Review: Brooklynaire, by Sarina Bowen

Brooklynaire by Sarina Bowen
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

A librarian friend recommended this to me as part of her MLS degree requirements. I'm not exaggerating in the slightest by saying that having books recommended to me is TERRIFYING. Often, they have been so far off the mark that I wonder a) Does this person even KNOW me? and/or b) What is it that they (think they) know about me that made them think I would like THIS book?!

This recommendation, thankfully, was not the case.

First, it involves multiple things that I love: Hockey, romance, sports-themed romances, series, smart women, and nerdy men. Secondly, it does the friends-to-lovers AND the romancing the boss tropes exceptionally well. It's hard to do either moderately well; add the two together and it can be a recipe for disaster.

As a character, Becca is written so well that I didn't realize until the end that this was book 4 of a series. Jumping into a series in the middle is fraught with danger, especially if the author assumes that you've been following along with the character development all along. Nate is also written well, and may be my newest book boyfriend. (I may have a predilection for brilliant, but emotionally dim men.)

I'm looking forward to reading the rest of the series!


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It's been a minute...

Wow, I haven't posted in a while! A brief synopsis:

• Engaged in December 2015
• Got married in March 2017
• Moved in with my in-laws in April 2017
• Added to our family: our Black Lab, Oliver (born March 20)
• Left my job in August 2017 and started in private practice/contracting with a small agency

So what's next?

• Keep building my practice
• Learn how to balance my life better (ha, ha)
• Start looking for a house (January 2018. Though we've been looking since April, we will start working with a realtor in January.)
• Have a baby (This is more complicated than those three little words...)

Stuck

I have been feeling rather stuck lately (and by lately, I mean for the last 6 weeks). I don't quite know what I want to do, but this isn't it. As I've written before, I was essentially forced into contract work after my department was closed by the not-for-profit I worked for. Although it's been two months since we received the news, I feel as though I'm still going though the cycles of grief.

A bigger part of me than I thought is angry. I expected better of them, perhaps stupidly, because they're a non-profit. I bought into the line they fed me that "it's not about the money, it's about the kids." (This was true, until it was about the money...for them.) I feel frustrated and angry that I did so much work for them without recognition or compensation. I'm especially disgusted with them after I found out they're passing off my work as theirs and using it to advertise the same services I provide.

I don't know what I want to do, but I don't think this is it.

I've made a huge mistake

Maybe not that huge, but enough to completely rattle me to the core. Here's the basics. I started working for an agency in June of 2011, right after graduation. I liked it there enough...I like my clients and families, and I liked the freedom that it offered me. Then in March, they announced that our department was closing, and that we "were being given the option" to become contract workers. I decided to go ahead and do the contract thing, mostly because I didn't want to leave the families I work with (counter-transference, I know), and, also in a large part, due to the amount of money that I will be making (significantly more than I would make at another agency). I've been at it for three weeks, and so far, it's okay.

 Here's the problem. I spent the last 4 days at a play therapy conference, which I loved. It also made me realize that I really miss doing the therapy that I was trained to do. Now, I mostly do behavior modification and teaching, with some parent training. I like the parent training piece, but I miss doing the actual "work" of family and couple therapy. The real kicker came when I got a notification for an EMDR training (something that I've wanted to learn and do for some time), and I thought, "I can't do that. I can't use it in my work. It would be a waste of my time." The second sentence is true, but the rest is just burnout and the fear of poverty that comes with being an independent contractor. So here's what I'm going to do:

* I will be fully licensed as a social worker after I take the LCSW exam in June.
* I'll be fully licensed as an LMFT in July, if I finish all my supervision hours.
* I'm pursuing play therapy supervision, and I may specialize in TheraPlay. (More about that later.)
* I've created a profile for my services and I'm going to try to see a few clients on Mondays and Tuesdays. 

The TheraPlay conference was really fun, but I think it would be more useful if I were still working with adopted kids or kids in foster care. So that's where I am right now.

Writing...again

I finished my NaNo project. I've had two people read it, and, of course, I'd love to have more people read it. I need to add about 20,000 more words, which seems to be easier said than done. But I'm enjoying writing, and it's a welcome break from my real life job. More updates to follow.

36 weeks...

36 weeks until my sister's wedding, in which I will be maid of honor. I will have to wear a dress and stand in front of her fit, fabulous, funky friends. Right now, I am really not happy with how I look. I have Polycystic Ovary Syndrome (PCOS, for short), which causes hair loss, rampant midsection weight gain, and facial hair. Sounds like fun, doesn't it?

Well, I've been dealing with it since I was 13 years old. You'd think I'd be used to it by now, but I'm not. I'm finally gathering my resources and seeing an endocrinologist. Most people wait until they're trying to get pregnant to see an endocrinologist, but I'd prefer not to wait that long--I'd like to feel better sooner, rather than later. I know that one thing that helps me most of all is reducing my carb intake, but when you're on the road 50% of your day, that can be really challenging. I followed the Metabolism Miracle religiously for a while, and know that I really just need to power through the first four days of no sugar and I'll be ok. But now that I know what to expect--the headaches, the anger, the OH MY GOSH, JUST GIVE ME A CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIE ALREADY--it makes it harder to "sign up" for it.

But I hate the way I feel right now, and I weigh more than I ever have in my life. So it's time to get on the ball, and start doing things differently.

Well, hello, 2012

It's been a while since I've written. I started my first REAL job, working as a family therapist with kids on the autism spectrum and their families. In the interest of confidentiality, I won't go into any of that here, but I will say that on most days, I love my job and am frustrated by it all at the same time. The frustrating part, of course, comes more from the bureaucracy and the "stuff" that people neglect to think about when they sign up for a full-time job. Eg: 40 hours a week is actually 45, once you've done your notes, and 45 is actually 60 once you factor in the travel time required of a community-based therapist (which means I go into peoples' homes, kids' schools, etc.).

I've gotten certified in TFCBT (Trauma-Focused Cognitive Behavioral Therapy), which is interesting since I don't work with abused kids any more. TFCBT has come in handy, though, since I have operationalized sex ed for a couple of concrete thinkers. I'm also working as an alternate instructor with a program that uses PREP, and I'm really excited about that, and hoping that I actually WILL get to be an instructor.

The biggest thing is that I'm trying to write more, and I have one beta reader already. I'm trying to write 5 pages a week, minimum, hoping that if I start there, everything else is a bonus. So my first novel is ready (why do I feel pretentious/ridiculous saying that?). It's a romance/suspense, and it was my NaNo project for 2011. If you want to beta read for me, send me a comment!

Coming Out: With Credit to PhDiva

(deep breath)

Ok. Here goes.

In honor of National Eating Disorder Awareness Week, I am also coming out. From the time I was 8 years old until I was almost 24, I had an eating disorder. Like many girls and women, I switched back and forth between bulimia, anorexia nervosa, and EDNOS (Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified). Eating disorders seem to be unique in their fluidity. Times where I thought I was "better" because I wasn't starving myself, I was still making incredibly unhealthy choices. I would go weeks without eating any real meals, and then eat something that I thought of as "off-limits." I would then punish myself by binge eating, forced vomiting, and compulsive exercising.

At my thinnest (a number that, now, is not important and is better left unstated), I was also the unhappiest. My freshman year of college, everything began to fall apart. I couldn't use the starve-binge-vomit pattern to soothe myself, because I was afraid of what would happen if somebody knew. Now, looking at pictures from that time, I can see what everyone else (hopefully) saw--a hollow-eyed, sad girl, trying to "fix" herself by becoming an unattainable, unrealistic ideal.

Though I haven't binged or vomited in seven years, it's still a struggle. Some of the things that have helped have been therapy, and being honest with myself and others. I spent quite a bit of time being appalled by the amount of energy women expend on disappearing. I got angry. (Really, really angry.) Then I started to speak out, which made me less angry. I started to think about what I want, and who I want to be, as well as who I am. And I challenge other women to do the same.

Today, things are better. I remember that my worth is not weighed in pounds, and health is not indicated by the number of calories in versus calories out. I remember that while images of skinny women in the media didn't make me hate my body, comparing myself to those images doesn't do anything to improve my life, or the world we live in. I remember that I have only this body, and this life, and ask myself if this is how I want to expend my energy. I remember that I am not alone in my struggle. I focus on making healthy choices for myself, rather than for some ideal...an ideal that doesn't actually fit me, after all.

Specializations

Recently, I've been hearing that I shouldn't worry about specialization in therapy until I'm actually licensed. (Which will be 2013, for those of you keeping track at home.) However, I know now that I DON'T want to specialized in CADC (chemical and alcohol dependency). Here's what I DO want to do:

- EMDR. Can't do this until I've got my preliminary license, though. (CSW, at least.)

- PREP training, especially Got Your Back and Strong Bonds. (Get to do this next week!!!)

- Play therapy certification (also needs licensure)

- FACE training--METT and SETT (I can actually do this now!)

- Narrative therapy

- Child Life specialist

- Certified Sex Addiction Therapist (CSAT) and, eventually, Certified Multiple Addiction Therapist (CMAT)

- Trauma-Focused Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (TFCBT)

The trouble with book series

I recently read two series of books by an author who wrote another series of books that I like. The first series that I read by her has only 4 books in it, and I enjoyed each one. The books have the same two characters throughout, and there's good plot pacing, dialogue, and characterization. I was really sorry to read the fourth book, especially when I learned that she didn't plan on writing any more in the series.

The second series that I read had 5 books. The first three were good, but the last two felt like a rush job. The plot was moving along, and then the ending just...happened. Now, I realize that writing probably has a learning curve, just like everything else, and this series ended long before she started her other two series.

So the question is, how long should authors hold on to a character? Some authors make their mark with one character and twenty-plus books, while others create dozens of characters. Is it more likely that a character will get "stale" and plot will suffer if the character appears in multiple books? In other words, is one's writing craft at risk just because one is using the same characters? Or is it more about the learning curve?

** Note: I'm not going to name the author, both because I don't think it's fair, and because this really could be about anyone. **

Hmmm...

I haven't blogged in over a year. What have I been doing?

* Started (and finished) my first year of grad school in social work.

* Started (and finished) my first therapist job, working in residential treatment with kids.

* ...and...it feels like not much else, actually.

I'm sure that I probably HAVE been doing more than going to school and going to work, but I can't think of it off the top of my head. What I can say is that, day to day, I really enjoy what I'm doing, and I think I'll be happy doing it professionally.

Hi, my name is Jenny, and I'm fat.

I am fat.

I'm not chubby. I'm not plump, zaftig, Rubenesque, full-figured, thick, a "woman of size," or anything else you might think of as a synonym for the three letter word FAT.

In our culture, it's generally frowned upon to be fat, much less to acknowledge it. After all, we live in a capitalist, consumer-driven society in which food is plentiful. In agricultural societies, or where food is scarce, fat is seen as a sign of wealth, of abundance. But the fact is, we don't live in those cultures.

I wish I could say that knowing that, I have made my peace with being fat. I have not. I hate being fat. I hate the way people stare at me--or don't. I hate that I think people are examining everything on my plate. I hate the Food Police, mostly because they only exist inside my head. I hate looking at pictures of myself and cringing. I hate that I "let myself" get to this weight without even realizing it. I hate having hope for a thinner tomorrow, yet it's so reassuring to think of the possibility that some day, I might not be fat.

I realize that the only person who can make me not fat is me, and I also realize that without making peace with my body, I will never be comfortable in it or happy with it, regardless of the number that appears on the scale. Realizing that and making it happen, however, are two different things.

What's the point anymore

When I tell people that I don't know what I want to be when I grow up, and that I'd be happy to take their suggestions, they usually think I'm kidding. I'm not. Since I graduated from college seven years ago this May, I have done the following:

• Applied to PhD programs in sociology at University of Notre Dame, University of Minnesota, and Loyola University Chicago. Got into Loyola. Maybe if I'd gone, I wouldn't feel like such a failure now.
• Spent a year substitute teaching, mostly lonely and alone.
• Applied to PhD programs in sociology at New York University, Boston College, University of Wisconsin, Portland State University, University of Chicago, University of Texas (Austin), Georgia State University, Arizona State University, and University of California-San Francisco. Got into Chicago's MA program; actually went.
• Got my MA, then worked in a small law office, mostly catching up on reading and boring myself to death.
• Applied to law school at Indiana University, University of Kentucky, University of Washington, Ohio State, Tulane, Georgetown, American, Northwestern, and Hamline. Got into Hamline, then discovered that it's a Tier 4 law school. Didn't want to go that badly.
• Went to work at a job I hated, with people I didn't like. But it paid well.
• Applied to the only PhD programs that accept mid-year applicants at Emory, University of Maryland, and University of Louisville. Got into U of L, am about to finish my second MA, this one in Women's and Gender Studies.
• Applied to only one PhD program for the 2009-10 school year, University of British Columbia. Got rejected.
• Applied for the Masters of Science in Social Work program at U of L. Will start Marriage and Family Therapy program in the summer.

I still feel like I've failed, because I've wanted a PhD for so long. (The law school thing was an ill-advised offroad adventure from that, I'll admit. Though I did like the law classes I took, and I liked the kinds of things I encountered at the law office where I worked, in hindsight it's a very good thing that I didn't get accepted to law school.) Doing the MSSW/MFT thing almost feels like settling, especially since what I really want to do is teach. (However, I don't know if that's actually what I want to do. It seems like something I'd want to do from the outside, but past experience has shown that what a job looks like from outside is usually pretty different from what it's actually like. I need a professor who will turn their class over to me for a semester. Then we'll see how I feel about it.)

So at what point do you give up on the dream? It's been seven years, and I'd estimate that I've spent close to $3000 applying for schools, not counting the sheer amount of work-hours I spent working on applications and the like. That's half a year's rent for a nice one bedroom in Louisville. Maybe I just don't have it in me. 

Maybe I'm not cut out to get a PhD. It's getting harder and harder for me to find professors who were willing to write letters of recommendation for me. I'm not positive, but I'm pretty sure that's a bad sign. It doesn't mean that I can't go back later and get a PhD, but for now, all signs point to 'stop.'

WHAT? INSIDE VOICE?

While I was on a break at work today, I found myself suddenly missing England. This is weird, because I pretty much loathed every minute I lived there. I counted down the months, weeks, days until I got to go back home. (Sidebar: Within the past month, almost a dozen people have asked me where I'm from (or the variation, "Where's home?"). I find it difficult to answer this question, after moving around so much. Home is...wherever.) But what I miss about England is the people.

It's not that I dislike Americans, or subscribe to the idea that all Americans are ill-mannered and uncouth. There is, however, a big difference in the way Americans behave in public areas and the way the English behave in public. Some of it, I'm sure, has to do with the space available to Americans. There's simply not the amount of room available to the average Londoner that's available to the average person in Louisville. People in the Midwest take up more space, possibly because more is available to them. However, this doesn't quite explain the difference in volume.

The thing that I observed today is how LOUD American families tend to be. Rather than saying the child's name in a clear, audible voice, the American parent shouts across the room to the child. Whereas an English parent might expect the child to come over immediately, the American parent continues to deliver instructions or corrections LOUDLY and across the room. This could be a class thing, or perhaps I'm being overly critical of other people's parenting techniques. (As I tend to do, honestly.) 

But I'm inclined to believe that the difference is cultural, at least in part. My only evidence of this is that when American parents pull their children aside as English parents do, people start visibly. Their interactions are considered to be intense, and passers-by look at them the same way they look at people who smack their children in public.

Aside from parenting techniques, I miss England because when two people were talking to each other at a table in a London coffeeshop, I couldn't hear what they were saying. In comparison, I've learned way too much information about a great number of strangers, including the state of their bowels, their marital problems, etc. So, people of America, I ask you: Please use your inside voice.

This American Life

I have an addiction to "This American Life" on NPR.

At first, I was just a casual user. On Saturdays, I would be driving, and suddenly find myself listening to the melodic tones of Ira Glass. Soon, though, I started scheduling time to listen. Before I knew it, I was downloading podcasts every day and listening to them everywhere. It didn't matter where I was--in the car, before class, waiting at the doctor's office...I had to listen.

And now I find that I want to write my own segment for "This American Life."

The only thing is, where do I start? Should I start with some of my favorite episodes, like the one about how childhood misunderstandings carry over into adulthood? (Oooh, then I could tell my story about how I thought that fire trucks started fires.) Or about how "No One's Family Will Ever Change"? (Then I could talk about when I first realized that my family was a bit...unusual.)

Please, Ira. Call me.

Post Con update

After Comic Con, I've become aware of all the tv shows that I should be watching. Now, I know what you're saying...who needs to become addicted to more tv shows? Well, after going to panels, I've become aware that there are some amazing shows out there that I've been missing. Like "Weeds," for example, which we watched on the plane there and back. I don't get Showtime, so DVDs have been a fantastic option. So here's a list of other shows that I need to start watching:

1. Pushing Daisies

2. Saving Grace

3. The Closer

4. (Not out until 2009) Dollhouse

5. Mad Men

6. Breaking Bad

7. Chuck

Geek-tastic

We got back from Comic Con last night at about 10 pm, after having spent four days in geek heaven. We saw Kevin Smith, Judd Apatow, Frank Miller, and Zac Snyder, all in one panel, and I had my very own fangirl moment when I met Gail Simone. But that's not when the geek-o-rama started.

Technically, our geek fest started the previous sunday, when we went to see The Dark Knight (along with everyone else in the world). It's difficult to describe the experience of watching The Dark Knight, even when one is talking to someone who has already seen the movie. I've seen every Batman movie since 1989's Batman, and until the Christopher Nolan/Christian Bale Batman Begins, I saw all of them with my father. Seeing as how I was 9 when the first Batman movie came out, I shouldn't have been shocked that people brought their kids to see The Dark Knight. And yet, because I knew that it closely followed Alan Moore's The Killing Joke, I also knew that The Dark Knight was not "suitable for children."* It's not that the movie is particularly violent--300 and other recent graphic novel-into movie projects have had considerably more violence. (Hey, The Dark Knight isn't even as violent as the trailer for The Punisher, but I'll cover that later.) What would make me reluctant to take a child to see The Dark Knight is that it is deeply psychologically disturbing.

And for some children, the psychologically disturbing nature of the film would bring up interesting and difficult questions--about the nature of heroism, about hero worship in itself, and about the nature of madness. Hopefully, the same questions were brought up for adults who saw it. (I almost believe this, just based on the number of people who've seen it multiple times.) 

This is why I read comic books. Because they're not just stories with pictures. They're not just for kids. (In fact, most of the authors that I adore--Frank Miller, Gail Simone, and Alan Moore, among others--are definitely not for children.) They're intense stories with cultural icons and archetypes, accompanied by illustrations that, outside of printed books, could be displayed as art work--if the stigma of being a "comic artist" didn't exist.

And this is why I loved going to Comic Con. It wasn't just the panels that we went to (which included Kevin Smith's "Zac and Miri Make A Porno," a panel that featured Frank Miller, Judd Apatow, Kevin Smith and Zac Snyder, "Battlestar Galactica," and "Doctor Who") or the people we saw (Jeff had his fanboy moment less than 2 feet from Ed Brubaker); it was the overall experience of the Con. People are committed to their love of the medium, and they're unabashed in their joy. More than that, everyone we met was genuinely nice. Despite the fact that there were over 200,000 people at the San Diego Convention Center and it was almost impossible to get anywhere without bumping into people or walking through groups of people, everyone apologized for bumping into one another and everyone was generally quite polite. Overall, Con attendees are awesome. 

And the Con rocked.

---

* Note: Because, after all, children are different from one another, what might be inappropriate for one child might be perfectly accessible for another. I'm generalizing here, of course. 

Knitting in public

I'm going to try to blog more, particularly about my knitting projects. Right now, I'm making a scarf for my sister out of bamboo yarn, a lovely grey blanket for myself, and seafoam green socks. The socks are not going too well--I got the ankle part done, but have come to a full stop at starting the heel. Not good. Everything else is going well, and the blanket will probably be done soon.

My biggest concern right now is not being able to take my knitting on the plane with me. Must look into that.

I think I like blogger better

I'm all but one week done with my first level of ASL. I've learned some new signs, and (more importantly) have had a lot of opportunities to practice. More than that, though, I've figured something out that I didn't know when I was an undergrad--what you do, how you behave in class, whether or not you show up prepared...all of it matters. Not just to you, but to your classmates as well. When you have a bad attitude, not only are you cheating yourself out of class, but your bad attitude affects everyone else.

I really don't think I knew this when I was an undergrad, and I'm certain that my attitude rubbed people the wrong way again and again. Sometimes I wish I could do it over again, knowing what I know now about personal responsibility and what one is supposed to get out of college. Maybe in a few years I'll have a better attitude about my college experience, too.

I haven't posted for over a year...

So I thought I'd drop a little rant.

Two weekends ago, I was at a knitting group and was "awwing" over someone's baby. I mentioned that my godson was a very, very quiet baby, and that was because later they discovered he was deaf. Her reply was, "Oh, that's terrible."

Why is that terrible? He happens to be deaf. (He's not culturally deaf, because both of his parents are hearing, and he's mainstreamed as much as possible, with him also being autistic.) I realize that this is wrapped up in the audism that is omnipresent in our culture, but, really, what's so bad about not hearing? He's well-adjusted, happy, and seems to be pretty much ok.