Britt Skrabanek

A Physical Perspective Turns Two

I thought about blogging for a long time—a few years actually. But I was holding myself back.

In fact, I held myself back most of my life by keeping my writing concealed. I can’t even blame a lack of support around me, because I was lucky enough to have it right in front of my face. Yet, I refused to acknowledge any of it.

My English teachers encouraged me like crazy, but I brushed them off. My parents both said I should be a writer when I “grew up”, but I ignored them too.

Then one day Mr. H dared me to write a novel. Being that I was spinning in circles at that time in my young adulthood—bored and a bit reckless—I told him I was game.

I didn’t have a clue how I would pull off writing an entire freaking book.

Insecurities raced across my mind every day. How in the hell are you going to write hundreds of pages? Why are you going to spend your minuscule free time working that hard? And, after you devote years of your life to one damn story…who in their right mind will ever take the time to read it?

But when I say I’m going to do something…I do it.

Five years after the day I took that dare, I’m still here, proudly finishing up my third book, The Bra Game.

My blog, a physical perspective, is having a birthday. She just turned two.

Naturally, I wanted to celebrate this special day with all of you.

Blogging was a necessary step in the indie author process. How else would anyone know that me and my words existed?

It was difficult for me to find the courage to share my writing with the world. I didn’t feel that I had anything worthy to offer in an online universe where there is already such an overwhelming chatter.

Throughout my writing journey I have been amazed by one thing above all…our awesome community. People from across the globe are connecting in a way I never thought possible. Every day I see so much beauty being shared through the written word, and I feel honored to be a part of it.

I am truly grateful for all of you, and all of this. Keep rockin’ the peace and the love.

The Life Enthusiast Chronicles with Dianne

Last month blogger gal pal Kate Johnston revealed her passion for wolves, encouraging us to take a moment to think about how much we could save if we all fought for something wild. In my series, The Life Enthusiast Chronicles, fantastic humans from all over uncover what makes them passionate about life.

Today I’m stoked to bring you—all the way from Australia—Dianne Gray. I’ve had the privilege of getting to know Dianne through the blogging universe. Along the way I have found a fellow writer with a heart of gold, someone I look up to very much. So far, of her many novels out there, I have only read “The Everything Theory”…and I was blown away. Beyond the amazing award-winning author that she is, Dianne is a terrific human who has a knack for making us laugh and cry as we read her blog which explores the beautiful transitions of life. She’s a Life Enthusiast all the way. (If you haven’t read one of Dianne’s books, you’re missing out.)

Connect with Dianne on Twitter and Facebook.

Take it away Miss Dianne…

Cairns Post Writer's Award — Cairns Post Writer’s Award

I was so excited when Britt asked me to join her Life Enthusiast group. I love all the bloggers in this group and felt it a privilege to become one of them.

My life has been a series of ups and downs and I figure I need the downs to appreciate the ups. For many years while I was putting the kids through school in the city I struggled with rental properties and landlords and every day I wished I had a place of my own in the country again.

In 2012 that wish became a reality.

But the way I got my wish was certainly not a fairy-tale. It started as a series of terrible events.

My hubby became ill and was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. This diagnoses just so happened to coincide with an interstate visit from his parents, my diagnosis of Multiple Sclerosis, and a work bully who had just about sent me around the bend. We kept all this news quiet from his parents and then three days into the visit his father suffered a stroke and was taken to the hospital where he spent the next three months.

The day before hubby was due to have his operation (Whipple Procedure) he accompanied his parents home on the 3 hour plane flight and then flew back the same day. He was in so much pain when he returned he could hardly walk. I took him straight to the hospital where they immediately operated. Ten hours later he was in recovery and I was told he had gone into renal failure during the procedure, but they had managed to get him back. They had also inadvertently nicked his aorta, but fixed that as well (poor guy!). The good news was that they had removed all the cancer and the prognosis was excellent.

When a traumatic event presents itself it can be a real test of character, but when multiple traumatic events hit within a few weeks, you need to dig deep to find the strength to carry on.

During this time I started the habit of looking up at the sky for a few minutes every day and thanking the universe for my beautiful life. I know this sounds crazy given the chaos that was taking place around me, but I found it comforting and knew that, in the scheme of things, I was luckier than most.

Dianne's family then (20 years ago) — Dianne’s family then (20 years ago)

Dianne's family now — Dianne’s family now

Hubby’s parents had left their car with us as his father was not allowed to drive until he had completely recovered. So later that year, when hubby was back to full strength, we drove the car 3,000 kilometres back to his parents on the farm. When we arrived we realised his father was still weak and his mother had begun to show signs of dementia.

There was only one thing we could do – move back to the farm and take care of them.

We had an old shack we lived in many years ago, but it had taken a fair bit of damage from the last cyclone so we needed to fix it.

I retired from my job in the corporate world and hubby resigned and found a job close to where his parents live.

One day, totally out of the blue, a friend who is a news reporter contacted us and told us an old Rugby Union Club in the city nearby was due to be demolished. He told us the owner said if anyone wanted it they could take it away.

We took the Rugby Union Club and had it put up on the farm – and I guess the rest is history. Introducing the RUC…

RUC view from the writer's nook — RUC view from the writer’s nook

My writing has taken a back-seat during this time, but I’m progressively working my way through another three novels. Hey – better late than never.

I think it’s important to be thankful for what we have in life and what is good instead of focusing on what we don’t have and what is bad. Sometimes a series of horrible events can lead us on a different path and, in the end maybe that is the path we were supposed to take all along.

Dream a Little Dream On a Streetcar

Last Friday evening I waited with a jittery bunch of passengers for the North-South line streetcar to arrive in the middle of downtown.

Some, like me, were part of the late bunch who had just finished work. But most were out on the town, traipsing amongst the vast array of quality restaurants and watering holes.

I was in a mood.

After work I was wiped out and wanted nothing more than to get home, wind down with a cold beer, and hang out with Mr. H and the cats.

As the streetcar approached, it looked packed. It was warm that night, and being smashed up against strangers was the last thing I wanted to do.

Then, I began to hear a familiar tune.

Stars shining bright above you
Night breezes seem to whisper “I love you”

(Okay, I’m losing it. Am I hearing Ella Fitzgerald on the freaking streetcar?)

Birds singing in the sycamore trees
Dream a little dream of me

Yes, I was.

The streetcar doors opened to reveal a full-on jazz trio—two guys and a gal—clad in 1940s duds. She was the lead singer, one guy played the guitar and sang with her, while the other manned an upright bass.

We all squished into what I could only describe as a party train from another time. Fortunately, there were plenty of others around to console my fear of insanity. Historical fiction writing can blur the lines of reality and make-believe in my head sometimes.

It turns out that I happened upon another thing that makes the city of Portland that much more awesome.

Streetcar Mobile Musicfest celebrates the city by featuring local musicians on downtown streetcars at various times of the year. The live music is included with your streetcar fare, which is a whopping buck one way.

Lucky me had the privilege to see Boy & Bean. They were talented and mesmerizing.

To say that this was a magical experience doesn’t even do it justice.

The music transformed the public transportation experience entirely. Usually everyone tunes out on the streetcar, listening to music, fiddling with their smartphones, or sitting with their arms crossed and staring out the window.

That night everyone tuned in.

Riders were smiling, clapping, photographing, filming, and swaying in the seats and aisles.

There was an old couple next to me dancing and singing the whole time. The woman and I looked at each other with foolishly happy tears in our eyes. From two completely generations, we grinned and moved together, connected by a few beautiful minutes on a crowded downtown streetcar.

It would not have been hard to spend hours there, enjoying the vibe with all of those strangers as the city lights sailed by. Of course, I almost missed my stop and jumped up just in time.

I reluctantly exited the streetcar and walked home in a different mood than when I got on, jiving inside.

The Bra Game Gets a Description

I don’t think I’ve ever come across anything more thrilling and terrifying than writing a book description.

You create a fictitious world from the ground up, live and breathe it for years, painstakingly edit until you’re sick of looking at it, then you have to sum it all up with efficient charisma.

So, last week I finally sat my procrastinating ass down to write The Bra Game’s description and made a sweet little home for my baby on the blog.

After some careful consideration, I have decided that my original—ahem, impatient—spring release date is a no-go. Our cross-country move to Portland was a bit of an obstacle for the project. Though I trucked on with edits, I still have some buttoning up to do.

I want to deliver a quality piece of work to you all, and that takes time. With that being said, I am pushing the release to early summer. Since The Bra Game (new title…NOLA FRAN EVIE) boasts a retro summertime feel, it should fit in swell with summer reads.

The cover is currently in the shop, so I am using this temporary 1950s-esque selfie until then.

Without further ado, I present to you the description. Ta-da!

They were unladylike rebels, abandoning rolling pins for baseball bats to join the All-American Girls Baseball League. They changed history, and that changed them. After the league disintegrates in 1954 Nola, Fran, and Evie accidentally reunite on a popcorn-scented summer day where it all began, on Wrigley Field. Nearly forty years later Jacks Demonte makes a startling discovery…a trail of clues tucked away in a vintage handbag. Forever fated to the bra game, the extraordinary lives of these women intersect with her own as she falls deeper into a heroic past.

Inside these bra players lies a fierce beauty, an unconventional destiny beyond the kitchen. The American dream of sparkling cars and pastel suburbia is mocked by the turbulent reality of nuclear threats and civil rights. Nola, Fran, and Evie team up once again, connecting in truth to fight for a pivotal cause these brave dames can only win together.

So, what do we think?

It Pulls Me In

Give me mountains, give me deserts, give me rivers, give me forests and I am captivated—starry-eyed and serene.

Yet, the sea is so different. It pulls me in.

Its power is something I cannot fight, something I am willing to surrender to.

I am a happy slave to the sea. For I am so insignificant when I am around it, because it is greater than I will ever be.

Nothing feels better than being humbled and calmed this way. To know that all of my fears and worries are specks, like grains of sand easily swept away by the tide.

With my sandals casually held in one hand and a salty breeze brushing the other, my toes sunk into the wet sand as I walked along the beach with my love by my side. He is always like that tide, pulling me in, soothing me and making me a better person.

I was away from the sea for too long. I need it near me, to remind me of the unknown.

That it is okay to just be.

Last Sunday Mr. H and I hopped in the car and drove to Cannon Beach to recharge. I got more out of it than I expected, including a little sunburn and a lot of peace.

Here are some fun pix to round out the awesome day we had.

We drank local pale ales on the patio…