Drowning in Grief

Hello, Sunshine




It's been one of those days again. The kind when I'm barely hanging on to the tightrope of my emotions. My eyes have been burning with unshed tears all day. I don't know why.

It could be that I ran into the mother of my brother's best friend when he was a kid. She hugged me like it was my brother she was hugging. She told me she loved me.

It could be that Summer Slam, a big WWE event, is on tonight, and normally my brother would be at my house with his big, disgusting feet at one end of the sofa and his arm thrown over his head at the other.

It could be because it's a Sunday. Or it's raining. Or it's August 21st. Or it's sundown. Or any other inconsequential thing. It's just one more day without my big brother.

Most people would say I've been the rock of my family. I was the one who made all the funeral arrangements. I held it together that week when we had friends and family at the house. I was the one who answered the phone calls. Now, I'm the one my mom calls when she's having a bad day. I'm the one who goes to my grandmother's house to talk her down from the crazy, old lady ledge. I'm the one putting together this 5k fundraiser. I'm the strong one.

I'm the stone cold, stoic, tin man with no heart. My brother was the one who cried at the drop of a hat. Irony, right?

So, it's days like these that I feel like I'm drowning. I'm like Alice when she drinks the bottle to make her grow, and she cries big fat giant tears and they fill up the room, almost drowning her.

But then she drinks the other stuff and shrinks down to fit into the tiny bottle, and she flows through the key hole into the ocean. Then those weird birds dance around her.

That's me. Maybe I fell down a rabbit hole, and I'm having a crazy acid trip of a dream. Maybe I'll wake up, and my brother will still be alive. Maybe.

Really, though, I'm just trying to hold my breath for as long as I can while I meet this wave head on. I'm trying to not hit my head on any sharp rocks as it drags me around, spins me upside down. I'm trying to swim to the top, see the sunlight through the murky waters. I'm trying to reach for whatever lifesaver I can, the goddamn half a door Rose wouldn't share with Jack. 

It's eight months later, and I'm trying. We're all trying. I'm just wondering how much further I have to swim until my legs stop cramping up and the saltwater stops burning my eyes. 

This grief thing is hard. But as Christopher Jackson as George Washington once sang Lin Manuel's lyrics, "Dying is easy, young man. Living is harder." You fucking got that right. 

#TheBoatsAreHereJack

Suz

Seven Year Itch

Hello, Sunshine



I celebrated my seventh wedding anniversary yesterday and "Grow Old With You" was our first dance song. Right after our bridal party entered to the theme song from Golden Girls, and we hopped in to the theme from The Love Boat. Clearly, we're the coolest couple you know.

I did some thinking yesterday. About love and marriage and romance and writing. And here's what I've come up with.

First: Marriage is really all about math. It's 30% talking about bodily functions, 30% discussing what you want for dinner, 30% arguing over how to load the dishwasher properly, and 10% agreeing you like each other enough NOT to follow through on those murder plans. You know, like when you say, "OH MY GOD. If I find your towel on the floor one more time I'm gonna smother you with it in your sleep!"

...or maybe that's just us.

Kasey and I have been together since we were kids. I was eighteen, he was twenty when we met. He likes to say he first noticed my red hair then my big boobs. I'll give you one guess as to what he likes more. He doesn't call me Boobs McGee for nothing. A true romantic, this one.

Yes, that one. The one with the tongue. He's mine.

My second thought: Romance writers are actually pragmatists. If we weren't realistic about love, we wouldn't be able to tell a truthful story. Love isn't full of hearts and unicorns. Sometimes it's difficult or ugly, misunderstood and impatient. It can happen at the most inopportune times or shatter like glass with the slightest pressure. It's what everyone wants but can seem like the pot at the end of a leprechaun's rainbow.

It could be argued I fell in love with Kasey at first sight. After our first date, I went home and told my mom I wanted to marry him. True story. But I also had a terrible bout of cold feet a few months before we were married and ran-rather, flew-to LA for a week to decide whether I wanted to marry him or not. See? Pragmatic. I don't believe in soulmates. I don't believe in destiny either.

I know. I said it. 

But I do think we carve our own future with the choices we make. Humans could fall in love with a lot of people, many times over. Hell, Hozier falls in love with someone new every day, according to his song. I just happen to really adore Kasey and think Darwinism created a close to perfect specimen in him. And I want to keep him. And call him my squishy. Hopefully, if we keep working at it, we'll stay married forever and ever. Maybe meet each other again in the next life. Although, I'd really like to come back as something else. Maybe a gazelle. Or cheetah. Something that can run really fast.

Which brings me to my third point: Romance, as we know it, is bullshit. It's pretty, good for making money on Valentine's Day, and completely false advertising. Romance, while nice, is not Heath Ledger singing to Julia Stiles. It's not meeting at the top of the Empire State Building. It's not holding a boombox outside of a window or clumsily falling into a bagazillionaire who has a penchant for BDSM. And it's certainly not any goddamn Nicholas Sparks books/movies, but let's not pull out my feminist soap box right now.

Yet after seven years of marriage, I think I've finally figured out what romance is. It's waking up every day next to the same person and keeping your commitment to him or her. It's deciding that the grass doesn't look all that much greener from this side. It's learning to fall asleep with the television on because I like light and noise to go to bed. It's making him his favorite dinner even though I'm off meat again. (It happens every so often) It's looking each other in the eye when we say, "I love you." It's the little moments in between all the big stuff. Because it's those little moments when we fall in love all over again. Anyone can buy a big teddy bear and hire a skywriter, but no one can smile his slightly gap-toothed smile, pet my hair, and say, "You're so beautiful," in the middle of a commercial break while we watch Once Upon A Time quite like he can.

Plus, I mean...he's just so handsome. I write romance because what the world needs now is love, sweet love. And in times likes these, who wants to read about aliens attacking the planet or boring business memoirs? I'd much rather fall in love. Over and over and over. So, while I enjoy living out my happily ever after, I hope everyone out there is too! (Cue John Legend)

Can you even with that face? Me either.

#AllOfMeLovesAllOfYou

Suz

Now This is a Story...

Hello, Sunshine

I'd like to take a minute so sit right there, and I'll tell you how I became the prince of a town called Bel-Air.

Or, I can tell you how I failed first grade.

...No joke.

When I was a kid, I was super shy. Hard to believe now because I may be, arguably, one of the loudest people will you ever meet. But back then, I was painfully shy. I talked to a grand total of six people and that was on a good day. I was afraid of my own shadow and didn't know how to make friends. I even remember hanging out by the swings with the adults in my preschool instead of with the other kids. Real cool.

My brother was practically a genius by first grade even though he was a year younger than his peers so my parents figured they could put me in school early too. Turns out, it wasn't a great decision. 

Kindergarten started, and I spent most of my days in the corner coloring. I had trouble tying my shoes, couldn't remember my address, and still had no friends.

First grade came around when I was five, and I was struggling big time. With everything. Including math. The teacher told us to turn our rulers over so we wouldn't cheat. PSH! Yeah, right. And phonics? I wasn't hooked on anything. To make matters worse, I didn't have the regular colored markers like red, blue, and green. I had the pastel colors. When the teacher said, "Take out your red marker to color in Pontius Pilate's cape." (That's what you do in Catholic school, draw pictures of people from the bible.) I raised my hand and said, "I don't have red. I have coral." That got me a stern look from the teacher and a couple of snickers from the bullies in the back row. Womp womp. 

I was going out to the trailer- you know those, the ones you go to for extra help- every day. I needed more time to learn everything, from spelling to handwriting, and had a slight speech impediment. (Now though I talk like Six from Blossom) The other kids in class ignored me for the most part, some picked on me, but a select few invited me by parental force to their birthday parties where I hung out in the corner because, of course, that's what shy kids at parties do. 

So, June finally rolled around and my mom showed up to the last day of school which was super unusual because my mom never came to school. I was really excited to see her until my teacher sat us both down with this weird expression on her face. I was obviously not the brightest bulb in the pack, but I knew KNEW this was bad.

I don't remember any of the conversation between the teacher, principle, and my mother besides the words "socially inept." I had no idea what those two words meant then, but I sure as hell do now. I was THAT kid. I was the super awkward kid. With big red curls and freckles! They could’ve made a cartoon about me. 

I went home crying after I was told I had to repeat first grade. I was upset, mad, and terribly embarrassed. I was already afraid of everyone in my class, what would they think of me now? I spent all summer fretting over it, working my six-year-old self-esteem even lower. 

By the time the first day of my second year of first grade finally showed up, I was a mess. New classroom, new teacher, new round of "friends" to make. I wearily found my seat and took out my pastel colored markers. That's when Brooke turned to me. She said, "I really like your markers." 

“I like your scrunchie,” I said.

And that's how I made my first friend in first grade. The rest of the day went swimmingly. The rest of my year even better. I crushed my second time in first grade! Turns out I just needed a little time to grow. I was a late bloomer.

Walking into the second round of 1st grade like a boss

Moral of the story: sometimes you don't understand 3 + 4 on your first try. Sometimes not even on your second, third, or fifteenth try. And it will hurt. Bad. It'll be upsetting, maddening, embarrassing, and will most definitely hurt your self-esteem. BUT there will come a time when you do get it. And it will be awesome. 

I've spent my life trying to prove I'm not a "failure," working doubly hard at everything I do to show the world and myself I'm not that self-conscious, backwards kid. And after years of trying to outrun my fear of failing, I've come to realize failure doesn't define who you are. Failure is just the bottom of the valley before you begin your ascension up the mountain. It may take a few times and a lot of wrong turns, but if you try hard enough, you'll make it to the top. Let failure push you to be better. 

I say to my writer friends, don't stop trying. Believe me, the late bloomer who was literally picked last for everything and legit couldn't read, I get it. Failure sucks, but eventually you’ll pass. Even with your pastel colored markers.

Hell, look at me, I got me an agent now. Still working on my grammer skillz tho. 

#EverythingIsBetterTheSecondTimeAround

Suz

P.S. Brooke is still one of my best friends. <3

What Even is Sadness?

Hello, Sunshine

Like the Carpenters said, rainy days and Mondays always get me down. And I’m blue today.  I’ve tried to put this off, but I think it’s come to the point in my little blog journey where I need to tell you about the worst day of my life.

The day I leaned what sadness is.

I mean, I thought I knew. I’ve read Me Before You. I’ve watched Titanic. Hell, I’ve held the hand of my grandfather while he took his last breath. I thought that was the saddest thing I’d ever go through.

I was wrong.

I’m a creature of habit. I was born and raised in the same town. I live three blocks from my parents, who still live in my childhood home. I only ever shop at Giant because I have the aisles memorized, and I always order the same thing at Cold Stone. My parents are still married, and I’m the younger of two children. I’m still best friends with the people I grew up with, and I met the man I married when I was eighteen, we have a cute little house and some furry babies. Better yet, I get paid to do what I love. To say I have a charmed life is pretty accurate.

The thing is, I was always haunted by this dream I had. When I was little, maybe five or six, I had this vivid…vision? Nightmare? Fever dream? I don’t know, but everything was white with a single rope, thick like on a boat with three knots tied in it. The first two were close together, leaving the space between the second and third about triple the length of the first. Then a voice said, “This is how long you’ll live, and this is how long your brother will live.”

Rightfully so, it scared the shit out of me, but I kept it a secret. I’d been having panic attacks since it’s happen, freaked out that I’d die by the time I was 27. (But if you have to go, you might as well join the club with Jimi, Janis, Kurt, and Jim, right?) The closer I got to the magic number, the more I opened up about it, telling my closest friends, basically giving away all my worldly possessions, mainly my *NSYNC CDs and favorite DVDs. I reached 27 without incident, then 28, 29, and finally 30 last November. At that point, it was a big joke to everyone. I made it to the big 3-0, life was gravy! I’d pretty much live forever, ah-ha, suck it dream!

Then, on December 15^th of last year, my brother died suddenly.

It was a Tuesday, around 9:30 when my mom called me screaming. I can’t tell you how I functioned to speak to the police and the coroner. I don’t know how I held my mom as she cried, or got it together to call the people I was supposed to. But I do remember quite clearly how it hit me a few hours later. How I went outside and just…lost my mind.

It was supposed to be me. The dream told me so.

But it was my brother. He was the one who didn’t make it. My brother, my first friend, my protector, my favorite person, made it to 33 years-old. (Just like Jesus. That’s a pretty sweet club, too.)

A few days later, the coroner told me it was a massive heart attack, his heart was three times the size it should have been, something about arteries and blockages, and more and more science words until finally he said, “It would have happened immediately like an electric shock.”

My brother was a obese for a lot of his life, but he was finally getting healthy, losing weight, going to the gym, and visiting a nutritionist regularly. Funny, cause he died outside the gym after a workout. He had texted his girlfriend to meet up with her later, got in his car, sat down, put the key in the ignition, closed his eyes, and took his last breath. He didn’t even close the goddam car door yet.

It happened in a second. He was alive, and then he wasn’t.

I had a brother, and then I didn’t.

I was a younger sister, and now I’m an only child.

And it happened in a second.

That was December 15^th, 2015. That’s six months, 150 days, and some 3,600 odd hours since my old life came crumbling down. It was the day I learned what true sadness is. The day I become a different person.

My brother left two little kids, who are too young to fully grasp what happened but cry none-the-less because my brother was a great daddy. He left 120 middle school English students, all of whom wrote letters, came to the funeral, and threw a fit when the school finally brought in a replacement, who tried to take down his posters in the room. He left the high school football team he coached, who actually had a wining record this past season! He left his writings unfinished, his iPod only halfway charged, and his Star Wars:The Force Awakens tickets unused in his wallet (He'd been practically jizzing in his pants over that movie.) 

He left the world before he should have. And it fucking sucks.

So, there you have it, my saddest day. I'll continue to write about my big brother because he is a huge part of my life. He's the reason I started writing to begin with. He influenced the music I listened to, the movies I watched, and the books I read. My brother is as much a part of me as I am alive, so there is no way I won't be able to write or blog without mentioning him at least a few times. 

#AndrewJamesDoran

Suz

The One with a Movie

Hello, Sunshine

Two years ago today, I attended a film premiere. My own film premiere. That's right, I made a movie! An actual movie, not the kind you only watch when you're alone, or the kind you post on Vine, but a real movie.

See?



Good stuff, right?

In case you don't know anything about filmmaking, it's really hard. And I don't say that condescendingly, but most people don't realize the amount of work that goes into a 90 minute film. The number of people needed, the hours and hours and hours put in before a camera is even picked up, the numerous excel spreadsheets, the hundreds of phone calls and meetings, and the paper clips. It's a massive amount of paper clips. Hell, I didn't even realize what it took to make a movie before I made one. Baptism by fire, that's how I roll.

Me, my mohawk, and Jess at the premiere.

It all began how all good ideas do, over a couple of beers. Jess, my best friend/soul sister/brain twin, and I were sitting around talking about all the stupid stuff we've done. We were like, man, our shenanigans would make a good movie, a la Superbad but with chicks, so we got out a pen and paper and started jotting things down. Neither one of us knew how to write a movie, but from that day, we decided to learn.

My favorite shot. Took six hours to get because the sun wasn't cooperating. 

Jess and I met in journalism class in high school so we knew how to write, but a screenplay was a whole new beast for us. We took classes, read books, joined writing circles, the whole shebang. Eventually we completed it. Then we wrote another, and another, and another, thinking one of these bad boys had to hit. Someone had to want one of our ideas! Someone? Anyone?

Jess, me as a zombie, and Bennet, our sound guy.

We tried the query thing, we tried the LA thing, we even tried the stalk Adam Sandler thing cause he makes crappy movies all the time, but none of it worked. So, in the fall of 2012, we decided to open our own film company, Tinker Films. I started writing Just Like We Used To Do in the middle of the night on a random Wednesday, sent the first ten pages to Jess, and she emailed me the next day with, "This is it. This is the one we're making."

So we did. But how when we knew nothing about making a movie? Google, of course.

The car that broke down no less than 3 times on set. 

We pulled our resources, raised some money on Kickstarter, turned on the Bat Signal for talent, and voila, we had a movie. From start to finish, it took a cast of about twenty people, a crew of about thirty, thirteen days, and one broke down Chrysler to make it all happen. I slept, like, ten hours total for those two weeks, but it was one of the most fun experiences of my life. It was also the most stressful, and literal blood, sweat, and tears were shed to get it done. But I couldn't be more proud. It's a film about someone who is very close to my heart, and it may not be worth millions or star JLaw, but I think for a budget of shoestrings and hot dogs, it's pretty damn good. I'd like to think I'm the female version of Ed Burns...or, ya know, someone just as cool but with a lot less money.

We've since signed with a film sales agent, and we're hoping to have our little film out there somewhere, maybe Netflix or on your next JetBlue flight. Either way, you can watch it now. So, go ahead, what are you waiting for?

 

I'm officially a triple threat: writer, director, producer. Just call me James Franco.

#seriouslycallmeFranco
Suz

It's Gonna Be Me

Hello, Sunshine

Are you tired of the *NSYNC memes about May? I am. But I can't resist this song.



I had a dream last night that I was hired as *NSYNC's personal assistant. I was working for a bunch of old boybanders, who lived in a big mansion together and still acted like young boybanders. And it was everything. EVERYTHING. Joey was snarky, Chris was ridiculous, Justin was kind of a twat, Lance was obsessed with social media, and JC was beautifully tortured. I'd like to imagine that's what they're like in real life. I've heard JT really is a twat. I might have dreamed about these gorgeous hunks of singing/dancing puppets because of all the memes and gifs floating around yesterday, or it could have been my obsession seeping into my unconscious.

I think it's the latter.

This happened. And I LOVE it.

I was in eighth grade at the height of the pop craze in 1999-2000 and was a hardcore *NSYNC fan. Suck it, BSB! My formative years were shaped by Chris Kirkpatrick's hair, Britney and Justin's relationship, and my undying love for JC, who is still at the top of my Freebie Five. It was a great time to be alive.

So, what is a girl with a boyband obsession and a lot of free time to do? Write fanfiction, obviously. I was into fandom before it was nerdy cool. Back then, it was just nerdy. AND I was coding my own website. Somewhere along the road, I lost my computer skills, but for real...a thirteen-year-old girl, who taught herself HTML code? I was crunk.

If you've got a few hours to spend reading the daydreams of an adolescent Suzanne, I highly suggest you check out the angelfire website I created. I also suggest you read it with alcohol. Goes down easier that way. It's probably the best *NSYNC fanfiction you'll ever read. Maybe the only *NSYNC fiction you'll ever read. Either way, you'll love it. This I promise you. 

#Crunkbaby

Suz

Captain Planet, he's our hero!

Hello, Sunshine

I think we can all agree yesterday was a sad day in our lives. Let's take a moment to enjoy the pure eargasm of Prince. 

It's safe to say, after catching Purple Rain on HBO when I was twelve, I had my sexual awakening.

In other news, it's Earth Day today. And since I'm a hippie dippie kind of chick, let's talk about it, kids.

Earth Day began in 1970 and is celebrated in 193 countries, coordinated by the Earth Day Network. This year, the Paris Agreement is scheduled to be signed by U.S. and China, the two worst perpetrators of carbon emissions at a combined 40%, and over 120 other countries to help cut on greenhouse gases. 

What are greenhouse gases you ask? Great question. 

Greenhouse gases are carbon dioxide, methane, nitrous oxide, and a couple other ones I can't pronounce. They are results from everyday activities, such as: using electricity, manufacturing, driving cars, and farting cows. Once these gases are released into the atmosphere, they basically wrap around Earth like aluminum foil on a freshly made burrito and trap the sun's radiation in, which causes our planet's temperature to rise.

See?

Bad news is global warming can't be stopped. Good news is we can slow it down. It's pretty simple really. Just stop doing things that emit greenhouse gases. 

1. Walk or ride a bike when you can. Get a bus pass or grab a ride with your buddy. The less cars on the roads, the better. 
2. Convert to energies that make Earth happy like solar, wind, or water. Or, do something as simple as changing your light bulbs to compact fluorescents. That will save about 300 lbs of carbon per year. 
3. Eat less meat. The meat industry creates 20% of the global gas emissions (that's a lot!) and uses 2,500 gallons of water per pound of beef. Plus, our country's agriculture is getting out of control with the GMOs. If you aren't growing it, raising it yourself, or buying it from a local market, be suspicious. 

If you want more ideas on how to be part of Captain Planet's gang, buy Zero Waste Home. I highlighted it on my book page. It's written by a French women, so obviously so knows what she's talking about, and tells you how to Reduce, Reuse, and Recycle. And just generally be a better, kinder person. But don't buy the paper version. Save the trees and get a Kindle.

#SoFreshSoCleanGoGreen

Suz

Book Boredom

Hello, Sunshine

Did you ever start reading a book and halfway through decide you don't like it? But try to power through, thinking you'll change your mind?





I'm reading Pride and Prejudice, a classic. What's wrong with me that I don't love a classic?

A few years ago, I decided I'd read all the books from the high school reading list I didn't get to and/or Sparknoted instead of actually reading. It started off great with The Catcher in the Rye (which is highlight on my page), Slaughterhouse Five, and To Kill a Mockingbird, but then I got to these English "classics." First was Dicken's A Tale of Two Cities and, whew boy,  did I ever struggle with that one. I quit less than halfway through. Reading it, I felt like Joey when he tries to learn French.



Now, with Jane Austin, I'm ready to throw in the towel. But I don't want to be a quitter. I want to be a winner. A winner who can read English prose without wanting to cry. So onward I go to page 131. If you haven't heard from me in a few days, send help. I've probably been rereading the same paragraph over and over again and didn't realize it.

"The person, be it gentleman or lady, who has not pleasure in a good novel, must be intolerably stupid." - Jane Austin


#Touteslasmore

Suz

OMG

Hello, Sunshine

As I write this, I have Usher stuck in my head.  

I attended my FIRST EVER writer's retreat with some amazing women. I'd been to screenwriting conferences and festivals before but never really enjoyed the writing classes. Picture a lot of hipster dudes with M.F.A.s and a pencil behind their ear to show they're '"old school" as they silently judge everyone else behind their square glasses and sweaters with holes in them. It was hard for me, a boisterous chick with a penchant for not verbally filtering my sarcastic thoughts, to fit in with Tarantino and Sorkin wannabes. 

BUT guess what? Writers of romance are just like me! I finally found my people!

Aren't my people pretty?

The incomparable and beautiful Brighton Walsh (more on my relationship with B-rock to come at a later date) put it all together. I spent almost 72 hours with these ladies learning, laughing, and talking about all things romance. (But mostly laughing) I came back with a ton of ideas and even more motivation. 

I was once given this piece of advice, "Never be the smartest person in the room," and I will take it to the grave. When we stop learning from other people, we stop growing...and I want at least another three inches taller. For realsies though, these women taught me quite a bit in just a few short days, the most important of which is to never be afraid to do something out of my comfort zone. And look at me now, doing something out of my comfort zone, blogging. 

This past weekend, I was happy to be in a room full of people smarter than me. Besides, if I'm ever the smartest person in the room, we're officially in a zombie apocalypse, and they've eaten everyone else. 

#Zombieslikebrains 

Suz