Attend My Blogging Workshop

Due to the very stubborn insistence of a very nice old man, I’m teaching a blogging workshop on the “art” of blogging on April 18th , 2015, at the Evergreen Cove in Easton, Maryland. Presented by the Eastern Shore Writers Association, for which the stubborn old man named Gerry is the President, this is a 2 ½ hour workshop that will run from 9:30 am to Noon on that Saturday with a little break at around 11am. And I’d love for you to attend.

I titled it “The Why is the How: Intentional Blogging 101” because I truly believe that the Why will get you to the How and the how is somewhat superfluous when you are committing yourself to the size of a project like blogging or marriage. Commitment is half the battle to making it work.

According to the summary of this workshop, I’ll be defining the concept of “blog”, discussing social media usage and branding, addressing technology phobias, and answering the question,”How do you make money blogging?”

snapshot of myself staring at a computer screen on

As usual, I will tell you like I see it as I only have my perspective to draw from. But I will guarantee that you will come away having formed a supportive community for your blogging endeavors. And that is more precious than knowing how to blog.

The workshop is open to the public. The cost is $25.00 for ESWA and Evergreen members and $35.00 for non-members. Registration is available at or call 410-819-3395. Seating is limited. I am hoping to fill the room. Tell your friends.

Low Self-Esteem !?

I have a new talking doctor. My previous gal Courtenay got a real job in the big city. Glad for her, sad for me. And I asked to have the right person replace her. And boy howdy, I got her.

I’m still surprised by how many people think therapy is only for the ‘Not OK’ people in the world. Don’t stand next to me because you might catch “it”. Because you’re just fine. Nothing to see or fix here, move along. The facility I visit has a new slogan, “It’s OK to be not OK”. But that was me too.

I had a pretty rude awakening about 3 years ago when I was informed by an earlier therapist that, much to my ever-loving surprise, I had low self-esteem. Fiona with a smooshed face on the monkey bars

Not ME!

And then I raged and I fumed at the insulting change being made to my self-definition until I began to see that knowing this didn’t make me deformed or lacking but rather it gave me a place to start. To draw a line from and to move on from. Why is it such a taboo to be not OK? If you feel unhappy more than happy and have a lot of negative thoughts in a day about yourself, hate to say it but you’ve got this too.

Not claiming it had me perpetually stuck trying to “fix” others. I was freed to see no one needed “fixing”. Acceptance and expectation adjustments are an ongoing process. But at least I’m in process.Fiona and her kitty on

I have Low Self-esteem and I have worked really really hard to raise it. And happily, I’ve made progress. Seems that the esteem is here, I just need to uncover it. Like a bed you’ve thrown all sorts of clothing and stuff on. You need to pick up all the stuff, make decisions on that stuff about where it should go (trash or closet or give away) and gradually you’ll uncover you. And every step that you take and commend yourself for makes more of the bed top visible.

I’ve also notice that I can not ever see what anyone is talking about when they compliment me. I’m like what? And then that positive thought disappears. I tend to not risk anything too big that may disprove what I think I know about myself ;  that I’m a little fish in a large pond. Everyone else does everything better than me. neigh neighs in love on

And in my recent reading, I discovered you can’t get esteem from beauty, fame, money, or prestige. So if you were thinking that pricey make-up, stardom, winning lottery ticket, or fame for that You Tube video that goes viral will get you more self-esteem, you’d be mistaken.

So I’ll be sharing my esteem progress reports in the future. Plus my methods for counteracting this self-defeating inner beast. If this makes you uncomfortable, I’d suggest there’s a reason. And I’d offer up, there’s always hope. I have been prescribed a really cool book to read by my talking doctor.

If you enjoyed what you read, subscribe, via the subscription box in the sidebar, to my thrice weekly posts via your emailbox. And visit me on Instagram to see my daily pictures, friend me or like my page on Facebook. Or come find me on Twitter or Pinterest too. I am always practicing Intentional Intouchness so chat at me please. I live for conversations.

And, as always, Thanks to you for your visit.

My First Time

I was 12 when I had my first date with a boyfriend. This “relationship” lasted a memorable week. We walked to the movies to see Urban Cowboy. He shoved his tongue down my throat. The End. Less than two years later, I was then willing to give my best and most special gift away to my boyfriend because I could. My first time was mine to give. Because no one could tell me otherwise.

I watched this same situation happen with the daughter of some former friends of ours. And I knew exactly what she was going to go do and why. Her body was hers to do with what she wanted and the more her mother begged her not to, the more she knew it was her decision to make against her mother’s wishes. Her and my destiny were based on doing the opposite of what we were told to do. And that made us feel more powerful.

As lost young women, we then quickly discerned our value to society. It was our bodies that held value. Whether we were putting on string bikinis and watching the boys watch us. Or dressing up to the nines to go out in a Saturday night clubbing, we liked being liked this way. And when I got a little hit of esteem juice from this, from the interaction and power I had just for being a beautiful girl, I wanted more.

Shalagh at 16 riding in cars with boys from My First Time on

My sexual power was all that I perceived I had from age 14 on. My parents had lost me in their battle to divorce. And I had found something that I was clearly in control of. And I used it. College was a blur of one night stands and bad relationships. And although I would become monogamous when I got married, I had lived a lifetime of promiscuity by then.

That fateful moment, in my boyfriends attic room with a Natty Boh and a Marlboro in my hands, I was the biggest bravest girl ever. With magazine ad pictures of Lamborghinis and Ferraris taped over the bed, my intention to follow through was unfailing. My tiny Gloria Vanderbilt jeans and blue Oxford shirt came off. And I would only vaguely remember the surprise that this wasn’t really what I had in mind when I’d agreed to this fateful night. And later I would find out that I wasn’t his first.

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