A Bona Fide Blogging (and Social Media) Hiatus

roadkill

Yep, that pile of Yogi roadkill is me.

It was Sunday night, month seven of ten of my Yoga teacher training adventure. Aphrodite the cat humiliated me further by using my carcass as a doormat.

Philosophical exploration is part of the process of becoming a legitimate Yoga teacher.

A question I’ve been secretly asking myself for several months was asked aloud to the entire group of trainees: “What is the purpose of running around?”

It was dead silent.

Tears welled up in my heavy eyes and I choked down the unattractive sob which tried to escape from the depths of my throat.

Just as I suspected…guilty as charged.

When we run around in circles, we don’t get anywhere. No matter how much determination we muster, no matter how fast we go, we stay in the same unfulfilling place.

Ironically, last week I wrote a post called Stop Farting Around. It was meant to be an inspiring post, encouraging the pursuit of dreams.

However, it revealed something jarring to me.

I’m too busy pursuing, drowning in drunken visions of profound splendor. I try to do it all, and the scary thing is…I can pretty much do it.

Am I at peace? Am I satisfied? I think you know what the answers are here.

I need to prioritize my life for a bit. I allowed myself to choose 3 of the most important things…instead of the usual 764.

  • LIFE – I need more of it…my magnificent husband Mr. H, my kooky cats, a great book, staring into space, smelling the roses, sleeping in, savoring a ridiculous meal. I want to bathe in all of it.
  • NOVEL – I’m a novelist first, a blogger second. Those of my fellow writers out there in the same boat know how tricky it is to balance these two wonderful things. I am totally rocking the pants off of my first draft and I shall aim my writerly energy there during my time away.
  • YOGA – I graduate from teacher training mid-June. Thus far the hefty pile of books, my practice and meditation, and the training weekends have been shoved into every remaining crevice of my free time. These final hours will require my full devotion.

As you can see, blogging didn’t make the list. How in the hell could it compete with all that anyway?

Therefore, I’m taking a hiatus. I know it sounds dramatic, but two months isn’t exactly a break.

Blogging is so incredible and I adore you all – my exquisite readers, my resplendent friends, my outstanding supporters. Nonetheless, when enjoyment morphs into stress and creativity evolves into pressure, it’s time to do something about it.

When I first wrote this post, it was quite laughable.

In fact, it was titled a “half-ass” hiatus rather than a bona fide one. I cooked up this whole scheme where I would still figure out a way to post archives and reblog, but then I owned up to the fact that none of that was the real deal.

To take it a step further, I knew something else had to go during the hiatus…social media. Twitter, Facebook, even good ol’ Goodreads.

In order to keep distractions at bay, all blogging related email notifications and all of my handy dandy Iphone apps will be temporarily suspended.

With all this rediscovered free time, who knows what will happen?

Maybe I’ll finish my first draft. Maybe I’ll have some Yoga teaching gigs in the works.

I know one thing…I’ll have more time to cuddle with Mr. H and the cats. And that, more than anything, is a reason to be ridiculously excited.

I get it. From a marketing standpoint, I’m doing this all wrong. I should have scheduled posts ahead of time and I should have lined up guest bloggers – yada, yada, yada.

Hell, I’m even celebrating my one year blogiversary during the hiatus! I should just wait, and do this later…yeah, that’s a cop-out, too.

From a life standpoint I’m doing this all right, trying something completely out of character. I’m slowing down.

And so the two month countdown begins. See, I even have a countdown thingamajig on the sidebar now.

I will still be around this weekend to reply to comments, share status updates on FB and Twitter, and catch up on some blog reading.

As of Monday, April 22nd, Britt’s going dark for two whole months.

I will do my best to respond to any comments made during the hiatus upon my return in June.

For those bloggers I follow religiously, please know that I will still be reading from my email but will not participate with my usual liking and commenting during the hiatus. I’ll be like one of those silky web stalkers we never hear from, but always seem to know what we’re up to. (Mwah, ha, ha!)

I am going to miss everyone here like crazy. Feel free to shoot me an email via the contact form and say hello.

Thank you all for your continued loveliness. I’ll see you soon.

With much, much love. – Britt

Chicago: In the Throes of Shamrock Shenanigans

New Year’s Eve at Times Square in New York City definitely comes to mind…and I never ever had a desire to be there.

Why, you ask? Because it looks like my worst nightmare.

I like to get loose every once in a while – just not with everybody, especially amateurs. This is something I’ve always known without previously experiencing such a hellish ordeal firsthand until…

Chicago. St. Patty’s weekend. Cringe.

Nobody drugged me, tied me up, and strapped me to a bright green party bus covered in leprechauns that said, “Honk if you’re after my lucky charms”.

I went there voluntarily, on my own accord. (Damnit.)

So, how did this happen? How in the hell did I end up in the second most popular U.S. city for St. Patty’s Day debauchery?

Saturday was Mr. H’s birthday. (Mr. H is the artist formerly known as hubby.)

We needed a getaway, and luckily for us Milwaukeeans, Chicago is a hop, skip, and a jump away. The logistics of St. Patty’s Day didn’t resonate with us as we were arriving the day before, and we wrongly assumed we would be safe.

We seriously thought Chicago would be romantic.

amtrak to chicago

My book I’m currently working on, The Bra Game, takes place in 1950s Chicago. And what better way to do research than to immerse yourself in the chosen setting? I imagined myself pointing at a beautiful monstrosity of a building and jotting down the surrounding street names just so I could include the moment in a future scene.

I seriously thought Chicago would be inspirational.

Romantic? Inspirational? Oh, how naive I was.

Twenty-somethings ran amuck like it was their last day on earth and the only way to ease the pain was to drink everything in sight.

Thankfully, I didn’t see any of them leaning over the side and lapping up the frigid, green river…

green river chicago

In fact, I believe their day started very differently than ours.

First and foremost, we showered. We ate breakfast. We dressed in chic outfits, which were warm and practical.

They rolled out of bed with glee…no time for cleanliness. They guzzled their cheap beer breakfasts. They layered on their emerald adornments: antennas, tutus, glitter, hats, and foul t-shirts.

Most did not bother with coats, therefore frozen arses were out in full force. And it was bloody cold, you guys.

Cold.

These dense hooligans wandered into you like it was acceptable, stepped on your feet for sport, walked in front of cars to look cool, and picked fights in the middle of busy intersections even though they threw wimpy punches.

Now I’m actually a wee bit Irish, and I’m half Czech. I know how to pour a proper beer and I know how to keep my shit together.

I found out that my great-grandmother’s last name was McSperitt.

And, Britt McSperitt was one pissed off lassie.

The shouting and belching echoed through the city like someone just learning to play bagpipes, overshadowing the intermittent hum of the “L” and the rhythmic tooting of the buses with the most horrendous sounds.

When you’re worried about some clover clad half-wit spewing on your arm, the romance is gone…long gone. And, any daydreaming about my lovable novel was replaced by a basic need for survival…survival of the fittest.

But, something magical happened after we found refuge in a pizzeria for lunch and the parade fizzled out.

The windy city blew the lightweights away to their questionable hostels and their stained apartments, to either land spread eagle on the floor, profess their undying love to the toilet, or in many cases…both.

They looked like this at Union Station the next day…

asleep in union station

And I, Britt McSperitt, lived to tell this spirited limerick of shamrock shenanigans in Chicago.

Stay tuned for the second part of my weekend trip…Chicago: Beyond the Shamrock Shenanigans.

When there’s no occasion

thank you

It was a Thursday in downtown, around 5:22pm. I was tiptoeing through the melting snow, immersed in some gorgeous tune courtesy of my teeny headphones – just another cog in the hustle and bustle machine.

Then, I stopped.

I saw this eyesore nestled against the gallant architecture, a neon sign that said “thank you”. Seagulls sprinkled the vastness above like tasteful glitter – annoying, but somehow lovely.

We give thanks in such a lackluster manner – exchanging money and goods, and sometimes sincere compliments.

When I saw this sign, I thought about how little I say it, and how little I mean it.

So, I wanted to take a moment to thank all of you…when there’s no occasion.

Today I’m not thanking you for buying one of my books, which are thousands of words that may or may not make sense. Today I’m not thanking you for liking one of my blog posts, which are hundreds of words that may or not make sense.

Today I’m thanking you because I am grateful that anyone would take the time to pause…to see a common bird in the endless sky, to see the everyday as something – anything at all.

Thank you for being there.

Social media (and that whole love/hate thing)

iphone reflection

I love it. I hate it. I love it. I hate it. I…you get the gist.

Well, it looks like social media is here to say, guys. I’m gonna go out on a limb here  and say…embrace it already!

I totally get the the love/hate thing. I’ve gone through it myself.

It’s a common subject.; in fact as I was writing this post, I came across a great blog post by Jenny Hansen discussing Facebook called What do your Facebook Interactions REALLY say about you? Be sure to check out the Social Me analysis fun when you stop by.

OK, so back to the love/hate thing!

When My Space was “it”, I quit and rejoined several times. Each time I left because I wanted intimate relationships, so if people couldn’t see me in person or at the very least call me on the ancient-adjacent telephone…well, tough cookies!

When I moved away from my fam in Dallas, I joined Facebook. Somewhere in there I quit due to my previously mentioned stance over the lack of modern day intimacy.

And, guess what? I got lonely as hell.

If I didn’t get the memo before that the hey day of the casual phone catch-up was over, I got it this time.

Gee whiz, even email, our techy equivalent to a handwritten letter, has lost its glory in the world of personal relationships.

So, I decided to rejoin Facebook for the sake of companionship. I realized this is just how things are. As such, I decided to stop swimming upstream and simply float along the lazy social media river.

Before anyone gets huffy or accuses me of drinking the Kool-Aid, please know that I am still a diehard advocate for in-person or telephone get-togethers. The exquisite comfort of the human voice is unparalleled no matter how far the internet takes us.

I like to think of social media as an enhancement of communication, rather than the bitter end.

As a lesser known author trying to get my name out there, it is an amazing tool – and hey, it’s free and pretty darn fun.

Don’t worry, I’m not one of those annoying writers polluting your social feed with book pimping updates. All I have to say about that is…YUCK! I think we can all agree that people selling anything aggressively is such a turn-off.

However, I do believe in making new connections through social media and hanging out, having some laughs and sharing bits and pieces of life together. Undeniably, it’s a strong community out there, and I think in many ways it’s a healthy development.

Do people share annoying tidbits from time to time? Yes. And my advice for you is to either hide their updates or just scan right along past them. My advice for them…the complaining, the whining, and the too much info are no-no’s.

Nobody ordered a Debbie Downer with a splash of neuroses.

Like anything, moderation is key.

There is no need to be a part of every social media site in existence. I stick with Facebook and Twitter. Oh, how I love Twitter! It makes me feel super clever when I nail a point in 140 characters or less.

(Pardon my social media nerd outburst there.)

Still not with me? Here are two of my favorite social media memories which changed my outlook…BIG TIME!

TwitterTwitter Talk

A blogger gal pal of mine, Jessica Korteman of Notes of Nomads, and I had this incredible convo on Twitter. She lives and Japan and had just started reading my book, Everything’s Not Bigger. So, we were chatting on Twitter about my little book. It was morning here and I was sipping my cup of joe. It was nighttime there, and she was drinking a cup of milo. To speak with someone I have never met, to share a warm beverage with someone on the opposite side of the world…you guys, that’s pretty damn cool.

P.S. Be sure to check her blog out! I always joke that she is the female version of Indiana Jones in my mind, and she’s probably going to end up as a character in one of my books.

FacebookFacebook Reunion

I lost contact with my childhood best friend, Laura. We went through everything together growing up – playing Barbies and “house”, our first boy crushes, and major obsessions with Tori Amos and Aerosmith. She moved out of state, then I moved out of state; she moved again, then I moved again. We tried tracking each other down many times and had no luck.

Quite awesomely, we reunited on Facebook. Logically speaking, we probably would have never found each other without silly old Facebook.

If you take a good look at your own social media memories, you may notice some undeniable moments you would not have experienced otherwise. Think about it for a sec…

Virtually, you’ve gone to many weddings, you’ve seen lots of newborn babies, you’ve supported someone when they were going through a rough time with a comment – a little ray of hope.

Perhaps it’s not the type of humanity we ever thought could exist, and that is why it confuses and scares us sometimes. But, it’s there for us if we want it.

Berlin Calling 1

Seriously?! How are we NOT friends already? Click the links below, so we can fix that!

Let’s share a laugh (and maybe a snort or two) on Facebook!

Let’s Tweet our little hearts out together!

ALSO, ONLY ONE WEEK LEFT FOR YOU TO…

Vote for two of my characters’ names (it’s fun!)

AND…

Score $1 off on both of my books on Smashwords!

So, what do you guys think about social media? Do you love it, hate it, or love/hate it?

High Fashion, Suburban Swingers, Narcotics Detectives, and Gypsies

Haha…made you look! You’re probably thinking…what is that crazy Britt up to now?

But this fun bouquet of words is actually from a reader, a snippet from an outstanding review my little book, Everything’s Not Bigger, received last night.

If you’re interested in the randomness this title exudes, then you’ll probably want to scoop up a copy of Everything’s Not Bigger while it’s $1 off on Smashwords (ends February 28th.)

Also, my first book Beneath the Satin Gloves is a buck off as well. It’s kooky in a different way. Think WWII, spying lounge singer, sex and lies, and a little time travel element to keep you scratching your head.

And for you Valentine’s Day enthusiasts out there, I promise there are some mega romantic moments in each story that will make your heart go pitter-patter.

I’m totally interested in a buck off your books, Britt!

photo-16

Well, cheers to that and click here for all the deets…

Here’s the full review from Amazon…

ENB_sidebar_cover“What do Dallas high fashion retail salespeople, basset hounds, suburban swingers, Czech cuisine, narcotics detectives, Romani (Gypsies), gay trust fund debauchees, and witness protection all have in common? Answer: Jaye Davis.



So move over Sophie Kinsella and Tom Robbins and make room for one of the most thoroughly modern female protagonists ever created. And, as a delightful bonus, find that all of Britt Skrabanek’s other characters in this novel are not bigger than life; they each ring true with the feel of a fact-is-stranger-than-fiction cast of players. No, these are not your typical quirky oddballs populating the television sitcoms but characters whose lives intersect so effortlessly with Jaye Davis. I ask myself whether Everything’s Not Bigger is a roman à clef or most definitely the very imaginative product of a keen observer of human nature. This novel is suspenseful, romantic, peppered with history, and salted with satirical social commentary.



As with Britt Skrabanek’s first novel, Beneath The Satin Gloves, this offering is sprinkled with clever and tender comic relief. Two particular scenes, one involving a grumpy Czech grandmother (not Jaye’s), and the other depicting her platonic non-date stroll over a landmark Prague bridge, are sure to entertain. However, don’t be misled; this is a serious story about conflicting contemporary values. How do we overcome bad decisions, and do we have the determination to shape the life we really want to live.