My name is Yvette Marie. Most people call me Yvette. I am a mother, wife, and that quirky friend... yes, that one. I consider myself a Thought Wrangler (a thinking nomad looking for understanding and hope) and a Writer. Thankfully there is no hard criteria for the 'writer' bit.
Ever since I was a little girl, I wondered about what makes people tick. How do they become the people they are, and what motivates them to do the things they do?
Sure, I should have been doing a lot more self-reflecting, and a lot less judging. But youth is ignorant, and I took that seriously. I was stumbling through life without thinking or planning. As a result, I had to spend a lot of time cleaning up my own messes and learning hard lessons. This did make for an interesting life. Just ask my therapist.
To this day I still can't say how I got myself in to some of the predicaments I have been in.
Fortunately for me, most of those predicaments I either leaned from or are so unbelievable they make me laugh till I cry. When I retell them, which as I get older, I find myself doing more often - retelling them that is, not crying, I feel a bittersweet melancholy for what was and how far away and distant it all is now. To be clear, I don't want to go back and relive it all. I barely survived the first time around. I doubt I have obtained enough skill or luck to survive it all again.
I do have some crazy stories to tell, like the time I spilled a drink on a rock star, or the time I accidentally insulted the CEO of a very large company (his hair really did look like a toupee), or the time I hit an Elvis impersonator in the face with a flying screen door. Oh, yeah, and I slipped on a banana peel twice. I have a witness, who was there both times.
Hmmm... A set up perhaps?
Although I do still tell these stories from time to time, I'd rather weave these wacky moments into my novels because, with a little embellishment, these ridiculous things that happened to me, seem more plausible.
These days, I have settled down. Mostly.
I have two wonderful grown children who don't really have time to listen to my stories and they work hard to keep me humble. I have an amazing full on nerd husband. Nerds make great husbands if you can tolerate action figures, endless movie quotes and math jokes. I can. I have some great friends, some of whom got me into the previously mentioned predicaments. And I have a dog who knows all my secrets and doesn't judge me. Okay, well she does judge me, but she's so cute when she does it.
Sure, I should have been doing a lot more self-reflecting, and a lot less judging. But youth is ignorant, and I took that seriously. I was stumbling through life without thinking or planning. As a result, I had to spend a lot of time cleaning up my own messes and learning hard lessons. This did make for an interesting life. Just ask my therapist.
To this day I still can't say how I got myself in to some of the predicaments I have been in.
Fortunately for me, most of those predicaments I either leaned from or are so unbelievable they make me laugh till I cry. When I retell them, which as I get older, I find myself doing more often - retelling them that is, not crying, I feel a bittersweet melancholy for what was and how far away and distant it all is now. To be clear, I don't want to go back and relive it all. I barely survived the first time around. I doubt I have obtained enough skill or luck to survive it all again.
I do have some crazy stories to tell, like the time I spilled a drink on a rock star, or the time I accidentally insulted the CEO of a very large company (his hair really did look like a toupee), or the time I hit an Elvis impersonator in the face with a flying screen door. Oh, yeah, and I slipped on a banana peel twice. I have a witness, who was there both times.
Hmmm... A set up perhaps?
Although I do still tell these stories from time to time, I'd rather weave these wacky moments into my novels because, with a little embellishment, these ridiculous things that happened to me, seem more plausible.
These days, I have settled down. Mostly.
I have two wonderful grown children who don't really have time to listen to my stories and they work hard to keep me humble. I have an amazing full on nerd husband. Nerds make great husbands if you can tolerate action figures, endless movie quotes and math jokes. I can. I have some great friends, some of whom got me into the previously mentioned predicaments. And I have a dog who knows all my secrets and doesn't judge me. Okay, well she does judge me, but she's so cute when she does it.
When I'm not writing, probably because something shiny distracted me, I'm listening to 80's- 90's punk and classic rock LPs, and alternative folk a'la Suzanne Vega, Jewel and Jack Johnson, and yes that includes the Curious George soundtrack.
I'm also trying to learn to play guitar, but I'm pretty dyslexic so reading music is like looking into a vortex. So that's going really slow.
I'm learning more Spanish and French, but there are so many shiny objects to distract me (see my blog on Social Media Minimalism), so that's also going slow. Ces't la vie.
I love reading, of course. Magical realism, fictional realism and sur-realism, or Sir Realism if we are being formal. My two favorite books are The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy and a little book of essays by comedian Steve Martin called Pure Drivel, which I highly recommend. It has one of the best essays on writing I have ever read titled Times Roman Font Announces Shortage of Periods.
I also help run a couple writers' groups, because I need accountability, or I'll never finish anything. Please don't tell them I don't know what the hell I'm doing and that I'm so dyslexic I can barely spell my own name. Alas, they know.
I take lots of walks and have deep conversations with my dog. She's indifferent, but I think she secretly agrees with most of my analysis. She's very accepting. I think I can trust her.
Unlike some of my peers (Gen Xer's, whatever, never mind) I really love Gen Z. Wait. No! Seriously? They really are a lot like us (Gen X). They are slow to mature, they love high waisted pants, they are okay with you doing you. And just like Gen X, they question the validity of "The Man" or the validity of "The Woman". Whatever. You do you.
If it's funny, or devastating, or just perplexing, I will probably write about it with the perspective of an optimist without reason, or a rebel without a clue. I tend to get it wrong on the first try anyway, but at least I keep trying. That's what matters. Right?
I will probably change my mind by the time anyone's read it anyway.
Whatever.
I'm also trying to learn to play guitar, but I'm pretty dyslexic so reading music is like looking into a vortex. So that's going really slow.
I'm learning more Spanish and French, but there are so many shiny objects to distract me (see my blog on Social Media Minimalism), so that's also going slow. Ces't la vie.
I love reading, of course. Magical realism, fictional realism and sur-realism, or Sir Realism if we are being formal. My two favorite books are The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy and a little book of essays by comedian Steve Martin called Pure Drivel, which I highly recommend. It has one of the best essays on writing I have ever read titled Times Roman Font Announces Shortage of Periods.
I also help run a couple writers' groups, because I need accountability, or I'll never finish anything. Please don't tell them I don't know what the hell I'm doing and that I'm so dyslexic I can barely spell my own name. Alas, they know.
I take lots of walks and have deep conversations with my dog. She's indifferent, but I think she secretly agrees with most of my analysis. She's very accepting. I think I can trust her.
Unlike some of my peers (Gen Xer's, whatever, never mind) I really love Gen Z. Wait. No! Seriously? They really are a lot like us (Gen X). They are slow to mature, they love high waisted pants, they are okay with you doing you. And just like Gen X, they question the validity of "The Man" or the validity of "The Woman". Whatever. You do you.
If it's funny, or devastating, or just perplexing, I will probably write about it with the perspective of an optimist without reason, or a rebel without a clue. I tend to get it wrong on the first try anyway, but at least I keep trying. That's what matters. Right?
I will probably change my mind by the time anyone's read it anyway.
Whatever.