Anne Marie Miller

Author: Anne Marie Miller

  • Poetry: tension

    for a rope to have tension,
    two forces must be pulling
    as fiercely as possible
    in opposite directions

    yet called out
    trying to balance
    and understand
    unity
    freedom
    humility
    kingdom

    (Anne Jackson, February 20, 2007)

  • Essay: From A Rainy Day to a Starry Night

    Please note: The essays and poems posted for the rest of 2010 will be some of my personal favorites from FlowerDust.net. New essays and poems will begin soon. I hope you enjoy the “best of” my five years of blogging.

    (*Originally posted September 28, 2010)

    I pulled on the chain for my hotel window’s curtain, a small part of me hoping to see sunlight filling my room as the shade lifted. Nothing is more perfect than a sunny, autumn day in New York City.

    With each tug, my room didn’t brighten. The puddles that were forming in the parking lot three stories down confirmed the weatherman on Channel 2 was accurate in the previous night’s forecast.

    Rain.

    Rain is not the end of the world. In fact, I kind of enjoy it. The water gives life to the plants, the animals, the forgotten. It washes away soot and smog and carries it to the sewer grates. It promises something new.

    As often as I travel, of course I come prepared for rain; the word prepared meaning, “I know there is a small shop in the train station that sells umbrellas for $3, so if it rains, I’ll be okay.” Off to the shop I went. $3 umbrella purchased. Train boarded.

    Forty five minutes later as I walk up the stairs from Penn Station to the streets of Manhattan, I open my new-found friend, the umbrella. What occurred in front of me was almost magical, the unnatural becoming natural. As my umbrella popped open to shield me from the pelting rain, so did umbrellas from the hundreds of people around me as they marched out of the undergrounds and into the street.

    $3 umbrellas are black, but true New Yorkers carry umbrellas with style. Reds, yellows, green with white stripes, polka dots, pinks…one by one the umbrellas arched up and bloomed like flowers after a spring rain, each one taking a different shape, brightness, and place on the vertical landscape.

    Maybe walking through this plastic garden in the rain wouldn’t be so bad after all.

    One mile later, I found myself in front of a hotel where a friend of mine had just given a presentation. This friend is not only a friend, but a confidant, a mentor, and a soothsayer. I had no idea what plans he had for us, but we slid into a cab with our wet umbrellas and backpacks and he asked the cab driver to take us to the Museum of Modern Art.

    He asked me if that was okay.

    That is like asking me if eating a chocolate lava cake for dinner is okay.

    (The correct answer is yes, just in case you were unaware of my deep appreciation for chocolate, and art for that matter).

    We arrived, and my friend flashed his membership cards in the right places as we climbed the stairs. This was my first trip to the MOMA, and I had no idea what was even being exhibited. He grew up in a family surrounded by fine art, so his knowledge of each painter, each context, and how they came into being (or passing for that matter) is rich and vast. We wandered through several of the rooms as he crafted a story weaving through Seurat to van Gogh, from Matisse to Mondrian and Magritte.

    What was the story of each painter? How was their art received in their time, and now?

    But beneath the art history lesson, he had a subtle and necessary agenda.

    How are these paintings and these similar to my own journey?

    Occasionally, we’d sit in a room, and whatever collection we had just passed he transformed into something tangible and relevant to the very steps I’m taking right now. What does van Gogh have to do with my writer’s block? A lot, actually. And what about rejection and being confident with my work (and myself) can I learn from a formerly mocked work of Matisse? More than I can share here.

    I’m no stranger to art — I studied it quite thoroughly growing up. As well known as Starry Night is, it has always been one of my favorites. Even my “I-don’t-want-to-be-trendy” point of view can’t escape it. It moved me deeply in 2005 when I was in a discouraging place. And to see it, finally, up close and personal, was a breathtaking moment. Tears formed in my eyes as we stood before a handful of more recognizable pieces of his work.

    These paintings are part of Vincent van Gogh.

    He painted these pieces.

    He touched them.

    He crafted them.

    He created them.

    Something in his heart made him paint.

    And even as my friend drew similarities between life and van Gogh, I couldn’t help but realize the profound effect seeing the actual paintings was having on me. As true as the words my friend was speaking were, the fact he was saying them as I stared at these paintings caused me to wonder…

    “What – and maybe more importantly how – am I painting?”

    I write words and they are sometimes put in books. Sometimes they are digitally transferred onto my computer screen, and your computer screen. Are these words as purely conceived in the same way each layer of Starry Night was painted?

    Will someone read them one day and think of the soul of the girl behind them and be amazed? In tears?

    Please let me clarify: It’s not because I believe anyone should be amazed in me, as a person. I am just flesh and blood and spirit and mistakes and hope and a bad driver. And I’m fairly sure van Gogh didn’t have any “what will people think?” thoughts running through his mind as he painted, either.

    However, I do believe there is a purity and honesty in each of us that can be released when we set aside our expectations, our fears, and our desire to please others and simply paint whatever that unspeakable and great thing that’s inside of us. The world will take notice. Not of us, but of the great Starry Night in us that will transcend them and inspire them into believing the truth about the goodness that is inside of them as well.

    “I often think that the night is more alive and more richly colored than the day.” -Vincent van Gogh

    With this story, I only ask you to remember this: even in the darkest nights and the rainiest of days, moments of light and color mysteriously, majestically, and sometimes whimsically (like a rainbow of flowers disguised as umbrellas) shine through. Paint that truth.

  • Poetry: The Dock & The Rescue

    When I was younger,
    nineteen or so
    and needed to be rescued
    I stopped by the liquor store on Green Oaks
    and bought a small bottle of vodka.

    they never carded me.

    I’d continue down the curvy road
    down to the place where people parked their boats
    and I’d hide my car, and walk down to the dock.

    Like a buoy, the dock would raise up, raise down
    with each roll of the lake from the night to the shore
    and I’d walk to the end, where I’d lay flat on my back
    in the silence and with the stars
    letting the vodka warm me
    as I continued to bob up and down
    with the lake and the dock.

    I suppose I hoped that my rescuer would find me
    and hear the quiet screaming of my heart:
    alone! afraid! lost!
    and he would simply sit next to me
    his hand on my knee or my arm or my face
    and with his presence I’d know that
    in the end, when I’d sober up and leave
    that everything would at least be a little bit okay.

    For a couple years I did this
    even when I moved two hours away
    I found my way to the dock several times
    waiting to be rescued
    and looking to the stars for hope.

    A decade past, there are still moments
    when I want to lay on my back on the dock
    a thousand miles away
    although now, I know my rescuer is
    and was and has always been
    Yet the stars still bring me hope
    and with them I’m reminded
    I am not alone, even in times
    when the loneliness is loud

    Because we all seek out the star
    that guides us to our rescue;
    captivating us with a holy
    gravitational force.

    (Anne Jackson, December 23, 2010)

  • Poetry: Holy, Restless Anticipation

    Stay right here a little while

    Stay right here my dear

    Hear me whisper to your heart

    And take away your fear

    For you soon will see

    An unlikely king

    And you soon will feel

    A flesh that will heal

    Oh, Divine, my Word on your lips

    Find refuge in a holy kiss

    Stay right here a little while

    Stay right here my dear

    Hear me whisper to your heart

    And take away your fear


    (Anne Jackson, December 22, 2009)

  • Poetry: A Day of Rest

    As we spin with the world
    Rotating among
    The stars and particles
    Swirling around us
    Tides ebbing and flowing
    The moon and the sun rising
    We must command
    Ourselves
    To simply stop.
    To simply be.

    Breathe in the air
    Not polluted by hurry
    And breathe out the spirit
    Of mercy and peace

    (Anne Jackson, February 2010)

  • Essay: My Toxic Bottle of Water

    Please note: The essays and poems posted for the rest of 2010 will be some of my personal favorites from FlowerDust.net. New essays and poems will begin soon. I hope you enjoy the “best of” my five years of blogging.

    I have a terrible habit of not finishing beverages.

    Size doesn’t matter. Whether it’s a 16 oz bottle of water or an 8 oz tiny can of Diet Coke, I don’t finish it.

    Bottled water for some reason takes the brunt of my compulsion. It’s embarrassing to admit, but there are times where I’ll just take a sip or two of a bottle of water and never touch it again.

    Such was the case with the bottle of water in my car. It was the middle of August and on this particular day I grabbed a bottle of water on my way out to run errands. I took two sips and it had been boiling in my car ever since.

    On my way home from visiting a friend a few days later, I realized I was extremely thirsty. I hadn’t had a bit of water all day.

    Diet Cherry Dr. Pepper? bottled-water

    Yes.

    Lots of sips.

    Water?

    No.

    As I looked around my car, this forlorn bottle of water sat in my passenger seat. It was the only relief in sight and my forty-five minute drive began to feel like six hours as the sun began to burn my left arm.

    “It’s not like it’s contaminated,” I reassured myself. “It’s just really, really warm. That’s all. You can drink it. It’s okay…”

    I unscrewed the blue cap, letting a bit of the air out of the bottle and took a gulp.

    Warm and plasticky.

    Delightful.

    I began wondering how healthy this water could actually be if all I tasted was plastic. I thought about the segment on The Today Show where they compared the different numbers of the different plastics and I tried to remember which ones were toxic. Because I’m sure whatever it was I was drinking was not safe for consumption.

    The heat of the water I was drinking, the droplets of sweat forming in the small of my back, and the sun being magnified by my untinted windows took me back to my trip to India earlier in the year.

    And this hot little bottle of water made me think of a little boy I met named Tushar.

    ***

    Tushar is a five year old who lives three hours outside of Kolkata. In early 2009, my husband and I began sponsoring him through an organization called Compassion International.

    A few days before I left India, I had the chance to meet Tushar and his father. They took a train from their village into the city. The translator introduced us and I realized Tushar’s dad was holding a bag and would occasionally take out a bottle of water for his son.

    The bottle of water wasn’t like anything you or I would see – much less drink from – here in the States. There was no label. The outside was scratched. But what was most surprising was what kind of water the bottle contained.

    If I didn’t know better, I would think it was tea with lemon. It was a light brown, with little pieces of…something…floating in it.

    But it was Tushar’s water. His drinking water. Water that was so precious, his father helped him ration it throughout their trip.

    After a visit to Science City, a museum that would be considered totally odd and possibly unsafe by our standards, we went to a building that would be parallel to a Western mall. It had stores and a food court.

    Lunch time.

    Our host went to a few of the restaurants in the food court to get us all something to drink. She came back with ice-cold bottled water.

    Clean, never opened, cold bottled water.

    Tushar’s dad reached across the table to open his bottle. Tushar leaned forward to take his first sip. When he grabbed the bottle for the first time, he immediately dropped it back on the table like it had bit him, almost spilling it. He pulled away and giggled.

    I was a little confused but very much intrigued by his reaction. He wiped the condensation off his hand and reached forward for the bottle of water again.

    But this time he didn’t grab it. He merely touched it with a couple of his fingers.

    And Tushar giggled again.

    Finally I realized something. He’s never touched anything cold before.

    The area of India that he lives in rarely sees temperatures below 60 degrees.

    The cold surprised him…in a good way.

    Playfully, I poured cold water from my bottle into the tiny blue cap and splashed him with it.

    He.

    Freaked.

    Out.

    We continued our little water fight until his dad moved his bottle closer to him, as to say, “this is for drinking and not for playing,” and Tushar sat up, knowing his dad was serious, and took a sip.

    His eyes got wide as he felt the cold water slide down the back of his throat. When it reached his stomach, he grabbed his belly and grinned and giggled.

    Drinking cold water was a completely new experience for this little boy.


    ***

    So, here I was, between Nashville and Franklin, Tennessee on I-65 contemplating the level of “poison” in my completely safe water and I wondered about Tushar and what he’s doing today. I wondered about his bottle of water. I doubt he was drinking anything nearly as clean or as available as I was.

    In fact, I doubt he had tasted water as cold or as clean since our time in the food court.

    I held back the tears that so wanted to escape and travel down my face because of the unfairness of it all.

    I wonder how many bottles of water I’ve carelessly and needlessly thrown away when a little boy and his family are grateful to have their dirty water in a bottle they found and probably share and hold on to like gold.

    For Pete’s sake. Even my cat has access to cleaner water than Tushar. We run it through the PUR filter on our kitchen sink.

    I can’t send Tushar clean water in the mail. I can’t take it to him or even make sure that he can access it.

    It’s a helpless feeling.

    And it’s easy to ignore because it is so overwhelming.

    “So, what can I do?” I wondered half-angry and all heart-broken as I sat in my car with my bottle of “toxic” water.

    I can give Tushar a voice. I can speak for him by telling his story. You’re reading about him now. Maybe you’ll want to share his story too.

    We may not be able to fix every problem we see, but we can allow the stories we hear to remind us of the incredible responsibility we have to share the needs of a broken world.

    These stories can awaken us and inspire us to act. To donate money to a water charity or find a creative way to talk about this issue. We can take clean water to the homeless in our own cities and towns. We can give up our birthdays and let our friends donate for clean water on our behalf. We can sponsor a child and help that child learn about clean water and hygiene and he can share that with his family.

    We know.

    And we know we can do something.

    So now that you know, what will you do?

    (Originally Written September 14, 2009)

  • Poetry: Down Heaven’s Grey Cheek

    It would make sense
    that upon my awakening
    as the birds begin their morning song
    the sound of rain would accompany them

    Tears are falling
    down heaven’s grey cheek
    and landing in the lap
    of the soil of the earth

    (Anne Jackson – March 2010)

    (In honor and memory of my Uncle Jesse Janek, who passed away from cancer on March 24, 2010)

  • The End of FlowerDust.net (Goodbye…)

    (NOTE: I’m actually going on a fun little road trip Monday and Tuesday to see some friends and some of the beautiful fall colors so I won’t be responding to questions on this post or on Twitter until mid-week. I’m not even taking my computer with me on my trip. Thanks for the patience & grace. I’ve been traveling a lot recently and have had a bit of a family crisis thrown in the mix too…so I need a little break from it all!) :)

    Five years is not a bad run.

    I’ve been blogging on FlowerDust.net for about five years now.

    And it’s time for me to stop.

    In fact, it’s time for me to make several changes in regard to how I approach this ever-evolving world of social media.

    Over the last six months, I’ve had three people significantly influence my decision to change directions as far as “who” I am online. And please note the quotation marks on “who,” as I truly believe there is only a certain level of intimacy one can share via pixels. There really is no “who” I am online.

    There is just me. And this is what I’ve got to do.

    Why share all this? Because you are important and you have supported me throughout the years. Also, I think there are other people out there that may want to take some steps and re-evaluate how they participate in social networking, and maybe this can help them process.

    ___________

    THE INFLUENCERS:

    Consistency to Your Design: One of these people has a very similar life to mine. A writer. A speaker. A person who spends maybe more time on planes and in hotels than I do. He wants to invest more time in his private life, in the relationships he has in flesh and blood. He wants to live like this more than he cares about his public perception. It’s not to say the people he interacts with online aren’t flesh and blood, or that they are any less real or important; there simply is a limit to how much you can share and with whom and time and space.

    This person has followed through with his good intentions, carefully guarding how he spends his time. At times, it’s been difficult. He’s not neglecting opportunities to help others…he’s living true to his design (as one who gets energy from solitude – much like me) and that is allowing him to probably have a more pure influence in the world than juggling a public perception while trying to be holistically who he is.

    —

    Your “Identity”: Another one of these people is someone I’ve recently met. A musician. A talented singer and songwriter. Over gallons of hot tea and closing down Nashville’s Fido coffeehouse several times, he’s helped me dig into what identity is and isn’t. He’s helped me see why one of the reasons I get anxious or worried or feel guilty or angry is because the identities “Anne the author” or “Anne the blogger” or “Anne the speaker” have something opposing them.

    There will always be opposing forces in life, but when I take them on as “Anne the _______” it will always cause more stress.

    Why?

    Because I am Anne. Simply Anne.

    This doesn’t mean I don’t have talents or a career or relationships, but to allow anything related to ego or self-importance to influence the way I make decisions actually hurts me.

    “Anne the Social Media Girl” has been trying to make everyone happy and it’s impossible. The guilt complex tells me I have to keep the boat afloat but the rest of my body tells me to stop it or I’m going to end up jumping off a cliff.

    —

    Courage: The third and final person that’s helped me arrive at this decision is someone who has simply spoken words that have given me courage.

    “Just do what you need to do. You know what it is. Don’t be afraid. I need you to be courageous. The world needs you to be courageous. There are going to be so many people that may not understand or agree with you, but you can’t let that stop you from doing what you need to do.”

    And so, I’m doing what I need to do.

    ___________

    Since there have been relationships formed on this blog or on Twitter in a variety of ways, I thought it would be best to tell you what I’m changing and why. I hope you can respect it whether or not you agree with it and trust me when I say I know I’m doing what’s best for me, my faith, my family, my health, and my closest community.

    **BLOGGING

    GOING AWAY: I will no longer be blogging at FlowerDust.net. There are a lot of really good conversations on here, and it has some important topics that are indexed well in search engines, so I think it’s important to keep the information available. However, all the comment sections will be closed and essentially, this blog will remain up for archival purposes only.

    I will keep the comments on this post open for a couple of weeks and will answer any questions that may need answering. But I am not going to defend my decision if you disagree with me. Again, I just ask that you respect it.

    WHAT’S NEW: *I will continue writing online. I’ll be writing an essay once every Tuesday and a poem once every Thursday each week on my new site AnneJacksonWrites.com.

    It’s simple.

    It’s just writing.

    No more giveaways.

    No more promotions.

    No more random tidbits of information.

    I love to write.

    I love to write essays and poetry.

    I am not a blogger.

    Blogging is a form of writing and many writers blog well and many bloggers write well. I am not one. Not anymore. I just want to improve my writing skills so I am going to focus on how I write best. It will be consistent, still interactive, and hopefully thoughtful and present.

    RSS READERS: Fear not. No need to re-subscribe to anything. Technology is magical like that.

    **TWITTER:

    GOING AWAY: Twitter.com/FlowerDust

    I’m declaring bankruptcy. At some point in time today (Monday, 11/15) I’m deleting the account.

    WHAT’S NEW: Twitter.com/AnneJackson

    Whew…I’m so glad I name squatted my own name back before Twitter became popular.

    To answer some of the FAQ’s I’ve gotten already:

    Q: Why not just change usernames and keep your followers?

    A: Two main reasons: I doubt 12,300 people really follow me and I really don’t follow 4,300 people.

    Q: Will you be following everyone who follows you?

    A: No.

    I will not be following many people. It has nothing to do with whether I like you or think your tweets are valuable or not. There are people I know in person that I see almost every day that I won’t follow.

    Here’s the thing: *I* have allowed Twitter to become another distraction to what I feel I need to become – a better writer. I’m going to keep using it, but it’s going to be much more personal and less about my “platform.”

    If people interact with me, I’ll interact, but it’s not wise for me to follow everyone. To have several thousand people be able to send you a direct message and assume you can reply is very overwhelming for me.

    Some people handle it with grace. I can’t. I am an introvert – online and off – and being “on” all the time drains me of who I need to be and what I need to do.

    I realize this is a “controversial” move on Twitter (the fact there are such things to me seems a little ridiculous, to be honest. It’s just Twitter…) and because I already have received some — let’s just say “passionate” – messages about not following everyone, please hear me: If I don’t follow you, don’t take it personally.

    Simply, it’s just not healthy or smart for me to follow everyone.

    Something I do that is a good middle ground is create lists. I can follow people on lists without opening the DM floodgates. So know that I will still engage with people, I will still catch up with people, it just won’t be through the means of “following” in typical Twitter fashion.

    **OTHER THINGS:

    My Facebook page will still exist and I will still interact on it at Facebook.com/FlowerDust. Facebook doesn’t allow name changes on Pages yet, but as soon as I can, I’ll try.

    Privately, I’ve shut off all my Google Alerts for my name and my book and my websites. I’d love to keep up with all that, but again, I simply need to focus on a handful of things I truly care about. My reputation is not one of them. It will hopefully speak for itself if I consistently seek after a more pure, noble, true, lovely and admirable life. And by making these changes in my online world, those characteristics will flow more consistently out of everything I do.

    ___________

    Is this a poor career choice? I don’t know. It’s debatable. The “experts” say every author needs a platform. Experts have their place, but they don’t run the world. I think I need to be a better writer before I have a platform.

    The bottom line is this: I think faith and love and character can and will supersede any social media campaign anyone can dream up. It’s not about being famous or selling books or promoting myself.

    I need to work on the character things first and foremost, and then out of that I trust my best writing is yet to come.

    ___________

    THANK YOU.

    No matter how long or how short you’ve been a part of FlowerDust.net, or any extension of, I say thanks. I hope we can continue our relationship even if it looks a little differently.

    It’s been a great five years.

    Be well,
    Anne Jackson


  • Does The Reputation Management System Need to Die?

    A couple of weeks ago, I was spending some time with a highly respected friend of mine. For contextual purposes, this person is someone who has sold a lot of books, has a very well-read blog, and travels all over the world to speak and consult. One of the things he talks about frequently is social media, and I consider him to be a true trailblazer in regard to such things.

    During our conversation, he told me that he doesn’t keep Twitter searches going anymore for his name or his books. He deleted all of his Google Alerts. For the good or for the bad, he recognized how these things affected him.

    I was shocked. Over the last few years, I knew him to be one of the few “famous” people who would still go and leave a comment on someone’s blog after they wrote something (again, good or bad) about him. He’d clear something up or apologize if he needed to, or thank them for their kind words.

    He doesn’t do that anymore.

    Granted, none of us – myself completely included – are probably at a level of success where my friend is (if you define “success” by how much product is sold or brand recognition one receives.) If he didn’t thank people on their blogs, his book sales wouldn’t go down and the percentage of his platform that would leave if they were upset for any reason would be so small you probably couldn’t measure it.

    But, this conversation got me thinking…

    And for the last few weeks, I’ve rolled his actions around in my head and have wondered, “Do I need to do the same?”

    Does the reputation management system need to die?

    Don’t get me wrong. I LOVE a personal touch. When someone shares a review of my book or even has a concern about it (as in he or she is offended by its “adult” themes – cough, cough…) I do my best to leave a comment on their blog or thank them on Twitter. Why? Because I appreciate them taking the time to share, even if we disagree on if the word “crap” is foul language.

    For companies, I think it’s wise to monitor such things. I’ve had amazing experiences with Zappos, American Airlines, MediaTemple, and FedEx to name a few (and not so great experiences with Hotel Indigo and USAir, I’ll add). Those touches absolutely make a difference in my brand loyalty.

    Here’s the catch for looking at this in my context as an individual and looking at them in their context as companies.

    I am not a brand.

    They are.

    Some would disagree. There are things about the way I communicate that are uniquely my voice or characteristic of me.

    But I will say it again.

    I am not a brand.

    I am not a commodity.

    I have to ask myself, “Is my identity is wrapped up in what others are saying about me?” … and “Is the only way I’m responding like this is because it helps me build my own recognition or reputation?”

    If the answer to either of those questions are yes, then for me, my reputation management system needs to die.

    I am (slowly) learning that what others think of me, or what I say, what I write, or what I do is not important at all.

    The one question I need to know the answer to is, “Am I doing ________ with integrity?”

    And if the answer to that question is yes, that’s the only thing with which I need to concern myself.

    Is this a poor PR strategy? Bad marketing? Missing out on opportunities?

    Probably.

    But then I remind myself…

    I am not (and nobody is) a product.

    I am not (and nobody is) so important that we need to know what is said about us personally and react to it.

    And most importantly, I don’t think any of this “reputation management” is as important as simply being who we are and doing it as honorably as we can.