Independence Day

July fourth, 1776...the day The United States of America declared independence from The Kingdom of Great Britain. It was a hard fought war. And it was a war over the freedom of the people. Our ancestors had the wherewithal to board a boat for unfamiliar terra-firma, planted their flag and proceeded to grow a country in the brand new world. They believed they had earned the right for freedom from a monarchy for which they did not agree, having governed their own societies successfully for some time. They were Revolutionaries, our ancestors, and they changed history by signing one piece of paper, the Declaration of Independence.

Independence...one of my favorite words in the English language. The word, alone, is a statement, a definition. It is indicative of being the opposite of that which I despise the most; dependence. Growing up, I was a prisoner, governed by oppressive entities. I gained my independence with my own declaration on a piece of paper. My words, my freedom, my independence. In act two of my life, I was dependent on my husband. He was the antithesis of oppressive and I was certainly happy to be there, however, dependent I was, indeed. In that venue, again, independence came in the form of a decree. Poof, you're no longer married, it's official, you're free. For many years, I was terribly dependent on pain medicine. This dependence was more like a self imposed prison sentence in which my family visited me periodically. The day I gained my independence from that nightmare, there was no paper, no written words, no fan-fare, just my own personal declaration of independence. 

I remember every one of those dates, specifically, and not one of them ever fell on the fourth of July. While many people use this date in the title of their celebration, the true meaning of that day, the importance of what happened on that day, and what led up to that day gets lost, somewhat, in translation. 

We all know that consequence is associated with freedom. For me, it's pain with no medication, and trying to survive, alone, in a world meant for two. There was plenty of consequential carnage during the Revolutionary War. There is always a price to pay for freedom. In the end, it's usually worth the fight.

I believe we should honor our ancestors every time we win our own wars for independence, no matter the date. In the event we forget to do so, we shall on Independence Day. And yes, our ancestors are our heroes, but so are we, every time we win the war.

Happy Independence Day...

-by Deannalynn Arzola

"Independence Day"

-by Bruce Springsteen

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UaRD8ukmKYU

Le Entre-deux

They say when one door closes, another one opens. What do we call the in-between? The French term is "Entre-deux"; or, two doors. 
When in a state of entre-deux, fear abounds. Prior to the closing of the first door, fear is experienced in terms of the knowledge we all share of how it feels to say goodbye. No matter how complex your memories, nor how strong the logical desire is to walk away, it's hard to say goodbye. Prior to the opening of the second door, fear can sometimes prevent the opening. Horror movies are written with at least one scene depicting the face of fear on the character who must open that door, in spite of what may lie on the other side. One of the scariest movies I have ever seen is "Nightmare on Elm Street". At the end of the movie, Nancy places her hand on the door knob leading to her front porch. After a horrible night of fighting Freddy, she opens the door to a bright, shiny morning sun. I try to remember this every time I have to move from one room of life to the next. I am still almost always ambivalent of opening the next door. I am standing entre-deux, trembling.
I have found that on the other side of almost every door I have opened, there has been sunshine, metaphorically speaking, and still, I experience this debatable feeling inside me. Knowing, especially recently, that I would  encounter the antithesis of the current situation upon opening the new door, I still had a very hard time with leaving the deplorable conditions of the current situation, and I had to understand why I was reluctant to walk away, to close the first door.
It is the leaving, or the expectation of the leaving that really got me this time. The metaphor in "Nightmare", when Nancy gets in the car with her friends and leaves her damaged mother and then suddenly finds herself in the clutches of Freddy, screaming all the way to the credits is that change is hard and scary and saying goodbye sucks, even when you have to say goodbye to the people in your life who are toxic. I had been surrounded by many toxic people, that I gave a piece of myself to. They hurt me. Outside of that demographic, yet still in the same environment, I had mentors, who gave me knowledge I will carry with me, perpetually. I made friends. I knew for two months that the day would come when I would have to close the door on all of them. The new door was there, golden doorknob glistening in the distance. My entre-deux lasted what seemed a lifetime.
These are the words I heard as was standing on my precipice, "Taking steps is easy, standing still is hard". It's from a song, and it refers to prisoners, confined to a specific environment, for a specific time. I must say, I felt a bit imprisoned in my entre-deux. Imprisoned by my fear of moving forward, saying goodbye, closing one door, opening another. I did realize, however, as I was there, in-between, that it is the standig still that's hard, not the moving forward. If you find yourself standing still in an environment of toxicity, raise your arm a little and reach for the doorknob. Open the door. When you do, the fear seems silly. And you begin to forget about the people who affected you negatively. And you meet new people. And you try to remember what you learned about the characteristics of toxic people. And you avoid them. And you realize that you have just given yourself the gift of a brand new playing field. And you pick and choose the players on your team, electing only that which exudes positive energy. 
When in your  entre-deux, take a deep breath, take stock of your newly acquired knowledge, and open the door.
Just remember to close the one behind you.

-by Deannalynn Arzola

Here's how my last day at work began...

I woke up and started my daily routine, one I have been practicing for 14 and a half months. Suddenly, one of my roommates appeared after having been gone for a couple days and enlightened me to the fact that she was moving and why. Immediately, my mind had to switch gears from my focus that had been on today being my last day. My friend was moving out and thar meant a door would be closed.
When I arrived at work, the first thing I did was sit down with my person, my mentor, my boss, my friend, who brought me doughnuts in the commencement of this day. I sat there for a while, in the comfort of his presence and attempted to wrap my head around this situation. I told him about my friend. I thought about all the things I had experienced here in Oregon over the past year and a half and that every one of those memories is tethered to these people. Most of them, the ones that played a very significant role in my life are gone, but their spirit, or essence is still there. My dear Norman knows this and he will subsequently make this the easiest work day I have had at Hotwire. 
I enter the floor, log on to my computer, and begin my last day at work. Apparently I was not cued for calls because I wasn't getting any. This gave me the opportunity to go down stairs every time one of my fiends did, smoke with them, chat for a while, hang, and snap some shots for perpetuity. I got to talk to allot of people whom I have really adored for a very long time. This was my job for the day. Not customer service.
In the middle of my day, I faced a demon. This gal that works at my job and I have always, from day one had an incredible bad energy between us. Of course it didn't help that while she was pregnant with the child of the man I have had an incredible psychic connection with, we began a journey that only ended a month ago, a year long education for me that changed my life. I am blessed for that, however, hated by her. She has every right. I own that. Never the less, I approached her and apologized. I said it was a celebration for both of us and she said she was glad it was my last day, me too I said. I wished her well and said blessed be. Just so you know, I believe sorry is a promise. When you say it, you should be promising it will never happen again. This is why I waited to tell her I was sorry. I finally realize, it will never happen again.
I got to fill out an exit interview online. So much fun. I was very honest and it felt good to vent. Later in the day, I took a few calls. Converted about 65% of those calls into sales, and then I got to have my exit interview with my boss, my friend, Norm. He tells me that Zane, a supervisor has to be present. Why, I ask. Norman's so funny, "I'm not going into a room alone with you, Dee". The interview was great...
"What would you change in our sales department, Dee?"
"More incentive, training by an actual sales person, more incentive..."
"How could I have been a better manager?"
"There is nothing you could do differently. You are the best manager I have ever worked with. Your style is phenomenal, I have learned so much from you, Norm".
"What motivated you to seek employment elsewhere?"
Without hesitation or the recollection of the plethora of fantastic reasons to want to leave, the words leave my lips, "Alan". Norm just looks at me for a very brief second and records my words in long hand.
Next step, back up to Norman's desk, where he hands me my last paychecks. With great trepidation I open them in front of him. The ambivalence exists because it has always been my understanding that the Xerox policy is once you give your notice, you lose all your incentive pay, including vacation pay. To my utter shock and surprise, this did not happen. I actually received all my bonus pay.
I hung for a while after that with my friend Chelsea, who has been my friend longer than anyone else in Oregon, whom I love for always being there for me to talk to about all the insanity. I have always been able to fully trust her.
Then Norm took me home...
And that's how my last day at work went. Best last day of work I've ever had.

To all my friends at Xerox, you have helped me to develop some of the most incredible stories of my life. I hope you know you all have a piece of my heart, and I yours.

Dee

I was reading Keats today...it got me started.

Here are some beautiful thoughts by the finest writers over the past 400 years...

Enjoy,

Deannalynn Arzola

"I have been astonished that men could die martyrs for religion - I have shuddered at it. I shudder no more - I could be martyred for my religion - Love is my religion - I could die for that."
-John Keats

"We are born at a given moment, in a given place and, like vintage years of wine, we have the qualities of the year and of the season of which we are born. Astrology does not lay claim to anything more."
-Carl Jung

"The healthy man does not torture others - generally it is the tortured who turn into torturers."
-Carl Jung

"Who could refrain that had a heart to love and in that heart courage to make love known?"
-William Shakespeare

"Many a good hanging prevents a bad marriage."
-William Shakespeare

And for Alan, who helped me realize that this I need to practice:
"Suit the action to the word, the word to the action."
-William Shakespeare

The Line Between Reality and Fiction

In literature, when does the line between fiction and reality cease to exist?
As writers, it is our duty to provide the reader with rich characters, an addictive story line and a setting that can be seen in the words we write. Many years ago, obviously prior to the digital age, Shakespeare told us stories of love and betrayal. He chose some of his characters from history and turned them into ghosts. Without the benefit of pictures, Shakespeare immersed us into another place and time, his stories as timeless as the Universe.
Another favorite author of mine, Edgar Allan Poe, fascinated our imaginations with tales of horror.  Upon my first reading of "The Raven", I could see our protagonist sitting in his easy chair, anticipating the next rap from the scholarly bird. I could feel the heartbeat beneath my feet as I read "The Tell-tale Heart", and in his haunting poem, "Annabel Lee", I could see our beloved encased in an abandoned light-house in the middle of the sea.
A really good writer can tell the perfect story with only the benefit of words, just as a really good photographer can without them.
It is, again our duty as artists to tell a story that transfixes our audience to another place and time, music and art notwithstanding. As fiction has transformed with time, the line between imagination and reality has blurred. "Fifty Shades of Grey" is a perfect example. In her tale of sex, sado-masochism and addiction, E L James places the reader in the bedroom along with Anastasia and Christian, resulting in many a fan proclaiming her joy in practicing the same moves on her own husband, blurring the lines between that which is possibly real and the fiction that is Ms. James's story.
There is so much media now, that an author can reach millions of readers at one time. Mr. Poe died trying to land a greater readership, having sold his aforementioned poem, "Annabel Lee" for a drink and a paltry eight dollars. With the intense digital era in which we now reside bombarding us with news and politics and of course, literature, control over who reads what, where and when is waning. While I am a firm believer that people should be allowed to read and write whatever they wish without recourse, I have to ponder the question, when does the line between fiction and reality cease to exist?
Back in high school, while I was reading the likes of Salinger (a prime example of the lack of said line), DH Lawrence and the Bronte Sisters, I had the benefit of an educator. Mr. Keeley, my high school and drama teacher had the incredible insight of dissecting each chapter, word or paragraph, explaining the meaning behind the words and the metaphors behind the story.
Adolescents in the digital age are not so fortunate.
This past weekend, two twelve year old girls were arrested for the attempted murder of another twelve year old. They were apparently acting as agents for the fictional online character known as Slender Man.
Many questions beg to be answered in the wake of this astonishing crime perpetuated by children. Number one, in the age of digital media and two-parent incomes, are we paying enough attention to what our children our reading? While it certainly is more difficult in this day and age to monitor what our kids our looking at, the censorship still has to be achieved within the the family structure. One of the greatest rights we espouse in this country is freedom of speech. This amendment was enacted out of sheer necessity. Information is knowledge and knowledge is power. As writers, we must continually walk that fine line between brilliant story-telling and how-to manuals, but first and foremost in our minds is our privilege we enjoy in the knowledge that we will not be burned at the stake, or perhaps incarcerated for the words we write. So we write. We do it on paper and we do it online. We desperately want to share our words, this is what compels us to write, so we share our words with every type of media we possibly can. Should we ever be censored? Absolutely not! And I exclaim this, yes, as a writer, but also as a reader. I don't want some over-zealous authority with their own agenda telling me what I can read, learn, enjoy. This happened to some extent when I was attending Christian schools and could not find a book on witchcraft to save my life. Censorship by an authority who does not even know the reader, personally can never be allowed. It can, however, be achieved in the home, and perhaps it should be.
The second question lies in the affect of the reader. When Mark David Chapman killed John Lennon, he had a copy of "Catcher in the Rye" in his clutches. Obviously, Chapman is emotionally unbalanced, as Salinger's Holden Caufield only IMAGINED being the catcher of society's rejected. The true meaning behind the story is that alienation is just a phase, and this is what our educators explain to us in the autopsy of the story. Salinger certainly could never have imagined that his tale of high school prepatories and teen-aged angst could be so misinterpreted so as to allegedly cause the untimely deaths of two of society's most influential players and the attempted assassination of an American President. I have read Salinger. I would say he is a brilliant writer who, thru his indomitable ability to transport his readers through words, has filled our world with scintillating fiction and profound literature. Can you imagine his work being censored on the academic level? If, in fact, Mr. Chapman is emotionally unbalanced, then doesn't the responsibility of censorship fall to the parents? While Chapman does indicate he only purchased the novel the day of the murder, surely he read it at some earlier time and deemed himself a "Catcher". Going even further into the debate, are we, as a society responsible for the affect an author has on each individual reader? Everybody knows the name of the author who's name is on the book that Chapman was holding at the time of the shooting. Does anybody know the name of his parents? It seems that allot of people easily blame Salinger for the fallout from "Catcher", however, has anyone delved into WHY his readers are so affected by this story? As I have said before, there is not greater joy to the writer than the shaken affect of her reader, is it the author's job to make sure the text is fully directed?
In terms of today's literature and the mass media available to the audience, we, as parents MUST be more diligent in paying attention to what our children are subject to. Not every writer online is scrupulous, nor is every so-called "friend". Writers, however, are shielded by the first amendment. This is a protection afforded not only to Americans since 1791, but is so, as well to citizens throughout the world. Demands for freedom of speech can be found as far back as the sixth century, B.C., meaning we, as a society have had hundreds of years to assimilate to the evolution of story-telling. This is a right many of us will stand on file for, even in the face of imprisonment. If we, as writers, are willing to die for our privilege, shouldn't then parents of today's youth be as diligent in protecting their young?
When I read the article by Amanda Paulson for the Christian Science Monitor, I couldn't help but feel that not only was she raising the question of where we should be drawing the line in regards to fiction and reality in literature, but that the question of what writers send out in the world should be monitored. In her article, she ponders the difficulty for twelve year olds to put the character of the Slender Man into the same context as older readers. I certainly believe there is much to be studied in the development of the adolescent brain, however, that duty falls to the scientific community, not the literary one. It is not the responsibility of the writer of the Slender Man stories to make sure his/her readers are of an age in which they can understand that the Slender Man is simply a character. That responsibility lies solely in the hands of the parents of people with underdeveloped brains.
Where were these parents when the girls were reading this story. Where were the parents when the girls were planning the attack for four months. Where were the parents when their daughters were luring another twelve year old girl into the woods under darkness of night?
In response to the tragedy, the online site Creepypasta, in which the girls discovered the Slender Man, defends the site by saying, "We are a literature site, not a satanic cult." It is my opinion that they could have easily just proclaimed the former. They are a literature site. Case closed. It was the author of the statement who also said, "This incident shows what happens when the line of fiction and reality ceases to exist."

Perhaps those lines have always been blurred and are meant to be by the author for the reader. Reading and words have always been an escape for me. There were many a moment when my actual reality was far worse than any horror story ever written by Edgar Allan Poe. To this day, I honor this man for the time I was so engrossed in his work that I forgot how evil my step-monster truly is. I am not saying that we, as readers should exchange the fiction in the words we read for reality, however, as a writer, we surly must incorporate a modicum of reality into the story, so as to allow our readers some semblance of recognition to the senses.

I am certain that it is NOT the job of the writer to impose a subjective age restriction on our readers. THAT is the job of the parent. In fact, Professor Patrick Markey of Villanova University says, in regards to the media's influence, that the media does not cause violent behaviors, though it may influence how violent people behave. Markey adds that there may be good reasons to shield readers from media that is age inappropriate. Again, this is up to the parents.
While banning books may seem completely insane and archaic, it wasn't that long ago that this practice was in force. Here is a list of some of the banned literature that shaped not only our lives, but our politics, our society and our constitution:
The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn
The Autobiography of Malcolm X
Beloved-a Pulitzer winner
The Call of the Wild
Gone With the Wind
The Grapes of Wrath
The Great Gatsby
The Scarlett Letter
To Kill a Mockingbird,
and last of all, but certainly not least, as it is a book about banning books:
Fahrenheit 451

Out of the ten aforementioned books, six of the authors won a Pulitzer, three died prior to the awarding of the prize, and only Fitzgerald lived not having received one. Can we imagine an elementary school residency in which we were not told of the wild adventures Huck and Tom shared cruising down the Mighty Mississip, or a seventh grade English class sans Jack London's love story between a man and his dog? Let's shall we, try to fathom a history lesson in literature between the pages of an Alex Haley or Toni Morrison story that we may have never heard. I for one, shudder the thought of going through high school with out the benefit of Nathaniel Hawthorne, Ray Bradbury, John Steinbeck or Harper Lee.

Censoring literature is simply not an option. Art, while it may very well be inappropriate to some age groups, is subjective, and it should remain that way, perpetually.
It is not the task of the storyteller to decide who reads what, when. It  is our duty as parents to filter the words according to the age appropriateness, and reconcile to the next generation, that very fine line between reality and fiction...

-by Deannalynn Arzola

Capricorn Horoscope for week of May 29, 2014

Vertical Oracle card Capricorn (December 22-January 19)
You could really benefit from engaging with a compassionate critic -- someone who would gently and lovingly invite you to curb your excesses, heal your ignorance, and correct your mistakes. Would you consider going out in search of a kick-ass guide like that? ideally, this person would also motivate you to build up your strengths and inspire you to take better care of your body. One way or another, Capricorn, curative feedback will be coming your way. The question is, will you have a hand in choosing it, or will you wait around passively for fate to deliver it? I highly recommend the former.
...so glad for my beautiful teacher, my scholar, my friend, who has always supported my decisions and has always helped shed light on my future, my worth and my flaws so as to work on them...consider the sentiment, Darling, and thank you for your exponential brilliance, Doc. I adore you!!!
-Dee