bribery makes it seem it’s the only way you can get a good review, and judging from my experience, it probably is the case for this particular dentist.

Photos courtesy of freedigitalphotos.net

A Time to Reflect

Today is Ash Wednesday. The first day of the forty days (not including Sundays) of Lent. Lent is a time to reflect on the days that led to the crucifixion of Jesus Christ. We fast. We refrain from meat on both Ash Wednesday and Fridays. Fish isn’t considered meat. Only flesh from warm-blooded animals are off-limits. Sorry tuna but you don’t get a reprieve, in fact, your death rate probably spikes during this time. It’s true. Baked tuna casserole with crumbled potato chips on top will always make me think of Fridays during Lent.

Catholics are also required to give up something they really, really like because this isn’t a time to be festive. It’s a time to reflect on suffering. It is a somber time. Fast food, diet coke, potato chips, alcohol, candy, porn, whatever your guilty pleasure, you give it up. Except on Sundays. All bets are off on Sundays because Sundays are festive days. Sundays are the Lord’s day and we celebrate the Lord. Every Sunday. No matter what. Even during Lent. Meat may be eaten, as well as that favorite thing we gave up.

Truly. The rules aren’t so hard when we consider Jesus had nails driven through his hands and feet on a cross he would later die. All for our sins, AFTER he was brutally, nearly whipped to death, yet still, some idiot will complain about that ONE day during the week he or she can’t put pepperoni on their pizza or eat bacon with their eggs.

Hey, idiot, try some tuna instead.

Having said all this, I didn’t get my ashes today. I haven’t gotten ashes in over a decade because I don’t go to church. Aside from Baptisms, Communions, Weddings, and Funerals, I haven’t attended a regular mass in close to fifteen years…not even on Christmas. Even though I attended Catholic school from kindergarten through high school, my family wasn’t “strict” Catholics by any means.

Still, weekly church attendance was expected when I was a child and Christmas mornings were the worst. I’d beg and plead to stay home in my pajamas and play with my new toys. But that never happened. We attempted Midnight Mass one year to forgo the morning chaos, but there was so much singing and I was way too tired for all of that. I fell asleep against my grandmother’s snugly arm.

I’m not sure the exact moment I decided to stop going to church, but I do remember the Sunday morning when I listened to a priest preach the Homily. This was around 1998. A young man named Mathew Shepard had recently been beaten and left to die in a field, presumably, because he was gay. The priest condemned the act because the Church did not condone violence, and then he told the people sitting before him that if they knew someone who was gay to not hurt them, but instead, help them. Yes. Help them find their way because gay people were clearly lost souls. A little direction was all they needed. A compass, if you will.

The town I grew up in was home to about 18,000 people. We had two Catholic schools and two Catholic churches. Divide up two churches of the same religion in a not-so-big town, and that isn’t a lot of people attending each church, especially given not everyone in town was Catholic. This meant you prayed among a lot of familiar faces during Sunday mass. After the priest instructed his congregation to lead gay people from the everlasting damnation that was surely awaiting them, I looked around me. With those familiar faces came a lot of knowledge of who these people were and I was mostly unimpressed. Small towns talk and it scared the $hit out of me that my salvation depended on those @ssholes.

No way.

I had only been out a couple years to select friends and family. I was young, twenty, and very nervous about who knew I was a lesbian, so I did nothing as the priest spoke his words. I obediently sat still in my place in the pew and listened. But if that would happen today, I’d stand up and leave through the side door, (not the back) and let the door slam behind me so the entire congregation, including the priest…wait...especially the priest, knew somebody had just left. And that somebody didn’t agree with the bull$hit he was spewing.

But I wasn’t so bold back then.

This is the first Lent in years that I am taking part in. For a long time, I would intentionally eat meat on those forbidden days. Disobeying the rules made me feel good. I held a grudge against a religion I called my own for a long time. I know now that I wasn’t holding a grudge against God, but a grudge against the people who worshiped Him, because they hardly ever practiced what He preached. But through all the time neglecting His service, I never stopped believing in Him and had always felt (still do) that a higher power was watching me.

This keeps my conscience on high-alert.

By nature I’m a spiritual person. I recently started meditating twice a day. I sit still, cross-legged, on my bedroom floor. I close my eyes and repeat mantras over and over in my head. I do this while fingering yoga beads in my hands. The first time I did this I felt guilty because the beads reminded me of the Rosary. I can’t honestly remember the last time I prayed to the Rosary. I apologized to God that night while assuring Him that He wasn’t being replaced.

This is just something I need to do.I hope the clarity I gain through meditation will help strengthen the absent connection I’ve had with my former religion.

I’ve asked God to give me time. I’m still alive. So I think He’s okay with it.

Photo Courtesy of Freedigitalphotos.net

Yoga and Life

At the start of the New Year, I resolved to practicing daily yoga and meditation. I’ve been doing yoga off and on for about four years. But if you’re off for two months and then on for three, and then off for another two, it is impossible to attain any of the life-changing benefits yoga offers. This past year I was disciplined enough to not go months without doing yoga and I have seen amazing results, but this year I will be better.

The first thing yoga taught me was to breathe. You may be thinking “who the heck needs to be taught how to breathe?” I know. I know. Breathing is the first thing we do when we enter this world. We take a breath via a cry, or a scream. What’s so hard about doing something every living being must do to survive? Well, everything and I was doing it wrong.

Through yoga I learned Ujjayi Pranayama. Ujjayi breathing is a technique of the breath which can be referred to as “the ocean breath.” Pranayama is a Sanskrit word that means “extension of the breath.” Prana means “life force” and Ayama means “to draw out.” Ujjayi Pranayama is usually associated with asana practice, the practice of sitting down (or any posture that helps with flexibility). Sitting still while restoring one’s mind is one of the tremendous benefits of yoga. Being able to stretch and attain certain positions brings peace to both body and mind.

But starting yoga is hard, especially if you aren’t flexible. I wasn’t flexible at all when I first stepped onto my mat. I couldn’t touch my toes without bending my knees, but every day I practiced, I got closer and the breath is what kept me from giving up. On the mat I learned to breathe through uncomfortable positions – not scattered breath – but long, deep breathing. A yogi or yogini takes what he or she learns on the mat into their daily life. I carried this technique with me throughout my day by not holding my breath in stressful situations. Breathing keeps the mind calm.

I touch my toes comfortably now and all forward bends (sitting and standing) are my favorite asanas. We hold past relationships in our hips so forward bends are a great way to release negative energies lingering from former lovers. The pose I once loathed has become an integral part of my practice. Such is the way with yoga? (Maybe one day I’ll be able to say that about the head stand, which I refuse to even attempt.)

After consistent practice, a yogi/yogini discovers what kind of diet works better with his/her practice. I have switched to a vegetarian diet because I have found it it works really well with the asanas. A vegetarian diet doesn’t interfere with all the bending and twisting positions in my practice. I feel this way of eating enhances my ability to perform each asana and because there’s a lot of self-reflection in yoga/mediation, it is beneficial to adhere to a compassionate diet.

A few days ago, I committed to doing two daily twenty-minute meditations for forty days as a way to clear my mind and begin a positive habit that I hope transforms into a life-long practice because meditation reminds me to live in the moment. I can’t change the past nor can I predict the future, but I can appreciate the now. My favorite mantra that I use in my mediation is “In this moment, all is well.”

In meditation I listen and am mindful. I’m not perfect in carrying this into my daily life, but I work at it.

“Listen more, talk less.” – Buddha.

Namaste.

Photos courtesy of Freedigitalphotos.net

Credit to Wikepedia for the exact definitions I used.

2015 Lesbian Fiction Appreciation Event

Today, I am featured on the 2015 Lesbian Fiction Appreciation Event hosted by the talented KT Grant. Please visit the link below to read my post about reading and writing Lesbian Literature, and meet other wonderful authors who write stories about women who love other women.

Thank you!!!!

http://kbgbabbles.com/2015/01/alicia-joseph-mon-126-lfae.html

Free Giveaway of my Book, Her Name!

Today I am featured on Women and Words Blog. If you’d like a chance to win a free ebook copy of Her Name, please visit the link below and leave a comment. A winner will be chosen at random.

Thank you!

http://womenwords.org/

Madison Andrews has spent her entire life–unsuccessfully–searching for love. She begins having vivid dreams of the same woman every night, and soon, Madison believes this woman is the love she has been searching for. Madison’s dreams become more intense and she realizes the dreams she’s having recreate moments taken from actual events from her life–and this woman is there for all of it. Madison searches for her, but how can she find a woman she knows everything about… and yet nothing? She doesn’t even know her name.

A Review Of Her Name with Lynn Lawler

Author Lynn Lawler has written a wonderful five star review of my book, Her Name.

Thank you, Lynn, for taking the time to read and review my book.

Please click on the link below to read this review, as well as reviews for books from other amazing authors.

Thank you!

Please check it out at http://lynnlawler.blogspot.com/.

Lost and Scared

It was cold last night in Chicago. Real cold. Factor in the wind chill and the temperature fell to a brutal degree that no living being could ever survive, at least not without every inch of their flesh covered under thick layers of heavy clothing. But even that probably wouldn’t have been enough to take the chill away.

Last night was the kind of night you go to bed, pull the covers up to your chin, and say a prayer for anyone who has no other place to sleep but on the streets.

I follow a Rescue group on Facebook and on my newsfeed was a post about a woman who had found a dog, all by itself, while waiting for a bus. The dog wouldn’t leave her side, but she couldn’t take him on the bus with her. So she called a friend. Explained everything. And that friend took to Facebook. She gave the intersecting streets where the dog currently was, somewhere in Bridgeport, and an immediate outpour of responses flooded the thread.

My eyes were glued to my computer screen while I frantically read comments asking for confirmation the dog was still at said location, another stating that a woman was on her way, another, from the original poster, urging swift action because even though the dog seemed attached to the woman at the bus station, the woman still needed to keep a secure grip on the dog, and because the dog had no collar, this wasn’t an easy task with a sixty-plus pound dog. The dog was scared. And scared dogs usually run.

I read the thread as though it were a captivating suspense novel, and I was gripping at the cusp of anxious uncertainty of how this would end…….

I held my dog a little tighter that night as I imagined him wandering those same lonely and cold streets, terrified. And I silently prayed that if I should ever lose him, someone would come to his rescue the way those “angels” on Facebook did for this sweetheart found last night.

This scared baby has been reunited with his family. Humanity at its best. 🙂

No Regrets

The days remaining of 2014 have hit the single digits and when a new year approaches, reflection over the past year can bring forth profound emotions. There will be regrets. Some big. Some small. But hopefully with those regrets come moments one wishes to relive everyday for the rest of his or her life.

2014 had a few of those moments for me.

I published my first book this year and my second will be out early next year. Being a published author had always been my dream and the timing of that dream coming to fruition couldn’t have been more perfect. It came while I was at an extremely low point in my life and the news gave me the lift I desperately needed. I finally had a reason to be proud.

For the moment, I was assured I could offer this world, this life, something, anything. I felt the satisfying emotion of self-worth that every person needs to feel in order to live each day with the confidence that he or she belongs here.

It’d been a long time since I felt I had accomplished anything and the sensation that ran through me when I finally achieved this was life-saving. But once the jubilation of signing my first book contract eased, I realized, “Holy Crap! I need to do it all over again!”

Yes. I had to get to work on my second book because nobody wants to be a one-trick pony. I hit more walls while writing that second book because the inspiration just wasn’t there. Not like it was with the first book, but eventually, I finished it and sent it to my editor. She liked it and contracted it. (Thank you, Jeanne!)

I’m in a much better place going into this new year than I was at this time last year. I was still a month away from being published and filled with severe doubt about everything I did. In some psychic way, I knew how much was riding on the outcome of my submission to the small epublishing company I had discovered online. I wrote the query letter but was cowardly close to not sending it at all. My emotions were out of control. I was crying a lot and was certain that I was in no state of mind to handle a rejection.

Looking back, reflecting on this past year, I’m relieved I took a chance with my writing. Sure, I had risked getting rejected and crying more than I already was, but I would have gotten over it eventually because I knew I couldn’t live with asking myself “what-if?” all the time. It only brings regrets.

Heading into 2015 I have another “what-if” scenario haunting my mind and it won’t go away. But I’m not sure I have the courage to do what I know is right. This could blow up in my face in a very bad way.

A year ago I put my dream on the line. I took a risk. I need to do it again because I don’t want 2015 to be the year of regrets.

Photos courtesy of Freedigitalphotos.net

Celebrate 13 Days of Christmas with a Free Copy of Her Name

Please help Musa Publishing celebrate 13 Day of Christmas with a free ebook copy of my book, Her Name. For today only, you can receive not only my book, but a book from two amazing authors free!

Her Name is a about a woman who believed the beautiful woman she dreams about is the real love of her life.

An excerpt from Her Name:

Now, I laid down my fork and leaned into my seat. I knew she didn’t want to talk about this anymore, but I did. “This all sounds crazy to you, and maybe in the beginning, it was something to joke about, but now, I’m not sure. These pictures were taken directly out of my life, and this woman was in every one of them. You can’t tell me I just dreamed it from memory, because my memory isn’t that good! The photos were identical all the way from the clothes we wore, to the smile on our faces. Hell, even the background was the same! She was the only thing that was different. How could that be?”

I stared at her, waiting for a response as she took it all in.

“Like I said on the phone, I just don’t know what you want me to say. I’m not sure what you’re asking me. Is it weird? Yeah, totally, but I’m no dream expert, and neither are you. Like I said before, maybe it’s your subconscious taking over. I’m sure there’s a logical explanation, and it probably has some fancy scientific name.”

“She’s my wife,” I said flatly. “I saw a picture of us from our wedding, and we looked like we belonged together. We know each other. I mean, really know each other. I wish you could see us together, because you’ve never seen me this way with anyone before.”

“And what way is that?”

“In love,” I answered.

“In love,” Shelly repeated and then pushed herself away from the table. “Well, Maddy, me seeing you with her is something that will never happen. Do you wanna know why that will never happen?”

“I know why you think that will never happen, but that’s where you’re wrong.” I stared at her and said, “I’m just gonna come out and say it. I think she’s real.”

Please check out Musa Publishing’s website at http://musapublishing.com/index.php?main_page=specials.

Thank you!