It’s the Pink Full Moon, a time for spiritual and emotional renewal, so it seemed appropriate that I return to writing this column in her honor.
Not only do I plan to write daily-ish about a one-card draw to practice reading and writing (2 birds, one stone), but I’m also about to join an online witchy community that I’m really excited about. Plus, I recently found some local witches to celebrate Sabbats with.
Tonight I’m ready to fully recommit to my spiritual practice — give or take the days my brain is stuck in executive dysfunction or cycles of anxiety. You are welcome to come along in your own personal way.
Now on to the card . . .
Today’s Pick
While I believe witchcraft is inherently political, and I am extremely political, I’m not going to get into it here. That said, in light of all the horrific attacks on the LGBTQIA+ community, I’m going to use the Tarot for You and Me: A Queer Deck and Guidebook by Gary D’Andre (words) and Jess Vosseteig (illustrations) as a shoutout to that beautiful and resilient community.
2 of Chalices
Love, fulfillment, communication, balance. If that isn’t the perfect card for the Pink Full Moon, I don’t know what is!
The 2 of Chalices is all about love. Maybe you started a new romantic relationship. Maybe you’ve been with your partner for a while but recently notice (or will soon notice) that things are going much smoother than before — the relationship seems renewed.
But of course, there are many facets of love and the 2 of Chalices, while indicating a positive relationship, doesn’t necessarily mean romantic love. It could refer to a platonic friendship, a business relationship, or becoming more aware of the love and connection that flows around you.
And there, my witchy friends, we circle back to Pink Full Moon.
Love in the Air (and Sky)
The Pink Full Moon energy is all about letting go of what no longer serves you and starting anew. It’s a time for connection, self-compassion, and personal growth.
With this in mind, we can interpret the love in the 2 of Chalices as self-love and a connection with your true, authentic self. It’s a time to deepen that connection, or if you’re not quite there like so many of us, a time to set intentions and start working toward that goal.
The card is also a wakeup call to be more aware of nature and all the magic that surrounds us every day. Spring is blooming and it’s your time to blossom with it.
Whether you’re doing a ritual, meditating, journaling, or all of the above (this is not by any means an exhaustive list), the Pink Full Moon is the ideal time to recognize the many types of love that surrounds you (especially self-love) and start living your own unique best (and fulfilled) life.
What you may not know is that a large part of my job is pitching books to influencers who may want to review them, which if nothing else, makes me very aware of how the process works.
Enter my ego.
The email . . .
You can imagine my excitement when I opened my email one morning to find someone requesting to have her team review my book. *Jennifer* had me at the subject line: “When cringe turns into courage and why Inked Up deserves more eyes than it has.”
*For the purpose of this article, I’m referring to Jennifer as female since it typically is a female name. That said, I don’t believe gender is binary. And the name is beside the point because I’m pretty sure no real Jennifer was involved and the name was changed to protect the not-so-innocent.*
Jennifer then went on to talk about specific points in my book that really sounded like she had read it. She told me she has a team of reviewers that she’d love to share the book with, and they fully trust her recommendations. Jennifer also assured me she didn’t charge the authors.
My ego sucked it all up.
Now let’s look at the red flags:
The email came to my work email (which I reasoned away as my personal email is too hard to find — even though I now remember I have a website). I did forward it and all communication was through my personal Yahoo account.
The email came from a Gmail account.
At least in my (extensive) experience, people don’t pitch authors to review their books, it’s usually the other way around or the reviewer just reviews it.
Ego in charge . . .
My first inclination was to look up the name of the reviewer, like anyone would do. And wouldn’t you know, there were a couple each of reviewers and authors of that name.
I wanted to know more. So, when she asked what I wanted readers to come away with after reading my book, I didn’t hesitate to answer with a response that was already public.
And then . . .
She wrote back.
The response came quickly. It addressed what I had written about motivation and then pretty much rehashed exactly what the first email said. Jennifer said that if I were interested, she would explain the process to me in a subsequent email.
So again, I asked for more information and this time I mentioned that I couldn’t believe a service like this wouldn’t have some sort of fee.
The next response came quickly in which she said she appreciated and understood my question but assured me that she doesn’t charge authors. There is, however, a cost for a “reader appreciation token.” What that was I could only guess because she certainly wasn’t explaining it to me at that point.
She also requested a PDF of the book.
Of course, I asked for more info again and if I could send the eBook rather than a PDF. Since I self-published through Amazon KPS, I could send the digital version with little effort.
At this point my ego was still running the show. I mean, I could spend like $100 for the 122 reviews she was promising me . . .
Let’s look at the red flags:
Once I thought about it, I realized that everything she said about the book was just a rehash of my author bio.
I’ve worked with AI enough in my professional life to pick up on what is very likely AI writing, and this was definitely that.
Publishers never give out PDFs of books. The published eBook, yes, but an actual PDF doc that can be manipulated, no.
If she didn’t charge the authors, how was there a reader appreciation token?
“You’re drunk, ego, go home” — My brain.
The next email came with prices and a full explanation of how things worked. That’s when my brain totally took over.
I would pay a crew leader who would distribute the appreciation tokens to the readers. So it was “technically true” that Jennifer herself wasn’t charging for the reviews. You know, if any of it was even remotely true.
The appreciation tokens went like this. I could start with as little as 10 readers for a mandatory “appreciation” of $10 per reader and go as high as 100 reviews for the mere “appreciation” of $25 per reader.
They would not be considered paid reviews because the cost was more of a tip (albeit required) and they were going to be authentic with no promise of being positive.
More red flags:
That ridiculously high mandatory appreciation token — not fee — token.
I’ve solicited paid reviews and I’ve never once asked them to be anything but completely authentic and honest.
Not once in any of the emails did she specify any credentials that could be verified.
The same stiff, repetitive language.
The emphasis on the funds not going through her personal account.
The end . . . or is it?
I wanted to write something snarky back and while it would have felt pretty good, it wouldn’t have done any good. I decided not to respond at all.
But within hours, a follow-up arrived. I responded, politely declining in just a few words.
But then . . .
Another one came. This one said she respected my decision, but could I let her know why I was passing so that she could figure out a way to work with me?
I responded with this, which I hoped was not enough info to make the scam better but enough for her to leave me alone (before I had to block them):
These are clearly paid reviews, regardless of if they are guaranteed positive or not, as well as requiring mandatory high-priced “appreciation tokens” is not an industry practice. So, while technically you aren’t charging the author, you are.
Plus, you provided absolutely no credentials that could be verified.
Overall, this seems like a pretty big scam. But it did make my ego feel good for a quick minute.
The next day I received another email saying she understood how I felt and appreciated my honestly. That said, she assured me that this was the perfect time to promote the book and she really could help. She’d love to send me examples of authors her crew had worked with. Because what’s the harm in clicking links or downloading things from an email that’s likely a scam.
And to nobody’s surprise, the email was full of the same, repetitive language.
It’s been a few days . . .
I haven’t heard anything since that last email and I’m not sure I will. I have found similar scams with similar names reported online, which I probably would have found had I searched the right terms in the beginning.
The email did exactly what it was intended to do: it stroked my ego. And while my brain understands that Inked Up will never be a NYT best-seller and this was definitely attempted fraud, my ego still holds out hope.
How do you recognize a Gen-Xer at the gym? We’re all wearing shoes with good arch support (probably Asics); we’re decked out in sweatpants (not joggers) and probably a heavy metal T-shirt; and we all, somewhere on our body, have at least one injury. And also a tribal tattoo.
I’m a Gen-Xer and I’m completely obsessed with the gym. If you know me, you’re probably thinking that my ADHD led to a typo and I really meant “Jim.” But you probably don’t, so let me explain. See, I grew up in a time where the more emaciated and pale you looked, the more sunken and dark-rimmed eyes you had, the sexier you were. Punk rock, y’all!
Now, in my 50s, I make myself go to the gym at least three days a week, but sometimes up to five if I’m feeling like an overachiever. It depends on a lot of things, like if I rather sleep in; or I hurt some part of my body the last time I went; or even sometimes I can’t go because, well, it’s a Tuesday. Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.
Let me show you around.
In one corner, there are all the cardio machines, each one more tortuous than the next. There are bikes and treadmills (on a road to nowhere), ellipticals that are better for your knees (maybe your knees, definitely not mine), and step machines. Long gone are the step machines of the 90s that were nothing more than two little pedals you literally stepped up and down on while white-knuckled gripping some questionably stable handles. Today’s steppers are much more sturdy but are also actual moving staircases created for people with legs much longer than mine and a death-wish.
In the other corner are the assisted weight machines. You’ll find me among my middle-aged peeps on them because they leave less chance of doing something wrong and hurting yourself.
Then of course there are all the dumbbells, barbells, and plates. That’s where you’ll find a lot of sweaty grunting people who carry around a jug of water and refuse to wipe down the seats and handles when they’re done. To be fair, sometimes you’ll see those same people in the assisted weight area grunting just as loud, even though they’re hardly lifting anything at all. Call me judgy, but come on, really?
Why are there kids here? And how are they so fit?
I find myself staring, probably really obviously, at these young people although I hope I look like I’m staring into space. By now, though, you should recognize that subtly is not really my thing. They are just so freaking cute–especially the little couples! I barely went on any dates when I was in high school, and if I did, it sure as hell wouldn’t have been to a gym.
These kids, however adorable, are not great for my ego. Here I’ll be feeling proud of myself for squatting 40 lbs on a weight-assisted machine and see these waif-like girls squatting 60 with a regular barbell. This is when I tell myself that they’re probably high school or college athletes, or that I’m 35+ years older than them so that’s to be expected, or that because I don’t have a spotting buddy like they do that I’m not pushing myself so of course I’m lifting less. I’m really good at rationalizing things. Some people call it delusion, I call it creativity.
Did the gym even exist when I was their age? I know we had a gym in school, but that was just a period for making up excuses about why I couldn’t play floor hockey or do the President’s fitness test (which you may of you may not be old enough to remember, but know when I tell you that it was brutal and absolutely did not go down on your permanent record). In fact, there actually is no permanent record, no matter what the Violent Femmes say.
Mmm pizza . . .
In today’s world, with everything else the internet has given us, we also have access to terrible body expectations and a million different diet plans, some of the more popular ones being Keto, Weight Watchers, micros and macros, Mediterranean, fasting, and Atkins (although the Atkins creator of is dead so maybe don’t follow that one). Every day it seems like there’s new dietary advice. Of course they all pretty much contradict each other, which is just another reason you can’t believe everything you read on the internet.
When I was younger, it was always Dexatrim and a case of the shakes. Maybe don’t try that diet either.
In fact, forget dieting all together. Diet culture is damaging on so many levels. Take care of yourself and be strong, but don’t obsess over it. Go ahead and splurge on that sundae or bag of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups. Not all the time of course. And with the case of the peanut butter cups, maybe not in one sitting. Don’t ask me how I know.
Oh hi, menopause.
And to add insult to injury, there’s “the change.” With it comes body aches, decreased mobility, that belly pouch, and an almost non-existent metabolism. Don’t even get me started on hot flashes.
The experience of this life stage was very difficult to explain to my 54-year old male trainer named Biff (not really) who mistook my desire to be stronger as a desire to be a “hot body” (his words not mine). I wanted to be able to walk up my stairs without having to sit down at the top, and he wanted me to bench press 200 and have muscles so defined you could see my veins.
After the two months I committed to were over, I dropped him. It wasn’t much of a loss because out of our hour-long session, he would spend about thirty-five minutes telling me how great he was at his job, how he always stuck to his diet, and how his wife liked it when he took off his shirt, illustrating his point by raising it to show off his stomach. Now, I like a male (or female) six pack as much as the next gal, but gross.
You know, though, I almost stayed with him because I felt bad about “breaking up” with him. This clearly tells you a lot about my past relationships.
Despite him telling me I needed him, I kept it up one my own.
When none of my various body parts are broken or sprained or just not functioning properly (see “This Little Piggy Went to the ER”), I go to the gym. Early, like before work early. I know, that sounds crazy to me too. But I know myself and that means I know at the end of the day, I’m useless. Maybe it’s the ADHD, maybe it’s straight anxiety, maybe it’s sleep apnea, but after 4 pm, I’m done.
This is one of the reasons I didn’t stay with roller derby the five times I tried and actually made the league. Practicing at 7:30pm? Aren’t we all in bed by then? Not to mention being thrown across the rink by girls half my age who made it a career to cross train really sucks. Don’t get me wrong, they were excellent athletes, it’s just that I wasn’t. I’m still not. I’m a Gen-Xer and I put the “i” in team.
But you know what? That’s okay.
Why am I telling you all this?
As a woman of a certain age, I want you to impart on you what little wisdom I’ve gleaned over the years. If you enjoy something, you should do it. And you should do it your way. It doesn’t matter if you’re good at it and good goddess don’t compare yourself to other people. I know that last part is really hard. That said, don’t do anything dangerous and try not to end up in the ER.
I’m giving you permission to do what you love–even though you don’t need permission from me or anyone else.
I mean, I can write. I have two degrees in creative writing and have written professionally for decades.
But when it comes to writing on my own, I have a horrible time with writer’s block. This is a relatively new thing in the past few years, and I think life and all its responsibilities take a toll on creativity.
But when I decide I’m tired of my own excuses (maybe they aren’t all excuses, but more of my feeling bad about writing), I look for resources that can help. Let me tell you about some of them.
There’s a class for that
I love school. I love classes and ever since graduation, I’ve taken a variety of them. Having deadlines and accountability helps me tremendously. So, if they help you and you have a little extra time and money, here are a few I suggest.
Writing Workshops: Most of the classes are online but they also offer international writing retreats and even an IndieMFA program — all from professional writers.
Gotham Writers Workshop: Gotham offers in-person, Zoom, and independent programs taught by accomplished faculty.
On the page
Writing books are great if you want flexibility and have more self-discipline than I do. They come in different formats from inspirational to workbook. Some of my favorites include:
What are your go-to resources when you need some writing inspiration? Let me know in the comments! I’m always looking for suggestions, please help a fellow writer out!
I had really been needing a break so initially when I was laid off, I wasn’t mad. It’s funny because whenever one of my amazingly talented friends gets laid off, I tell them to enjoy it because it won’t last long. In creative fields, well nowadays in any field, layoffs are frighteningly common, so we’ve all come to expect, albeit dread, it. And at first, I was taking my own advice, my positive perspective no doubt coming from a generous severance package and leftover PTO–and of course, three weeks’ notice of termination date.
It’s only temporary . . . probably.
Now this is not the first time I’ve been laid off, it’s the fifth. Even I was taken aback a bit when I realized how much it’s happened. But in my defense, three of the companies actually shut down. There is definitely fault to be attributed in those closures, but in these cases, it wasn’t mine. But we don’t need to visit that.
Well, there was the teaching fiasco
That’s another story altogether. Shout out to all my principals who fully supported me. If you’re doing the math, that’s three out of four of them. (I had to recheck my spelling of “principal” and to do so, I thought of the mnemonic device: “the principal is your pal.”) Principal number four was NOT my pal, and yes, I am still very very bitter about it.
Are you though, number 4, are you?
Post-exit strategy
This time around, I had big plans to work on my own writing and job search and do all the things I didn’t have the time or energy to do while I was working. I was going to create a structured day, because without structure, I’m pretty much useless. The plan included the gym, my own writing, looking for a job, getting marketing certifications, and the much-needed cleaning of the house.
I even thought about writing a column called, “Diary of the laid off,” which would, of course, have a much better title. (Note: despite the title of this blog, that column idea was fleeting.)
A rose by any other name . . .
The day before my last day, the gravity of the layoff hit me. When I told my therapist about it, he repeatedly referred to the situation as “being fired.” Even though it’s probably just semantics, I’m going to stick with “laid off” for all intents and purposes (as well as ego). I find termination to be a very harsh word as well, but I suppose there’s really no warm and fuzzy way to say your job is ending.
All of this made getting out of bed even harder than usual. But it also didn’t help that mornings are really cold now, the cats curl up next to me every morning, and I really didn’t have to stick to any schedule since without real obligations, I failed to set one up for myself.
What about the rest of my plans, you ask.
Three and a half weeks after my “termination date,” I’m writing the first thing other than resumes and cover letters. Now is probably a great time to shoutout my friend who gifted me time at a coworking space, which led to me meeting a woman who holds a writing group DURING THE DAY (you all know how I feel about going out at night). And today before I left for said coworking space and writing group, I cleaned the downstairs bathroom. I’m going to call all of this progress. I’ve also gotten two more marketing certifications and watched all the newest documentaries on cults. Have you seen the ones about Mother God? Fascinating.
I’m also spending probably way too much time at the gym, and if I had any self-control over my diet, I would be so muscular and sculpted right now. But you know, pasta and bread and tacos and New Haven takeout . . . you get it. Why give up one of the few pleasures in life?
Mmmm . . . funnel cake.
I am getting much stronger though, between injuries, which is really the point of it all. But it’s also an awesome “f*ck you” to the trainer who told me I’d never be able to keep a workout routine on my own. I even went to the gym with a boot on when I broke my toe (also at the gym, see “This Little Piggie Went to the ER), and damn right I made sure he saw me there with it on.
Overall, the first two weeks were a mixed bag. Honestly, if it weren’t for the financial aspect, most of the time, I would have been enjoying the break. But being a responsible adult, saddled with grad school debt and all the other bills that adults have to pay to live, I couldn’t fully enjoy my unexpected free time.
Well, that was unexpected
I don’t know if you believe in synchronicity, but you probably should. Unless you don’t want to–really the choice is completely up to you. We have enough of the government telling us what we can and cannot do with our bodies and our sexuality, I would never tell you what to do and think. (Note: If you are a racist, homophobe, TERF, or xenophobe, I will certainly tell you what I think about what you do and think.)
Anyhow, the night before my last day at my abovementioned job, I applied to one that seemed like the perfect match. Ironically, it was my boss from the job I was leaving who shared the posting on LinkedIn. He had been let go a few months ago so if I said I wasn’t expecting my time to come, I’d be lying.
The very next morning, which coincided with my last day on the job, the HR department from the place I applied reached out to see if I could interview with them. I could. The following Thursday I drove up to the office and met with two people who I really enjoyed speaking with. The following Tuesday, HR reached back out to see if I could meet with one more person that Thursday. Of course, I could. Aside from the fact that mid-thought while answering a question, I totally forgot what I was talking about, I felt like it went pretty well. About an hour later, I got the job offer.
Right now, I am literally between jobs as I don’t start my new one for another month. I think this (paid) break is really good for me and I’m enjoying it. By the time it’s over, my house will even be a little cleaner.
That said, I’m incredibly excited for the next, and hopefully final, chapter of my career.
Sometimes the universe gives you the rather aggressive push you need to make a change.
Thanks, universe. And thank all of you who have helped me through this and beyond.
Hi, I'm Gia. 