The More the Merrier (as in more friends, but yeah, more writing too)

I've been revisiting a lot of my old writing lately.

Since I recently started taking online writing workshops, I needed to carve out some sort of daily work space for my writing and lessons. Silence has always been big for me. And no clutter. I like a space that feels my own and is silent.

Reality check.

I live in a tiny, noisy, love-filled house that I share with my three favorite humans. (Two of those humans are boys--teenage boys.) They are all amazingly respectful of my writing time: they turn down their TVs (to still-audible-in-the-other-room-levels), always apologize after they interrupt me, and only roughhouse and bond loudly over inappropriate jokes with their dad until they remember I'm sitting there.

I realized the writing had not been happening for way too long, so it was time to stop making excuses and find a way to adjust (anyone who knows me probably chuckled right there..I'm not known for my flexible adaptability). So here's what I did: I completely commandeered the dining room table (which is literally only used for actual dining when it's my turn to host book club and the rest of the time is the holder of all things random and pending). My shiny new red laptop and adorably kitschy turquoise mouse now sit there, along with printed reminders of my writing. My writing notebook. The 9 instructional books I wrote. The anthology in which one of my essays was published. And my blog books which hold 12 years worth of my writing.

Twelve years. Lately, every time I looked here, on this blog, instead of noticing how much I had written over the years, I would focus on the gaps of time between posts. I would focus on how many ideas never got put to paper (or screen). So while taking these courses...recreating and rebuilding my writing practice...I needed some reminders of what I've created through the years. Now, when I sit at my no-one-ever-dines-here-dining-table, I feel like it's my space. It is far from silent and somewhat cluttered, but I'm using the noise in my head to tune out the gaming noises and episodes of "Breaking Bad," and the clutter that sits on this table inspires me to remember what I have done and what I can do. 

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The following essay was published in The HerStories Project: Women Explore the Joy, Pain, and Power of Female Friendship (edited by Jessica Smock and Stephanie Sprenger of The HerStories Project.) It was originally posted here on September 30, 2010.

The More the Merrier

I've been thinking a lot about friendships lately.

My dearest friend's 7-year-old granddaughter is having some issues on the playground. She can't quite understand how her best friend can be her best friend one day and completely ignore her the next.

"That's just rude, Gram. And it hurts my feelings."

It's tough being a girl. Women are difficult creatures. We desperately need each other but we push each other away, claw and snap and bitch, and talk behind each other's backs.

My friend assured her granddaughter that "one day" she'd find that one true best friend:

"Really, Gram? You promise?"

"I promise."

I told my friend that I thought that had been a terrible promise to make (we're honest like that). I'm not sure I really believe in the notion of a best friend anymore, although lately (and here's the truly ironic part) I feel I am in some of the healthiest relationships of my life. The notion of That One True Best Friend--the promise that little girl is holding out for--puts a whole lot of pressure on her and especially on the girls around her. No one person should be responsible for being every thing to anyone.

That little girl may be so busy looking for that One Girl that she may miss out on all the ones skipping happily around her on the playground.

* * *

In spite of the fact that most people would probably describe me as very outgoing, I've actually spent most of my life being somewhat anti-social. Growing up, I was never accepted into any of the Cliques Of The Moment, and more often than not, I'd find somebody who was "like me" (read: a little too loud or a little too dramatic or a little too awkward or a little too whatever I happened to be at the time) and I'd latch on. I'd found her: my friendship soulmate! And eventually, as is almost always inevitable with females, she'd screw me over. There was Marilyn in 3rd grade, who one day came back from lunch and abruptly and silently pulled her desk a few inches away from mine and refused to speak to me. I remember Lena, in middle school, who decided hanging out with "the other girls" was way cooler than hanging out with me (she was probably right). The list goes on and on. I realize there were probably many times that I, too, had disappointed them...I don't doubt that I said something completely inappropriate to Marilyn that day at lunch, but couldn't she have told me what that something was?

What I've come to realize over the last couple of years is that all that time I spent excluding everyone else to be with my One True Best Friend, I had missed out. A lot. On people, outings, experiences, adventures, life lessons.

I now find myself surrounded by a lot of really remarkable women...some I had pushed aside for years because I simply "didn't have the time" to spend with them. I am more open, less judgmental, and having a whole heck of a lot more fun. My "collection" of girlfriends are all incredibly different: with some I can discuss, in great details, Marc Jacobs's personal make-over...others shop "exclusively" at Walmart and Target. For some of my friends, sweating is restricted to dancing and sex...others are game for anything from a 5k to a full-out adventure race. I would not call any one of these women my Best Friend. I know who I can call in the middle of the night when my kid is running a fever of 105. I know who I can call when I'm desperate for a night of dancing and drinks. Some of these women know secrets about me that the rest of the world would be shocked to know. Others, I'm just starting to truly trust.

Today, I "asked a girl out." Well, that's what it felt like, anyway. I recently started to talk to someone at work who seems to be so amazingly interesting and intelligent and just plain "cool," that I stepped out of my old comfort zone and, after 30 minutes of chatting about designer galoshes, world-wide travel, Christian Louboutins, mamas' boys, marriage and children, I decided to make a plan to get together next week. This may seem like a totally normal thing to do. But for me, it felt foreign. This woman may become one of my girls. Or, perhaps we will get together and have absolutely nothing to talk about (although after that 30-minute-all-inclusive-chat, I doubt it!). But the point is that I have finally figured out that I don't need one Best Friend. I need lots of really fantastic friends. I am no longer disappointed, because I don't put all my eggs in one basket. I have lots of baskets, and I'm skipping happily around with them on the playground.

That's my name...in a REAL book! Launch Day for The HerStories Project Anthology

 

The four of us were stalking the UPS truck. I was totally trying to pretend it wasn't such a big deal.

 

But then my oldest turned the corner on his bike and yelled, "Mommy! Look!" and my youngest followed him on his drifter and announced, "It's the brown truck with the golden stripes!" 

 

The book arrived and I opened it up and turned to page 17, and I couldn't pretend anymore.

 

This was a very big deal.

 

I was giddy.

 

High.

 

There was my essay: "The More The Merrier."

There was my full name: Elizabeth Suarez Aguerre.

A real byline.

 

Perhaps I was a bit biased, but I thought the book was beautiful: pink and purple, the exact shades of my teenage bedroom. The cover was simple, but appealing. Just heavy enough in my hands.

 

A real book.

 

I have been published before (nine times to be exact!). You'd think that would be more than enough. But although I am extremely proud of those projects, they do not hold my true voice. This book is the real writing Me. It is the style and genre of writing that I have dreamed about being published in for as long as I can remember.

 

My essay sits there, sharing space with 49 other amazing women writers, and I am honored. These amazing editors, Stephanie Sprenger and Jessica Smock, found my words, my piece, and thought it was good enough to be in this anthology on women's friendships. Thank you.

 

After showing the book to my boys ("Look, that's Mommy's name!"), Hubby and I toasted with a bottle of champagne. I carried it around the rest of the afternoon, under my arm, crystal flute in hand. After this experience, after feeling this feeling, I can no longer deny that I. Want. This.

 

This byline...this book...this opportunity has lit a fire under my ass. I can no longer pretend that my writing doesn't matter.

 



That's ME!!!!

To buy the book, click HERE or on the book's Amazon link at the top right corner of the page (pretty please?).

Learn more about the book, how it all started, the editors, and the rest of the awesome women writers featured at The HerStories Project. And please help us spread the word....tell your friends and family about it. The book really is a frickin' awesome collection of essays on "the joy, pain, and power of female friendship!"

We need to talk

Here's the weird thing, I think, about friendships: we all want to be just like the characters of Sex and the City...all open and blunt and honest and communicative. We want to be able to talk to each other totally uncensored, unedited, with no nerves, no qualms, no reservations. But how many of us really, really do?

I talk a lot. I am super open with almost everyone. I think most of my friends would say that I am transparent. And although I know there are lots of things that I am not good at, I know I'm good at communicating. Yet, when it comes to talking to my girlfriends (and I mean my most intimate ones...The Ones Who Matter), I struggle. (Inside, at least.)

It's not the conversation part or the confrontation part. It's not that I don't know what to say or how to say it. It's all about the Should.

Should I tell her?
Should I be this upset/disturbed/bothered about it?
Should I risk disturbing the current status of this friendship about this "little thing"?

And there it is. It always manages to creep in. The self-doubt.

I doubt whether my feelings are valid enough.

The best way I can describe it is with the phrase: internally sheepish.

It's like, inside, I'm this little girl, digging the toe of her shoe into the playground dirt, tilting her head all lopsided-like to meet her shrugging shoulder, eyes averted, mumbling about hurt feelings.

On the outside, though, there's my Rational Self...the one that has had many years of therapy, lots of experiences to build herself up, and surrounds herself with wonderful people who inspire and enrich her.  Luckily, that's the version that shows up for The Big Stuff. That version ignores the sheepish little girl inside. That version knows that strong women who want strong friendships talk.

My friends--The Ones Who Matter--will surely read this sooner rather than later (they're awesome cheerleaders like that), and I wonder what they will think of this.

"Talk?" they will wonder, probably. "But we talk about everything."
"Talk?" they will wonder. "But Liz tells me what she thinks all the time." (I know...how lucky are they, huh?)

But I have no problems whatsoever talking about everything all the time: money, sex, men,
fears, goals, dreams, parenting, body issues, therapy sessions...

But talking about me being upset with them about something in particular?

I do it.
Eventually.
Inevitably.

But I hesitate.
I ponder.
I feel all uncomfortable and fidgety and internally sheepish.

I thought, initially, that this was just a Me thing...that most good female friends really hash it out on a regular basis, but then, I thought: Maybe not? Aren't we, women, known for being grudge-holders and petty? Aren't we known for keeping things in for the sake of peace? And don't most of us know of someone (or lived it ourselves) who had a female friendship that went, suddenly, wrong? I wonder how often other women get miffed at something a girlfriend did, a minor thing, perhaps, and they leave it alone...to sit there, to fester, to grow into something bigger? Something important?

So I am curious: When it comes to bringing something up that is nagging you about your female (good) friends, do you just throw it out there, no hesitation a la Samantha...No fear? No sheepishness?
Or are you more like Charlotte, and struggle sometimes, too?

P.S. And am I the only one who still really misses that show and its characters? Hopefully not, or else this post is going to seem really out-of-style.

I am a writer

I don't write for an audience.
I write for Me.

That's what I tell myself, anyways. And, for the most part, it's true.


I've been a writer for as long as I can remember.

That sentence, there, is hard for me to form:
I have been a writer for as long as I can remember.

Usually, it's more along the lines of:
I love to write...or...I have always loved writing...or...I wanted to be a writer when I was a kid...or, my favorite disclaimer of my artistic ability: Yes, I've had several books published, but that doesn't really count, because they were educational books, so I'm not really a writer, I just love to write.

"But ultimately, a writer is someone who writes," according to Dani Shapiro, author of Still Writing: The Perils and Pleasures of a Creative Life.

And write, I do.

All the time and everywhere and for as long as I can remember: scribbled sentences on coffee shop napkins, diaries and journals and notebooks filled to the margins, pages and pages of typed up "chapter books" on my sister's typewriter when I was eleven, love letters, hate letters, poems filled with angst and dripping in narcissism, musings and essays and blog posts...

I write.

Always have.

And for the first time in my life, I am just starting to realize that I no longer want to clean that up, or tack a disclaimer onto it, or apologize for it, or explain it. It's a very, very big part of who I am. It's the one thing I found all on my own, when I was very little, and figured out that not only could I do it pretty well, but I loved doing it, and even more consequential: I needed to do it.

It's because of this need--this internal thing--that I write for myself. I write because I have to. I write because when some thought starts pinging around inside my head, I can't get it out until I put it to paper (or, in this case, screen). So yes, I was being truthful when I said: I don't write for an audience. I write for myself.

But I never said it didn't matter if someone else reads it, or says it's good, or tells me I moved her or made her laugh or made her feel relief. I write for myself, but when someone is out there and notices it, well then...it makes the rapture of having written something all the more...rapturous.

That's why when Stephanie Sprenger and Jessica Smock of The HerStories Project contacted me and asked if they could include one of my pieces in their upcoming anthology, it was a really, really big deal. I don't think I realized, in fact, how much I actually cared if there really was an audience out there until this happened. I keep saying how "honored" I am to be included amongst these 50 contributing writers for this project, but I feel like it sounds so cliché. Everyone says I'm honored, all the time. But I am. I am honored.

It is a honor.

...An honor that they found me, that somehow out there in the blogosphere, someone read my words and thought they were good enough and important enough and relevant enough to include in this project.

I wrote the essay that will be included in the anthology for Me. I wrote it because, at the time, I needed to. I wrote it because I'm a writer. But it sure is nice when someone else is sitting out there, in the audience, listening and applauding.

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"The HerStories Project: Women Explore the Joy, Pain, and Power of Female Friendship is a collection of essays from over 50 women writers, encompassing tales from the sandbox to the inbox."
All the info on the book can be found here.  Read some of the early reviews, find out how this project got started, and of course, look for li'l ol' me on the "Contributor" tab. And then, make sure you sign up for updates...you'll receive all the information on the book's upcoming release, as well as sneak peeks and discount information.