Some Kind of Beautiful


There is a certain kind of beautiful that I know I’ll never be. You know, the kind of beautiful that stops people mid-sentence and people write songs about. It’s the kind of beautiful that never has to be qualified, like ‘oh you have such lovely eyes’ or ‘what a pretty face you have.’ Just lovely. Just pretty. That is the kind of beautiful that I’ll never be. I struggle with this on a daily basis, bombarded by images of women who are airbrushed and photoshoped and have nothing to do but workout and focus on themselves. To be clear, I don’t blame the women. If you have a god-given talent (mine is writing, some people have their face) then you should use it. I blame the media and society for allowing these things to continue on and perpetuate this notion of how women should be. I’m sure it’s possible to walk right past these images and not allow them to bother you in the least and I can do that on a good day. Today is not a good day. Being a woman is hard. Being honest with yourself is even harder.
So, hi, BTW. I’ve been gone for a while. No, I’m not dead – just working on my life. Smack in the middle of edits of Playing With Fire, it is a much more strenuous process this time and I’m very glad for it. My editor, her name is Farrah, is super calm and understanding. I’m like, flipping out and she’s like, ‘All is well, Christy.’ LOL The book is up on Goodreads and here is the link should you be so inclined to add it to your TBR list:
                 
                        
I’m excited for this one. I want to redo my website and throw some PR around. Have you heard that saying: you have to have money to make money? That is a true saying. I don’t really have any upfront capital to invest, nor do I have any willing investors, so promoting will come down to me, my laptop, and some long nights begging for blog tours and praying for reviews. It will be worth it though, in the end. I can feel it in my bones.
 
I promise not to stay away so long next time.
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Standing Still

Some folks spend their whole lives standing still. They look at what life has dropped in their laps, say thank you very much, and hold it until their bodies shrivel with old age and they once again belong to the very earth on which they stood. I don’t know if I should feel sorry for these people or just envy the hell out of them. Honestly, I feel a little of both.

I look at people standing in their spot, happily holding their lives and think, “Run, you fool! Run before you’re stuck there so deep a MAC truck couldn’t tow your ass out!” How can they just accept what’s been given to them, what’s expected of them, what life says they ‘must’ do? Don’t they know there’s more out there, more for them to learn and know? More books to read and people to meet? I feel sorry for them and the fact that they don’t want more.

I look at people standing in their spot, happily holding their lives and think, “My God, that must feel good; to be content. That must be wonderful.” What peace they must have to know that everything they could ever want is right there in their hands. Everything they could ever need is within their reach and there’s nothing to worry about or strive for or fail at, because they’ve already found their way. They’ve already found their place. I envy them and the fact that they don’t want more.

There are two sides to every story, well, three if you’re my granny: ‘Your side, My side and The Damn Truth.’ There’s always more than one way to look at a situation and more than one choice to make. I suppose a case could be made for either way, standing still or wanting more, and at the end of the day we just have to find out what’s right for ourselves and pray like hell that we figure it out before the end of our days.

Let me know if you come up with anything because I sure as shit aint got a thing.

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