Misti B.'s Blog

I knew I wanted to be a writer since I was seven and my father helped me with my math homework for the first – and last – time. “Stop crying!,” he screamed. “It’s just a number, it won’t kill you!”

“But I’m afraid of numbers!” I whimpered.

“Math’s a language, like English,” he said, “except we use numbers instead of letters.”

“So, why can’t we use letters?” I said, sobbing. “And, why do I have to divide four in half? Why not just leave the four alone?”

“You’re hopeless at math,” he said, burying his hands in his face, “and you couldn’t catch a football if your life depended on it. But you can spell, so maybe you could get a job as a writer. Either that or marry a Baptist minister.”

Despite those seemingly limitless options laid out before me, I vowed to stay as far away as I could from numbers, football and Baptist ministers. Instead, I went on to pursue my dream of making it as a writer in Hollywood.

During my illustrious career as a writer – which was punctuated by stints as a waitress, spin instructor, marketing executive, and event planner, I’ve had a few scripts that – almost – made it to the screen. The first went off the rails after the A-list celebrity who was funding it went bankrupt before it went into development. During pre-production of my second movie, the executive producer, who had been shepherding my project died suddenly and the film went into perpetual turn-around. An Oscar-winning independent production company optioned my third film. During the two years they had the option, we had numerous lunches at swanky hotels, in which we threw around A-list names for the cast, and then actually cast them! I was feeling pretty cool. Until the company went belly-up a week before we began production.

My fourth film, Exposed, which I wrote, directed and raised funds for, sold to Showtime, but not before my investor was indicted for securities’ fraud and sent to prison for twenty years. And there was the scathing review of Exposed in The Hollywood Reporter, which included the words, “writer/director Misti Barnes’ lack of thought … on this misbegotten project.” The film distribution company I signed with hasn’t sent me a penny during the ten years they’ve been selling the film, and they refused to return the master copy of my film when our contract ended. I won’t tell you the name of the company, but it sounds like “In-da-can” – yes, I’m still slightly bitter.

My writing career has been a seeming roller coaster of ups and downs and endless misfires. But I’ve also had some success and plenty of amazing opportunities. I’ve written and produced live events for studios, live theatre and TV, and I’ve worked alongside the most respected people in entertainment. I started a women’s film festival and had several of my plays produced and performed live. The problem was, no matter what I had accomplished, it was never “enough.” I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was a fraud on the verge of being found out. Deep down I feared I was a hack. A “misbegotten,” “thoughtless” hack.

And then, several years ago, after the recession hit and I’d lost my job, my car and my home, I hit a spiritual and emotional bottom. I also had major writer’s block.

You see, I’d grown up in a home mired in addiction and general craziness – I know, shocking, based upon the Hallmark-ish scenario I painted earlier with my father – and I’d never truly dealt with it. I had read hundreds of self-help books and gone to therapy, but not much had changed. Alcoholism and addiction had deeply affected my life and I was kind of crazy. I don’t mean certifiably crazy; it’s not like I had buried bodies under my floorboards, I was just a little dramatic and slightly controlling. I was suffering from codependency of the worst kind, and I decided I needed help. Well, I didn’t really decide, a friend decided for me. She said, “You need help. There’s a twelve-step meeting on Manchester. Good luck and don’t ever call me again.”

I committed myself to getting spiritually and emotionally healthy, which took a few years. Eventually, I began to write again. This time, my writing had nothing to do with the “target audience” or what Hollywood was “buying.” I wrote because I wanted to heal. I started writing daily humorous meditations that I’d hoped would encourage others struggling with codependency and addiction. Inspired by the digital publishing revolution, I decided to self-publish my book, If You Leave Me, Can I Come with You?, because I didn’t want to wait two years for a publisher to pick it up. I figured maybe I’d sell a few hundred copies. What happened was beyond what I could have imagined. Within a month of putting my book up on Amazon and submitting a copy of it to Hazelden Publishing, the largest self-help/recovery publisher, I was offered a traditional publishing deal.

Today, when people stop me on the street and ask me how to go from being a self-published author to being a traditionally published author, I say, “Don’t you know who I am?! Stop bothering me!” Just kidding. I live in L.A. and the only thing I get asked is if I can spare some change for beer, a bag of pot or some tofu. However, in the event that I may be asked for my advice, here’s what I’d say: “Just write. Keep going. Especially when you hate every word on the page. Write to help someone else. It doesn’t have to be brilliant, just think about who needs to hear the story you want to tell.”

Perhaps your mission is to write about the power of love, redemption or forgiveness. Maybe it’s the importance of- egads!-mathematics. But if you have a decent mix of talent, quality and a little altruism, you’re going to reach someone who’ll want your work. And, if that doesn’t happen, you can always put pictures of puppies in your books. Note: I recently had dinner with a famous artist whose wife says that whenever he includes a dog in his paintings, it sells in minutes. The guy’s a visual madman, a genius whose paintings sell in the hundred thousand dollar range, but puppies are the clincher. Who knew?!

The truth is, there’s no formula for writing success or why things do or don’t sell. There are no longer any hard and fast rules about publishing, it’s constantly changing. The more value you bring to others – whether it be humor, entertainment, suspense, spirituality – the better your work will be, and ultimately, it will sell. Maybe you’ll write the book you’ve always dreamt of writing, self-publish it and sell fifteen copies. Perhaps you’ll find a “traditional,” publisher and sell tens of thousands. It doesn’t matter. Press on. Good writing isn’t simply about charting plotlines and character development, and achievement doesn’t come from visualizing your book on the best-seller list, or from knowing The Top Ten Book Cover Design Secrets. Ultimately, success comes from offering value to your readers.

Just write well and write often. Because, no matter what’s “hot” or what’s ranking on Amazon, one thing will remain: writers write because they have to, or as Anne Lamott so beautifully puts it, “Writing and reading decrease our sense of isolation. They deepen and widen and expand our sense of life: they feed the soul. When writers make us shake our heads with the exactness of their prose and their truths, and even make us laugh about ourselves or life, our buoyancy is restored.”

Write because you love it, because you have something to say and because, dammit, if you don’t, who will? Or, write because you hate math, and if, like me you had simply embraced the language of numbers, today, instead of being cloistered in a ten-by-ten studio apartment with a laptop you’d be a physicist or an engineer living in some high-rise in New York City, squaring things by zero, or whatever the hell engineers do. Have a purpose, something to give others. Write your book because the story won’t be told if you don’t tell it. Or, as a friend of mind would say, “what else are you gonna do?”

At least, that’s how it worked for me. Not bad for a girl who’s horrible at throwing a football and can’t factor anything by four.

“Keep your mouth shut, especially when you know you’re right about something.”   – Anonymous

I heard this quote recently at an Al-Anon meeting and wrote it down immediately. Even though I’m right a great deal of the time, I still think this quote will come in handy.

It isn’t always easy for an exceptionally reasonable, wise person like me to stay silent when the folks I love are obviously screwing things up– spending compulsive, eating too many GMO’s and staying in dead-end relationships. It’s especially hard when I can see it and know they could use the help of a twelve-step program.

After all, I was once a hopeless mess when it came to relationships, and although I’m much healthier than I used to be, I’ve decided to keep my opinions to myself. At least for the next twenty-four hours.

I will say nothing when the people I love do things like hide in denial, or refuse to admit their relationship is falling apart, or acknowledge they have a problem with overspending. Even better, I’ll keep quiet when these people make the kind of mistakes I’m sure will ruin their lives. No, I will be silent, even though I know I’m right – what else is new? – because most people don’t want to be told they’re wrong.

I’ve asked my Higher Power for the courage to help me keep my advice to myself because, quite frankly, I’m exposed to so many people on a daily basis who could use my help. Most people have no clue about how selfish and annoying they are, and I can count on one hand the number of friends I have that are in great relationships.

Yes, I have a lot to say, but I’ve decided to to keep my mouth shut, even when I’m right, especially today. So instead of focusing on how much work my loved one’s need to do, I’m going to let it go. I’ve decided I’m going to have a great day. More than likely it’ll be a very quiet day, but it’s going to be fantastic, nonetheless.

 

By Misti B., author of If You Leave Me, Can I Come with You: Daily Meditations for Codependents and Al-Anons… with a Sense of Humor

Let’s face it, codependents aren’t generally known for our silly, carefree, personalities – go ahead, do an online search for “codependent” and “humor” or “hilarious.”Known as the hall monitors of the recovery community, we have a reputation for taking the fun out of the party, and popping all the balloons afterwards.

Thankfully, humor has been scientifically proven to improve relationships, especially those of the codependent. And, if you’re like me, employing humor is easier than having to learn about or practice things like “effective, non-violent communication,” and cheaper than spending money on massages and therapy. Laughter has never failed to improve anyone’s life, especially when you consider the following:

You learn to embrace happiness and sadness simultaneously: As Carol Burnett said, “comedy is tragedy plus time.” While not every tragedy can become funny ha-ha, it’s important to remember that there is no darkness without light. Even when you’re in the throes of despair, it’s important to remind yourself that you will laugh again. You can’t appreciate true happiness and pleasure until you’ve experienced disappointment and pain. Likewise, you can’t quit smoking cigarettes if you never start, and you can’t stop laughing if you never start. And if that doesn’t make sense to you, just stand around and laugh at all the cigarette smokers.
Your personal failures can become funny: Think about it – after the upset of losing a job wears off or the pain of falling in public subsides, you often see the humorous side of it. I remember the first time I rode a bus during a rainstorm. When the driver made a sudden stop, I fell face first into the lap of a man who was seated in the front row. I don’t think it even hurt. I mean, maybe I broke something or whatever, but in the grand scheme of things, I was fine. I mean, if I wasn’t, I’d be dead, but I’m fine, at least enough to write this article. Then, there was the time I was fired for following my boss to a motel where he was rendezvousing with another employee. That wasn’t as funny until like, twenty years later. The point is, sometimes you’re down, and the only thing to do is get back up. There’s no better way to remind yourself of your humanity than by falling in front of a group of strangers, and finding humor in it later.
You stop it with all the outlandish expectations: Humor, by its very nature, celebrates the fact that most people – especially if they’ve made it past, say twelve years old – are pretty kooky or borderline insane. It’s easier to let go of the outrageous expectations I have after I’ve accepted the fact that people rarely do what I want them to, no matter how much I humiliate, cajole or insult them. My expectations might be slightly outlandish, but it’s only because I know my suggestions will improve the quality of other peoples’ lives. Alas, since I’ve learned to curb my expectations, I’m having more fun because, nothing, and I repeat, nothing ever turns out the way I want it to. Mostly because people inevitably get in the way and screw things up.
You’re calmer and more detached: Jerry Seinfeld’s massively successful career is based upon his astute observations of the absurdities and frailties of the human race. When everyone around him is flipping out, Jerry just stands back and lets it all unfurl. He never gets caught up in the crazy. He also doesn’t give a rat’s you-know-what about what people think of him. This could be because a.) Jerry is incredibly self-assured and learned the art of detachment, or simply because b.) he’s filthy rich and doesn’t have to give a rat’s you-know-what about what people think of him. For purposes of this article, let’s go with detachment.
You rejoice in other peoples’ weirdness: My Irish grandmother was a tough old bird who chewed tobacco and slept with a loaded shotgun next to her bed. She used phrases like, “I’ll slap the chops off ya,” and “Don’t go pissin’ on mah rainbow.” Now I have a different perspective about Grandma Belle. Yes, she was inappropriate and today, her lifestyle would undoubtedly have prompted a visit from the Department of Social Services, but I’ve come to value her quirkiness. Now, when I want to tell a friend they shouldn’t quit their day job to pursue their dream of performing with a mime troupe, I think about Grandma Belle in her rocking chair, holding a tin of Skoal. I’ve learned to grant people the dignity of being as weird as they want to be, no matter how insane they may seem to me.
You become more vulnerable and thus, much better looking: Puppies, babies … nearly anything from a Disney animated movie are all vulnerable and cute, and they bring smiles to peoples’ faces – unless you’re like, totally heartless. Vulnerability breeds honesty and openness and, well … cuteness. And, while you might not actually become better looking if you’re funny, people will enjoy being around you. One study showed that 90% of the people surveyed found lighthearted and open people, more attractive compared to beautiful but, miserable people. While I can’t verify the statistics, I know without a doubt, they’re true. People who are generally nice and fun are better looking, kind of like you are right now, after having read this article. Hey sexy! Yes, I’m talking to you!

Being funny is something many people can do, because laughter comes from examining and exposing our own insecurities, fears and flaws. And, if you’re codependent, you’re no doubt churning with fear, filled with flaws and insecurities. Which means you’ve got the makings of relatable humor!

IYL Meditation Playing God copy from misti barnes on Vimeo.

I signed up for the company’s online newsletter because I liked their

products. I gave them “permission” to market to me. That permission to market to me quickly turned into stalking.

Almost every day, I’d receive a new “update” from the company, as well as offers from random affiliates or stories about things I couldn’t care less about. Exhausted by the onslaught of emails and “special offers,” I unsubscribed to the newsletter. Before I could unsubscribe, I had to write an essay about the reasons for wanting out. As if they deserved an explanation from me!

Their marketing strategies were a lot like mine before Al-Anon. Once someone asked my opinion, the floodgates would open. I would give it to them, completely uncensored, and as often as possible. I’d frequently remind them of my opinion and check in: Had they taken my advice? Were they handling things properly? If not, could I help them further? Once they’d opened the barn door, it was hard to close. Eventually, people would “un-permission” me.

Of course, I’d demand an explanation. And while I never asked for a written essay, I definitely didn’t allow people to “un-permission” me easily.

Especially if I had their home address.

in spite of myself:

Has my “opinion” put me on anyone’s “un-permission” list?

http://www.jenningswire.com/self-help/podcast-5-ways-to-tell-if-youre-codependent/

I woke suddenly at 3:30 this morning, panicked about my finances. I had enough money to get through the next year or so, but for some reason this morning, it wasn’t enough.

If I don’t do something fast, I’ll lose everything and end up on the streets. I’ll be forced to forage for meals from the back-alley garbage can of that pizza joint down the street…and die from gluten poisoning.

So I powered up the computer and decided to become a day trader. Never mind that I can barely distinguish a bull from a bear and have no idea how the NASDAQ works.

I was certain I’d have to make some quick money, especially if I wanted to have enough to afford  a pound of bananas when they reach sixty bucks a pound.

This is what happens when I’m consumed with fear. I forget I have God and think I’m in charge of figuring everything out. The fear convinces me I must do something NOW, like become a day trader (although I know nothing about stocks), or escape to Belize and buy a coffee shop (even though I can’t locate Central America on a map), or get an advanced degree (when I can’t even afford dinner, much less pay off a hundred-thousand-dollar school loan).

After staring at stock charts until the sun came up, I turned off the computer and finally admitted I wasn’t going to figure my life out at 6:30 in the morning. At least not this morning.

I got down on my knees and said the following, “Hey, God. It’s me, again. I keep thinking money is the problem. Can you show me how to appreciate everything I have right now and be okay with it?” I repeated that prayer over and over, all throughout the day, until I actually meant it. Which was, in my estimation, at about 9:50 that night.