Deborah Sickle Hill

Tag: blog

  • WRITING NAKED (REVISED)

    “You have quite the internet presence,” the woman said during my second interview for a part-time therapy position.
    “You’re exactly what we’re looking for—except… well, this is complicated.”
    She hesitated.
    “I’m not sure what I think of what you write. The topics you explore, you know? Granted, it’s not fair to judge you based on your writing. The other applicants don’t have the same visibility. It’s just—I’m more comfortable hiring someone whose beliefs and ideas are unknown to me.”

    I sat there, feeling naked.
    I had purposely exposed myself to the world through my writing—and now someone was judging those parts of me that, at the time, had nothing to do with my clinical career. I was shocked, to say the least.

    And I did the unthinkable: I stopped writing. No writer should do that. You would not like me when I’m not writing. It’s in my blood. It’s in my soul.

    Years later, while running my private practice, the urge returned—louder, deeper. And with it came the question:
    Am I prepared to get naked again in front of friends, family, clients, the whole world, by picking up the pen?

    I thought I was. I wrote two novels. And then… I let them sit. I was terrified to send them out into the world. Maybe I wasn’t ready to face that vulnerability after all.

    Would I lose something—too much? Would total strangers stumble across my blog and turn away?

    Screw it.

    I self-published those novels—then looked over my shoulder.
    People bought and read them. No angry mobs, no torches. But I still felt exposed. I didn’t market them. Fear had crept back in.

    Then came the saga: a historical fiction rooted in supernatural folklore and local legend. I poured my soul into it. Polished it to death. And again, fear gripped me—this time because I wanted to try querying agents.

    Talk about nakedness.

    I gave the manuscript to my parents. They’d seen me naked before (literally), so it felt safe. They gave positive feedback. Of course, they’re my parents.
    And still, the manuscript sat. Maybe it needed read-through number fifteen.

    Eventually, I checked out agents. Wrote a query letter. Created hooks, taglines, back cover blurbs. And then I hesitated. I needed a web presence again.

    And that same old fear of being naked returned.

    I fought it. Damn you, fear.

    I built a website. Shared my work. People responded positively. I even sold a few copies of those old books. But still—every keystroke felt risky. Any moment, someone might show up—someone I know, someone unexpected—and say, “I don’t like you naked.”

    Well—too bad, buck-o.

    I am who I am. I write what I know, and what stirs my curiosity. If that’s not to your liking, as one of my loved ones would say:

    Don’t let the door hit you in the ass.

    I sweat just typing that. Ha. I can be such a wuss.

    But seriously—there’s nothing wrong with being naked. Get out there. Do what your soul tells you to do.

    (Just… make sure it’s legal.)

  • Writing Naked

    “You have quite the internet presence,” said the woman on the phone who interviewed me six months ago for a part time position.  “Well, this is complicated,” she continued. “I think you are exactly what we are looking for, but I’m not sure what I think of what you write. The topics you write about, you know? Granted, it’s not fair to judge you based on your writing vs not having the same criteria for all the other applicants. It’s just I’m more comfortable hiring someone whose beliefs and ideas are unknown to me.”

    I put down the phone in stunned silence. I told my hubby what happened. He said, “Well, you obviously are not getting that job.”  And he was right. “Just let it go,” he said. That was six months ago.

    I did think, well, if she thought the content of my blog and web sites were controversial ( I don’t see the controversy), wait till she reads my novel. They would have fired me for sure, if I’d been hired.

    Yes, I do have the internet presence, but hey, I’m out there trying to connect, trying to get my writing out, trying to share my inner sanctum with others who might benefit. I think it’s altruistic, in some respects. Does it make me vulnerable to scrutiny? Yes, and I knew this when I finally got the courage to write and put it out there. So what is the problem?

    The problem is… this is the first thing I have written in six months. All editing, plotting, character development, research and blog writing came to a crashing halt. You don’t want to see me when I’m not writing. It’s not pretty. This is devastating to me and I am the one who is keeping me stuck!

    “Do you stand by your writing?” hubby asks on the one hundredth conversation about the same topic.  Of course I do. “Then this is a no-brainer, just start writing again and don’t let anyone slow you down.” God love him, he doesn’t get it.

    I walk around in this state of malaise, passing by the proof of my novel on the desk, the dust covered storyboard of the next novel in the works, and think – is this what life is all about? That’s when I know I’m in deep doo-doo, when I realize my daily writing has become a once in a six month event and I’m contemplating the meaning of life – again.

    It’s easy to tell my clients to do reality checks on those insidious thoughts and hidden emotions. It’s even easier to help my expressive writing clients work through their writing blocks and put their life on the page.  Oh, therapist, heal thy self. It’s not like I don’t have the skills.

    This is where the nude writing comes in. I thought my problem is that I felt vulnerable and exposed as a result of that ridiculous phone call six months ago. Even though I was already willingly vulnerable and exposed, having it brought to my attention somehow changed things.

    Hmm, I often tell my clients to embrace that which causes us pain instead of hiding or running. So, I’m embracing feeling vulnerable and exposed. The next step is called flooding. It’s where you find a situation where you feel really uncomfortable with what ails you and work your way through. I can’t currently think of any situation other than writing this blog naked to feel totally exposed and vulnerable. So here I am writing again!

    Am I naked? Hell no! Its sixty-four degrees in this house and the heater is not on! Do you think I’m insane?  Which brings me to my last point, the imagination is an amazing tool. In a world of pure imagination you can conquer just about anything – and you get to keep your clothes on.

  • This is Halloween – Almost

    Halloween Is Coming (Even If It’s Only September)

    It’s almost Halloween time! You may not realize this because it’s only September 12th… but that’s beside the point. I saw my first woolly caterpillar and a yellow leaf. The county fair is in town. That can only mean one thing: Halloween is almost here.

    Since moving to our current home—a little house right on a main road—Halloween has become an event. It reminds me of my childhood, when neighborhoods came alive with decorations, and every porch was lit up with spooky fun. Around here, we’re still one of the only houses that decorates the way we do—but that’s okay. I’m convinced it’ll catch on.

    Year One: The Great Candy Shortage

    We didn’t know what to expect our first Halloween here. I bought a couple of bags of candy, and we all sat on the front porch, excited. An hour in, we were out of candy. Out of individual snack bags. Out of school lunch cookies and chips. Out of cup-a-soup. Out of oatmeal packets. We even gave away extra pens, hotel shampoos, and those little soap pellets you put in dishwashers. I sent my husband to the corner store for reinforcements. When he came back, we were greeting kids with a smile and the only thing left: encouragement.

    Year Two: Enter the Pirates

    That’s when I realized—no, I may not be Walt Disney, and no, I don’t have Disney’s budget, but I do have creativity, cardboard, and a glue gun. I created a theme: Pirates of the Caribbean: Bohemian Chic. Everything was repurposed. I sewed, stuffed, sawed, glued, painted, and dyed my way through old curtains, coat racks, and clearance bins. Neighbors gathered to watch the madness unfold.

    And then—of course—a hurricane hit. Everything was in shambles. But I wasn’t deterred. I rebuilt it all, piece by soggy piece.

    Halloween night arrived with full sound effects, lighting, and family members dressed as pirates mingling with life-size figures. And then it snowed. I looked at my husband and said, “Well, I guess we’ve left the Caribbean and landed in the Aleutian Islands.”

    We figured no one would show up. He secretly hoped they wouldn’t (we’d bought a lot of candy). But they came—cars lining the road, families taking pictures with our set. Parents told me they couldn’t afford to take their kids to places like Disney, and this—this little yard of foam and fabric—was the closest they’d ever get. I was humbled. It wasn’t about perfection. It was about joy.

    Year Three: Cancelled but Not Defeated

    I had big plans. The storyline, the moving parts, the upgraded pirates. But another hurricane hit. Halloween was officially canceled. Still, we dressed in costume, set up what we could, and greeted the brave 20 kids who ventured out. That small turnout meant the world. And it set my heart on fire for the next year—this year.

    Year Four: Pirates Meet the Haunted Mansion

    This year, I’m combining my two favorite Disney rides: Pirates of the Caribbean and The Haunted Mansion—with a dash of absurdity thrown in for fun. Think ghostly pirates, DIY tombstones, and dollar-store elegance.

    So far, I’ve created a Grim Reaper from old Goodwill sheets, a coat rack, my daughter’s head (molded in plastic wrap), crack filler, and truck-liner spray paint. Cost: $15.00.

    My tombstones are crafted from warped shelving, ruined ceiling tiles (thanks again, hurricane), accessories from old costumes, Dollar Store treasures, caulking, and—my beloved duct tape. Still to be painted, but they’re coming along.

    I’ve also upgraded my pirate hands. No more stuffed gloves! Now they have bendable wire skeletons so I can actually pose their fingers. (Small victories matter.)

    If folks are interested, I’ll keep posting updates on my DIY adventure as we countdown to Halloween. The display might not be Disney-level, but it’s real, it’s ridiculous, and it brings people joy.

    Now, quick question—
    Has anyone checked the forecast for October 31st?
    Hurricane… yes or no?

  • Oh No! Not Spam!

    As many of you know I have an internet business doing something called e-therapy. It uses an e-mail system for people who either do not want to make traditional weekly appointments in an office or are not able to. The key point of this is – e-mail is important to me. Very important.

    So, imagine my surprise to find some people are ending up in my Spam folder. It’s a crazy system. The web site has an e-mail address and they forward the mail from this to my e-mail account which has a different e-mail address. They are, what do you call it, in sync.  Only, after having this system in place for several months I find all kind of important information I have not gotten because SPAM ate it.

    This makes me a bit upset, peeved, ticked, pissed, you name it. No one warned me about SPAM. I grew up with SPAM. SPAM in a can. I have no idea what SPAM in a can really is. They tell me its ham but I like ham and well then there is SPAM.  There was also a bit done by Monty Python called Spam-a-lot. I only remember some pieces to this and I don’t think they were talking about SPAM in a can, but I know they were not talking about SPAM in my e-mail system.

    My mother never served me SPAM in a can and I had to learn about it the hard way, as a poor student in college. That’s not a good way to learn about SPAM in a can but I’m sure there are worse.  She also never warned me about SPAM in my e-mail system. Yes, I know there was no internet or e-mail back when I was growing up but I really don’t see this as a good excuse for mom not introducing and warning me about SPAM.

    Warnings, like, “Dear, when you get older, there will be this thing called the internet. People will send you things you normally get in the mailbox. You really need to be careful, especially if you open an internet based business, that you check this little hidden device called SPAM. No, not the stuff we see in the grocery store in a can. Now be a good girl and eat your ham.”

    Okay, maybe it’s not a good idea to blame my mother for my short-comings in regards to SPAM. Perhaps I should look at the inner recesses of my own sub-conscious. Could it possibly be I’m so confused about SPAM in a can, it’s not ham but it is, I like ham but not SPAM that I don’t think about my SPAM folder?

    Maybe I was traumatized as a young adult, sitting in my dorm trying to open SPAM in a can with my geometry compass tip (I didn’t have a can opener), and accidently swallowing it with SPAM that I fear flashbacks?  Maybe, I should have really thought harder about opening a business where SPAM was going to be involved on any level! Sh-t!

    It’s too late now. I’m almost finished my office so I can start seeing people face to face again. Still, I really wanted this e-mail system to take off… Damn…Damn you to hell you dirty, stinking SPAM! (That’s a spoof of Charlton Heston’s line in the film Planet of the Apes)