Look who’s back with a book review! Me, it’s me. I’ve been reading. And painting. And singing. And performing. And not finding quite enough time for self care, but I’m getting there. I’ve even found a few spare minutes here and there to play a few video games.

This week, I had the immense pleasure of reading No Truth Left to Tell, a brilliant work of historical fiction that rings most–if not all–of my bells. Cops, crime, moral dilemmas, and a hint of home, as it is set in the fictional town of Lynnwood, Louisiana.

I’m sure I’ve mentioned this somewhere on here, but I am one of the hosts of a true crime podcast, Lifetime Sentence. As such, I love learning about true crime. That also means, however, that I am very picky with crime novels. They have to be believable; they have to have a premise that compels me, and the investigations must be well-researched, because I’ve done a lot of reading about actual investigations. Tomorrow we will release our 62nd episode on top of the bonus cases we cover on Patreon, so I have a little experience with the investigation process. All that to say, No Truth Left to Tell doesn’t feel forced in its treatment of things. Even when investigators catch a lucky break, it still felt authentic. That happens all the time in real life.

Today I flew to Providence, Rhode Island, for a week-long workshop. I’m really pumped about the things I’m going to be learning and all the ways I’ll be able to use them in my classroom. I love bringing innovation and excitement to my room; kids need it. And God knows I need it.

This morning, I woke up at the ungodly hour of 3 AM and began my harrowing journey to the airport. I came downstairs at my best friend’s house after showering, and was greeted by a TV flickering in the living room. Odd. We turned the TV off before we all went to bed last night. Then suddenly, at the sound of my footsteps, the TV flickered off and I noticed that the lid to the ottoman was off-center. I hope and pray that one of my best friend’s children was in the ottoman, because I had just enough time to have a minor heart attack and get in my car to drive to the airport. I guess I should check in with her and make sure they’re all alive.

My GPS took me to the wrong place–which wasn’t bad, it just said the airport was on the wrong side of the road. I turned around in a parking and went to try again, except there was a curb in the middle of that road. (Dallas, what’s up with that?) So I drove the wrong way up a highway for about twenty feet. Thank God it was 3 AM so there were no cops or anybody else to see me. I was so embarrassed.

When I finally got to the airport, things went a lot more smoothly. Airports at 4am are a very strange place. There are men in business suits and teenagers in pajamas all sitting side-by-side, ignoring the world in favor of their cell phones. There are women with big bags people-watching and couples with dogs that are too cute for me to pass without petting (the dogs, not the people.) The smell of Auntie Anne’s pretzels mix with the bite of Starbucks and somewhere in the distance, the sound of the Chick-Fil-A grate announces the arrival of chicken biscuits in our lives.

2019 summed up:

If you don’t have something nice to say, don’t say anything at all.

So, the long version of things is 2019 was a rough year for me. Every time I got on here to post a blog, all I could think to do was talk about how bad things were in my life. And the rational part of me–that part that I bury deep because I much prefer to be emotional and that makes me “quirky”–couldn’t claw its way out of a hole. All I could see was darkness surrounding me, and for no reason.

I know I’ve written about my depression on here before, so I try not to be a broken record about things. But this was a particularly rough year. The best way I can quantify it is this: it was my least productive year, maybe in my entire life. I didn’t read much. I didn’t paint much. I didn’t leave my house much.

I allowed myself to be pulled into this endless cycle of going to work and coming home. And when I’d get home, I’d be so tired that writing or reading were the last things I could even fathom doing. What I could fathom doing was getting on here and letting my fingers rip everybody with whom I’d come into contact that day to shreds. So I just didn’t type anything.

Kilauea’s smoldering lava fields — a unique place to bury the bodies.

Recently, I had the pleasure of reading a new crime novel by Robert McCaw, Off the Grid. And it’s like the jacket copy was made just for me.

For those of you who don’t know, I am the co-host of a true crime podcast, Lifetime Sentence. I am a true crime addict. I watch Forensic Files and everything Investigation Discovery has to offer. I’ve made a hobby of talking about murder. I know, I know. It’s so morbid. You don’t have to tell me.

All that to say, a book about murders in Hawaii seemed like the perfect read for me, especially following a book that I was not quite feeling. And what a breath of fresh air this was, too! I mean, as fresh as murder can possibly be.

Do any of you remember the original Top Gun? Tom Cruise, the reckless bad boy in a flight suit. The killer soundtrack (my mother-in-law listened to her copy of the soundtrack so many times that it stopped working recently). The action. The needless love story. It was one of the few movies I actually watched as a kid (I’ve never been a movie kind of person.)

Some time ago, I got an email asking if I’d like to read an upcoming book billed as “Top Gun for the new millennium,” there was no way I could say no. I didn’t even read the jacket copy, which is unusual for me. I just gladly accepted a copy of the book, excited to read an action book.

I’m not typically an action reader. My books are always slow-burn kind of books. I like quiet. I like espionage. I like books that take their time and pull me in. So I wasn’t exactly sure what to expect when I finally got the chance to read Lions of the Sky.

So… You may have noticed I’ve been gone for a while. You may not have, I don’t know. But the fact remains, I have been gone for nearly three months from the Pluckyverse.

I took some time off this summer to recover from the busy school year and to set up my new classroom and to start learning my new curriculum. Then I took some time off to recover from the busy start to summer. Then I went to workshops and meetings and I was still recovering from recovering. And then I needed to recover from my recovery period, and suddenly I look up, and here September is, creeping its way into October already.

The world kept spinning while I was recovering, and it left me in the dust. At first I called it a rut. Then a phase. Then I reminded myself that I always do this. I always withdraw from people and books and keep to myself as much as possible. (I never do that. I’m an extreme extrovert and a voracious reader.)

Recently, I had the opportunity to go to a workshop at Ron Clark Academy in Atlanta, GA. This was actually a dream come true for me; Ron Clark has been my teaching idol for years. I’ve modeled the way I present myself to students after Ron Clark’s methods since my first year as a teacher.

I try to build the connections he makes with his students. I hold them to very high standards. I try to make learning fun. I try to make everything I do as fun and engaging and challenging as Ron Clark and the other teachers at his Academy. Watching them in action was incredible, to say the least.

One of my favorite things I observed at RCA was the celebrations teachers throw for their students when they do something outstanding. Ron Clark has a red button that activates a dance party. Teachers have chants and cheers and dances. They show the kids how amazing and incredible they are. They stop and party and celebrate.

And it’s a beautiful thing.

Because what those students are learning is that their importance comes from within. They are taught that the thing that makes them incredible, amazing, wonderful, and unique comes from within. They’re taught to celebrate their achievements healthily. They’re taught that it’s okay to acknowledge when you are successful, based on hard work. They’re taught that it’s okay to take a moment after a job well done and pat yourself on your back.

And it made me realize how little we do this as adults. We’re told to be humble. We’re told to hold back. You’re considered a jerk, arrogant, self-centered if you want to celebrate your achievements. We’re told that we have to veil our own achievements behind a veil of humility.

We’re expected to be successful, but not too successful. We’re expected to let our lights shine, but not too brightly. We don’t want our light to overpower somebody else’s.

But what nobody can manage to tell me is why?

Why are we not allowed to celebrate ourselves? Why are we not supposed to share our successes with others? Why aren’t we allowed to brag, just a little bit? Are we so insecure in our own failures that we can’t allow others to celebrate their accomplishments?

What is so broken in our human nature that we can’t bear to watch other people do great things without us? Why aren’t we celebrating achievements? And if we feel bad about it, why don’t we just try harder?

When did we lose the ability to hit our own red button? When did we lose the desire to throw our own party?

Our Deepest Fear

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. 
Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. 
It is our light, not our darkness
That most frightens us.

We ask ourselves
Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?
Actually, who are you not to be? 
You are a child of God.

Your playing small 
Does not serve the world. 
There’s nothing enlightened about shrinking 
So that other people won’t feel insecure around you.

We are all meant to shine, 
As children do. 
We were born to make manifest 
The glory of God that is within us.

It’s not just in some of us; 
It’s in everyone.

And as we let our own light shine, 
We unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. 
As we’re liberated from our own fear, 
Our presence automatically liberates others.

-Marianne Wilson