As cliché as it sounds if I had a quarter (inflation) for every time I’ve been asked “Have you been published?” this website wouldn’t exist.  You would find me in a tropical locale, attempting to fulfill my fantasy of being the female Ernest Hemingway writer of the century:  warm sand pulsating through my toes, a gentle breath of wind carrying fragrant nautical scents with a faint taste of salt on my tongue.  No Wi-Fi, everything is hand written.  Margaritas for everyone!
Ernie would understand.
Yes, I’ve been published – thanks to a dog.  How is this related to a commercial writing website? It’s storytelling – authentic, emotionally engaging, and memorable.  Give me a product, concept, service or topic and I’ll work some magic for you.  In the meantime, enjoy a not-very-business-related-but-fun-read-nonetheless dog tale.
In memoriam:  RIP Katie Marie – July 4, 1998 – December 13, 2012.
Ode to Katie Dog
Before you came into my life with your four large paws, floppy ears, wet kisses, table-clearing tail and glossy penguin-like coat, I considered myself a confirmed cat person.   Cat people, as we are known by the masses, enjoy the feline faculties such as an inherently independent nature, the ability to defecate in a small box deftly concealing the evidence, and their undemanding requests for daily exercise.  Cats, you see, are the chosen pet of choice for those of us unwilling or unable to make long term emotional commitments.  You don’t need to rush home to let a cat out to pee.  Daily walks are unheard of and they rarely, if ever, generate a call from a neighbor complaining that their constant meowing is keeping them up at night.  “Shut that cat up!” is something I never heard, not once, in my thirty plus years as a self-described cat person.
Cats are simple, you are not.  The day you arrived I held serious reservations concerning the future of our arrangement together.  Your original father, my son, couldn’t keep you because you wanted to herd the new baby and he was afraid you might accidently hurt her.  Given your breed’s nature this was not a complete surprise, after all you should be on a ranch herding sheep in the Scottish Highlands not sequestered in a two bedroom duplex with wall to wall carpeting.  What was a surprise was that he asked me, the woman who harbors a secret Cat Woman fantasy, to adopt you!  I don’t do dogs, I do cats.  You know tuna, balls of yarn, scratch posts and self-cleaning litter boxes.
Fortunately for you my life partner is a dog person and he suggested we take you for a short foster ‘trial’ week to see how you adapted to our home before we took full-fledged ownership.  I know he really meant “let’s see how the crazy cat lady adapts” but the burden of proof really falls on your furry shoulders Missy, so don’t act too needy or off to the farm you go.
Day one, you lick a lot and this is annoying.  Mc-Partner thinks you are sweet and tells me they are kisses not licks as if I just landed on earth and it is his job to educate me on all things living.  You are pretty smart, I’ll give you that.  One of your Border Collie relatives made the cover of National Geographic and was referred to as one of the smartest breeds on the planet.  I liked that.  Better to have a smart dog than a stupid one.    I was impressed with your ability to go to the door and make a low howling sound indicating you really needed to visit the giant outdoor litter box and you never once mistook any part of the house for the lawn.  You will never fully understand how much this is appreciated.
After a week of walks I can’t say I’ll ever be happy about having to pick up your hot poop with my bare hands – well two double-wrapped Albertson plastic bags serves as a buffer – but still, it’s disgusting.  Would you like to pick up my poop?  Just so we have an understanding:  Feces are not fun.  Mc-Partner agreed at the start he would “face the feces” in the backyard which suited me just fine.
What I can say that I am happy about is our walks in that not only do I find people more willing to engage with me whilst you are in my company but after our first walking week I shed about four pounds.  This was a surprising discovery and I’m thinking this arrangement might work out as you are the ideal work- out partner: encouraging but not demeaning, slows down or speeds up to meet my pace, could care less what I’m wearing and besides the pooping (dropping your own and smelling others), you love to listen to everything I have to say.
You arrived just four months after my human mother died.  She and I didn’t have the best relationship and I spent most of my life trying to win her love and approval.  Upon her death I realized I had run out of time and was forced to cope with the hand I was dealt.  Toward the end of your trial week while Mc-Partner was at work and I was parked on my office futon attempting to read, I was suddenly assaulted with a mishmash of feelings about my mother – some good, some bad – as they spewed out from their tightly sealed bottle concealed deep within my emotional pantry.  In the background I vaguely recall hearing your frantic paw peddling as you dashed from under your chair-cave in the kitchen, nails scratching and scraping across the linoleum as if you were herding a lone lamb away from a hungry wolf, eliciting a soft whimpering noise as you barreled into the room diving onto the futon.
You used your nose to skillfully pry apart my hands which were sealed tightly over my eyes as if to try and stop the tears from falling.  You whimpered and forced your way through my hand fortress licking my tears and nuzzling my face as if to say “let me stop the pain, it’s ok, it’s OK!”  I pushed you down, yet you persisted until finally, I relented.  You patiently sat by my side while my body’s convulsions slowly dissipated and my mind returned to the here and now.
Now I never had a cat do that.  If I attempted to seek feline consolation I was most often met with aloofness or complete rejection.  I liked this new feeling – of being loved, comforted and not judged.  Even the licks, I mean kisses, were nice.  Was my self-described cat person identity really a projection of the rejection I experienced in my childhood?   Could a dog prove to be a more suitable ally than my therapist?  Certainly she costs less overall.  I don’t have to make an appointment to see her and my therapist would never dare cross the professional boundary and give me a hug, let alone lick away my tears.  Hmmm, this might just work.
So Katie, I owe you a lot.  You have taught me that unconditional love does exist.  It’s OK to have poop issues.  I need to walk daily with you, it calms us both down.  You keep me from hanging out too much inside of my head.  You ask for very little but give so much.  I’m ode to you girl, for bringing me back to life.
Now let’s go chase off that Siamese cat that keeps pooping in our garden.  Please try and refrain from wanting to eat her poop as I see a peanut butter snack in your near future.




Nonprofit Storytelling


Ok, I’ll admit it.  As I writer, I confess to not wholeheartedly embracing the age old adage “a picture is worth a thousand words”.    Everyone sees the world through their own pair of rose tinted glasses colored by their own personal experiences and sprinkled with a large dose of social conditioning.   Perception.  We all possess it.  Question is:  should we trust it?

Merriam-Webster defines Perception:
: the way you think about or understand someone or something


One of the most effective ways to influence or change other people’s perception is by telling them a story.  I could babble on and on and give  different scenarios to drive the point home further but I would rather just tell you a story.

Several years ago I worked with a nonprofit company whose mission was to help drug addicts overcome their addiction and put them on the road to recovery.  My mission was to help them increase their donor base and other revenue streams (grants/fundraising).  Although I didn’t admit it at the time I walked into their world with my own perceptions of “what” a drug addict must look like rather than “who” is affected by drug addiction.

Not only did I need to re-evaluate my own negative stereotypical thinking I had to overcome the perceptions of the community at large.  The community we were asking to help us help these people.  When asked the question “what do you think a drug addict looks like” most people conjure up an image of a homeless man or woman in tattered clothing, dirty, and sleeping under a bridge.  In reality the majority of people addicted to narcotics are gainfully employed as nurses, lawyers, accountants, and even politicians.

These are people that typically came from stable homes where they were nurtured and encouraged to do their best and often afforded the luxury of a college education to boot.  This is not to say that someone from a poverty stricken chaotic childhood where drug abuse and domestic violence was their normal can’t succeed in life.  But the chips are stacked against them.  We are not all dealt the same hand in life.

The silver lining here is that stereotypes can be broken and that people with drug addiction do recover and succeed due in large part to the tremendous efforts of compassionate souls and committed social service agencies who give them a hand up.

So how do we eradicate negative social perceptions, instill compassion, educate, and subsequently gain support of the community? We tell “their” stories, not our own.  Not “Our agency provides substance abuse help for homeless individuals” but “Joe came to us last year homeless and fighting alcohol and heroin abuse.  Joe’s early life was…….., and after completing our program Joe is no longer living on the street.  Joe is now pursuing…..”    You have now given Joe a voice.  Much like a fictional character in a novel the author gives you the “backstory” of the character which helps you identify, understand, and feel emotionally connected to that character.  You want to read on and see how he or she fares.  It’s the same in real life.

It was while working at this agency that dealt with one of the most unpopular social issues that I urged the Executive Director to let me interview some clients, tell their story, plop it in the newsletter and on the website and let’s see what happens.  What happened was an influx of new donors with local community members eager to participate in fundraising sponsorship.  It also didn’t hurt to slip a story or two in with a foundation grant application (when appropriate).

Portrait of Success (below) is the first client story they published.  One lady was so moved that she included a note with her donation that basically read “I never gave a second thought as to why or how anyone would ever try drugs.  Why can’t they stop?  I feel ashamed by this thinking especially since I have been unable, or unwilling, to give up my daily chocolate bar even though I have diabetes.  Maybe I can now.  Blessings, M.”

This is storytelling at its finest.

Portrait of Success

Meet Sarah.  Sarah’s childhood was fraught with trauma and confusion, raised by a mother with a long-time methamphetamine and heroin addiction problem and an alcoholic, absentee father.  Fate seemed to have dealt Sarah quite an unfavorable hand.

By the time Sarah was a “legal” adult at the age of 18, she was using methamphetamines on a regular basis.  Her teen years were shrouded in drugs; smoking marijuana, cigarettes and consuming alcohol.  She eventually dropped out of school in her freshman year.  Without any positive role models or support she moved in with a boyfriend and became pregnant with her first child.  Sarah considered her mother her best friend and they frequently went on long “drug runs” together – consuming methamphetamines and staying awake for days at a time.

At the bequest of the Department of Health Services (DHS) Sarah entered ______ women’s residential treatment center at the age of 21, pregnant and caring for a 19-month old son.

Sarah was adamant about not wanting treatment and expressed herself by having frequent temper tantrums and bouts of crying and yelling.  Sarah did not possess any sense of what a normal healthy relationship entailed and was devoid of any practical parenting skills.  She summoned her young son by yelling commands at him.

Despite her incessant pleas to leave treatment she eventually started to build trust with her counselor and other staff members.  Slowly, Sarah gained insights into her relationships and developed an appropriate nurturing relationship with her son and gave birth to a healthy little girl while in treatment.  Through treatment Sarah began to learn parenting skills, relapse prevention techniques and other “life skills” that she was never taught, let alone exposed to.

Sarah’s progress steadily climbed completing her GED and successful graduation from _____’ residential treatment program.  Sarah secured housing with a drug and alcohol free family member.  Her counselor helped her find a job in a large retail operation and Sarah experienced her first understanding of independence and confidence that comes with realizing your full potential.

Today Sarah continues to attend outpatient treatment services as a result of her own desire to continue improving upon her life and gather more tools that will contribute towards a healthy and bright future.  One that she, and every child born into misfortune, should not be denied.

Help break the cycle of generational alcohol and drug problems.
Treatment Works – People Recover.



Somebody recently asked me:

Why do you consider Clio, the Muse of History, your alter ego? It’s a combination of childhood aspirations, past life experience (observation/insight, research/ documentation), diverse cultural roots (Native American Storytelling genes, among others) fueled by an ardent conviction in the power of words to transform ideas, instill new thinking and create positive change in the world.

In my GOOGLE quest for all things Muse-like, Clio became emotionally despondent at the lack of concise accounts of she and her sister’s Mythological Mission Mandates [Homer’s endorsements were kind] encouraging this introductory Blog entry.  No doubt it’s a safe bet to assume some of the key players in Ancient Greece might have lost, destroyed and/or misplaced key historical documents due to all the chaos and distractions caused by the myriad of odd mythical creatures they had to contend with:  Precisely why I’ve taken the liberty of piecing together the various tidbits of internet speculations creating my own chronicle of The Nine Muses in Greek Mythology, with a specific emphasis on Clio’s creative contributions.

Muse \ˈmyüz\n.

1. Greek Mythology Any of the nine daughters of Mnemosyne and Zeus, each of whom presided over a different art or science.

2. muse

a. A guiding spirit.

b. A source of inspiration.

3. muse A poet.

According to Greek Mythology the god Zeus [zju:s] bewildered a young woman named Mnemosyne [nĭ-mŏs'ə-nē], the goddess of memory, consorting with her for nine consecutive nights.  The consequence of their ancient Greek dalliance resulted in the birth of nine daughters, aka The Nine Muses, subsequently establishing the first ancient Greek equivalent of the modern day women’s health clinic (3300-1000 B.C.).

Mnemosyne, the memory keeper, fearful of her daughters repeating her ancient err in judgment, piles them all on Pegasus without a seatbelt transporting them to scary Mount Parnassus for a proper liberal-infused mythical education so that each Muse might have an equal opportunity to pursue a deity-based career path in their chosen field of interest.  Under Apollo’s tutelage the girls excel in their studies, eventually mastering a myriad of academic/artistic disciplines:

Calliope [kə-LYE-ə-pee], muse of epic poetry, Clio [klē'ō], the muse of history, Erato [ĕr'ə-tō'], the muse of love poetry, Euterpe [yū-tûr'pē], the muse of music, Melpomene [mĕl-pŏm'ə-nē'], the muse of tragedy, Polyhymnia [pŏl'ē-hĭm'nē-ə], the muse of sacred poetry, Terpsichore [tûrp-sĭk'ə-rē], the muse of dance, Thalia [thā'lē-ə], the muse of comedy, and last but certainly not least, Urania [yʊ-rā'nē-ə], the muse of astronomy [think Stephen Hawking came up with all that stuff on his own].

Like many girls with an absentee father the girls futilely cling to their roots looking for gods in all the wrong places.  Embarking on frequent jaunts to Athens they could be spotted sipping ouzo, smashing plates and dancing too close with those good-for-nothing, chariot-riding Romans.  Not Clio.

Through observation and documentation of all historical mischief including her own absurdly dysfunctional Greek tragedy, she rebels fleeing on the next available western-hemisphere bound Phoenix as a stowaway eventually relocating permanently in the vacant attic space above Alexis Restaurant on W. Burnside, in Portland, Oregon.  Even muses need to wet their whistle, and who doesn’t work better after sampling Spanakopita?  Oopah! Keep in mind it was I, Clio, who coined the phrase “eat, drink and be merry” not my tofu-slinging sister the Merry Vegan Menace, Erato.

Please don’t judge me because I am different:  I grow my own hemp for my parchment paper, recycle my scrolls at the Goodwill, rescued a neurotic Border Collie from hard farm labor, fly in lieu of driving (weather permitting), and only entice my clients with fresh, local, organic goods.

While all of the original Nine Muses continue to provide non-biased, independently derived imagination and inspiration needed for creation to artists, philosophers, scientists or any other group or individual in need of fresh, results-oriented prose, there is only one sustainable choice:  The Story Muse.