For my regular blog followers, Operation:  "We've Moved to the Other Side of the Mason Dixon Line" is now almost complete.  The troops and I are doing the Hot-Cold waltz.  The Hot-Cold waltz goes something like this:  when outdoors, you sweat and suffer in the sweltering heat and then once indoors, you get a chill and shiver as each building blasts air in the mid-60's.  If you wear long pants you're comfortable while inside, but miserable while outdoors.  Our solution thus far is to bring a light jacket to battle the indoor chill.  The average temperatures have been in the low nineties, and the locals tell us that we're lucky to be experiencing this "cool" spell because the daily temperatures combined with heat index had been over one hundred for several weeks.     

We're camping out in a corporate townhome that creates a 30 minute commute to get the children to school.  This proves especially challenging for a school bell that rings at seven am for the eldest in the Ellis trio.  So far, she's been saved by the bell twice, and allowed grace by her understanding homeroom teacher.    

The journey has been filled with adventure and challenges including daily trips to Office Depot and Target to purchase the additional school supplies that were not listed on the school's school supply list website.  We've already had to involve a friendly maintenance engineer to engage bolt cutters to cutoff a lock when a locker combination mysteriously disappeared. This led to tension tears and another trip to Target.  This morning, another child realized that the mini shorts that were allowable in the former school district are not allowed in the new school district.  More tension and tears as we scrambled to find appropriate attire.  This will create another trip to the store after school.  And today, I arrived at our newly joined fitness facility, excited to break my first major sweat in our newly adopted hometown before I participate in a yoga session.  I sashayed in and realized that my sneakers were still tucked away at the corporate housing digs, snoozing in the closet.  So, I'm writing my blog from the gym's lovely cafe where they serve you six dollar smoothies.  

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As a writer, I study people all of the time, especially teen/tween girls and their mothers.  I try to study their speech patterns, mannerisms, quirks, dress codes and eating habits; all while appearing to not really be paying much attention to them at all.  It's an exhausting process.  Sometimes I feel like an undercover spy as I busy myself casually observing the female species around me.  I do this so that I can obtain information for my novels.  When I'm developing a character, I will often pause and think about an observation to see how I can incorporate real life drama into my fiction.  I'm a people watcher by nature and enjoy sitting at my favorite writing coffee shop and watching the other customers.  With my laptop serving as my distracting disguise, it's amazing the types of things one overhears all because people believe that you are not really paying attention to them.  Sometimes to create inspiration, I will create stories about a stranger's background and family.  Of course, they don't really know that I'm observing them so before I can put pen to paper, or finger to keypad, I put a spin on my observations so that my subject doesn't easily identify herself in my work.  Sometimes, I incorporate several dramatic spins in order to protect the anonymity of my unknowing muse.

 One of the things that intrigues me about teen girls is the infamous teen clique.  As soon as you say the word clique, most women still bristle.  A "clique" is what you called the girls who were not in your circle of friends.  It's what other girls were in, the girls who thought that they were the "er" girls:  prettier, smarter, richer...the better girls.  Those were the girls who were in cliques.  But your circle of friends wasn't a "clique."  Your circle of friends was just that, your circle of friends.  But to girls who were not in your circle of friends, your circle of friends was a clique.

When I created the characters for the Black Diamond Series, I didn't set out to promulgate the notion of a clique.  Tanisha, Lori, Maria, Rashanda, Justine and Grace are just a group of friends, with differences, quirks and imperfections like all girls.  But as I study the behaviors of girls and women in preparation for our move to the other side of the Mason Dixon line, I find myself considering the notion of cliques as I consider what types of girls my girls will meet at their new schools.  Will there be pre-established cliques or circles that will be unwelcoming to our teen and tween daughters?  As scholar athletes, will they be welcomed warmly or with hesitation due to their "funny midwestern" drawl?  If they are assigned a buddy to help them navigate, will they be drawn to that person's "clique" by default?  If they don't "click" with their buddy, how will they meet other friends?  

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JC is in a matrix of change.  My hair has changed, my schedule has changed, and my life is changing.  Change is good, but I prefer paper personally.  My stylist has cut out the last strands of my blonde highlights and the chemical relaxer (that I affectionately dubbed creamy crack) from my hair.  My hair is officially all natural now.  It's great most days until Mother Nature decides to transform my flat ironed straightened locks by spraying moisture or humidity into my personal space.  And poof my hair changes as fast as a traffic light changes from yellow to red while you're in the middle of the intersection wondering how that little camera caught your exact expression and mailed it to your address with a violation attached.  Change is good.

My writing time has been back burnered by two XX chromosomes and one XY chromosome who assault my personal space each summer like ants at a picnic.  Their little schedules and needs superimposing themselves into my carefully scheduled day.  Since texting while driving is ill advised, driving while typing on a laptop would probably land me a life sentence in a correctional institute called "Stupid" or a spa named "Rest in Peace."

But the biggest reason I haven't blogged in almost sixty days is that my zip code is changing.  My husband landed a great new opportunity, and poof, we're moving to the other side of the Mason-Dixon line.  If you've ever moved out of state, you know what my life now looks like and you're probably wondering how I have the time to blog right now.  If you've never moved anywhere, let alone out of state, you may not fully appreciate the barrage of emails, texts and phone calls that have consumed every small crevice of my time. If you need a visual, take a box of salt, pout it into a bowl and that's our life.  Every aspect of our life is now changing.  But change is good.  Having already done the inter-state move thing once before, I know this to be fact.  But it usually takes your head about ninety days to realize the good in the change.

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I attended a church sermon recently where the pastor reminded us that "nothing puts life into focus like death."  Adults are expected to know how to deal with death and its twin siblings "mourning" and "grief."  But unless you've experienced the loss of a loved one, you don't know how to handle it when it happens to you.  There's no script.  Especially if you experience death as a teenager.

A few years ago, I attended a funeral where a teenage girl (who happened to be an only child) had lost her mother just one week shy of her high school graduation.  At her mother's funeral, when she approached the podium to make remarks, we all expected the eighteen year old to be tearful and weeping, but instead she giggled her way through a poem that she'd written and ended her comments with this remark, "And Momma, Joey told me to tell you that you still owe him forty dollars!"  she laughed before walking back to her seat.  I was stunned by her behavior, as were most of the other guests at the funeral.  The daughter and mother were extremely close so most of us expected a coffin gripping spectacle where the girl tried to climb into the casket and revive her lifeless mother.  Her behavior was anything but, so naturally we concluded that she must have been in shock.   Maybe she was in shock.  Maybe she broke down later.  Or maybe not.  Maybe that was her way of dealing with her loss.  

In the third book in my series, Chemistry, Chaos & God's Grace, the girls have to deal with the death of a friend.  It was a difficult chapter to pen because when I wrote it, I hadn't yet experienced the loss of a friend.  As I stared at my computer trying to breathe exciting twists and turns into each character's journey, I decided that death is a fact of life that even teenagers must sometimes face.  Yet there's no script.  There's no guidebook to help you navigate the loss or rule book that explains how you should behave.  It was a very emotional chapter for me to write.  A few of my test readers were not pleased that I'd "killed off" one of the characters, but in fiction and in real life, sometimes friendships die.  And once they've died, what happens next?  What happens to the people that have survived the loss?  I think the "what happens next" portion makes for very interesting fiction that threads its way into the other characters' lives in a meaningful and realistic way.   Sadly, shortly after writing that chapter I experienced the sudden loss of a dear friend and a close relative within eight months of each other.  Blammo!  My life was placed into focus by death. 

 

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I recently did a segment on The Morning Blend entitled:  "Always a Bridesmaid Never a Bride?  Maybe the Reason is You!  Things Your Friends May Not Know How to Tell You!"  As a young adult fiction writer for tweens/teens, I'd like to share some tips that will help you in about 10 years or so.  It's stuff that your mother should be teaching you, but in case she's not sharing these tidbits, I'll save you years of therapy bills later in life.  Imagine this scenario, it's June, 2020, and you're ten years wiser.  It's also wedding season again, you want the ring, and your ring finger is still naked.   Consider this? 

 

 JC’s Bakers’ Dozen:  Life Rules Girls Should Learn in Their Teens

1. “Mint Anyone?” – Could it be your breath?  Perhaps you have halitosis or post nasal drip.  Your breath may not be as fresh as you think it is, and no one knows how to tell you!  Do you get your teeth cleaned every 6 months?  Are you flossing regularly?  You might need to visit a periodontist and have your gums scraped.  If someone offers you a mint, take it!  It could be a hint!  And keep mints or gum on you at all times.  Fresh breath is next to godliness!

 

1. “Smell Test” - When was the last time you gave yourself a fragrance makeover?  Are you still wearing Charlie cologne from high school?  As you age, the pheromones in your body change and mature.  Take your significant other with you and have him help you pick out a new scent with you. 

 

1. “Pie Crust” – I know someone who doesn’t take care of her feet.  There’s enough crust on her heels to bake a pie.  It’s gross!!!  She could lose at least two pounds by getting a pedicure!  Keep those toesies prettied up, ladies. 

 

1. “Cover Girl or Maybelline?” – Are you taking the time to freshen up when your guy comes over?  Do you put on your face and do your hair or are you in a rut?  Is your moustache thicker than his?  Is your look dated?  Maybe you need a new haircut and a new look. 

 

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On May 10, 2010, entertainer and civil rights activist, Lena Horne died at the grand age of 92.  Even at 92, she remained one of the most beautiful women in the world.  Her chiseled cheekbones and jawline still prominent and her eyes still alive and vibrant after 92 years of living.  If you were born in the 90's or post Y2K, you might not have a full appreciation of why the world is mourning the loss of this great talent.  Visit wikipedia and read about her.  You will read that she was an amazing woman whose talent, beauty and grace made her an international superstar in a time when bigotry, prejudice and segregation were the law of the land in these United States.  When Halle Berry became the first African American to win an Oscar, she gave a tearful shout out to Lena Horne for paving the way.  I always tease that I'm Halle Berry's age, which is about the only thing we have in common.  But I can share that the phenomenal Lena Horne was also a member of Delta Sigma Theta Sorority, Inc. like me, so I share that in common with this remarkable woman!

In one of the many satellite radio tributes that I listened to when I learned of Lena Horne's death, I learned that Lena Horne always felt guilty about her success.  She knew that she was a talented singer and actress, but she said that she felt guilty that she was "able to be successful in the entertainment industry because whites found her "look" acceptable and they were comfortable with her."  I inferred that she probably felt guilty that there were other people of color who were her equal or superior in talent, but who didn't catch the break that she did, because their look was not as acceptable to whites. 

Lena Horne was a very fair skinned African American woman with long, wavy black hair.   Some might say that she would have been able to "pass" back in the day.  I don't see it, even in old photographs, she looks like a black woman to me.  Maybe because I have women in my family who were as fair or fairer than Lena Horne, so I know that we come in all different shades.  To "pass" means that a black person is passing for white.  It was a very common phenomenon during the Jim Crow times.  Fair skinned African Americans would often pretend to be white so that they could receive preferential treatment typically reserved for whites.  I know someone now who's passing, a parent on my child's sporting team, but that's a blog for another time.  In the 40's, Lena Horne was invited to perform at some of the most fabulous venues of her time, and had to enter through the back door because blacks were not allowed to enter through the front door.  Not even the entertainers.  They couldn't eat in the restaurant or stay in the hotel either.  They could perform there, but had to eat in the kitchen and stay at a place that allowed blacks or sleep in their tour bus.  It was a sad, despicable time in our nation's history. 

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As many of you know, I write using a pen name.  My ego wanted me to publish using my full name, including my middle name, but my humbler side coaxed me to publish using a pen name that had special meaning to me.   I'm a Christian, and I decided to use JC so that I am reminded to always place Jesus Christ at the center of my life.  My actual initials are JC, and many of my closest friends have always called me JC as a nickname, if I heard them use my proper name, I wouldn't know how to respond.  I use JC Ellis when I do television appearances, because JC Ellis rolls off the tongue easier than JC Conrad-Ellis.  Legally, my last name is hyphenated.  I've been married for a looooong time now, and I still use Conrad-Ellis as my last name.  The Ellis family that I married into is wonderful, but I am proud of my Conrad ancestry and proud to have been born into a family of accomplished Conrad men and women.  I'm glad that I chose to hold on to my "maiden" name when I married.  My name.  My choice. 

In addition to Jesus Christ, a lot of famous people share the initials JC.  I googled "famous people with JC as their initials" and learned that someone has a blog devoted to writing about people with the initials JC.  Apparently there are over 500 "famous" people with my initials.  Curious, I peeked at the blog and saw many names that I recognized (John Cusack, Jack Cafferty, Jimmy Carter) but there were many that were missing (Joan Cusack (John's funny and talented sister) Julia Child, Julius Caesar & Jesus Christ.)  I wondered why the blogger omitted these names.  Personal blog.  Personal choice.  That got me thinking, what's in a name?

Jill, Stephanie or Lisa.  Those were the names that I wanted when I was in grade school.  My parents blessed me with a perfectly lovely first name which I love (and it's now making a comeback I might add), but I wanted to be named Jill, Stephanie or Lisa.  Stephanie and Lisa were the names of girls that I thought were popular and pretty.  Jill was Farrah Fawcett's character on Charlie's Angels.  I thought that if I had a name like that I would be popular and pretty too.  As a child, I was banana yellow with a big forehead, stringy hair and a field goal size gap between my two front teeth.  It wasn't a good look.  I would often practice writing my new name with my last name.  I stopped short of researching how to change my name.  I knew that wouldn't fly.  Besides, my dad and brother shared my JC initials, which I thought was cool.  By the age of eleven, I was a five foot seven inch, rail thin, banana yellow adolescent who towered over everyone in middle school. The gap was still there, but I embraced it like a treasured family heirloom.  All of the Conrad women have a gap.  The gap became cool.  But the acne on my big forehead was less cool.  By middle school, I was wise enough to know that changing my name wouldn't solve my mirror problem, so I no longer doodled my pseudonym in an attempt to morph into one of Charlie's Angels.  What's in a name?

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I am now officially the mother of a teenager.  To celebrate this milestone, we made a special trip to Sephora for her first make-up application lesson.  As a former model, I could have easily shown my daughter how to apply her make-up, but thought it wise to bookmark this rite of passage by having professionals demonstrate proper technique.

I limited the application lesson to blush, mascara and eye liner.  At thirteen, her skin is still blemish free and evenly toned.  We both pray it stays that way.  After the make-up lesson, she smiled in modest delight.  While walking through the mall, I caught her admiring her reflection in mirror after mirror.  I smiled as I was able to relive the newness and excitement of wearing make-up for the first time through my daughter's eyes.  "I feel pretty," she squealed.  I was pleased that she was excited about wearing make-up, but sad that it took wearing make-up to make her feel pretty.  She was pretty before the make-up application.  Didn't she know that?  I knew the source of the comment.

Our teen has thick shoulder length hair, a perfectly proportioned nose, and beautiful almond shaped eyes that are crowned with black, thick eyebrows that resemble Brooke Shields' trademark.  Her eyebrows are her nemesis.  My daughter hates them and has been trying to get them waxed into oblivion since she was in second grade.  I remember picking her up from school one day where she burst into tears before she'd fastened her seat belt.  "Joey teased me about my eyebrows again!  And he also said that I have a mustache!  I can't take it, Mom!  Please let me get them fixed!" At seven, she didn't have the proper vocabulary to say waxed or tweezed.  She wanted them fixed.

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 In an earlier blog post, I shared that my children have coined a new word in our house.  The word is "framily" and it stands for friends that are more like family than friends.  Our "framily" consists of people that are closer than some of our actual family members.  

One of the cool things about friends is that you can pick your friends, but you can't pick your family.   You control who becomes your "framily" and the folks that make up your "framily" network circle of support.  Sometimes, the people in your friendship/framily circle of support will feel more like family than your biological family does.    And that's okay and normal.  So when you're shopping for friends, you want to make sure that you don't fill your shopping cart with rotten fruit!

 
In my series, the girls are bound together because they're classmates.  But too often girls who attend the same school often find themselves in with a "bad or wrong" crowd.  The Black Diamond Series' girls serve as a sounding board for each other.   It's a friendship bond that most adults would grant a stamp of approval.    Even though they have conflicts and sometimes rubber stamp some of the silly teen stuff that all teens rubber stamp;  on weightier issues, the girls serve as accountability partners, telling each other to pump their brakes when necessary and knowing to involve an adult when a friend's behavior is self destructive or out of bounds.  

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 I recently participated in a conference where I was shocked by the boorish behavior of a colleague's tween daughter.  Let's call her Jane.  A beautiful, well spoken child, Jane decided that instead of joining the children in her age group, she preferred to sit with the adults.  I don't recall where Jane's mother was, or if Jane's mother signed off on this act of rebellion.  

    Jane quietly chatted with a mother whose children attend the same school that she does.  Initially, Jane's presence proved slightly helpful as she involved herself in our task; however, Jane's well intentioned efforts soon began to hinder our well structured process.  It wasn't Jane's help that was a hindrance, it was her attitude.  

    After graciously thanking her for her assistance, a few of the moms encouraged Jane to join her age group for its activities and events.  Jane flatly refused.  She stated that it would be "boring"and she would prefer to stay and help the mothers.  The refusal was delivered in the form of a statement, suggesting that whether or not to attend the activities was her decision to make.  The mom with whom she had the closest relationship said nothing.  The other parents looked on in amazement, our eyes sharing that knowing glance that parents share in the presence of an insolent child.  The glance that says, "Oh, no she didn't!  Jane is a piece of work!"  Jane then proceeded to interject her comments into adult conversations until one of the mothers raised her voice and demanded that Jane leave the adult group and join the children.  After a bit of whining and pouting, the friend-mom suggested to Jane that perhaps it was time that she join the other children.  Jane grudgingly obliged.

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