First Impressions

Perhaps my biggest ally...AND my biggest enemy is my first impression.  They say that first impressions are all important.  That when we meet someone for the first time, we determine in very short order how we've sized that person up.  In my case, I've been told on numerous occasional by plenty of people that I make a, well, formidable, for lack of a better word, first impression.  Now in a job interview, legal, or professional venue, this serves me quite well.  I apparently come off as intelligent, self-confident, competent, assertive, driven, strong and direct.  Okay, well that sounds good, I suppose.

But now I'm meeting the neighbor lady who is a stay-at-home mom with a slew of kids in tow, and I think that assessment of the first impression becomes less "intelligent, self-confident, competent, assertive, driven, strong and direct" and more "know-it-all, arrogant, better-than-everyone-else, bossy, over-achieving, over-bearing, and pushy" first impression.  I've always wished that I could change this about myself.  Wishing that I could tone down my forceful personality to suit the receptive energies of the audience that was before me, however, isn't going to change anything.  I tend to alienate myself from people unknowingly.  Perhaps it is a protection mechanism that I developed and honed because of how brutally shy I was as a young person especially since we moved every year or two? Perhaps I am trying to present myself as strongly as possible out of fear of rejection?  Perhaps I internalized the same behavior I saw in my mother? I don't know.

It was never so strikingly clear to me, the impact my first impression had on those I met, as it was after my ex-husband and I separated after a 15-year marriage.  It was a devastating experience for me, and I lost my emotional footing for several weeks.  During that time, I noted that strangers that I met were so much friendlier to me.  Not just friendly, but open, helpful, happy, nice, and they even interacted with me longer.  It was the oddest experience, to have people act so nice to me.  I was perplexed, but with the emotional rug pulled out from underneath me as it was, I didn't have the personal resources to really look at it in depth at the time.  As I started healing/recovering, people started behaving normally when I met them again...more abrasive, less warm and friendly, more closed, more rigid, and briefer interactions.  It totally bummed me out.  I would love to be able to change that first impression back to that time, but without the emotional breakdown of course.

The only other time that I've found this to be less of a issue is when I'm doing my passion drummer stuff.  When I'm taking classes and am learning, some of this negative first impression apparently falls away because I meet many more people that are friendly toward me.  I am not conscious of the change in my personality when I'm following my passions, but others obviously are.  This is also true when I'm teaching.  It's strange.

For those that move beyond the first impression, and do become my friends, many have eventually confided that I was not the person they originally thought me to be.  My tough, impersonal, arrogant first impression isn't who I really am at the core of things, to those closest to me. But I sure wish I could figure out how to alter the first impression that I make.  I've changed an incredible amount of things in my life, and I hope that this will be no different.  I just need to figure out how and that's not a simple thing, at least not for me.

Therefore, just so you know, if you aren't yet my friend, keep in mind that my book doesn't really match my cover. But I'm working on that!

The News

Sitting across the Formica tabletop in that grimy truckers diner, my father sat in the booth with this muscular hands fiddling with a matchbook as he took a draw on his cigarette. He was once a beautifully handsome man, a chiseled jaw, a Romanesque nose, brilliant gold-green eyes, jet black hair, deeply tanned skin, and a singing voice that could make a girl swoon. As his little girl, I remembered that movie-star handsome man. Now he was skin and bone, with a grayish complexion, balding, and his body wracked as he coughed up phlegm into a paper-napkin. He looked up at me briefly, and then back down.  Again, eye contact.  “Trace, I have cancer” he said. “Lung cancer.” 

I took a moment to get my bearings.  I knew he had something to tell me when he called me at work and asked if I could get off early to meet him, that it was urgent, but I hadn’t been prepared for this.  “What did the doctor say?  Did you get a second opinion?” 

He said, “Yeah, I got three second opinions.  They all say the same thing.  Chemo.  I start next week.” 

“What’s the prognosis?”  I questioned.  The corner of his mouth turned up slightly and he said, “I can’t get one outta them.  Could be months.  Could be weeks.  Or I could beat it. I’m gonna beat it.”  The look in his eyes didn’t match the conviction in his voice.  He knew as well as I did that he was already too sick to have a chance.  All those years of smoking, drinking, and exposure to asbestos insulation, it had just been a matter of time.

I wasn’t close to this man as his adult child.  He had basically abandoned my sister and me after he and my mother divorced when I was 6. I remembered sitting at the front window on Saturday mornings, time and again, waiting for dad to show up for visitation, but he rarely if ever showed.  Mom would hold me in her arms as I sobbed. There was nothing she could say to take away the pain of my broken heart.  My daddy didn’t love me anymore. 

Now here I was, sitting across from this un-bathed man, he smelled of body odor, bourbon and stale cigarettes.  For years now he had been an embarrassment to me, especially when he showed up in the parking lot of my office, asking random strangers walking in if they knew me.  He once handed a co-worker a stinky and stained motivational (pyramid-scheme money management no less) cassette tape wrapped in cellophane from a cigarette pack to give to me, when he could have simply called my office phone.  The look on my co-worker’s face was unbelieving that this hobo of a man was actually my father. How do you explain that away?  You can’t.  Why didn’t he just leave me alone like he did when I wanted him in my life?  Why did he even bother to try after all these years? 

It was a love-hate relationship for me at best.  The little girl in me still loved this wreck of a man, despite all his failures.  The adult woman was pissed as hell at him.  But here I was looking into those tired eyes, and seeing my father coming to grips with his own mortality.  So now he needed me.  Really needed me.  He had so few friends and family left.  So few people that actually cared about him. He was looking for a response from me.  And being the dutiful daughter, I remained strong and encouraging, and told him I would help him any way I could. 

He reached across the table and took my hand and squeezed.  I looked into his eyes and let him see the love I still held for him.  As tears welled up in both our eyes, the barriers fell away and it was just that beautiful green-eyed man and his little girl, holding hands and smiling at one another at last.

St. Patty's Day, 1992.

(Note: this was a writing exercise I completed during a writer's meetup meeting.  it was completed in 50 minutes.) 


As the nurse pushed my wheelchair through the sterile white corridor, the overwhelming emptiness in my arms was enough to make me choke for air.  All my dreams for that little being that spent 6 months inside my womb were dead.  Instead of carrying home my bundle of joy, I was somehow supposed to prepare myself for the impossible task of a life with a severely disabled child at best, or at worst a funeral for my newborn son. 

How was I to wrap my head around the changes that had happened over night?  I went to bed a happy mother-to-be with 3 months of maternity ahead of me.  I woke up to the equivalent feeling of a 5-gallon bucket of warm water being dumped on my prone body.  In a half-sleep panic, I’d tried to figure out what was happening.  When I realized my water had broken, well more accurately exploded like a poked water balloon, I called my mom to tell her I was heading to the emergency room to deliver my baby.  

I knew 6 months was way too early.  I didn’t want to think about it.  I couldn’t think about it.  Things were happening to my body that were out of my control.  I wanted to protect that little baby inside me but I knew it was not up to me.  I was helpless.  How I wanted things to be different.  How I wanted to have him, fat and pink, swaddled in a fluffy blanket, in my arms while my friends and family cooed over him.  But that dream was quickly dying. Instead of hoping for a healthy child, I was hoping for a living child.  

There was so much I didn’t know.  Was it normal for the nurse to ask me between labor pains if I had a living will? Why did they look at me so strange when they checked my blood pressure or my baby’s pulse oximetry?  I knew things weren’t looking good, but now wasn’t the time for anyone to sit me down and have a frank heart-to-heart with me about the situation in which I found myself.  They clearly just wanted to try to get this baby out of my body without injury to him or me.  

I didn’t want to push, but the contractions happened anyway.  I irrationally wanted to keep him inside of me where he was safe.  My body felt like a boa constrictor had swallowed my belly and was forcing my body to expel this little fetus against my will.  When he came out, after the third savage push, his little body was cobalt blue.  He was silent.  His little head was the size of a tennis ball.  They rushed him out of the room.  

I laid there on the delivery table alone as everyone had moved out to the hallway where they were attempting to intubate him.  One doctor came back into the room to tell me they were having problems establishing an airway.  I heard a single fragile newborn-pitched wale. My Baby!! The doctor rushed back out to the hallway.  I returned my eyes to the delivery room ceiling.  What just happened?  This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.  Was my baby alive?  Was I a mommy?  Now what? 

The rest of those wee morning hours of St Patrick’s Day were a blur.  Getting stitched up.  Wheeling me back to my unused birthing suite for a quick shower.  Being ushered to a regular hospital room. Thank goodness I had the sense of mind to demand a single room.  I didn’t care the added expense, because I knew I couldn’t bear to watch another woman in a bed next to mine with her beautifully healthy baby. 

The doctors began visiting soon after I was in my little room.  My baby had an abnormal airway.  He had a deformed heart.  He had a brain hemorrhage from the delivery.  There were other things, but these were the most immediate concerns.  He was too medically complex to be cared for in this hospital.  He had to go to a larger city.  His condition was too fragile for med-flight.  He was to be transported via ambulance.  

Later in the morning when I was allowed to meet my little boy, it was in the NICU, on a isolation table.  He was laying there on this flat little square, with a heat lamp over him, a breathing tube secured down his little throat, and a couple IVs stuck into his cellophane thin skin. His thigh was the size of my index finger.  His full head of dark brown hair was a shocking contrast to the rest of his still fetus-like form.  He smelled so good.  I can’t even describe it.  At that moment I realized how close to animals we humans still are.  With all our sophisticated civilization, I knew my child by smell. I knew he was mine.

Now my baby’s life was held in the hands of a dozen medical specialists several hours away.  They transported him that same day to the other hospital but I wasn’t released until the following morning. Through a tortured foggy numbness, I watched the hospital exit as it neared with each step the nurse pushing my chair took.  I was going home empty-handed.  It wasn’t supposed to be like this.  No one had prepared me for this possibility.  No words could make sense of this new world I was entering.  A world of imperfection, and pain, and suffering, and no answers that made any sense.

Nothing? Really!

Today I commented on a recent blog entry posted by a new friend.  The post was about how everyone thinks it's easy to write. A major fallacy, I agree.  My comment was about how it's two-fold in that we not only have to be adept at the craft of writing to be effective but we also have to have something to say.  While I stand by my comment, it certainly got my head gnawing on the grizzle of that statement.  Having something to say.  I talk plenty. And I can write plenty too.  But what do I actually have to say?

This past year, most of my posts have been focused on the change in my view of how I found sustainable happiness (my passion drummer).  Most people that aren't following a passion drummer, which is pretty much every person I know except for Jason and Roger, really don't "get" my posts, even after repeated explanation.  And Jason and Roger read it and go, "duh, of course!"  So it's been more an effort toward my own self-exploration and I'm not entirely certain that needed to go public.  But who's counting the cows after they're already out of the barn.

Those that know me understand that I'm not one for small talk.  I am not a girly girl with lots of flowery language and attempts to make others think I'm sweet and charming and likeable.  I'm not sweet or charming or even particularly likeable most of the time.  I am not the flibbertigibbet type either.  There hasn't been much whimsy in my life.  I am strong, logical, and just a tad bit driven. (Yes, that was a joke!)  And I'm certainly not particularly funny; although, I love to surround myself with people that are by nature funny because I pick some of it up by osmosis, or at least I like to think that.  Anyone that's met me remembers my (shall we say distinctive?) laugh.

I also don't feel that I have a particularly sharp eye in catching the engaging moments of my day.  The only topic that comes to mind today that had me off on a tangent was while unloading the dishwasher (now isn't that engaging). I used to have a flatware service for 14.  I now have 9 teaspoons, 11 tablespoons, 13 knives, 8 large forks, and 10 salad forks.  I should be upset since those buggers cost me $75 for each 5-piece service, but it serves me right (really doesn't it?) using the good silverware for everyday.  So how on earth did I lose my utensils?  Did a fork get thrown out in a pizza box?  Did a spoon on a paper plate hit the trash-bin without notice?  Did a guest inadvertently take home their dish-to-pass with my tablespoon stowed inside?  Did a nurse turn the garbage disposal on with a fork down the drain and chuck it before I saw it?  Did a knife slide down between the cushions of the recliner, never to be seen of again?  Or are there such things as utensils gremlins?  Or perhaps flatware fairies?  I don't think so.  I'll never know.  But these are the types of mundane happenings in my world.  Not much to say.

Most of my time is spent at work, in a class, reading, or creating something.  I don't sit around and if I do sit, I'm most certainly making something while I watch tv or listen to an audiobook.  Forever the multitasker, that's me.  But I honestly think I exhaust people talking about my daily activities.  Or at the very least alienate myself because others feel that they don't measure up some how.  Like my class addiction is some sort of thing to aspire to!?  Seriously?  I don't know many others with 17 classes scheduled for the month of October, plus new class designs to complete, an old job to quit, a new job to start, and a bunch of other crap on my to-do list.  And I don't know anyone that would actually choose that for themselves except for me.  But doesn't that just mean others should think me crazy instead of amazing?  I do. I'm okay with being a bit odd though. But it isn't something I find particularly interesting to talk about.

My sorted past is fairly interesting; however, I can't much write about it without fear of a libel suit. So not much to say there.

So what do I have to say, I ask?  Can you hear the crickets? Me too.

My Week Off Between Jobs

My last day working at AMD was last Friday.  I start my new job at Homeaway.com next Monday.  This week off has been absolutely glorious!  I've had a chance to read, write, take plenty of classes, attend a few meetup group meetings, work on the www.ClassAddicts.com website, lay out by the pool, and craft.  Tomorrow is Friday and is my last official day off.  I could get really used to not working with all the interests that are yet to be explored and/or revisited. But I'm very excited about starting the new job. I'll start getting nervous on Sunday morning.

Abby's health has remarkably improved since the vet prescribed steroids.  She can't stay on them, but at least now it's quite certain that she's suffering from allergies.  Bosley's back is back to normal.  Ruby is Ruby...I came home to find that she'd lifted a pair of basketry scissors off my end table and taken them over to another room to chew the protective slip cover off of them.  Well, at least she didn't chew the handles so the scissors are intact and there's no blood so she must not have cut herself.

One of the meetup groups that I've started attending is Reading for Writers, and I'm actually making progress on character development and plot outline for the idea I have for a novel!  That has me pretty jazzed.  I'm thinking that I'll continue with the meetup group, reading all the assigned books and participating in the meeting  discussions, and hopefully next year around this time, I can push myself to do NaNoWriMo since that seems like an effective way of getting that dreaded first draft out of the way.  I'm hoping to find a few trusted friends that read voraciously to assist me along the way in terms of feedback and troubleshooting.  So far I've read Ann Lamott's Birb By Bird and Donald Maass' Writing the Breakout Novel.  Donald's book was extremely informative to me and it really helped me see how much I need to learn about novel writing.  First of which is that I'm seriously unread!  There were very few book examples that he sited that I've read, or have even heard of before. I hope to compile a list of the books that Donald sited throughout his book, and put them on my audible wish list.  I also need to compile my notes from his book so I have a synopsis of points that I can look to as my novel progresses, so I don't have to read the entire book again to refresh my memory.

But all that lovely stuff has to wait right now as I have 3 new classes that I'm teaching in October and of course being the procrastinator that I am I've waited until the week before the first 2 classes to start the instruction manuals.  Two are done now except for photos.  One manual is 19 pages without the pictures. The second manual is 14 pages before pictures.  I haven't started the 3rd manual yet, but that class isn't until the following weekend thank heavens!  Yet, with the new job starting on Monday, well, it's going to be "interesting" if I don't get all the manuals done before this Sunday when I teach 2 of the 3 classes for the first time.

I'm enjoying my basketry classes the most at the moment.  And I really feel like I'm progress in terms of skill which is always gratifying.  I've only had one negative class experience recently, but another teacher, Rita Ross, was able to help me learn what I failed to learn in that class (not her class!) so that is the important thing.

I'm really hoping the class addicts website takes off and that other class addicts in Austin will use the forum and share info.  If I'm the only one that has 17 classes scheduled for the month of October, well that just proves I'm the biggest class addict of them all and deserve the right to own the website!  I ordered business cards so that should help get the word out!  Maybe I'll offer some sort of prize/drawing for new members, or for submitted forum posts, or for pictures posted or something.  Heaven knows I have plenty of things that I've made sitting around the house that could use a new home!

I'm finally starting to meet people that aren't co-workers too which is great.  The meetup groups are seriously helping on that note.  It is so enriching to be around others that are smart, creative, talented and motivated!

Where's Tracy and What Happened to "2010 - The Year of Body"?

While 2010 is quickly coming to a close, I've realized that I hadn't really finished my work with "2009 The Year of Happiness" in 2009.  I had hoped this year would be about taking care of the physical me (2010 - The Year of All Things Physical), but I'm finding that my focus was continually brought back to the happiness factor.  Since I didn't really find my passion drummer until October of last year, it's just now been a full year that I've been exploring this new window through which I see my world.  It has profoundly changed me and it continues to do so.  My work.  My play.  My relationships.  But mostly my happiness.

What I've learned over this time of self-exploration is more of what I already knew.  I am creative.  I love to learn.  I love to problem solve.  I am social.  I like to perform.  I like to teach.  I like to write.  Nothing new, but somehow it's all more fulfilling now.  Why?  Possibly because it's not just a hypothetical discussion any longer.  Now it's part of who I am, what I do, where I focus my attention, and where I find personal fulfillment.  It's less about where I live, what I drive, how much I earn (don't get me wrong, living comfortably is important but it alone does not equate to happiness), and less about what others expect of me (the parent, the mate, the daughter, the employee, etc.) and more about did I have fun today, did I learn today, did I do something that I found personally fulfilling and do I have plans to do so again soon. 

I'm reading again.  That has me wanting to write again.  I've joined an aspiring writers group.  I have an idea for a novel that's been knocking around in my head since 2002.  I am excited to think that I may actually start writing it at some point.  I have wonderful friends who've volunteered to read my work and give me feedback.  I'm surrounding myself with the things that will nurture me and my creative writing.  It feels good.

I'm teaching for the first time.  I didn't go looking for it.  It came to me from no action of my own control, a teacher approached me and asked if I might like to teach.  I agreed to try it.  And I found I love it.  I love designing the classes, planning them out, drafting the instruction literature, preparing samples, and creating a class environment where students can relax, have fun, learn, and laugh.  I didn't seek this out, but I did honestly pursue what I love to do and, as I have predicted, the universe provides me with experiences that are rich and fulfilling in return.  How very Zen.

I continue to take classes on subjects all over the board. I continue to meet others like me that love to express themselves in creative ways and love to learn.  I am still toying around with my http://www.classaddicts.com/ social network and hope to have a workable format soon.

I don't know if I want to put a theme to 2011.  I'm not driven like that any longer.  It doesn't seem like much fun. If you know me, you understand that I've never been an under-achiever and that's not likely to change any time soon.  However, I don't need control of myself like I felt I needed to before.  I'm just enjoying the ride and working hard at having fun so I'm totally prepared for the next big wave that comes my way.  Life is the journey, stopping to smell the roses isn't an item on my to-do list but a way of living, and I'm excited about my future!  I'm pretty sure it will be better than I could dream up and put into reality on my own with a checklist, a goal, or a "2011- The Year of  ".

Busy! Busy!

It's been over a month since I've posted a blog.  That's inexcusable!  Of course I've been busy with classes, lots of classes, as usual.  This weekend I decided that I was going to start a new site for people like me that love to take classes as a hobby.  As soon as it's done, I'll be sure to post it here. 

Latest classes have been djembe drum lesssons (looking for a new instructor at present), basketry class, knitting class (both from Hill Country Weavers), retake of glass fusing and slumping, stained glass (both at Blue Moon Glasswork), and another silver soldering class with Rita Ross (have a beautiful ring from that class and now I'm trying to get the patina just right!)

I taught my 2nd new class at Sea of Beads, which is a chain maille class.  The weave was Byzantine.  I got some great feedback on this class, and I teach two more chainmaille classes in a couple weeks along with viking knitting!

Up coming plans include a leather bracelet class, finding a PMC class, finding a pottery (throwing) class, finding a drawing class, and hopefully an advanced stained glass class once the current one is complete. 

Also planning scheduling a B&B session with the girls, and going toobing soon with friends, which is always fun.  I love summer!

Genuine Curiosity, No Expectations, and No Judgments

In my last post, I talked about how day-to-day life demands can cloud your focus on passion/happiness/success. I realized recently that my title for that entry talked about something else that wasn't really touched upon in that blog post and that was the "Genuine Curiosity, No Expectations, and No Judgments" piece.

I was, and still am to a point, a goal-oriented person. I like to set goals, tackle them and achieve them. I used to look at my progress in that regard as a measure of success. I don't any longer (at least not like I used to), but I understand that a lot of people still do (and that isn't a bad thing). One thing that was a negative stimulus in my life (prior to finding my passion drummer) was that I pursued my goals with verve and tenacity, but also stock full with expectations. I also found myself evaluating my progress with judgment in terms of typical measures of success toward that goal. More times than not, I felt like I didn't quite hit the expectation that I anticipated and I felt bad about that. In the end, enough was never enough, because my expectations could never be truly achieved as they were born in my mind's eye.

My life is different now because I go into each new experience with the goal of having fun. As I've said before, I know that sounds like a pretty simplistic goal, and it is...but it's more difficult to do than it sounds...because of the things I was talking about in the last blog post (daily life demands clouding my focus and distracting me). I've found that if my measuring device for whether an experience was a success was the degree of fun that I had, I didn't feel the need to judge myself as a success or failure. That was a liberating experience for me. I didn't beat myself up for having fun, and I didn't beat myself up for not having fun, I just made the decision of continuing in that direction based on whether I had fun. So it wasn't as important to me if I failed or succeeded in the actual goal, but whether I enjoyed the process. I didn't set expectations on being number 1 or making "$$$" or achieving XYZ, because the expectation was to have fun. I gravitate to those things that I find enjoyable and as a result I naturally excel then without it being "work"...because it is FUN. And I go into an experience without a preconceived idea of what will be at the end of the experience, but just go into it with genuine curiosity. If I have passion to simply explore something, that will, in my opinion, bring me much closer to a positive experience than visualizing a specific agenda, expectation and end result will.

So the next time you enter into an experience, particularly one that you've tried before without much "success", try bringing a different set of tools with you: Genuine Curiosity, No Expectations, and No Judgments. Within that process, pursue what you find enjoyable, where you are naturally curious, and don't push yourself into areas that just don't feel as fun to you. If you have to judge yourself during the process, then the measure you should judge against is simply whether you're having fun. It doesn't matter if you came in dead last, if you came out of the experience at a loss (financial or otherwise), or if you didn't achieve your goal at all. If you measure your emotional experience to the situation, your level of enjoyment, instead of those typical measures, you may find a very different conclusion. And that could be a very good thing.

Don't Let Daily Life Cloud Your Focus on Following Passion with Genuine Curiosity, No Expectations, and No Judgments

Following your passion with genuine curiosity, no expectations, and no judgments is easier said than done. All too often everyday life gets in the way, muddying the waters, so that you lose sight of those things that truly get you excited. But when you can regain and maintain focus on your passions, the ROI is amazing.

Shortly after my last blog post, I took a new job. About a month into the first project to which I was assigned with this new client, I was already getting very positive feedback from my peers as well as the business area for which I was delivering solutions. I was working hard and getting recognition. The old me would have thought this was a successful situation and would have stayed put but not the new me. My new passion drummer focus had my early warning detectors going off like DEFCON1. I wasn't happy. Sure I was being "successful" and I was exceeding expectations, and I was making a name for myself within the company quickly. I liked the people I was working with, I was making good money, and I had all the skills I needed to succeed in this job. But still I wasn't happy. Why? Because I wasn't having fun. I realized that I was doing work that I was quite capable of doing, but that wasn't personally fulfilling. I am a creative person and I realized the work I was doing was not providing me with a creative outlet and as a result I felt unfulfilled. I went to the account rep and told him (in a very PC way) that I wasn't happy, clearly expressed what I needed to be happy, and let them know in a very tactful way that I would be looking for work elsewhere if things remained as they were. Pretty gutsy move for a new hire. Oddly enough, it didn't feel uncomfortable doing this. I felt like this was the only way to move forward. It was this matter of fact situation, and I was going to do whatever I needed to do to find happiness. I fully intended on finding a different job and tendering my resignation. To my surprise, the account rep and hiring manager both committed to having me moved to a different project in under 1 week's time. The new project is allowing me a high degree of creative expression, learning, and problem solving. Yes, I'm still getting all the traditional success measures that I got in my last project, but now I was personally fulfilled. I was happy. I was following my passion. I was loving my work. I'm also getting some different comments now too, about how my passion for my work was infectious. When you are living a life of passion, when you are doing what you love, others notice it. The lesson I learned here is that the universe just keeps reinforcing that I'm on the correct path.

The Ghost Writer

Went to see The Ghost Writer last night. Was only showing in 2 theatres here in Austin so we had to travel a bit but it was worth it. This movie has a very high score from all the major sources so who am I go against the grain....but I must say that as a group, those of us that went last night, we didn't get the motivation of the lead character. Why did he do all of this instead of just keeping his nose down and writing the book? Oh well, it was entertaining, but a back-story that presented the writer as this investigative and tenacious type might have helped me buy it all a bit more than I did. There seemed like there were under currents of other "stuff" that didn't make it into the movie that might have made things less confusing too, but that's speculation. The dubbing of the "F" word was a bit distracting too throughout the film. With that said, it is certainly a good movie. Well written, well acted, well shot. Beautiful in fact. But for being so much, I wanted more. I'm just not sure what is was that was missing that would have made the film wholly satisfying. Go see it. I recommend it. Just clue me in if you figure out what I missed!