Elizabeth Isaacs's Blog

I have strong opinions about what���s happening in the world���and that shouldn���t be surprising. I teach at-risk elementary students, many born outside this country. I see their fear. I hold them when they cry. This summer, I���ve started stocking a food pantry in my classroom, because I know some of my kids will come back hungry this fall.

Cutting SNAP, Medicaid, and education isn���t some abstract political ideology floating in the ether of stupidity. It���s real. I see the cost, while those cheering from the sidelines never will.��Caring for the vulnerable isn���t a political issue. It���s a moral imperative���one I won���t abandon to keep the peace or make anyone comfortable.

Because silence, for me, would be betrayal.

The other day, someone commented that they thought I was sharing too many hard-hitting articles/videos on social media. She felt that my platform should be uplifting and fun. After all, I write fiction. I should stay in my lane … promote my books and not post about men in masks jumping out of unmarked vans and kidnapping brown-skinned people in broad daylight. Wasn’t I afraid of disenfranchising readers?

Guuurl. Have you read my books? The Kailmeyra series is centered on the power of intent. The Scythian series is about an advanced society whose culture very foundation is strength through equality and power through knowledge and truth.

Fighting corruption and injustice while championing integrity and truth is my lane.

But since the election, I���ve come to see that the stories I tell aren���t just imagined; they���re mirrors, reflecting the hardest truths of the world we live in. It���s made me wonder what it must have been like to live in 1774, when the Quartering Act gave British soldiers the right to live in private homes��without the owner’s consent. I imagine sitting at a dinner table, hearing some praise the comfort of armed men in their parlor���grateful for the illusion of safety���while others sat in quiet fury, forced to house the very enforcers of a king determined to crush their freedom.

I���ve often wondered what it was like in Georgia, 1845, when the Baptist church split���some claiming white people descended from Noah���s blessed sons, Shem and Japheth, while non-white people were cursed as descendants of Ham and his grandson Canaan. I���ve imagined what it must���ve been like to have family proudly preaching the new Southern Baptist doctrine���how God granted white men supremacy���while others sat in silence, biting their tongues, choking on convictions they didn’t have the courage to speak aloud.

I���ve imagined living in Nazi Germany in 1938, when the existence of concentration camps was common knowledge, even if their full horror remained unseen. I envision a dinner table where some spoke with chilling pride about rounding up Jewish families, while others stared at their plates in silence���fearful, complicit, or simply numb���as the world around them slipped into darkness.

Unfortunately, I don���t have to imagine what 2025 is like. I hear friends and family mindlessly regurgitate ignorance and propaganda spoon-fed by an oligarch-controlled media. I see those I once respected swallowing blatant lies, unhinged rants, and dangerous conspiracies without question. I don���t have to imagine a hatred so corrosive it fuels blatant racism and drives people to willingly give up their own freedoms���such as due process���just to make sure others suffer.

This isn���t a nightmare or a story to warn against. This is our reality.

And it’s not in me to keep my mouth shut and idly sit, praying it gets better.

So what can I do?

I can call out injustice where I see it. I can join people who continue to fight for democracy. I can post information that is rooted in facts and truth. I can unapologetically take up space in conversations and do my best to calmly communicate with intelligence and compassion.

And I can stay in my lane, crafting stories that honor my convictions and, God willing, kindle a spark of hope for humanity.

All photos were created in Canva

 

I’ve always believed that writing is my passion, but teaching is my calling. Writing fills a part of me that few things ever will, but my purpose in this life is to empower each child to realize that their voice matters, that they have gifts and talents, and that they are essential to this world. It’s an incredible responsibility, one I don’t take lightly. Each child who walks into my classroom brings with them a universe of possibility, their hearts brimming with hope, their eyes alight with joy and imagination. For those who���ve known more hardship than a child should, my classroom is a sanctuary where the music is a balm for the wounds this world has given. They let down their guard, and I see them���brave, resilient, creating with an abandon that fills my heart. In those moments, with every small triumph, I am reminded of why I teach.

But since the pandemic, the chilling darkness of fascism has crept over America, warping our very understanding of freedom���the extreme right seeking to strip away the humanity of the children I serve. Caught in the crossfire, I stand firm, shielding these young souls from the poison of bigotry and hate. There are mornings when I wake, my mind burdened with the weight of it all, wondering how to protect them while nourishing their hearts and minds. I spend my money, energy, and time trying to provide what is steadily being taken from our schools while doing my best to inspire them to dream and learn. Even though the burden grows heavier, I stand firm because being crushed under its weight is simply not an option.

But worry is a thief that steals our joy, quieting the songs of our purpose and leaving nothing but the hollow echoes of doubt. Life���s brilliance fades, clouded by past regrets and future fears, keeping us from fully embracing the beauty of a moment. Casting off worry’s heavy cloak has become my fiercest battle, but I refuse to let circumstances outside my control dim the light I’ve been given. And so I’ve started rereading and watching interviews with my greatest literary hero, Maya Angelou. Her words, her life, her resilience, they all serve as a beacon of hope and strength.

And I was reminded that gratitude is an antidote for despair.

I usually grab a cup of coffee first thing in the morning and scroll through Instagram and Facebook. And I’m pummeled with agonizing over thousands of brown-skinned marginalized people being rounded up with no legal recourse, or the plans to decimate thousands of hectares of cherished national parks, spanning three times the size of California.�� It siphons the very energy from my soul, draining me until there is barely a spark left to this light I’ve been given.

Something has to change.

So, instead of resenting elected officials who turned their backs on their constituents and swore fealty to a fascist oligarch, I’m meditating on what is still good, appreciating the representatives still fighting for their people. They are first on my gratitude list, standing unwavering at the frontline of the battles I am powerless to fight, their strength a constant reminder that our democracy still survives. The second is the discernment and intelligence to use the gifts I’ve been given and play a role in things I can change. Then, I focus on all that is still good in this world. As I snuggle into my comfy writing chair, I crack open a manuscript and step into a timeless depth of creative passion, where strength, hope, and love combine, a place where evil no longer exists. A place that restores my soul. And when the clock chimes that my time is waning, I close down my world, put on my armor, and leave for my calling, hoping my light is a strong beacon of better days to come.

It isn’t easy, though. I no longer can tolerate willful ignorance and complicity. But I’m learning that the most important things I can do is to take care of myself, surround myself with intelligent people willing to question and reflect on their beliefs, and fully embrace each moment in compassion and love.

For in those moments, there is abundant life.

 

 

Traditionally, the age of eighteen marks the threshold of adulthood. It���s a time when the reins of childhood are loosened, and responsibility shifts entirely, giving young adults the freedom to carve their own paths. It’s when we stand and face the weight of our choices–when we realize that every action and every decision can become a burden we alone bear.

Accountability is a powerful force that humbles us, demanding responsibility for all we say and do. But all too often, accountability loses its strength when consequences become distant, untouchable, and far from our hearts.

Failure to hold ourselves accountable creates fertile ground for immaturity and recklessness to take root. It cultivates ignorance, spreads hatred, and leaves a trail of destruction in its wake. The repercussions can be seen from our front doors, where the chaos and division, bred from arrogance and denial, are laid bare for all to see.

As Americans, we were entrusted with a priceless gift, one paid for in the blood and sacrifice of our forefathers. Freedoms fiercely guarded by generations that came before us are now unraveling before our eyes. This is the price of ignorance and indifference, the ramifications of our apathy and careless disregard.

America���s childhood has come to an end, and now we stand at the crossroads of our own making, a place where every soul must take responsibility for the next step they choose. There is no room for excuses, no tolerance for ignorance, and no place for silence, for it is complicity in its purest form.

We are at a turning point. One path leads us back to the heart of Democracy, while the other descends into the darkness of fascism. Every citizen is accountable for the road they choose, and�� each must carry the magnitude of their actions or apathy. Excuses are no longer acceptable. Fallacies no longer tolerated. This is the moment to decide.

Will we fight to remain a land of the free and the home of the brave?

So many horrible things are happening at whiplash speed. It can leave us with a sense of helplessness and rage.

That’s exactly how they want you to feel.

So what can we do?

Steven Covey’s Seven Habits of Highly Effective People teaches how to be productive in the workplace, but it also applies to life.

Simply put, to be effective, we must first take inventory of an issue and place it into one of three categories: things I can control, things I can influence,�� or areas of concern. (I made the third circle “out of my control” because it defines that space better for me). From there, we adjust the time, effort, and energy based on where that issue falls within our circles.

For example, I have no control over oligarchs going into the Social Security system and doing God knows what. But I can get on their website and download my information before it gets altered, and I can alert all my friends to do the same.

See the mindset shift? Instead of feeling helpless that douche (which is how I say d o g e) is manipulating or even stealing from a system set up to care for our elderly, I now have an action, which is to print out my information and then encourage others to do the same. Covey calls it a circle of influence, but it feels more like a circle of empowerment. Because that’s precisely what it does, it empowers you to do something about issues you have control or influence over.

So, I’ve spent this week looking at things we can do within my circle of control, and here are my top ten:

#10 Think before you spend. Before shopping, check out GoodsUniteUs. I have the app, which is super convenient as it’s always on my phone.

#9 Stay informed. Fascists control media outlets. We know this. And they put out propaganda like it’s their job (no one needs to look any further than the White House Instagram page to get the point). Finding a reputable source has always been difficult, but I’m sticking with the BBC, PBS Newshour (for as long as they are on the air), the CBC,�� and Heather Cox Richardson, one of the greatest historians of our time.

#8 Avoid people who love knee-jerk reactions. When we believe something and someone contradicts that belief, our natural response is to unquestioningly defend. This tendency is a big reason so many people double down on the indefensible (they’re eating dogs in Ohio, for example). Breathe. And then reflect when presented with new facts.

#7. Take stock of your financial institutions. Finra rules (regulations for the investment/banking industry) prohibit large donations to party affiliations, but that doesn’t mean those institutions create a culture that aligns with your moral compass. Consider going with a local bank or moving to a Credit Union.

#6. Take time to call or write your representatives. It seems like an effort in futility, but it does make a difference. 5 calls is a great way to see the issues, and it gives you a script as a starting point to help along the way. It’s a great app and it only takes a few minutes to make your voice heard.

#5. It’s okay to take a break. We are in this for the long haul. Get off Social Media. Go out with friends. Take stock of those friendships. As I said last week, cognitive dissonance is real. If your friends no longer align with your moral compass, maybe it’s time to step back and give that friendship a break too.

#4. Stop using credit cards. This one’s a tough one for me. For years, I’ve put everything on a card and then paid it off at the end of the month. But every transaction gives a processing company (most likely owned by an oligarch) 3% of that purchase. It also means less hard currency is in circulation in our communities. I’ll continue using cards when I’m on the road, but I’ll be back to dollars and cents for day-to-day transactions.

#3 Help local business. So many companies have been affected by the oligarch’s decisions regarding our global economy. Much like over-tipping during the pandemic, find industries close to home that have been hit (like Ky’s bourbon industry, for example) and consider giving them your business.

#2 Join and donate to RepresentUs.This is a non-partisan��grass-roots movement whose sole purpose is to end corruption within our democracy and get it working again.

#1 Make sure your party affiliation aligns with your moral compass. I know so many people who are unhappy with the Republican Party, and yet they haven’t left. But the Republican Party isn’t what is used to be. Instead of intellectuals discussing fiscal conservativism, smaller government, and lower taxes for all, it is now comprised of extremists hellbent on destroying our parks, and normalizing racism, misogyny, and fear. If you can’t bring yourself to join the Democrats, then become a libertarian or independent. It’s important, though, because shrinking their numbers shrinks their power.

 

 

Cognitive dissonance. I’ve been thinking a lot about this lately. Actually, I’ve been thinking about how we got here, how good, moral people, people I’ve loved for decades, friends, family … people I work with, pray with, used to respect … how can these people support such despicable acts?

Where is their line in the sand?

This isn’t a political post. It goes well beyond liberal or conservative ideology.

This is about morality���a deep, pervasive sense of right and wrong and that feeling of discomfort when we are faced with behaviors that contradict our convictions. Trying to find compassion for those who openly tolerate intolerable behavior is exhausting.

In the beginning, I ignored mental health professionals who warned about the dangers of having a leader with a profound inability to empathize because I held a small glimmer of hope that he could possibly change things.

But after hearing him openly brag that he doesn’t ��“… even wait … [he] just starts kissing.”��

I discovered my line in the sand. I refuse to support any leader who thinks it’s all right to force unwanted attention on anyone.

But I was in the minority. Even with numerous sexual assault cases, most Americans didn’t seem to care.��

So rape and molestation is not their line in the sand. Duly noted.

They didn’t draw a line when he ordered children to be ripped from their mother’s arms and put in cages. As of two years ago, close to 1,000 of those children still have yet to be reunited with their families.

Neither was making fun of a disabled reporter, lying, fraud, or putting judges loyal to him on the Supreme Court.

Not even making false accusations about our electoral process,��which led to an insurrection where 140 officers were injured and five later died.

It wasn’t when he posted a video calling for a “new unified Reich.”��

It wasn’t when he urged Christians to “get out and vote …�� in four more years, you won’t have to vote anymore.”��

It wasn’t when he destroyed America’s relationships with both Mexico and Canada, or when he rambled on about purchasing Greenland or promising that America would foot the bill to turn the Gaza strip into a new French Riviera.��

It wasn’t when he denied knowing anything about Project 2025 and then nominated its creators to powerful governmental positions.����

It wasn’t when he laid out his plan to decimate the Department of Education (another little tidbit from Project 2025), that would destroy Title One funding, which over 65% of American public schools need to survive. If the initiative goes through, schools will no longer be able to feed hungry children or give specific help to students with disabilities or special needs.

And now, supporting another��oligarch, one who was never elected and has no security clearance, nor is even a federal employee, apparently it’s okay to take six hackers into the Department of the Treasury and steal American citizens’ personal information. Musk now has your name, address, SS number, any student loan information, your mother’s maiden name, and your banking information.�� But, for some, even that isn’t enough to stop supporting him.

So when is it going to be enough?

When women have to ask their husbands or communities for healthcare?(This, again, is a component of Project 2025.)��

Or when farmers lose their livelihood and Americans go hungry because federal subsidies are no longer available?

Or maybe you’ll draw the line when he enacts the draft (like the one both he and Musk dodged years ago),��forcing your son to go to Gaza and remove Palestinian citizens.

I don’t care who you voted for or why. And I’m no longer interested in hearing justifications of why you stood on the sidelines and refused to vote at all. I don’t care what your political affiliation is, what religion you believe in, or what your sexual orientation is.

But I’d like to know. What is the issue that will force you to take a stand?

Whatever it is, if you haven’t discovered it yet, I hope to God you find it soon.

 

 

It’s been a while, hasn’t it?

The world spun out of control during the pandemic, and I’ve been struggling to find my creative footing since. I’ve missed having the time and ingenuity to sit down and blog. And honestly, I started to believe that I’d lost my one spark of madness.

Talk about devastating.

Writing has been my outlet for well over a decade. It’s been the one thing I relied on … the one thing I did just for me.

I loved getting up at 4 a.m. and heading to the writing room. The smell of coffee brewing while the pups lay at my feet. I loved the challenge of creating a storyline that melds our harsh reality into the world I’d rather see.

But life has a way of kicking us in the shins, and tragedy piled on the shitstorm left by the pandemic. It was like being hit with a tsunami and then being left in the rubble after the water receded. Writing time became scarce, but when I found time, I’d do nothing but stare at a blank screen.

One month turned to six, and then a year, and I thought about giving it up altogether.��Creativity hides in the deep waters of our brain, and it was like I no longer could swim in those proverbial waters.

Liana Gardner and I talk every week, and she reminded me that writing isn’t an all-or-nothing venture. No one’s getting shot at dawn if I don’t crank out 100 blog posts and three books a year.

For a writer, the joy is in the process. For the reader, it’s the product.

I needed to give myself grace. And understanding. Just sit down and put some words on the page. Any words. The creative pump hadn’t been primed in a while. The first water that flowed might be rusty and brown, but if I kept pumping, eventually, fresh water would appear.

And she was right.

I’ve started freewriting again, and I’m working on edits and the new manuscript every day. Even if only for an hour or so.

The imaginative waters are back. I’m happier and much less stressed.

It feels great to be back in the saddle again.

 

 

 

In the enchanting realm of words, imagination dances with possibility. Creativity transforms mere sentences into magic. If there’s one truth that weaves through great storytelling, it’s the power of imagination. It transcends the ordinary, breathing life into characters and worlds that linger in the reader’s mind.

Creating is the deepest form of intelligence.

And I love it. I love putting my interpretation of others’ works through acting, singing, and dancing (even though I’m mediocre at best on a few of those). But most of all, I love writing. I love painting with words, sketching pictures in hues of pen-dipped dreams, and conjuring worlds that pulse with a life of their own, breathing vitality into a story’s veins with the intent of rendering it unforgettable.

At least, that’s the goal.

The Greeks believed that creatives were gifted a spiritual messenger from the gods. These “geniuses” were responsible for the incredible art created by the masters of the day.

I understand why they believed it.

Slipping into a creative flow state suspends time and reality. We venture to a place beyond our insecurities and perceived limitations. It’s an immersive experience that allows us to discover internal truths within and ultimately perceive our very existence in a different way.

Our imagination is a river that flows deep within our subconscious, and dipping our toes into those waters is incredibly vulnerable … and terrifying … and exhilarating at the same time.

On January 1st, 2023, for the first time in fifteen years, I didn’t write a year-naming blog post. 2022 had left me disillusioned and exhausted. Teaching traumatized children took unimaginable patience and energy. My father struggled with health issues, and continual worry had smothered what little creativity I had left. The only bright spot was my daughter’s decision to change industries and find a job that was closer to home and didn’t require 80-hour work weeks.

That’s when I decided 2023 would be the Year of Change. I felt the truth of it to my toes, yet, for some odd reason, it felt too raw, too personal, to share. Numerous times in January, I started to blog, but the words wouldn’t come. February turned to March, and still nothing. It wasn’t until April, when my father was hospitalized, that I understood why.

In May, Dad passed away, leaving his wife of over sixty years, three children, eight grandchildren, and nine great-grands. Substandard care from a short-term rehab facility had taken the cornerstone of our family, shaking the very foundation of our lives.

The loss was profound.

My father was extremely intelligent and had a slightly twisted sense of humor (which was one of the things I loved most about him.) His family came first–always. He loved unconditionally and was loved the same.

Emotionally, the past seven months have left me reeling. Do I continue to teach? And what about writing? Should I move?

I’ve decided I’ve had enough change for a while, and God knows we’re still struggling to adjust to this new world. So, instead of looking outward to fill the void left by Dad’s passing, I’ve decided to rebuild from within.�� I’m heading back to the gym and working on healthier eating habits. I’m writing again. And I’m reconnecting with you, my dear readers and friends.

2024 is the Year of Reclamation. It’s the year to emotionally recover, to rediscover creativity, and to improve. I’ll build on the solid foundation of a lifetime of love. I’ll reclaim who I am, define what’s most important, and invest in the things that are fulfilling and bring joy. And I’ll honor my father through laughter, learning, and love.

Wishing you much peace and prosperity this new year.

 

 

With final revisions of The Pumpkin Promise under my belt, I’m heading back into the secret compounds of the Scythian Society.

Lord, it’s been a long road back to my fierce, wonderful Amazons. The journey’s been difficult–one fraught with pandemic struggles and turmoil. But, finally, my imagination is starting to flow, and here we are, together again.

I genuinely feel like I’m coming home.

The second book,�� The Scythian Legacy, has been in the hopper for a while. But unfortunately, the publisher pushed back the release due to Covid.

For those that have reached out via messenger and email, I thank you for your patience, and I cannot tell you how much your continued support means.

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again–you are the reason I continue to write.

Vesuvian Media has a little something special planned for the series. As soon as I have an official release date for Legacy, I’ll post it in The Isaacs Society and send out a newsletter.

Until then, I’ll keep the faith and forge on with�� Tor’s story, which is the third book in the series and is fast becoming one of my favorites.

Much love to all, and keep reading!

I don���t make New Year���s resolutions. Instead, I focus on one aspect of life I���d like to nurture and grow. I choose a catchphrase that embodies the concept and creates a common theme. If you���re into jumping down rabbit holes, here is a rundown of the past.

Last year, I named 2021 ���The Year of Resilience��� out of a fierce, desperate hope that we could somehow bounce back from 2020 and recover. And in many ways, we did. Our economy didn���t collapse. And despite the supply chain issues, we managed to keep the stores��� shelves stocked. We returned to work and school, even though both looked vastly different. I���ve seen a shift in social media that indicates we are becoming better at spotting misinformation and media manipulation (although I don���t know if that���s due to personal algorithm changes or it���s actually a trend).

We are recovering, thank God, at least in that regard.

But, culturally, we haven���t faired as well. Lately, I���ve walked away from countless conversations thinking, ���what the hell just happened?��� A light-hearted discussion of days gone by turns into a heated debate on elitism in America. Or a friend calls and asks for advice, and I end up spewing a bunch of jumbled words that are as garbled as a Gordian Knot.

Our communication skills have definitely taken a turn for the worse.

But the effects of months spent in isolation can still be seen in other ways as well. It���s like we need to re-establish social norms. I dread getting behind the wheel as the roads are now full of aggressive, rage-filled people that think nothing about cutting across lanes of traffic while waving a middle finger in the air like it���s their job.

And when did it become socially acceptable to openly berate grocery store employees?

In the classroom, it���s worse.�� Students who rarely misbehave are now lashing out. Those already at-risk have shut down entirely. Children have forgotten how to complement each other and have difficulty showing compassion. Instead, they use sarcasm and harsh words as a defense mechanism.

The world has become imbittered, harsh, and negative.

Something has to change.

We have to get back to the basics of civility.

Every new session at school, I write a saying across my storage cabinets and have the children discuss. The subject matter usually deals with creativity and the arts, but in December I strayed from the norm and wrote this:

“Be the World You Want to Live In”

We spent the first few minutes of class discussing what kind of world we want and what we could do to create it.

Here are the kiddos top five:

If we want to live in a kind world, we must show kindness.If we want to live in a transparent world, we must communicate clearly.If we want to live in a non-violent world, we must show self-control.If we want to live in an understanding world, we must show compassion.If we want to live in a civil world, we must show civility.

And that���s how 2022 got its name.

This year I���m concentrating on the things we used to do. Speak less, listen more. Smile, even while wearing a mask. Ask questions of others, and genuinely listen to their answers. Make eye contact. No complaining. No heated debates. And, above all else, in all things, be kind.

I know one author/teacher cannot change the unconscionable actions of this world. But I can positively affect my little corner of it. And, good Lord willing, I can show my students that words have power, and kindness and civility matter.