A Change Has Come

by Molly Jo Realy (@mollyjorealy)

It’s no secret I’ve been stagnant for more than a minute. Truth is, it’s not so much that I haven’t wanted to write, but more than that: I wasn’t sure what to write … or how.

I was recently diagnosed with a severe case of imposter syndrome.

That means there’s been a whole lot of faking it without making it. And while I’m still seeking the magical cure that will bolt me to the New York Times Bestseller List (I’d settle for some outfield tickets at Yankee Stadium!), there’s an underlying nudge that no matter what I do, I’ll never get there, so why bother?

Those voices in my head (no, I will not tell you how many, stop asking!) tell me, “Keep going. Keep going. Keep. Going.”

I’ve been wanting to make some changes. I don’t really know why I haven’t. LIE. I’mma be honest: cancel culture is a real concern. I could innocently say “yellow is the color of the day,” and somewhere, someone who prefers blue might disagree. Loudly. So I’m always on guard. *insert “shrug” emoji here*

Or maybe it’s because, like so many people, we don’t measure up to the IG-worthy fakeness and so believe offering nothing is the best option. bzzt! WRONG! bzzt!

While speaking with a writing mentor recently, she encouraged me to just be myself. She encourages everyone to just be their authentic selves. And the weird thing is, I encourage others the same. All. The. Time.

So why can’t I take my own medicine?

And what about the rules of engagement?

Arrggh.
The code is more what you’d call guidelines than actual rules,
or so I’m told. 

Ooh. There’s a whole lotta latitude that comes with knowing rules aren’t actual rules. And I guess the only way to start is, well, to start. But, well … 

Let me share a vision I had the other night.

I say vision because I was half-asleep so I’m not if I was dreaming or praying. That’s insignificant. What’s important is the message:

Life is messy. We trudge through a lot. It’s not always picnics and sunshine. It’s rainstorms and mud.

So let’s get in the mud.

Let’s make mud pies. Sloppy, messy, overflowing, laughter-filled, mud pies.
Let’s have fun and forget the constraints that aren’t real constraints.
I’m not saying ignore responsibilities. But now and then, it’s okay to get a little dirty and have fun doing it.

Growing up in the Midwest, my family was no stranger to rain and mud. Once before church, Dad sat us kids on the edge of the sandbox while he watered the garden. He told us not to get dirty. Mom told us not to get dirty. In my six-year-old brain I knew this wasn’t gonna end well for at least one of us.

Guess what.

We got dirty. 

But all it took was a damp rag and few whacks on the fabric for us to be presentable again.

Back to the vision/thought/idea-thing:

Mud. Remember the feel of trudging through thick mud? That delicious schwoook-plop it made with every step? We loved walking on muddy paths. We loved following Dad’s footprints as he led, and looking back to make sure Mom was bringing up the rear so we wouldn’t straggle. Then we’d circle back and retrace our steps.

There were times the slick dirt revealed what was underneath: hidden treasures of smooth rocks, or someone’s long-forgotten plastic bracelet.

Sometimes being in the mud wasn’t for play. Sometimes it was necessary. Tilling the ground before Memorial Day so we could plant seeds. Racing to the end of the road before the school bus drove off. It didn’t matter the purpose. I found joy in the experience of mud.

We couldn’t get lost. The prints were still there. And when the sun came out and dried the earth, guess what.

The footprints were still there. But we weren’t.

We weren’t stuck in the mud. Oh, hey. Look what I just said. 

We left our marks. But we moved out of the muck and onto solid ground, and left our marks in different, longer-lasting ways.

In time, other storms, other footprint-leavers, other whatevers, came and went. I like to think someone discovered a few of our tracks, like modern fossils, and perhaps their imagination led them to great stories, too. I know ultimately our footprints faded, faded, then were gone. But we’re still here. At least, most of us. And new parts of us. The schwoook-plop sound is replaced more often with pitpatpitpat of bare feet or clip-tap of business shoes.

Now and then, after a good rainstorm (of which there are many here in the South), I’ll step outside. The sidewalks don’t get covered in mud, but if I take just a few steps to the park next door …

I can leave my mark again. Until it’s time to change. I hope some of my marks are fossilized and help brighten someone else’s day.

Excerpt from NOLA:
“I wanted to put the good on top.”
“What’s that?”
Toni smiled. “What Momma B always used to say. If something goes wrong, you gotta work it ’til it’s better and put some good on top.”
Rain rested the back of his head on the chair and channeled his memories. “No one cares about the cake ’til they see the frosting. And no one cares ’bout your hard life ’til you make it something worth paying attention to.”
They quoted together. “Mud pies always start with mud. You gotta put the good on top.”

TELL ME MORE:
How do you put the good on top? 

Molly Jo's Journal: A Change Has Come. Don't get stuck in the mud. Leave your footprints for others to find and follow. #journey #tellyourstory #encourage #writer Share on X

I hope you’ll stick around as I once again get in the mud and make some changes, find some old treasures and make some new marks. For starters, please please please–I can’t stress this enough–PLEASE add my email address to your approved email list. Why? Because it’s been flagged as S*P*A*M, and that’s not good. It’s not good for my ratings, and it sends these lovely journals to your junk folder. So if all you do is just click and read, it doesn’t clear it from your junk folder. Matter of fact, it’s a new email address: Journals (at) mollyjorealy (dot) com. Yeah, I gotta spell it out like that so the bots don’t chase me down as they so often do.

The next thing you can do to help is to resubscribe here. Seriously. Don’t just enter your name and email and leave it at that. You can pick your lists! Choose one, two, or all three: Do you want journal entries (blog posts) which promise encouragement at least every other week? Perhaps you prefer monthly newsletters which give a variety sample of what’s going on in my world (including recipes, bookish recommendations, personal antics, and much more). Maybe you’d like just writing/speaking updates? That last one, I’ll be honest, I don’t send. Why? Because I only have four on that sublist, and they receive everything else too. And I like sharing with everyone. So if I get a good number that subscribe only to the writerly updates, I’ll start sending that out as well. If not, well, it won’t remain an option and I’ll just update y’all through the journals and newsletters, how’s that?

Come alive, stay wild, and always, savor the journey,
~M. 

A Southern hippiechick at heart, Molly Jo Realy is author of the romantic location mystery novel, NOLA, and creator of the Book Builder Workbook. Also an editor and coach, she encourages people to embrace their unique talents to share their stories as only they can. Addicted to God, cats, tea, planners, and pens, in no particular order. Follow her on X (Twitter), Instagram and join her Facebook Community NOLA Swarm for more fun!

 

Do me a sweet favor and forward this to someone who would enjoy it.
To subscribe or update your preferences, click here: subscribe to Molly Jo Realy.

I made a personal goal to sell an average of one book per day in the month of March. Will you help me out and support my small business? Purchase NOLA for the romantic suspense readers in your life, and The Book Builder Workbook for the writers.