“That is the ugliest piece of pottery I have ever seen!” My ceramics teacher glanced at the basket I held in front of me as he turned on his heel to talk to the next student.

The comment was brief, brisk, and cruel. My beautiful woven clay Easter basket with bright, cheerful yellows and pinks and baby blues sat in my hands exactly the way I wanted it. I envisioned it stuffed with overflowing green Easter grass, some hand-painted eggs, and my mom’s smile on Easter morning.

Instead, I headed toward the paints to select every angry color I could find. Metallic blacks and browns haphazardly brushed onto every crevasse covering the pale pastels. I wanted to keep painting repulsive red, grungy green, bitter blue. My vision smashed by one sentence, as if it were a bowl tipped casually to a cement floor, broken into a thousand shards.

I no longer cared about my basket or the class or the teacher. I would be a high school graduate in a few short months and told myself I would never look back again.

The next day, my creation sat next to all the others as students picked through the various pieces to find their own designs. It wasn’t as ugly as I had hoped. There was a copper shimmer that caught the light and a reflective nickel that created movement if you tipped the basket left or right.

“Much better,” the teacher said as I, once again, held the basket in my hands.

Maybe my teacher wanted me to be an artist. Maybe he hoped that I wanted to be an artist. Maybe all I wanted was an easy class to while away the time prior to the next chapter of my life.

For years, the basket sat on a shelf in my parent’s guest bathroom, the perch it received after I presented it to Mom on Easter morning. It had never been filled with eggs dipped in happy colors. To me, it was filled with a reminder that words have power. They have the power to scorn as well as the power to shine.

My parents no longer have that house, and I no longer have that basket. But if I did, I’d fill it with my collection of ceramic Easter eggs, each lovingly made, each with a craftsman’s signature. My basket was designed to hold pretty things, not painful words.

That gives me an idea…maybe I should sign up for a pottery class.

Asking for help often gives me anxiety, you know, sweaty palms, heart palpitations, dry mouth. But when someone asks me for help, I am flattered. I thank them for asking.

Yes. I thank the asker because it’s an honor to have someone ask.

Instead of thinking only about my discomfort in asking for help, I need to remind myself that it is an honor to be asked. And that fact alone makes asking for help easier.

Here are some quick tips to help you get out of your head and ask for the help you need:

1.      You are not a burden. People like to help. If we don’t ask, we deprive them of the opportunity to help someone. Think of it as your duty to humanity.

2.      You are not weak.  As an overburdened caregiver, I told my friends, I could handle “it.” I couldn’t. They brought me food. I ate. Win-win.

3.      You are not stupid. We’ve all thought it, “They will think I’m stupid. They won’t like me anymore. It will be the death of me.” Okay, that’s a bit melodramatic, but if I’ve thought it, chances are you have, too.

4.      Ask the right questions. If you ask me about the best time to plant lemon trees, I’ll shrug my shoulders and suggest “Spring?” But, if you ask me how to write a speech, I will entertain you with endless suggestions to help you on your journey because I’m super excited to help someone on their pubic speaking path.

So, the next time you need help. Ask. It’s good for you, it’s good for them, and it’s good for humanity. Win-win.

What an opportunity! I joined the And I Thought Ladies on their interview show….Watch it now!

And I Thought Ladies Interview: 

Alison Nissen wears so many hats she should own a shop. Alison is the president of the Flordia’s Writer’s Association, a professor, and a ghostwriter. She does so much we had to ask how she balances it all in one day.

To answer that question…you’ll have to listen to find out! (There’s even a Facebook Premier, November 22 @ 6:00p.m. (est). Facebook Premiere

The And I Thought Ladies, Wilnona & Jade, produce magazines, conferences, book festivals, podcasts, Roku TV and a docuseries.

The crisp fall air lingers on my lips as I calmly whisper, “Shhhh.”

I am enjoying a cool Florida morning on the screened-in lanai with my eyes closed to block the glare from the morning sun. I am also hiding from the voice in the kitchen just beyond the open sliding door; the one on repeat.

“Mom. Mom. Mom…”

“Shhhh.” Sinking into the chaise lounge, I allow my hands to compress around the hot mug. Fronds from the palm trees at my fence line sway and tickle their leaves against the top of pool cage. My mind drifts with the breeze.

“But Mom,” the voice continues.

“Mmmm, I’m not listening,” I tell him as I raise the mug closer to my nose. The fragrant bouquet of rich nutty spices carries my muse to Fiji or Tahiti or Bora Bora where she sits on a secluded beach with a tall, dark, handsome billionaire.

“Mom, this is important.”

I relax into the pleasure of my fantasy. Niko hands my muse a cup of coffee while she gazes into his chocolate eyes.

“Mom, this is really important.”

“Ahhhh, so is this,” I say in a soft, yogi chant. The warmth of the cup slowly spreads from my fingertips, through my arms, and into my core. My senses are enlivened. This is my pre-sip ritual. I hang onto this moment for another three seconds, fully raise the cup to my lips, burn the crap out of my tongue, break my tranquility, and return to reality.

“Shhhuger,” I say as I spray hot liquid from my mouth onto my white, cottony robe.

I open my eyes and focus on the bed-head, snaggled-tooth, half-dressed man-boy now in front of me.

“Mom,” he says as his voice crackles between octaves.

“Yes?” I purse my lips while trying to feign a smile.

“When’s breakfast?”

“Don’t just sit there and stare at me! Blink, do something!” My blood boils. “I hate you!”

My home-for-fall-break 19-year-old stops mid-stride and looks for a brief second; he’s rolled out of bed in time for lunch and my tirade. He is not part of this conversation, but my eyes cut to him. If looks could kill.

I quickly shove my chair back, banging on the wall behind me.  Shimming from the table, I swipe a newly formed tear with the back of my hand, as I run from the room, heart pounding, face reddening, a powder keg ready to blow.

Catching my breath, my stride slows. Balling my fists, I begin to pace, turning circles in front of the living room couch, brooding over my situation. I will not be defeated.  I want to throw something, but that won’t solve my problem. What to do? For lack of rational thought, I grab a nearby pillow and scream into it until my vocal cords strain with pain.

What to do? I ask again silently looking at the dog who daringly lifts his head to make sure he’s not my next target. He sighs and lowers his muzzle back to the cool tile. “Do you know?” I ask, my voice raspy from my recent screech.

He sighs once more and rolls onto his side as if to say, “You scratch my belly, I’ll scratch yours.” His tail thumps once.

“Okay,” I lean down and offer him a stroke.

More calmly than seconds ago, I rise and return to the kitchen.

With apologetic eyes, I glance at my son, wishing he hadn’t heard my outburst.

He gently pulls a plate from the cabinet and shrugs while he glances at the laptop on the kitchen table. “Mom,” he says in that know-it-all teenaged tone, “Did you try turning it off and back on?”

*A shout out to Kendall Nissen for the inspiration

RPLA Showcase: Alison Nissen

floridawriters.net/rpla-showcase-alison-nissen/

Bria Burton7/24/2017

Welcome to the RPLA Showcase

2016 Unpublished Autobiography/Memoir

Resolve, Courage, Hope by Alison Nissen

In Resolve, Courage, Hope, discover the true story of murder, aftershock, court trials, and picking up the pieces.

At the 2016 Royal Palm Literary Award Banquet, author Alison Nissen won First Place in the Unpublished Autobiography/Memoir category. Each year at the RPLA Banquet, authors experience the joy of earning accolades for all the hard work that is often done in the privacy of the home with little to no recognition. We’re showcasing the best of the best with our First Place winners spotlight. Not only does RPLA recognize extraordinary talent, but we’re giving readers an opportunity to sample excerpts from the winning stories.

Click the link to read a sample:

Excerpt from Resolve, Courage, Hope

Q & A with Alison Nissen

Q: Where do you get your story ideas?

A: As a ghostwriter, I might not have the original idea; however, it takes creativity to “see” someone else’s project and make it great for both the author and the audience. In the memoir Resolve, Courage, Hope, my co-author told me his story through a handful of interviews. Like all writers, I had to decide what was good and what was not, then write a compelling story based on that information.

Q: Anything in particular about your award-winning RPLA entry that you’d like to share?

A: When I won the RPLA, I didn’t know my heart could beat so fast! It was joy beyond belief, and I was grateful for the opportunity to share someone else’s story and have it be so well received. 

Q: Whom do you credit with inspiring your writing?

A: I suffer from dyslexia, and my 9^th-grade English teacher thought I would never be a good writer because I was a bad speller. When spellcheck came along, I set out to disprove her opinion. Conversely, I had a professor in college who told me, “that’s what editors are for.” Now I work professionally as both a writer and an editor. I’ll tell everyone to do what you love and figure it out along the way. 

Q: Any tips for new writers?

A: Writing takes time and perseverance. My biggest advice to all writers is to write, rest, read your work out loud, then repeat. Allowing your work to rest lets your brain recharge; reading your work out loud allows you to hear how your work sounds. The writing and repeating get the job to the finish line. 

Thank you for sharing, Alison, and congratulations! Visit her website: www.alisonnissen.com

A message about supporting literacy in Florida:

If every member of FWA went to Smile.Amazon.com, chose Florida Writers Foundation, Inc. as their charity and, instead of logging into Amazon.com, logged into Smile.Amazon.com, FWF would receive 0.5% of the purchase funds. Every time.

We could significantly fund the literacy efforts of our organization. No money out of your pockets…just some invested time to set this up.

How easy for us to make a difference. To see all of our work, please read the pages of our website www.floridawritersfoundation.com. You’ll be proud.

Tom Swartz, President, FWF

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