Meredith R. Lyons's Blog

One of my favorite pictures of Helga, collecting a literal pile of awards on CamCat’s behalf at the Ben Franklin’s one year.

I knew Helga Schier for a couple years before she became the editor for Ghost Tamer, and I liked her immediately and grew to love her, as I think everyone who knew her did.

I started working at CamCat as a publishing assistant in December of 2020. As a former actor and on-again-off-again narrator, the audio department was transitioned to me right away. Helga had been in the publishing industry for decades at that point, but both her husband and son were actors, so she was very close to the business. When I first started sending out audition recordings and compiling opinions, Helga always made a point to ask me my thoughts.

I would tell her, but usually follow up with, “I’m not sure my opinion is relevant.”

“It is very relevant. You are an actor. You listen to audiobooks. This is your department.”

She did that often. If a team member held back during a discussion, she made a point to ask them what they thought. And if she disagreed, she would say so, but never in a way that made anyone feel as if their opinion wasn’t valid.

That was one of my favorite things about Helga. She was always encouraging—somehow able to give subtle pushes, guiding a person to grow almost in spite of themselves—but unfailingly honest. She would never bullshit if she didn’t agree or had concerns.

Helga liked running, champagne, and yoga; we had those things in common. When I ran my first race coming back from an injury, I posted the link to the online tracker in the company ‘Water Cooler’ chat, not really expecting anyone to pay attention. And even though she was on the West Coast and I was in CST, Helga tracked my race and messaged me afterward, telling me how impressed she was with my time. That was the first ‘little win’ of mine she celebrated, but by no means the last.

A team virtual cooking event we did several years ago around the holidays.

As a coworker, Helga always had an attitude of unruffled calm. Yes, she was honest if a situation were crappy, and I saw her roll her eyes more than once, but there was always a way through. It was never the end of the world. Not even close.

When I was promoted into the production role, I had some training with Cassandra, who held the position before me, but it was Helga who held my hand during those first few months when I was getting my feet under me. I mentioned that I was worried about screwing something up and she assured me that even if I did, “Nothing is ever so screwed up that it can’t be fixed.” It was a steep learning curve and frustrating for both of us at times, but even in those early stages, she encouraged me to make the role my own. “These are your files now. How do you want to arrange them?”

Helga had been in the industry for over 30 years and had worked with several publishers, including a big five, as well as having her own editorial side-business. One of the women in my writing group was published by CamCat and got Helga as her editor. She had nothing but great things to say about working with her. Another friend decided to pay Helga for her outside editorial services, and again, nothing but wonderful things to say. Every author who worked with her extolled her editorial eye in their acknowledgments. I would have loved to had her edit my work, but I didn’t have the money for her private services, and at the time, I wasn’t planning on submitting to CamCat.

I was doing things the normal way; on submission with agents. But in the early ‘20s I went through a rapid growth spurt in my writing. It was all I wanted to do and the ideas were just never ending. I was also in a few writing groups and the critiques were hitting right. My writing was in that stage where it was visibly improving. I would have a book on submission, but then the next book would be better, of course, so I wanted to put that one out instead. And as everyone knows, the submission process is long.

I was in a position to see the care that the CamCat authors were recieving, the awards they were winning, the book boxes they were included in, and I genuinely enjoyed reading the books. What if I submitted to a small press? I wasn’t going to stop writing. I could submit to publishers and look for an agent at the same time.

A screenshot of our last team meeting together.

When I looked around though, many small presses either weren’t accessible without an agent, or their website was fishy, they weren’t showcasing awards, weren’t producing as many versions of the book, etc. And the covers on the CamCat books have always been a cut above.

As soon as I started considering it, I reached out to Helga. Tentatively. Nervously. Maybe she’d discourage me? Maybe she’d say I wasn’t ready. She set up a video call with me within days to answer all of my questions. By the end of it, I was excited, and I truly believe that she was too.

There was a policy in place for any team member that wanted to submit to CamCat: the submission had to be anonymous, under a fake name, to avoid nepotism. Helga assured me that if my book was acquired, I could use my own name, it was just to ensure the acquisition remained unbiased. If I were rejected, I could stay anonymous, “and you’d get feedback.” Which was huge for me and, honestly, was what I was half-expecting, some feedback that might help me going forward.

Helga said to let her know when I submitted and under what name. She would be the only person aware of who I was, and if I made it to aquisitions, she would break it to the team.

I actually had fun making up a burner Submittable account and fabricating a new person. It was once I submitted my work that I had a panic attack. Because then I got to watch my book go throug the back end, and see the comments that people I worked with every day made about it. As if it were a stranger’s book.

I ate TUMS like candy.

Fortunately, Ghost Tamer was accepted.

I’ve saved this screenshot for over a year. I don’t think I’ll ever delete it.

I LOVED having Helga as an editor. All of those authors were right. I was thrilled by my first editorial call with her. I got to talk about my book for an hour with someone who got it and had a plan for it. Areas that I knew needed shoring up, but just didn’t know exactly where to go, were pin-pointed and the direction clearly illuminated by Helga. I was definitely spoiled having her as my first editor. My writing grew by leaps and bounds after working with her.

When it was selected for a book box, after having the cover designs run by me, she asked me if I was okay with it. I said, “Yeah. I have a book box!” and she replied, “And this is only the beginning.”

Anyone in this industry knows how many ‘nos’ a writer collects before receiving a ‘yes.’ When I submitted A Dagger of Lightning (again under a pseudonym) a few months after Ghost Tamer was published, it didn’t move as quickly. There was much more in the queue, so of course, I was anxious about it, but never said anything. Only Helga knew it was me, after all.

She messaged me about something work-related later at night, and since I was on the computer, I answered her. “Why are you still working?!” she asked. She was big on work/life balance for the rest of us, I’m not sure she ever stopped working herself. She loved the work and seemed to thrive on it. “I’m not working, I’m writing,” I said. “I just still had the window open.” A text message popped up on my phone moments later. “Since you are writing, I’ll just tell you. I took a peek at Dagger of Lightning today and I loved it. I wanted to keep reading. You really have a unique voice, Meredith.”

I am still collecting rejections from agents on the fourth manuscript I’ve gone out on submission with. (Although this one has also received some full requests to balance things out.) I’m sure I was collecting rejections on some submission at the time she messaged me, and I was definitely wondering if Ghost Tamer was a one-off and if I would never get another book published. Helga was under no obligation to tell me that she looked at my manuscript. Afterall, she would be silent during the aquisitions process unless it was accepted. But she must have known on some level how important it is to have someone you look up to tell you that your work is good. And mean it. Helga was always kind, but she never bullshitted anyone. I’ve carried those words with me since that evening.

In August of 2023, I prepared to attend my first Bouchercon in San Diego. It was going to be the first time I met Helga in person. I daydreamed about the trip for months beforehand, as you do when you’re excited. I thought about introducing Helga to my writing friends as ‘my awesome editor,’ how hard we would hug the first time we met, planning a dinner at some point during the trip, maybe I could even talk her into squeezing in a coffee… But Helga’s cancer came back right before Bouchercon. She had to have surgery and couldn’t make the trip. I never got that hug.

It’s hard to know what to do when something like that happens. Helga and I were more than coworkers, more than editor and author. But one of my personal flaws is the constant fear of “bothering” people and overstepping. Will she want people asking about her treatments? Will she be tired of that? If I don’t ask, will she think I don’t care? I googled “good gifts for people with cancer” and opted for a very soft blanket for her to take to chemo appointments. The amount of reviews I read about blankets was probably ridiculous.

“This is how I shall work henceforth,” is what she wrote to me.

But Helga sent me pictures of her with the blanket. And then later when I knitted her a hat, she sent me a picture of that also. I wish I still had the first picture she texted to me where she had on my poorly knitted, multicolored creation, but my phone storage is so bad that I regularly delete photos. It wasn’t a perfect hat, so I told her to wear it when she needed some whimsy in her life. I tried to make a better one later, lost the pattern, and got frustrated, so pulled my mother-in-law into the game. She crochets hats in mere minutes. I told her Helga’s favorite colors and paid for the shipping and we had more hats that she probably ever needed delievered. I’m sure she laughed at me. Actually, I hope she did. But I really didn’t know what to do from across the country.

She went into the hospital once with some complications and told us we shouldn’t worry. It was all routine. She was always trying to get work done from her hospital bed. That first time, I sent her funny videos and TikToks occasionally. I know now that she went in more times, but often she didn’t tell us. I found out later how many of her authors never knew she was sick. I think she probably only told us if she had to, either to keep us all from worrying or because she didn’t want to “complain.”

I never, ever let myself consider that she wasn’t going to get better. Because if Helga wasn’t there, we would all fall apart.

Helga at chemo in the goofy hat that I knitted.

On Tuesday, October 15th, we had a meeting. Helga had recently had oral surgery and couldn’t talk, but she would type her responses into the chat. She was completely herself. We actually thought she seemed like she was on the upswing. It was encouraging to see her getting stronger. We had three meetings that day. More than usual. I guess it’s nice that we got those extra minutes.

Thursday morning, her son Gabe—also in our CamCat family—texted the group chat to let us know that Helga was gone. He was in shock. My first text back was “No” then I sat down and ugly cried like I haven’t done in years. Yes, she was fighting cancer, yes, she was in her sixties, but this was too sudden. It was unexpected. She was getting better. She had plans.

The funeral was Wednesday, October 23rd. I couldn’t make it. Financially, it didn’t work, and emotionally, I was not ready. I didn’t want my only time seeing her ‘in person’ to be when she wasn’t really there. I have vivid, tangible memories of every funeral I’ve been to. I want to remember her as she was.

Because of Ghost Tamer’s subject matter, Helga and I actually talked about death and funerals, but I’m not quite sure what her views were on an afterlife. I know she didn’t believe in ghosts, but she refused to mess with ouija boards after an unsettling experience in her youth. I know that she felt that people would connect with the ideas in the Ghost Tamer. “People want an explanation, some comfort, about where their loved ones go.”

I’m honestly not sure what I believe, but I do believe that energy can neither be created nor destroyed, and Helga’s energy was fierce. I’m not sure where she went, but I refuse to believe that her essence is completely gone.

Yes, she will live on in the works she’s shaped. Yes, she will live on in the memories of her family and friends. And yes, she will live on as a voice in the head of every author she’s influenced and helped grow as they continue to work, but I think her reach will go farther than that.

It’s rare that you meet a person who continually makes you think, “I want to be more like that.” But I know for a fact that I have said out loud during at least one meeting, “I want to be like Helga when I grow up.” And so, I will not fall apart. Nothing is ever so screwed up that it cannot be fixed. And it’s not the end of the world. The world is different, and I will adapt. This has been a rough year and I have doubted every aspect of myself, including my writing, multiple times. But I’m going to do my best to remember Helga’s voice, not just while I’m writing, but also when I’m thinking about quitting. In her last text to me, she was still encouraging me. “All you need is one single yes. Just like with finding a publisher. Good luck!!!”

I still can’t believe that she’s gone, but knowing her made me want to be better. So better I shall become.

Last week I had the honor of being a bridesmaid in my friend Patti’s wedding.

Patti and I became close friends in Nashville when she was going to law school at Vanderbilt, but she moved back to the Chicagoland area, where we first met, once she graduated. Her wedding was in Libertyville, a suburb I’d only heard about.

Since we were going to be so close to Chicago, I decided to check with a bookstore I used to pass by nearly every day for over 15 years and see if they had a spot for me to celebrate Ghost Tamer’s paperback release. I gave them the dates I’d be busy at the wedding and said, “Any day before or after these dates.”

What do you know, they gave me the following Tuesday.

Dean and I decided that we would drive straight to Libertyville together the Thursday before the wedding, attend the rehearsal dinner on Friday, the wedding Saturday, then brunch on Sunday, then Dean would drop me at an AirBnB Sunday afternoon and drive back alone. On Friday and Saturday during the day, while I was bridesmaiding, he would have the car to go into the city and catch up with friends. I could get a one way flight back the day after my event.

Dean usually drives when we head out of town. One of the reasons for this is that he has always had PTO and I haven’t. I usually work in the car using my phone’s hotspot. Thursday was no different.

One of the reason the blog has been on hiatus is because the thing most on my mind was something I couldn’t publicly talk about. The publishing company where I work is being sold. It’s been a dream job and such a fun place to work. Our publisher died suddenly in Februrary. All year we’ve been waiting to see what will become of our jobs, what will become of the books, what the heirs would decide, but we couldn’t say anything about it. If word leaked, a panic could result in a lack of faith in the imprint, authors not getting events, books not getting ordered, etc. It’s public knowledge now. The deal is inches away from being signed as I type this.

On Thursday, I spent the car ride imputting data into Quickbooks to help the new company parse information. About an hour outside of our destination, stuck in rush hour traffic, we had our final team meeting.

We went around and shared our favorite memories about working together. The meeting lasted an hour and a half. We got to the hotel and I did a bit more work, then let everyone know I had reached my hourly limit and I’d most likely be doing wedding stuff for the next three days.

The wedding was slightly stressful, as all weddings are, but turned out beautifully. Libertyville is gorgeous and I actually got do to a run around the wedding venue—which was a wildlife preserve—a couple days before. Patti and Rachel wrote each other’s vows and didn’t get to see them until they read them out at the wedding. It was equal parts sweet and hilarious. The reception was way too much fun—there was a point where all guests were requested to change into pajamas and keep partying—and we got back to the hotel shortly after midnight.

Yes, that’s my husband in a charmander onesie. He decided to change early.

Sunday morning was anxiety ridden for me. I hate packing with the firey passion of ten thousand suns. And here I had to pack again, merely three days after I had just packed. Since I was taking a flight back, I attempted to put everything into a carryon. So Dean and I spent the morning sorting through things that he was bringing in the car and things that I needed with me.

Spoiler alert: I wasn’t able to bring either jacket I’d brought. And I ended up spilling a water bottle full of champagne—don’t ask—on the one hoodie I’d packed, so that went back with Dean also.

We had brunch, got to say farewell to all of the hung over wedding participants, then Dean drove me to Chicago. We decided to drop my things at the AirBnB, then head to Apple Fest in Lincoln Square—where I lived for 16 of my 17 years in ChiTown—and say hi to some friends that had a tent there, then say goodbye to each other.

I moved away from Chicago on February 28, 2019. I’ve been back to the city three times since then, but each time—a work event, a wedding, a book event—I’ve been downtown. This was the first time in over five years that I visited my neighborhood. My AirBnB was five blocks from my old condo. Some things had changed—the hookah store was gone, the jewelery store across the street is now a hookah store—but a lot was the same. The sound of the busses, the plethora of pigeorns in front of my Walgreens, the Little Ceasers, the Post Office, Harvestime: a.k.a. The Best Grocery Store In Existence, the little park by my old place, et cetera.

Dean and I found our friends in the crush of the Apple Fest and I remembered how much I used to hate the fests in Lincoln Square. I avoided them like the plague. They would mess up my bike commuting routes and there were always too many drunk people who didn’t live in the area. I found myself smiling as I remembered my own “get off my lawn” attitude.

Don’t get me wrong, I was completely justified.

The fest was CRAZY, but we found our friends. They were exhausted, but they said they netted so much money that it was worth it I found out later that all of the small businesses in the Square did holiday season level sales during Apple Fest. And I felt less hateful toward it.

And it was really nice to hug our friends.

I was too busy choking on nostalgia to get pictures of my running trail, but I did get this of the Lincoln Square arches with my Ghost Tamer cookie.

Once Dean left, I went back to the AirBnB, changed into running clothes, and headed out to my old running path. Out of habit, I ran by my old place. I wasn’t completely sure how to get to the path, but as soon as I passed my old door, my body just remembered where to go.

They had changed the landscaping. They were doing this when I left, chopping down many of the trees on the river. I was annoyed at that, and happy to be leaving so I wouldn’t have to watch it happen. But they’d let it all grow up and created wild habitats in those areas with wood chipped trails going through it. For the first mile, the surrounding vistas were new to me.

But I recognized the cracks in the asphalt.

Remembered the way I always stepped around the lumpy ones. Noticed a few had grown. It was wonderful and weird and sweetly painful. Farther on, the trail was closer to how I remembered it. And I even saw Dude Who Never Smiles. He looked just as he always did. I think he may have even recognized me because his glare shifted for just an instant when I smiled at him.

I spent the next three days in Lincoln Square. And a little bit in Andersonville.

My conversation partner, Ananda Lima, invited me to a writer’s salon on Sunday night. It was a fabulous, casual gathering of Chicago writers and I wish we had something like it in Nashville. There was a mix of largely established writers and brand new ones. Everyone just hung out, ate or drank if they wanted, and chatted. I wished I could have stayed longer, but I was wedding-the-day-before exhausted, so I left a little after nine.

A bus picked me up within minutes of my arrival at the stop, then the next bus picked me up seconds after the first. Public transportation is amazing and I miss it. I miss my bike. I used to bike everywhere in Chicago, but even waiting for the busses wasn’t as bad as it is in Nashville. It was kind of fun to ride them again.

Charles and me.

Monday I went for a morning run. It was suddenly 47 degrees, which I did not appreciate. I had to wear all of the warm running gear I had packed. But, even though I wore my head lamp, I didn’t need it. Even the river path was so well-lit it seemed ridiculous to keep it on. I did some work from the AirBnB, then after lunch, went to The Book Cellar where I was having my event. I introduced myself, chatted about the event, then said I was going to stay and work in their cafe for a bit. They gave me a free hot chocolate! And showed me the Ghost Tamer cookies they had prepared.

Monday night I got to have dinner with my friend Charles. There’s something about hanging out with someone who’s known you for twenty years. One, I still can’t believe I’m that old, two, it’s just easy in a way newer relationships sometimes aren’t. There’s no guessing where you fit in, if you fit in, if you’re behaving correctly, etc. Charles has seen me at my worst and my best. And amazingly, he’s still around.

On Tuesday, I ran the trail for the last time—I aniticpated sleeping in on Wednesday after the event—and decided to get out and work in different coffee shops around Lincoln Square. By now the sting had worn off and I just wanted to absorb it as much as possible. I don’t have a neighborhood coffeeshop in Nashville. If you don’t count the Starbucks right off the interstate. Technically it’s half a mile, I can walk there. It’s just not very atmospheric.

My morning was spent at City Skyline Cafe, an awesome shop that had only been there a year. I had a great conversation with the barista and my table looked like an old fashioned airplane. Back to the AirBnB for lunch then off again. I was trying to find a place with an outdoor patio, as the weather was beautiful, but work started pinging, so I settled for the old Starbucks. It had changed quite a bit, which was kind of fun to see. I worked there for a few hours before going home to get ready for the event.

My in-laws drove up from Peoria! I texted to see when they were coming in and asked if they wanted to meet up for dinner. They were down, so I sent them several places that were near the bookstore that were still open from when I was there. I haven’t been able to do that in Nashville. There are places nearby, but not just a row of places I can walk amongst. And perhaps that is specific to Lincoln Square.

We met and ate outside. I miss how there are no bugs in Chicago. If the weather is nice, you just sit outside without worrying about bug spray. I’m not kidding. There are literally no mosquitoes. It’s like the Saint Patrick of blood-suckers went through ChiTown and drowned them all in the green-stained river.

We got to The Book Cellar about 30 minutes before the event. They were already set up and gave me a complimentary glass of wine. I hope I get a chance to do an event there again. The vibe was just as I remember and the employees were so very sweet each time I went in. I set up my swag and then people began arriving.

Did you ever see “This Is Your Life?” I feel like it must be very very old, because I remember seeing it spoofed in cartoons when I was a kid, but this was like I imagined being on that show would feel like. Every person who came through the doors was a friend from my past, often someone unexpected. I just continually recieved jolts of joy. A student I used to teach in kickboxing class, a guy I worked with over a decade ago who still keeps in touch on Facebook, everyone from the theatre company I was a member of, people I did martial arts with, at least one person who inspired a character in the book. It was incredible.

And an adrenaline shot to my soul.

This year of uncertainty has been difficult. While Ghost Tamer has been winning awards, I’ve also been getting rejected from nearly one hundred agents. (We’re passing that one hundred mark soon, y’all, I have goals.) No luck with job applications either. And I’ve been struggling with anxiety, depression, and OCD. All of which have been made worse by the situation.

My brain has been telling me that I don’t have friends. That no one really wants to hang out with me. And the fun part is that I tend to withdraw when in that state, so I do not reach out to people, which feeds the narrative. I do have a therapist that I like for the first time ever and we’re working on it. But as she told me, “sometimes these kinds of things get worse before they get better,” and I am definitely in the '“getting worse” stage.

But seeing so many people come out on a Tuesday night—and at least half of them came to the bar afterward—just to support me was amazing. And a reminder that I am worthy of love and friendship, it just might take a while to collect people in a new city.

John is in the back doing devil horns. We didn’t take any pictures on that last day.

On Wednesday, my friend John was off work. He picked me up at 11 and we went to brunch, then coffee, then walked around Andersonville for a while until it was near time for him to pick his kids up from school. Then he dropped me at the airport a few hours before my flight.

John and I went to college together. He moved to Chicago after I had been there a while. We both struggled off and on during those earlier years. It’s easy to forget about the hard times.

As we reminisced, I asked, “Remember that time we were both unemployed, and I found five dollars somewhere, so we decided we were going to make the best of it and went to the store and bought the cheapest bottle of champagne we could find and decided we were going to enjoy drinking it on a Tuesday because we could because we didn’t have to work? And then the “champagne” was so shitty we didn’t even get a buzz?”

It was nice to be reminded of all the years I’ve survived. Wandering around Lincoln Square, I remember thinking about who I was back then, and how I would not have even been able to concieve what I’m doing now. Not in my wildest imaginings.

So I think I’ll probably survive this.

I really do look forward to seeing what’s on the other side though.

A few months ago I had the opportunity to do a book event in Montgomery, Alabama where my parents and sister live. The local library’s book club had just read Ghost Tamer and I was giving a talk followed by a signing with an adorable pot luck they had put together. My sister brought her kids, which was fun, and during the talk I told a story about a ghost that used to visit me when I was a little younger than my neices. (They’re currently twelve.)

Afterward my sister said, “That’s not the ghost story I thought you were going to tell.”

I was taken aback because I don’t remember seeing any other ghosts, but she remembers me seeing another one. Apparnetly when I was in high school I saw a man standing in my room at night. I didn’t like it, I didn’t want him there, and I was telling my mom about it. My sister remembers my mother telling me that I would just have to firmly tell him to go away. Apparently he did, because I didn’t mention the man after that.

Neither my mother nor I remember this.

Earlier this week, I was eating peanut butter and crackers (fresh jar of peanut butter), and scrolling on TikTok as you do, when I came across a person telling a story about a ghost experience they had when they were younger. They were an engaging storyteller and I poked around in the comments afterward and saw several people talking about Hat Man. Apparently this is a common ghost that a lot of people have seen.

He has a mention on a wikipedia page. He has an entire Reddit thread.

We eventually decided against this cover, but it was in the top two.

Hat Man is described as a dark figure with a hat and long coat, often described as a fedora and trench coat. He often comes when people experience sleep paralysis and is usually standing over them or watching them while they’re in bed. (Although people have reported seeing him other times.)

I do remember experencing sleep paralysis in high school.

I also wrote an evil ghost in Ghost Tamer. He wore a black fedora and trench coat. And in fact, made an appearance on one of the early cover choices (that was eventually nixed as being ‘too YA and scifi’). This freaked me out a little. Did I actually see Hat Man when I was younger and blocked out the memory? And then subconsciously write him into a book years later?

I don’t know! Maybe guys with dark coats and hats are just inherently frightening. But I reserve the right to be a little freaked out about it. At least long enough to write this post.

The virtual trappings of the pandemic have clearly made their mark. Virtual panels and podcasts are two of the many examples that affect writers.

There are several benefits to online panels and podcasts. Authors from different locations can panel together without the need to travel. The whole event can be recorded for those who miss it. You can put a link up on your website, and you can cut out the good bits and put them on social media if you’re good at that! It gives the authors and the platform more flexibility and lets those who might consume it—librarians, educators, booksellers—catch more events than if they had to fund their own travel to every single conference.

Of course there are downsides. The lack of live audience interaction makes it difficult to guage if you’re hitting the right notes. Authors don’t get the advantage of meeting their panelists beforehand and establishing a connection. When authors are just sitting in their home office, there can be a physical disconnect and the event can sometimes feel like it’s not real.

Like it or not, virtual panels are here to stay. And while authors used to merely have to throw on something nice to make appearances at signings and live events, now everyone needs to learn how to behave in front of a camera.

Most of these tips are geared toward being on screen, however some will translate to live panels and interview situations as well.

Learn what looks good on the screen. General rules from when I was auditioning for commercials: avoid prints (especially geometric, they do weird things on camera and hurt people’s eyes), black (may not be so bad depending on your background, but usually makes you fade away), white (can mess with a camera’s white balance, may not be such a big deal on a webcam, but I personally don’t risk it), and red (bright red just looks weird on camera). The great thing is, we can all film ourselves now. Do a practice Zoom with the same lighting and setting you’re planning for interviews and see how your outfit looks! Some colors you might have thought weren’t that hot in the mirror really pop on camera and vice versa. I had a rotation of blues and mauves that looked great on camera, but not so awesome in real life. Also, avoid your joke shirts or topical Ts. They’re great for conferences (I have three ghost-themed shirts specifically for these events) but they usually get cut off in on camera and very rarely is anyone trying to read them anyway.

For the love of all that’s holy, act like you enjoy listening to the other authors and moderator. Most authors are on the introverted side of the spectrum and are usually just nervous and probably worried about what they’re going to say next. They have no idea what this looks like on the screen. One of the biggest mistakes I see people making on virtual panels (and sometimes real panels) is just staring into the camera like a very bored crazy person waiting for whoever is talking to be done so they can speak. No. Virtual panels in general would be so much better if everyone did their best to engage when they weren’t the one speaking. I know you’re nervous about what’s going to fall out of your mouth. (More on how later.) There are ways to look warm and approachable even when you’re insides are filled with violent butterflies. Something I learned in commercial class: smile at the other actor when they’re slating. I’ll break that down. When you come in for a commercial audition, you are asked to slate. You’ll state your full name for the camera in addition to whatever other details they ask you to provide. Height, willingness to cut hair, role auditioning for, etc. If you’re lucky enough to have a scene partner, they will also be asked to slate. You could just stare straight into the camera like a zombie, or you could look at your partner while they’re talking, and smile as if you like them. It’s natural, it’s what you would do if you were in a conversation with someone, and it makes you appear more open, and like someone people would want to hang out with. If no one else on your panel is doing it, I guarantee you’ll be the one their eye is drawn to, and the one they remember.

“Yes, and” your fellow panelists (and the moderator). The foundation of improv, and arguably all of comedy, is “yes, and.” Do not negate your stage family. So, for instance if someone says, “I have to plot out my books chapter by chapter.” If that’s not how you work, the wrong thing to say would be, “oh, I don’t work that way, this is what I do…” Even if you don’t intend it to come off negative, it shuts down your fellow panelists and can give the impression that you believe your way is better. Instead, you might say, “I am so jealous of people who can plot, I’ve tried to do that and I think it would make some things easier, but I’ve found I need to do a discovery draft first. I love that everyone has different methods!” You are able to insert your opinion without negating the other person. Same goes for your interviewer or moderator. Even if the question is off the wall, try to stay positive and go with the flow. I was once at a terrible panel where one author kept saying things like “Is that a real question?” It was very uncomfortable to watch and made the author look bad. One easy seg for unexpected questions is, “That’s such an interesting question,” then just say something in the neighborhood. Or you can ask for clarification.

Bring your fellow panelists into your spotlight. If you’ve already started “yes, anding” then it won’t be a big step for you to share your spotlight with other authors. (This also works with an interviewer if you’re doing a podcast.) For example, “I love what Lauren said about character, I agree and this is what I do…” If you love something another panelist has said, mention it if you can. It will form a bond between you and the other author, elevate the panel as a whole, and make you look like a generous panelist. Makes readers want your book!

Do a background check. (But don’t stress about it). If you’re going to be on a podcast, try to listen to an episode or two beforehand. You’ll get an idea of what kind of questions are asked and what kinds of guests they usually have. If you scroll back a bit (like I did once) you may even see that someone you know was a guest. Then you can bring up that person during your episode (if appropriate). “I know you’ve interviewed Jim before and I really enjoyed…” You legitimzie the podcast, you legitimize your friend who was on previously, and you look like a smart person who has done some research.

Take some time to familiarize yourself with the platform if possible. Do some prep, ask if the podcast is going to be filmed. Sometimes they aren’t, but if they are, you want to treat this as if it’s a live interview. You have no idea where your career is going after this and this footage will be out there for anyone to find. Represent yourself well. Personally, I dress up for a podcast regardless of if it’s going to be on YouTube or not. Just like throwing on a costume, dressing the part helps me ‘get into character’ whether I’m in a blazer or one of my ghost shirts.

Write things down if you have to. This is one beautiful thing about being behind a computer. Many times you’ll get your questions in advance. Even if you don’t, you can type up points you may want to work in or your book pitch if it’s still new to you. As long as you are looking in the direction of your camera, no one watching will know. You can probably even write it on a piece of paper (there are studies that say handwriting something commits it to memory faster) and hold it out of frame. This is something you can control. Write things down and keep them within easy reach. I sometimes do it even if I don’t end up needing what I’ve written. It’s like a security blanket just to have it there.

Assume that it’s going great, everyone loves it, and never say a word otherwise. One of the worst things you can do during a live podcast or panel is say, “Wow, I’m so boring,” or “This is going terribly isn’t it?” The audience doesn’t know how it’s going. If you’re smiling and engaging and doing your best to respond to the interviewer, it doesn’t matter if you stumble over some words or if you forgot a thing you were going to say. In fact, if you have an experienced host, it’s their job to make it look like you’re amazing and interesting. Don’t undermine their work by telling the audience you’re not having fun. You negate the host’s efforts and in reality, it’s probably not as bad as you think it is. You are always going to be harder on yourself than anyone else would be. Case in point, I sent a link to a short live television interview I did to friends. I told them I bombed it, that I couldn’t believe I had wasted the opportunity, etc. Once they watched it, they told me I had nailed it. A quote, “Okay, I was ready for you to bomb and was going to try to figure out what to say to make you feel better, but this was really good.”

Be chill about technicall issues. They happen. I once did an Instagram live with an author friend for his book release and Instagram dropped us, not once, not twice, not even three, but four times! We eventually gave up and I just posted a screenshot of our interview, but really all we could do was laugh about it and move on. I still did the giveaway, his book still got a little extra promo, our friendship survived, no one died. If you are a guest either on a panel or podcast and glitches are happening, be aware that the host is probably twice as stressed as you are. Be chill, make a joke about it if you can, and hopefully things will even out.

Ignore the viewer count. If you’re on a platform where you can see how many people are tuned in, ignore it. Don’t stress if there are only two people or even no people. Remember, this is going to be recorded. You’ll be able to send out links to your followers and the host will do so as well. A lot of people tune in retroactively, act as if you’ve got an incredible audience!

Fake it til you make it. No matter what, there are going to be some incredibly introverted authors who just hate everything about interviews and being ‘on stage,’ I’m sorry. But it’s not going away. Prepare as best you can and then just fake it. Even if you’re on a podcast, smile. I did some time in radio and you truly can hear the smile in someone’s voice. This is one of the times where ‘grin and bear it’ can be taken literally. Fake like you’re having a great time. Likely no one will know the difference, and eventually, you might start actually enjoying appearances.

Personally, I really enjoy interviews, podcasts, and especially panels, but even with years of acting experience behind me, I was super nervous for my first one. It might take some time to hit your stride and find your author persona, but you’ll get there. Just relax and go with the flow. It’s all supposed to be fun afterall!

It’s possible—okay, probable—that I’ve always been an anxious person. The more I learn about anxiety and it’s patterns and coping mechanisms, the more I recognize them in myself. But by and large, I’ve always handled it. At least to the point where I never worried about it.

I’ve had bouts of depression a couple of times, one was situational, another was seasonal (although I didn’t know it at the time). When that second one came around, I tried to get help because I knew it was depression and I was seriously struggling. Finding a therapist that took my insurance was an exercise in frustration. And then I ended up with one unhelpful therapist after another. By the time I called it quits with the second one, the sun was out again and I was doing okay.

Due to reasons which I am not going to discuss here, my anxiety has spiked hard lately. It’s taken me some time to recognize it for what it is and part of that has been helpful friends (more than one, many more than one) pointing these behaviors out to me. And telling me it didn’t necessarily have to be like this.

In the event that it may help someone else, here are the patterns of behavior I’ve been made aware of. They’ve all spiked due to recent events, so it’s not always this bad, but here we go!

Inability to focus - This one has been very difficult for me, because I’m normally a productive person who takes great pleasure in crossing things off my hand-written to-do list. I’ve even been known to add an item on there that I have already done so I get the joy of drawing that line through it. Right now, my mind continues to bounce around. When I’m doing okay, I can incorporate this into multitasking, but lately it’s almost impossible to stay on task. It’s super frustrating and means I get much less done and in turn, feel worse about myself.

Nightmares about real life things - I’ve always experienced this to an extent. I just thought it was something funny and particular to my brain. Usually it’s when I’m starting a new job or project that I’m nervous about. Basically I’ll get stuck in a dream about doing the thing, but everything that can go wrong continues to go wrong. For example when I was teaching fitness, I would dream that I was subbing a dance class (one of the few formats I didn’t teach) and that I couldn’t find the room, the room didn’t have enough equipment, my music was lost or not working, etc. Funny once you wake up, not at all restful or enjoyable while asleep.

Self-Isolating - I hate this one because it leads to a spiral where I decide everyone hates me/is mad at me. Even though I know cognitively that’s not the case. So it is both a symptom of, and cause of: anxiety and depression! Yay! It also means I get less done because I just don’t feel like getting back to emails that I need to get back to. I don’t feel like picking up the phone if someone calls. I just don’t have the bandwidth, or they catch me in a bad moment, etc.

Consciously disassociating - I’ve been doing this a TON lately. Basically, if I can listen to an audiobook while doing something, I will listen to an audiobook. If I can read a book instead, I’ll read. I’ll listen to audiobooks in the shower, while getting ready for bed, while driving, while working if the work is rote and doesn’t require me to read. Anything to avoid being alone with my own thoughts. I have burned through a ton of books the past few months. But it’s not healthy to feel uncomfortable when your brain isn’t plugged in to someone else’s story.

So that’s all super fun, but how about coping mechanisms? Briefly, here are a few things I’ve found that work to combat these issues, at least marginally.

Add a mild distraction - I know. Seems weird. Can’t focus? Throw some extra distraction at it. I found this tip online when I started getting desperate. If I put some chill music on a low level in the background, somehow it helps. I can even do it in my noise cancelling headphones. Body doubling also helps. So, either working with someone else in the room, or having someone else on Zoom, not chatting, just setting a timer and working at the same time. The brain is weird.

Nothing - Sadly, I haven’t found a way to get rid of the nightmares. They just are. At least they’re not every night!

Make and keep low-energy appointments - So, you don’t necessarily need to go to a huge party with a bunch of people you don’t know, but make a coffee date with a friend. I go to a book club once a month and really didn’t feel like going this week because I was super busy disassociating, but I made myself go. And I’m glad I did. Since I work from home, workout from home, and reading/writing books is my happy fun thing, I can literally go weeks without peopling if I want. I was starting to get to that point where I had decided no one wanted to see me and that I wasn’t fun to hang out with right now anyway. I wasn’t super conversational, but I did talk to some folks and I felt better when I left. Sometimes you just need to be around people. Even if you’re introverted.

Take a forced break/meditate for five mintes - This is a both or either suggestion. In spite of being a former yoga teacher, I’ve never been amazing at meditation, but I did recognize that it wasn’t healthy to be running away from my own brain so much. I set a timer for a five minute meditation. It went so well that I did ten. And yes, I felt better afterward. Haven’t done it since, maybe I’ll do it after I finish writing this. My other tactic has been forcing myself to stop listening/reading at ‘the next chapter or break’ and looking at my todo list to see what I can manage. Crossing something off makes me feel so much better mentally that I usually try to do one or two other things. Then I can go back in my cave. Baby steps.

At this point, I can hear a bunch of you screaming into the internet to get into therapy. I know, friends. But it’s incredibly difficult to do that when: 1. The last THREE times you tried therapy, you had bad experiences, 2. Therapy is super expensive and money happens to be one of your current stressors, 3. Finding a therapist is just annoying, how do you even do it? Should you try to find one that takes your insurance or would it be cheaper/better to go without insurance? What criteria do you even use? Should you just throw a dart at the computer and pick a name? 4. The anxiety/depression makes me really not feel like doing this very difficult thing.

Don’t worry, I’m not giving up. I go in there and look sometimes. And at some point, I'm sure I’ll pick somebody. Maybe the fourth time will be the charm!

Bonus suggestion: Plant a garden, touch some grass.

Bonus tip: I highly recommend a treadmill desk!

I don’t really like the term “writer’s block” but I have experienced periods of extreme low motivation and feeling stuck in a particular place in the manuscript with no clear vision of how I’ll move forward. In fact, huge chunks of Ghost Tamer were written in that space. I was having an incredibly rough time creatively and in general, but I managed to get to the keyboard every day and eventually a book came out.

As a disclaimer, I’m a “pantser,” meaning I don’t outline before I write. I may have a general idea of where the story is going and a rough idea of what’s going to happen, but that can—and often does—change. If you are a plotter, and you’re really stuck, I still think there are practices in here that will work for you, too.

Take a look at what’s going on in your life. You may be dealing with uncertainty or stress from your day job, from a relationship, or just in general. Give yourself the grace of acknowledging that this is likely affecting your writing. It does not mean you have to stop. Although, if you’re not on deadline, and the circumstances are dire, don’t let this add to your stress. Take care of yourself first, the writing will be there. Otherwise, just continue to show up, knowing that you’re doing your best within your current parameters and don’t beat yourself up for not writing like “normal.”

Schedule time to get to the computer and set a timer for how long you’ll be there. This got me through most of Ghost Tamer. I promised myself that I would write for at least thirty minutes every day, no matter what. Sometimes I got going and wrote for longer, sometimes I barely got a page out in thirty minutes. But thirty minutes is better than no minutes. And I always wrote something.

Get an accountability buddy. I wrote Ghost Tamer during 2021, when we were still mostly staying in. I had a group that I would meet with online every Sunday and my goal every week was to produce enough new material to show them. I am positive that I would not have been as diligent if I didn’t have that motivation.

Get out of the house. (Bring your laptop with you.) When things started opening up around Nashville, one of my favorite things to do was get up early on a weekend day and try out a new coffeeshop around town. For some reason, just the fact that I was there for a limited time, out of the house and away from distractions, really helped me to focus. If you’re someone who needs more motivation, have a friend meet up with you with the understanding that you’re both going to work. (Take breaks to give each other advice, or just relax, but make sure you do get some work done.)

Try body doubling! If your writing buddy is long distance, or you just can’t make the physical meet up work, get on a video call. I’ve found that this works best when I do a Pomodoro situation. That is, set a timer for 25 minutes to work, then a five minute break to check in with your partner about how things are going, then another 25 minutes and so forth. I’ve found that two or three of these are usually what most people can handle, although I’ve done four rounds before. Get on the call, catch up for a minute, then tell each other what you’re working on. During the breaks, you can discuss problems you’re having and ask for advice, or just update each other on how it went. I’m not sure why it works, but it really does.

Take a break and read. Sometimes the tank is just empty. Even if you’re on a deadline, chances are you can afford one day off to just read something new or watch something on t.v. These are all stories that you’re using for inspiration.

Go back and read the last part you were happy with and move forward from there. I did this a few times with Ghost Tamer. I just couldn’t get started where I was, so I went back and read to the stuck part. Sometimes it’s enough to jumpstart your brain.

Tell yourself you’re going to write badly. I did a writing exercise once where the instructor asked us to write the most outlandish, ridiculous thing we could think of. Try to make it stupid, she said. Ended up being the most interesting stories we shared. In fact, I expanded upon mine later on. Regardless, get words on the page. You can always edit them later. Give yourself permission to be imperfect and just get the words down.

Write something else. Obviously this does not apply if you’re on a deadline for a particular project. If you’re starting something new and for whatever reason it’s just not grabbing you, try something else. Just keep writing. I’m currently waiting for edits for A Dagger of Lightning, on submission with Catching Magic and wanted to work on something that wasn’t attached to either of those manuscripts so I could leave them alone. I decided to go back to this witch story I started last summer. Well, I wasn’t feeling it. All I did was complain about it. Meanwhile I had an idea for an alien story floating around in my brain. After a week of this, I said screw it, and just started writing the alien story. No one is waiting on the witch story right now. I have no obligation to force it out, so I’ll work on the new one.

Getting stuck happens to everyone, and everyone has moments where they feel like what they’re writing is garbage. The most important thing is to keep going.

Gotta put the picture up for fun.

If you’ve been reading for a while, you may remember that almost a year ago, a car crashed into our sunken back yard. T’was quite the event! Regardless, the police tore out our fence to tow it away leaving us to fix it. (No, insurance did not cover it.) Fortunately, our friend Greg did it for tacos and rum punch, we just bought the material.

Well, there was wood leftover! It’s been in my shed for nearly a year. I decided to make raised garden beds.

After planning for an obnoxious amount of time (adulthood) Greg was once again concripted to help me build the things. Husband Dean was once again conscripted to make fancy surf and turf tacos. Greg requested margaritas this time. Adulthood reared it’s head again: Greg had a meeting, Dean was invited to take a workshop, but both were in Nashville and both would get back around 4 p.m. My friend Lauren (married to Greg) is very good a plants. So I proposed Greg drop her off and the two of us head out to get plants and dirt while they did their thing.

This turned out to be an epic day.

After deciding how big the beds would be, Lauren and I piled into my little hatchback and headed to Home Depot. We picked out the soil we wanted and then left it there to go get plants. (Lauren wisely said we weren’t going to want to haul around 15 bags with 2 cubic feet of soil each through the aisles.)

I know. Flip flops weren’t the strongest choice. (Photo by Lauren)

We got so many veggies! I’m super excited to have dedicated beds for them. I cannot wait to make tomato sauce. Then we put them on a handcart with three bags of soil. Why three? Because they were back-breakingly heavy and I work out every day. We asked the cashier if we could just pay for 15, unload, and go back for the rest. She said yes with all the apathy of a teenage summer job holder. Lauren waited by the car while I got the remained twelve bags.

I really considered myself a strong person until I tossed twelve of those bags on a handcart one by one. I had to fling myself against the handle to stop it once we reached the car and it pushed me back several inches.

Somehow we fit everything into the car. It was CLOSE, but we did it.

(Photo by Lauren, she cannot blame me for how we look in it.)

Once we arrived home, Lauren asked if I had a wheelbarrow. I do not have a wheelbarrow. She pointed out that we would have to carry all of this dirt to the back of the house. I texted my neighbor, who didn’t respond and finally said, “No one is coming to our aid!” So one, by one, we carted all of the dirt to the back. We still had loads of time before Greg and Dean were due, so we set about potting all of the flowers and the herbs that weren’t going into the ground. We finished precisely as they arrived.

I got to use a nail gun.

Greg cut all of the wood and basically told me how to put things together and then voila! We had raised beds! Dumping all of the dirt inside was fun. Lauren helped me avoid crowding my tomatoes. (I always crowd my tomatoes.) By the time we finished, tacos and margaritas were ready.

The next day I was exhausted and sore. (I had run eight miles before the gardening, but it was definitely the hauling of dirt.) But I was glowing. It was such a good day! Everyone got to do something they enjoyed, we got to spend time with friends, and now my back yard is awesome.

I really enjoy productive friend dates. I think the ‘raising the barn’ type stuff that we do together is just as important as going out for coffee. Even something like bringing snacks over and sitting with a friend while they unpack after moving. And yes, there is something to be said for just relaxing together, that is joyous, but working together can be just as fun.

Have you ever had an illness that dragged on well past the acute symptoms?

Dean took this when I was sick and still trying to work. The cats flung themselves upon me to get me to rest.

“I should be back to normal by now. Why am I still so tired?” you think. You may even try to push yourself to get back to your workouts, berate yourself when you’re still underperforming, look in dismay at the very normal to-do list that just continues to morph out of your control and wonder what’s wrong with you.

Then, days later, when you are fully healed, you realize you have energy again, and that you should have been nicer to yourself. And then the next time you’re sick hopefully you remember.

Of course, sometimes you have to push through regardless of how you feel. Bills need to be paid, dinner has to be made, and some committments must be kept. Sometimes you have to put one foot in front of the other.

I feel as if this also applies to mental stress, especially when sitting in it for a long period of time.

You’re waiting for an answer, you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop, or… maybe for reassurance that it won’t drop and all is well, and it’s draining. But because nothing is physically wrong, you feel like you should still be able to perform at your best. I’ve heard neurodivergent people discuss this when talking about their struggles to just function in society before their diagnosis or before they got the correct medication, etc. It’s difficult because they look fine, and physically they may feel fine, but they’re constantly exhausted.

I’ve been depressed twice in my life, and I remember struggling to do basic things. I had to put every tiny task on a calendar and force myself through it, otherwise it might slip my mind or I might just stare into space. The first time I never went to a doctor because—and this was a long time ago—people told me I “didn’t want that on my record” and that it might affect me getting jobs or might affect what my medical insurance would cover in the future. A friend of mine who had been through it armchair diagnosed me with situational depression, and said that they would put me on medication that would take a month or so to kick in, and then take a month or so to wean off, and by the time all was said and done I would probably be “over it” anyway.

Obviously, I did make it through that patch, but I can’t help but wonder what it would have been like if I hadn’t been afraid to get help. Would I have continued to lose weight because I honestly forgot to eat because I was never hungry? Would I have found a helpful therapist to provide me with coping skills that I could have used in the next rough patch? Impossible to know.

During the next rough patch, I did try to find a therapist. Jumping through the hoops my insurance set out for me and finding someone who was taking new patients had me in tears more than once. I went to one therapist who was completely disorganized, not very good, and ultimately told me she couldn’t bill my insurance after I had paid her in cash for the first session. I went to another therapist who was more affordable, but she never really gave me anything to work on or even commented much. I once even asked her out of desperation, “what do you think of all this?” and got a rather blase response of, “I think you’re a motivated person who makes things happen.” When I got the breakdown from my insurance, it looked like I had been seeing her once a week instead of twice a month. When I showed it to her, she explained that she did her paperwork on the other day and it was just the system. I’m honestly not sure I believe that. By this time, I wasn’t depressed anymore and had figured out that I was experiencing severe SAD and solved it with extra vitamin D in the winter and a sun lamp. (And moving away from Chicago.) I let that therapist go.

I tried therapy one more time and it was another bad experience. I’ve had friends who extole the virtues and point out that there are things a therapist could potentially be helping me with. Especially when I’m in spots like I am now, where I’ve been in a state of high anxiety, due to forces outside of my control, that will still have a huge effect on my life, for months on end. But the expense and mental load of even looking into therapy when it has never benefitted me before has kept me from ever pursuing it seriously.

That and just being in this space is exhausting. Getting normal thing done takes more focus than normal. All I want to do is hide in books and go to bed. And I do get mad at myself when my list isn’t crossed off. When I’m not moving forward and taking more action.

But I’m basically fine. And it will be fine. I’ll just keep putting one foot in front of the other and even this shall pass away.

When I was in my early 20s I lived in England for a year. At the time, I didn’t drink tea or coffee. I remember that this was a social road block, especially if I needed a venting session. “I’ll put the kettle on—oh, wait…”

When I first drank coffee, it was filled with sugar.

Everyone was thrilled to learn I got over this when I visited years later.

My first foray into the coffee world was a Starbucks mocha frappucino. “It doesn’t matter if you don’t like coffee, you’ll love this.” The girl who pushed me down this slippery slope was a sales assistant at Ladies’ Home Journal and I was taking her place. She was showing me the ropes and it seemed impolite to refuse.

I had the coffee shakes after two sips, but she was right. It was DELIGHTFUL.

So delightful, in fact, that it became my Friday treat. And eventually, when I decided to leave the 9 - 5 world to explore more ‘actor friendly’ jobs, I applied at Starbucks. And I got the job. Obviously I learned a lot about coffee and my tastes expanded slightly. One thing I never understood: what is the point of decaf? Me and my young coffee-slinging friends would throw this question at each other occasionally, positing that if one was pregnant, that might be an excuse, but we couldn’t think of any other reasons, and we really rolled our eyes at anyone who requested HALF decaf.

Ah, youth.

Later, I started fighting, which meant making weight, which meant cutting out any excess calories. My vanilla mocha with whipped cream became a medium roast with milk, stevia and cinnamon. Later, I cut out dairy and the milk became soy. I would bring my thermos to the store and get a grande. During the pandemic when thermoses weren’t allowed, this became a venti.

The pandemic changed my relationship to coffee significantly. Coffee out used to be a once or twice a week treat. But there were so few treats available during the pandemic that going up the road to the Starbucks drive through was often my only treat. And the only time I got out. I bought stock in Starbucks to slightly justify my obsession.

I would go to bed the night before a Starbucks day and say to Dean, “You know what I’m looking forward to tomorrow?” Sometimes he would try to guess, but after enough repetition he learned to answer, “Starbucks.”

There are worse bad habits I could have than a venti Pike’s roast with one stevia, extra soy, and cinnamon.

The Starbucks people knew me. They would see my car and when I pulled up to the microphone they’d say, “Good morning, Meredith, we have your order, you can come on around.” On the rare occasions that I went into the store to pick up, they’d say, “Oh! You’re here today! Picking up just for you, or for Dean too?” It made me feel special.

One of our favorite spots.

One of the first things I did once I was fully vaxed and the restrictions started lifting was try out other coffee shops. I had a list of what was rumored to be the Best Coffeeshops in Nashville, and I would try a new one every weekend. I’d go, get a coffee and a pastry and write for a bit. Eventually I settled on a preferred spot, but meeting friends for coffee is still one of my favorite things to do, either to catch up or to get a writing session in.

Then something happened in December.

I’ve discusssed this before, so I won’t go into a huge amount of detail, but to sum up: I was getting massive stomach pain out of the blue. Nothing was showing up on tests and basically I just had to cut a ton of things from my already restricted diet. Caffeine being one of them. And even decaf coffee wasn’t something I could have as often as I had been indulging.

Fortunately, I was in the health and fitness profession for a decade, so I had a caffeine free, acid free substitute on hand—dandelion root, if you’re wondering—but I still wasn’t happy. I missed going to pick up my coffee. I missed everything about it.

Here are some things I learned:

A lot of stores just don’t carry decaf. Meeting friends out became extra expensive because if I wanted anything decaf, I basically had to get an Americano because almost no coffeeshop (including my favorite Starbucks) keeps a drip of decaf available. This adds $3-5 to your purchase, depending on the coffeeshop and you don’t get a refill. At Starbucks, they have to make you a pour over if you request it, but they’re not happy about it, and I wouldn’t know that if I hadn’t worked there in another life.

Many Starbucks won’t let you mobile order ahead of time if you want decaf. This is, of course, because they don’t have it and would have to make you a pour over. So if I wanted to scoop a treat and get to work at a decent time, I had to order something off the espresso menu, which, as we have already discussed, adds $$.

Tea is also ridiculously expensive at these places and honestly just does not taste any better than tea I brew at home. That’s really it, I have nothing to add to this statement. I can count on two fingers the times I’ve been wow'ed by someone’s tea.

Hot chocolate not only packs an extra calorie punch, but chocolate is another of those things I can’t have. Hot chocolate was the workaround when I lived in England. It’s often not as expensive as the other options, but sadly, it is denied me as well.

I understand why stores don’t keep a decaf urn when so few people request it, but dammit, I did not realize how difficult the decaf life was going to be until this three months (and counting) fiasco I’ve been living. I think back often to my younger self saying “what’s the point of decaf?”

The point is to be able to drink something warm that’s not going to tear your insides out or cost and arm and a leg while you catch up with a friend. The point is to be able to get within arm’s length of a little ritual that you sorely miss without paying for it with pain for two days. Decaf was invented for a reason. And the reason is me.

On a positive note, I had a visit with a new doctor today. She said it’s time to start carefully trying some things. “Maybe not a venti, maybe a tall.” She said she doesn’t think it will do any damage and to pay attention to how it goes. It’s also possible I won’t be able to drink coffee as often as I did before. And I can live with that.

At my first (socially distanced, during 2020) Nashville Sounds game.

The very publicly covered romance between Taylor Swift and Travis Kelce was really not anything I cared about. Until I noticed that the way Swift was received really put a spotlight on how women in general are treated when they express a mild interest in sports.

For clarification purposes: I do not consider myself a Swiftie. I think Taylor Swift is very talented, and hardworking, and I generally like her songs when I hear them, but I definitely don’t know which ones are from which album and they very rarely make their way onto my playlists. I do have a few favorites though, and I would never begrudge any woman her well-earned success. (Do I wish she would look into her private jet usage due to climate change? Yes, but that’s not the focus today.)

In the spirit of continued clarification: I consider myself a casual sports fan. I prefer playing sports to watching them, but I can definitely get into games when they are on. I even have a few favorite teams: The Saints (I grew up in New Orleans, I’m indoctrinated), LSU, the Bears, the White Sox, the Blackhawks, the Predators, the Nashville Sounds. Can I tell you who is currently on the roster? No. Do I have a few shirts and hats? Yeah. Yeah, I do. Would I go to a game if you invited me? Absolutely.

Now that that’s been established, let’s get into it.

Christmas 2016. My friend Charles got me all Saints gear for our Friendmas. I still have that hat. I love it.

People have actually shouted “you’re ruining football” to Taylor Swift as she’s walked through stadiums. All the woman wants to do is support her boyfriend, drink with her new friends, and have fun. Yeah, she happens to be famous. And you what that’s done so far?

This past Super Bowl (apparently it was LVIII) was watched by 58.8 million women. The highest number ever and an increase of nine percent from the previous year. Let’s also throw in that the increase in total viewership was only seven percent. 

Taylor Swift has been seen befriending Brittany Mahomes, Kristin Juszczyk, and other ladies. She’s gotten shade for befriending Brittany, but after they both wore Kristin Juszcyk’s custom jackets to a game, Juszczyk, who has been making very cool NFL themed custom clothes for a while, finally got a licensing deal.

I love when women lift other women up.

The guff for befriending Mahomes is apparently because a lot of football fans ‘hate’ her. Personally, I like that she made her own decision and didn’t worry about what people thought or how being friends with Mahomes might affect her ‘brand.’

But let's pull back a little wider.

Two people in this picture are Cubs fans. But they went with us to a Sox game because it was fun. And no, it wasn’t a Crosstown Classic game.

As I mentioned before, I am mildly interested in sports. I’m an athletic, competitive person, so they appeal to me. I also like comradery, so rooting for a team alongside others is fun. However, I don’t care to delve into statistics. I don’t want the outcome of a sports ball game to affect my mood for a week, day, or even an hour, so I’ve never waded so deep.

My first memories of my childhood bedroom include a New Orleans Saints pennant on my bulletin board. I certainly don’t remember placing it there. But I do remember that my dad was very into the Saints when I was growing up. I remember as a kid asking, “who are the good guys?” when I caught him watching a game if the Saints weren’t on the screen. (I knew what the Saints uniforms looked like.) 

I went to my first game when I was twelve. They were 8 - 0 at the time, which I remember because when I was young, the Saints were terrible. People called them the Ain’ts and would wear paper bags on their heads when they went to games. I remember that they lost that game, but I mostly remember that it was fun going to a football game with my dad. I got to go to the famed SuperDome!

All of that made it ‘okay’ in the eyes of the sports gatekeepers for me to claim the Saints as my team even though I was hazy on who played what position. The gatekeepers were also mollified by the fact that I played tackle football with my friends when I was in high school. We’ll get back to this.

Let’s talk about adulthood.

When I moved to Chicago, I was asked what my baseball team was. New Orleans doesn’t have a major league team, so I was told I needed to pick between the White Sox and the Cubs, and no, I absolutely could not support both.

Well, when in Rome…

I chose the White Sox for a few reasons. 1. I had been to a game during a company outing where they got us a box. (This was before they had won the series and I’m positive that the reasons were financial.) 2. I liked the uniforms better. 3. And most importantly: the Cubs fans were severely irritating whenever I was on the el during game season. And I don’t know how much you know about baseball—no judgment either way—but it’s MOST of the year.

You don’t have to root for the same team to enjoy the game.

Now. A few years into my Chicago residency, I started dating a guy. He was a piece of work. Let’s just say I based a character in Ghost Tamer on him and everyone hates that dude. But he and his friends were from Michigan and super into Notre Dame football. (I don’t know why, none of them went there.) And they were all into the Cubs. I had chosen the Sox and stood by that choice. Instead of enjoying a friendly rivalry, they decided to test me and declared I wasn’t a “real fan.”

At one point, when we were alone, I sarcastically told my boyfriend that I could get flashcards and memorize every player and position on the White Sox team as well as their stats before the next game if that would make me a ‘real fan.’ He was quiet for a second but then said, “If you did that, I think my friends would actually be impressed and it would be pretty cool.”

Oh, so I could cram my way into real fandom? Note to all the ladies out there, apparently, if you’re going to choose a sports ball team, do your flashcards before you show up. (Or don’t and just have a beer/wine/mimosa/whatever, root for your team, and fuck those guys.)

Does anyone remember when Victoria Beckham would take the Spice Girls to games to watch David, drink champagne, and just hang out? And how they were villainized for it? Victoria even said how she wasn’t into football before David, and she wasn’t into it after David. She just wanted to go to the game, support her partner, and have fun with her friends.

And who the hell cares?

And before any Dads, Brads, and Chads come at me for how they ‘disrupt things’ with their fame or whatever, let’s just talk about normal drunk assholes at sports ball events. Let’s talk about any game involving Philadelphia ever. D Batteries anyone?

I have a lot of guy friends. An informal poll has produced these results: 0 out of a jillion penis-having people are made to prove their legitimacy when they claim to support a certain team. 

Natasha is the one just behind my head.

And I do know women who are super into sports. One of my friends has a podcast called Peace, Love, and Baseball that she records from actual Cardinals stadium seats that she owns. My best friend, Natasha, who I’ve known since I was ten, is a Saints superfan. She gets riled up on game day and has several jerseys and even a light-up Saints sweater. Neither of them has ever done any gatekeeping in my experience, other than perhaps questions about which teams I like and if I’m watching a certain game. I think they would be thrilled to bring me along to their sport and happily explain anything I had questions about or just let me hang, cheer when the team scored, and drink my beverage of choice.

Taylor Swift, who was never super interested in football before, has now said she was ‘missing out.’ Fortunately, she’s the most famous person in the world, so she doesn’t give a shit when people go after her for not being a fan since birth, or at the very least not looking like she plays tackle football with the dudes on the weekends. 

Basically, it boils down to this: women who have a mild interest in sports are often bullied away when they express said interest because they haven't supported a team since before they could walk, or don't know enough about the players, or maybe just want to hang out with their friends and have fun while they cheer on their local, and thus never get deeper into the sport. And that it's detrimental to sports as a whole.

There he is! I have circled him in blue. None of the cosplayers yelled that I was not supposed to be there.

To be clear, I think it’s great if you’re super into a team and make it your entire nerd fandom thing. My husband knows everything about Final Fantasy. All the stats on all the players, what they can do, when it’s best to put them on the field, etc. That’s cool. I don’t care to get that into it, but I’m happy that he enjoys it so much.

Your sports obsession is very similar to me. Except, admittedly, I can’t go watch Final Fantasy live. (However, I have seen my husband sing the music in the Distant Worlds Philharmonic Choir at Orchestra Hall on Michigan Avenue. He got paid $600. And I totally went to cheer him on. And enjoyed the hell out of it. And still know just about the same about the video game as I did before.)

But also, why is it so bad if a woman wants to get together with her friends to watch a game and support someone on the team? Do we have to know who is assigned to what number and who is injured and on and on to enjoy a game? It’s a game for heaven’s sake. 

It’s supposed to be fun. I think.