Fiction – Page 7 – Britt Skrabanek

Remembering Reading

Reading…remember that?

That gorgeously uninterrupted time when you snuggle with your imagination. When you travel to a faraway place you’ve never been to before, but you get to wear your most ridiculous jammies. When you experience life from another person’s eyes, but you’re still you…only a little better.

When I took my social media and blogging hiatus in September, I knew exactly how I was going to fuel my less technology driven world. With books.

Rather than scanning my Facebook feed while drinking my coffee in the morning, I read a chapter. Rather than coming up with 140 characters of sensational wit for a tweet, I read a few paragraphs. Rather than speeding on the social media freeway, I slowed down, pulled over even, and finished a great story.

Four great stories, actually.

At first I wasn’t sure what I was going to read during my month of remembering reading. My to-read list is substantial and there is plenty to choose from, but what I challenged myself to do is this…

Read the classics that slipped through my fingers.

You know the ones, right?

It’s that book that everybody hated in high school, but you read something else that everyone hated. It’s that book that’s always referenced in a discussion, joke, or film and you’re totally clueless. It’s that infuriating quote everybody likes to say. It’s that cool, infamous character you never got a chance to meet.

It’s that book.

Don’t ask me how, but these are the stories I missed out on over the years…

That’s right, Kiddos. I missed The Catcher in the (freaking) Rye!

Although it took my American ass fifty or so pages to understand the language, Pride and Prejudice was my favorite of the four. But, I surprisingly ended up loving Salinger’s gritty little number for very different reasons.

I’ve decided to continue my classics tackling book project in October.

See that picture of me and Aphrodite the cat up there? Besides my bird-covered pajama pants matching her pink nose, the book we’re finally reading on my Kindle is—wait for it—Jane (freaking) Eyre.

Wow! You missed that one too, Britt?!

Damn skippy!

You know something? I always hear people say they don’t have time to read. Always.

Naturally, as a writer this scares the crap out of me. It appears there are still a few of us out there squeezing in quality time with books, so I’m gonna keep writing some.

We can blame our jobs, obligations, and to-do lists. That’s the easy thing to do. But I think if we all really look at how we’re spending our spare time, we can make more room for reading.

Is that TV show really better than the incredible book collecting dust on your shelf? Is everybody’s business on social media honestly more entertaining than a story an author took years to create?

I think you know what the answer is. Remember reading…it’s good stuff.

So, I have to know. Which classics did you guys miss out on that you either read in recent years, or are going to grab and read right now?

The Lovers Bench Is Gone

The other day I learned some sad news when I went on my favorite hike. At the viewpoint, the lovers bench was gone. Forever.

Back in May I wrote a post called The Bench Where Lovers Had Been.

I usually do the same hike every week, about two hours round-trip from my house. Toward the end of the uphill hike, there are countless switchbacks to really make you work for it.

But at the top of the hill is the greatest reward, a downtown Portland and Mount Hood view enjoyed from the comfort of a weathered bench. The lovers bench.

I played a little fiction game each time I went up there. I’d pick out a couple carved in the bench, then make up a boy meets girl story in my head before heading back home.

Over the past few months this bench even inspired me to consider writing my first short story. (Consider, meaning I haven’t started a damn thing. But I intended to after more quality time with the bench.)

Anyhoo, this was the bench then…

This is the bench now…

So many professions of love tattooed on the decrepit wood had vanished. This strange, smooth wood no longer held stories of romance, foolishness, and hope.

The fresh and shiny bench didn’t woo me at all. To tell you the truth, this guy was kind of a son of a ~~bitch~~…um, bench.

Yep, he was a real son of a bench.

I preferred the refreshingly true one from before, all genuine and battered, even if it was a splinter in the butt waiting to happen.

Reluctantly I sat down on the impostor and sipped my water in silence. The city continued on below, as if it never had a single thought about that bench on the hill above.

My fingers ran across the perfectly even surface, searching for the charming grooves that were once embedded in the wood. Craving those carvings of love.

Then I looked down at the brand new black armrest and smiled.

There it was…the very first one. And, a new lovers bench was born.

A Haircut and A Hiatus

Yep, that is the tattooed forearm of my hairstylist showing off her latest hair trophy…my two long-ass ponytails. After painstakingly growing out my hair for the past five years, I decided it was time to chop it—to shed half a decade permanently and embrace the new.

It’s no wonder we gals get so attached to our hair. That hair’s been attached to us for years—through good times and bad, through boredom, through adventure, through love, and through sadness.

Of course, there is the obligatory idea that long hair on a woman is more beautiful, more youthful. We see celebrities wearing extensions to conceal their short hair from the public, we are told that only soccer moms and older women go short, and there’s a rumor that men prefer long hair.

Funny, but Mr. H likes short hair. Something about seeing my face better, which is quite sweet.

I had an interesting chat with one of our cool neighborhood bartenders a couple of days before the Great Ponytail Massacre. She was rocking a new pixie after a lifetime of Rapunzel hair. She felt liberated after letting it go and she looked it, like a weight had been lifted off her entire face and body.

As “pretty” as long hair can appear, I won’t miss the obscene shampoo budget or getting caught in car doors and automatic windows. The moment my ponytails were cut off, I didn’t get teary-eyed or feel regret.

I felt freaking awesome.

Now there is no mass of hair for me to hide behind. It’s just me.

Along with this newfound sense of freedom, I decided that it was time for me to take a hiatus. Last year I did a little experiment and took a two-month break from blogging and social media.

That’s right…cold turkey.

No weekly blogging. All email notifications of likes and comments were turned off. Commenters would receive responses after the hiatus.
No blog socializing. Though I kept up with my blogger buddies I am subscribed to through email, I refrained from my usual liking and commenting.
No social media. This included my Goodreads, Twitter, and Facebook accounts (personal and author). Email notifications were turned off and to avoid any slip-ups, all apps were removed from my smartphone.

It was my version of a going to a deserted island for a while. Though in reality I was still in Milwaukee, working in my cubicle, finishing my Yoga teacher training, and busting out my first draft of NOLA FRAN EVIE.

My intention for this experiment was to take some time away from the chatter to find focus, the kind that I was craving to achieve some personal milestones.

And, I did find it. Hell, I even nailed my first headstand after many months of hard work.

(If you want to read about my hiatus experiment last year, check out So You Want to Take a Media Vacay.)

This time my intention is quite different. Believe it or not, this go-getter doesn’t have any big life goals. The only thing I know is that I will hunt for inspiration through nature, books, and human experience.

I am searching for rejuvenation. Most of all, I simply want to be.

Rather than two months this year, I’ll be out for the month of September. I’ll still be keeping up with my favorite blogs, but I’ll be one of those lurkers who never makes their presence known. I’ll respond to any social media and blogging comments upon my return. Naturally I’ll miss you guys, but I know that you’ll all still be here when I get back.

If you miss me, you can always contact me the old-fashioned way…through email.

And, ahem—for those who still haven’t read my latest book NOLA FRAN EVIE, you know what to do. (Hint…buy it today on Amazon!)

I’ll be around until Sunday the 31st and would love to hear from you before I go dark. Thank you all for your gorgeous support.

Oh, here’s my hair…

The Observer

I taught movement for a long, long time. Ten years of dance to students of every ability and every age, followed by a Yoga teacher certification which launched me into another rambunctious nine months promptly after that.

At the end of March I moved across the States to the gorgeousness of Portland, Oregon. I haven’t taught since then, since early Spring.

Sure, a lot of it had to do with that effortless trauma that accompanies any move, or should I say a more uncomfortable word? Uprooting. But I’m not a good liar and I’m certainly not going to lie to you guys. The reality had nothing to do with that.

It was time for me to stop being the teacher. It was time for me to become the student…the observer.

I learned and grew so much from teaching, absolutely. Yet somewhere along the way I lost my own practice, the sweetness that comes with delving into the mind, body, and soul. The energy for myself was pushed aside to give to my incredible students.

I loved every beautiful minute of it—please, don’t get me wrong. But what is a teacher who is not able to pause and observe? Shit, not the teacher that I want to be.

I haven’t talked much about Yoga in the past year, not because writing has been more prominent with my book release but because I have been quietly observing my physical side.

My emotional and physical beings are deeply connected. As are all of yours.

The time has come to take the same approach with writing. To step away and give to myself by observing all that I can and once again become the humble student.

I’m determined to stick my little nose in as many books as I can. I’m beyond excited to dedicate time to reading again, rather than squeezing books into my packed schedule and feeling rushed.

So much of the past few years of my life has been dedicated to my work. I have self-published three novels and kept up a weekly blog which I pour my everlasting love into.

Every novel is the very essence of me. Every blog post is painstakingly created with attention to detail and undying tenderness.

I have three solid ides for my next projects—two novels and one short, a challenge I’m curious to explore. Unlike other times in my life, I’m not setting a timeline for lift-off. I’m gonna write when it’s right.

Now is not that time. Now is about observing the bits and pieces of life, absorbing that damning beauty we are all so fortunate to experience.

Before I used to teach any of my classes, whether it be dance or Yoga, I used to get so freaking nervous. My heart would race wildly, sweat would decorate my brow and my back, and I’d often consider ditching the class with some mediocre excuse.

Not because I didn’t cherish my students. Because I was terrified that I had nothing to offer…nothing to teach.

Through writing I learn incessantly about every moment, every breath, every heartbeat. I press the pause button on my personal chaos to record eccentricities, emotions, and events…but, what the hell do I know?

I’m only a student. And it’s time for me to observe.

Nola Fran Evie…The Bloopers

Over the years I’ve created several very, very low-budget online videos.

One such tradition is creating a happy dance every time I reach a followers milestone on this blog.

A few months ago I surpassed the 500 mark (woot!). I made this fancy finger dance video with the same red satin gloves worn on the cover of my first book, Beneath the Satin Gloves. The stage was a picture frame covered with a fluffy black bath towel and a lace shawl for dramatic effect.

That’s right, kiddos. I’m the Repurpose Queen.

This is the minute-long “masterpiece” you saw…

What you didn’t see…the hours of cussing that went into making that video.

Even me, a lifelong dancer, was forgetting my freaking finger choreography. Dammit!

Since I was kneeling on the floor—in my jammies, I might add—behind the frame, the chintzy stage kept collapsing. Shit!

And right when I had the perfect take, the gardeners struck up outside of my apartment with their ear-splitting background music. Dammit, shit, and some other ladylike words I won’t share.

Another tradition I slave away at are book trailers for every release. In these videos I give behind-the-scenes tidbits in the hopes that readers will connect with the inspiration of the story and take a chance on one of my books.

But I’m not talking to real humans, I’m talking face to face with my smartphone camera. Nope, it’s not easy.

I’ve been thinking about doing a bloopers reel for some time. But I always shied away from the idea for two reasons. Firstly, video editing, though I’ve learned to enjoy it, is quite time-consuming. Secondly, would anyone even think it’s funny?

Well, hell if I know! But this time I made the blooper reel anyway for NOLA FRAN EVIE.

Because nobody’s perfect, and I’m certainly not. So why not have a few laughs?

If you missed it, here’s the seemingly flawless book trailer…

And what really happened, the bloopers…