Jennifer Morash

Ablist language directed at the blind never used to bother me. It is just so ingrained in the language that I think I got used to it. Things like “How did I miss that? I must be blind.”

　
Actually, something almost exactly like that statement came up in the chat section of a game I play. It is not a game for the blind, but it has been developed to work perfectly for the blind, using the iphone’s built-in text to speech. Thing is? I did not miss what they did. I picked up on it immediately. Honestly, I think such things are easier for me. The eyes skip over words sometimes. In fact, they do that a lot, and the brain uses pattern recognition to fill in gaps, often imperfectly. The ears don’t work that way.

　
But this is just an example. Ablist language is everywhere. Now, you may be thinking “So what? How harmful is it really to say that you were blindsided by something? Aren’t we taking this all a bit too far?”

　
Here’s the thing, though. Ablism is insidious. I doubt that any of you reading this would ever even dream of outright telling a blind person “Hey, blind person, you are less capable than I am.” Because that’s mean, right?

　
Of course it is.

　
However. That is precisely what that sort of language is telling blind people. “I must be blind” means that people with sight would never normally miss that, but blind people certainly would. Even when the truth is the opposite.

　
We see the same thing when we call things we don’t like “lame”. “That party was lame” means that it wasn’t a very good party, that it was lacking. Would you tell someone using a mobility cane that they are lacking? Of course you wouldn’t.

　
See what I mean about insidious? Now, I do not subscribe to the special snowflake, treat people with disabilities with kid gloves, call them handicapable to spare their feelings school of thought. Honestly, I cringe when anyone uses handicapable as a term. It is patronizing in the extreme. I have no problem with disability, even though it does have connotations of being unable. But as it, in my case, means only that I lack the ability to see, which I clearly do, it’s fine.

　
But more and more, I am starting to notice and have problems with ablist language. We have trouble enough with feeling as though we are less somehow. When people around us are, without even thinking about it, reinforcing that feeling, it is even more difficult.

　
I am not saying that people who unthinkingly use those terms are horrible people. I’ve done it. I’m sure you’ve done it, too. We are not horrible people when we do it unthinkingly. Rather, what I am saying is that perhaps we should start thinking about it. Changing habits is difficult, but the first step is becoming aware of what we need to change. You don’t need to profusely apologize if you do slip up and use those terms, that can just make it worse, but just be aware, notice, and try to change.

　
Because you’re not mean. Because I don’t believe most people would thinkingly tell me, or any other disabled person, that we are less.

　
Just food for your thoughts.

　
Want to follow or interact with me on social media? Find me on Twitter by following @jennifermorash or head over to http://www.facebook.com/jennifermorashblog. I post blogs every week on Wednesdays.

　

So today, I was perusing the offerings on audible.com, and taking a peek through things they were suggesting. My brain heard “Space Horse” and so I clicked on that, thinking it sounded like a comedic scifi book.

　
Turns out, I heard it wrong. It was Space Force. I’m sure it is a good book, but I was disappointed not to have found Space Horse, the novel. Then I began wondering what Space Horse might be about. Would it be a sentient horse in space complete with equine space suit? Perhaps a space horse is some sort of single-passenger spaceship you ride like a horse or motorcycle, with the passenger being a renegade space cowboy? With a title like that, it would have to be humourous.

　
And this is where my ideas come from. No one has ever asked me where I get my ideas from, largely because I’m not published and not enough people know I write short stories let alone novels, but I am told that many published authors get asked this.

　
The answer is anywhere and everywhere. A lot of times, it’s just a ‘what if’ that pops into my brain. The short story I posted here last week was born as a union of two different ideas. What if internet algorithms were sentient, and what would fairy names be like if they were modernized That led to Pixel the pixie showing up in the main character’s phone one day and offering her a commission. The main character isn’t me. Honest. I do not have pixies in my apartment.

　
Any random thing can trigger one of these. Sometimes, a book turns out to be completely different than expected, and I wonder what it would be like if it had gone the route I had expected. Somewhere in my brain is a space ark story where the inhabitants are loaded onto enormous ships with the ostensible mission of finding a new home as this one is now uninhabitable, and several generations later all is not going well with shipboard society. That’s pretty standard. My twist on it would be that it turns out that all the ships were a lie, as humanity never quite developed the technology in time, so instead the ships are merely orbitting earth or possibly even buried on earth to keep everyone safe until the planet is once more inhabitable. Because I thought that was where a story was going, and liked my ending better. I may one day write it, if I ever figure out how the ship’s systems fool all the humans into believing this lie. But perhaps not, I think I do better at fantasy than scifi.

　
Sometimes, it is even more general than that. I found myself wishing that someone would write something akin to the Narnia books, but for adults and with an adult protagonist. How would a grown up Lucy have responded to Mr. Tumnus at the lamppost? I kept on wishing someone would write this until I realized that there was an answer… I could write it. I have written it. Two drafts of it. No, it isn’t literally Narnia for adults, but it follows that premise.

　
If you are someone who wants to write, but you find that when you sit down to come up with an idea you get a complete blank, which used to be the case for me, here is my best advice: start paying attention to the weird twists and turns your mind takes. Pay attention to any “what if” your brain throws up and pursue that idea. Write it down. Play with it. You may wind up with a story.

　
They’re not all going to work out, but perhaps some of them will. I may never write that space ark con novel, but I did write the adult girl from our world winding up in a fantasy realm with magic, frightfully idiotic unicorns, man-eating pegasi and fairies with cat ears. And I will continue to take note of the weird notions my brain throws at me.

　
Giddyup, Space Horse.

　
Want to follow or interact with me on social media? Find me on Twitter by following @jennifermorash or head over to http://www.facebook.com/jennifermorashblog. I post blogs every week on Wednesdays.

　

The pixie was sitting on my phone when I woke up.

　
Now, here’s the thing. I’m blind, so it’s not as if I just rolled over and saw her. That would have been less startling. No. I rolled over and groped for the smart phone so I could check the time.

　
“Hey! Watch it, lady.” The voice was high and fluting, but not childlike at all. I’ve heard writers talk about bells when they describe that sort of voice, and that tracks, so long as you’re talking about one of those tiny bells.

　
I didn’t so much yelp as make a groggy-sounding mumble of confusion, and patted absently at my phone, wondering if I had somehow touched something on the screen that was playing some weird sound clip.

　
“I said to watch it,” the little voice complained, and I felt something small slapping at my fingers, followed by a buzzing sound, like an enormous fly or tiny hummingbird had gotten into the room.

　
“What the hell?” I asked, oh-so-intelligently, and finally got my hand onto my phone. Nothing was playing, though, when I swiped my fingers onto the screen.

　
“Are you awake now?” the voice asked, no longer coming from the vicinity of the phone.

　
So. Okay. I freaked out a little bit here. You would have, too. Imagine you woke up in a pitch-dark bedroom with a voice in there with you. That’s more or less like what it was for me.

　
“Who’s there?”

　
“Not a thief with really bad timing or anything. Don’t go calling 911, okay? They’ll just think you’re nuts. I’m a pixie.”

　
“You’re… a pixie,” I echoed.

　
“Geeze. Yes. I’m a pixie. Are your next words going to be about how pixies aren’t real, or are they going to be about how you must be dreaming? Neither is true, both are over done.”

　
“No. They’re going to be about how I need either an infusion of caffeine or whiskey.”

　
“Let’s go with the coffee.”

　
Five minutes later, I had made it to the sofa, a steaming cup in my hands thanks to the marvels of my Keurig. The little voice had followed me around my apartment as I shuffled about, making occasional acerbic comments.

　
“Look. Would it help if I let you feel me?” it finally asked.

　
“Maybe. So long as you’re not talking about feeling your face. Because seriously, no one does that.”

　
“Nah. I was thinking about the wings.”

　
I felt the pressure of tiny feet landing on my forearm, and had to suppress the urge to flinch or jerk my arm. Only the fact that it chose the arm with the coffee cup in its associaited hand really stopped me. Still, I did very cautiously reach out and let my fingers run over a tiny little back to find delicate little wings there. There was also a tiny little dress and absurdly long hair. “So are you a girl or a boy pixie? Or neither? Both?”

　
“Girl pixie, thank you for asking.” She didn’t have to tell me to be careful, but of course she did anyway.

　
“Okay. You’re a pixie. Got a name?”

　
“Pixel.”

　
“Pixel the pixie?”

　
“You were expecting Dewdrop? Bluebell? Moonbeam?”

　
“I wasn’t expecting to be talking to a damned pixie this morning. But yeah. I guess if I had thought about meeting pixies, or small people with wings, they’d be named something like that.”

　
“Actually, that’s fair. We used to get names like that. But we move with the times, you know?”

　
“Sure. I guess. So you went from nature names to… what? Technology names?”

　
“Yeah. Mostly internet and computery names, anyway.”

　
“Okay. Why? I mean, why those names?”

　
“Because we don’t live in flowers anymore. You guys started killing them off, Or killing off the natural ones and cultivating the other ones. We learned a while back to stay the hell out of the gardens of little girls. Fortunately, you guys create as much as you destroy. That, and we sort of have to go where your priorities are.”

　
“Not to sound like a broken record, but why?”

　
I got a sigh. “Okay.” She moved to my shoulder. “Fairy FAQ time. First, I’m going to be using fairy as a generic term, okay? So. A lot of the old stories are real. Shoemaker’s elves. Bridge trolls. Beguiling mermaids that drown sailors. Enchanting Sidhe ladies. People under the hill who will totally mess you up if you overlook the smallest technicality in an agreement. All that stuff. It’s real. But it’s real because you believed it was real.”

　
I took a breath, but got cut off. “Save the questions.”

　
“Okay, okay.”

　
“Right. So. You human people? Your belief is a damned powerful thing. You pretty much believed your way down out of the trees, believed yourself into controlling fire, then went on believing yourselves to where you are now. Half the things you accomplish, you accomplished because you believed that you could. But you’re also storytellers. You’ve told stories since you learned how to communicate. Put those two together, and sometimes you believe other things into existance, especially when you tell the stories to your kids, whose beliefs haven’t had time to get dimmed by doubt. You told stories about fairies, so you got us. Living in flowers, fixing the shoes of impoverished cobblers. But you guys kept changing. Hell, not to keep coming back to them, but the shoemaking guys used to clean houses if you left saucers of milk or little cakes out. But you guys began to get a lot more focused on making stuff, so we moved along. These days, those guys are still tinkering with things. They’re the reason that it works when you fix a problem by turning the computer off then back on, no matter what the technicians tell you.”

　
“so when we focused on computers and the internet more than making shoes, you guys went with it?”

　
She allowed this question, so I guessed she’d come to the end of her pre-prepared little lecture. “Yup. So you’ve got pixies living in the internet. Actually, most of us do. Sometimes, the people trolling comment sections actually are trolls. All those hot singles near you? That’s where the mermaids went. The hot guy or girl on tinder that ghosts you? Sidhe. And you look at the technicalities of your average end user agreement and try to tell me that doesn’t remind you of those old stories about never eating a dog.”

　
“…the fact that what you’re saying makes sense may be the weirdest thing about all of this. But why are you telling me?”

　
“We need you.”

　
“You need… me. Specifically?”

　
“Well. Let’s say you made the perfect candidate. You like to write stories. We need stories. Also, people believe their ears more than their eyes. So we all figured that you being blind might help there. And you talk about both an awful lot on social media, so we found you with only a little bit of digging.”

　
“You want me to write about you? Like, what, publish a blog post exposing your reality to the world?”

　
“Oh, hell,, no. Besides. The algorithms would skin you alive. You know how people joke about their being sentient? It’s no joking matter, and believe me, they are scary, crazy bitches. Or bastards. Maybe we should go with assholes, actually, they don’t tend to take on genders like some of us. Like I said, I’m a girl. Most pixies are, because you guys think of us like girls, usually. Besides, the outfits are cute. Algorithms couldn’t give a crap about that. But I’m getting all distracted. Write stories. Put it all through the lens of fiction, and tell stories about us.”

　
“Why, though? I don’t mean why you guys want me to. I mean… look, this is fascinating and all, but I’m a writer. I don’t just take commissions for free. And if you say exposure, this conversation is over.”

　
“Yeah, we figured. No money. You wouldn’t accept it, anyway. I know the sorts of audiobooks you listen to, so figure you know about fairy gold. But the elves do still sometimes do housekeeping. If they like a person. You’d sure as hell always have a fast connection. And the algorithms would certainly smile on you a lot more. Even if you call them assholes, they’re weirdly proud of it.”

　
“Huh. Actually, that’s an awfully tempting deal. Sweeping the floor is the bane of my existance.”

　
“You don’t even have to stick to the outright truth. I mean, you can, because no one is going to believe that what you’re writing is real, but if you just stick an odd fairy or pretty person with pointy ears or whatever into your writing, that’s enough. People don’t have to believe with all their hearts that we’re real. It’s enough if a bunch of you believe long enough for the usual suspension of disbelief in a story. There’s so many of you now, that can be enough.”

　
“And if I start with this conversation?”

　
I heard the tiniest little snicker. “Actually, that’s a good idea. You should do that.”

　
And that is how I became a ghostwriter for internet fairies. You don’t have to believe that the story is true. My apartment is getting cleaned either way, and you would not believe how quickly I can download movies.

　
The End

　
Want to follow or interact with me on social media? Find me on Twitter by following @jennifermorash or head over to http://www.facebook.com/jennifermorashblog. I post blogs every week on Wednesdays.

　

Ever met one of those women who everyone seems to want to automatically call Mom? Well, that’s my mother. And it’s great.

　
She had a lot to deal with as a young mother. I find it unfathomable, myself, thinking about how much younger she was than I am now, how she dealt with it all. You see, I was a very ill infant. In fact, I almost didn’t make it. I was very ill just after birth, and had to remain in the hospital as they tried to work out what the heck was wrong with me. They did, eventually, and sent me home, but all too soon I was back. Something was wrong with my eyes.

　
Something continued to be wrong with my eyes. I wound up spending at least one month of most years in the hospital, often more. Through it all, she was there. Sitting with me in the hospital. Taking me to doctor’s appointments. Somehow balancing that with raising my sister, as well. I can’t imagine how hard that was. Not just the stress it must have caused, but trying to also be there for my big sister.
　

She was a champion. Not just over all the health things, either. I remember that when I entered school, they decided I was a “slow reader” and put me in the least advanced of three reading groups. She wasn’t having that, and made me do extra work so that they had no choice but to move me up. Given the voracious reader I turned out to be, she was right. I also remember her kicking up a stink over one of my sister’s teachers, who turned out to be pretty awful, and getting that resolved as well.

　
Time moved on. We grew up. Mom continued to champion us. If you are enjoying reading what I have to write, you should probably thank her. She, more than anyone else, encouraged my sister and I to write. My sister is a published poet with a PhD, I should add.

　
We began having roommates, and Mom adopted them. If we got Easter candy as adults – and we did – our roommate got it, too. If they were going to be alone at Christmas? No way, they got an invitation to her place along with us. She was everyone’s Mom. Everyone who needed a Mom had one.

　
Even my clinic director calls her Mom, and she is not joking. Not even a little bit.

　
Today is her birthday. I won’t be seeing her today, but that’s okay, because my sister has spirited her away for some mother-daughter alone time on a quick little trip. Mom deserves it.
　

So to my champion and comforter, and the quintessential embodiment of Momness… happy birthday. From all of us who are lucky to call you Mom.

　
Want to follow or interact with me on social media? Find me on Twitter by following @jennifermorash or head over to http://www.facebook.com/jennifermorashblog. I post blogs every week on Wednesdays, plus occasional extra posts like this one.

Top ten lists are all the rage, so I threw one together. There is no particular order, though, I just tossed these in in the order that they occured to me.

　
So, here we go. The top ten things I want you to realize about people living with disabilities.
　

1. Disabilities tend to fall on spectrums. Not all blind people see absolutely nothing, not all deaf people hear absolutely nothing, not all quadriplegic people cannot move. We’re all a bit different. I can see light from one eye. I’m still blind.
　

2. The larger bathroom stall is not there for you to have extra room to change/move about/etc. Also, just because there is no one in the bathroom when you arrive does not mean that you should use it. Some of us have difficulty with the regular one, or outright can’t use it. Please don’t, unless it is literally the only free one available and you are in an emergency situation, and then be as quick as you can. Just remember that the stall may be someone else’s literal only choice, and they may also be in an emergency situation.
　

3. We are not victims, nor are we brave souls just for living a normal life. If you want to admire us for something we have achieved, by all means, go ahead, so long as you do not tack “for a disabled person” onto the end of that admiration. I am a great massage therapist. I am not a great massage therapist for a blind person.
　

4. Do not pat the service animal. Do not talk to the service animal. Do not make gestures at the service animal. This is dangerous for us, the handler. And I do not just mean that it is dangerous in the short-term, though it is. You are not merely distracting that animal from its job, but you are undermining its training. It isn’t supposed to look for attention while it’s working. Giving it attention while it is on duty teaches it that this is a thing to continue to look for. How do you know if it’s on duty? Easy. If the harness or vest is on, it is working. Even if it is sitting. Even if it is laying at its handlers feet with its eyes closed.
　

5. Emotional support animals are not the same as service animals. This is probably going to upset someone, but hear me out, please. I do understand the immense benefit that an animal companion can bring to someone facing mental or emotional challenges. They’re great. They have been proven to help. By all means, get one if it will help you. But don’t pass it off as a service animal, okay? Unless your animal has gone through the rigorous training of a service animal, do not take it to restaurants. You are giving trained service animals a bad name and making it more difficult for people who use them. Buying a vest and certification online does not make your dog a service dog.
　

6. Not all people with disabilities want to talk about it. Now. As it happens, I don’t mind this myself. Seriously, ask me anything about my disability and I’ll probably be happy to answer, but this is not true of everyone. Some people are struggling to accept it. Some people are dealing with additional trauma around whatever caused the disability. Just randomly asking a stranger to explain their disability is bad. Asking a close friend is different, if you’ve gotten a sense of how much they want to talk about it.
　

7. Not all disabilities are visible. Someone may look perfectly able to you and still have a disability. Please, just believe us if we tell you that we have one, especially if we are currently taking advantage of services meant to make our life a little easier. If you see someone parked in the disabled parking spot, with a placard in place showing that we are allowed to be there, do not challenge us on it. Even if you can’t tell at a glance why we need it. You are not championning the downtrodden by confronting a con. You are most likely challenging someone who needs to use that service to explain themselves to you.
　

8. Please be patient with us if we seem prickly over things and you don’t understand why, especially if you are offering help. Many of us are told that we can’t do things for our whole lives. Society tells us this, media tells us this, our family and friends tell us this. Often, they tell us this thinking that they are helping. They tell us this out of love. It doesn’t make it any easier to be told you are incapable out of love. If we turn you down, do not press the issue. If we get irritated over continued offers, please realize that there may be a reason. If the help we ask for is not the help you think we need, go with what we ask for.
　

9. On the flip side, if we tell you we can’t do something, please believe us. Especially if we have been living with our disability for years. While initially, this particular one is not quite so cut and dried, we do eventually learn where our limits are, and unless you are someone who is trained in rehabilitation, trying to get us to push past our limits is probably going to be detrimental and possibly dangerous.
　

10. Finally, remember that all of us are different. What goes for me may not go for someone with a different disability. It may not even go for someone with the same disability. I crack jokes about being blind all the time, and do not mind if other people do. That doesn’t mean you should make those jokes around anyone else. Someone with a disability could theoretically read this list and disagree with some of it, though likely not all of it. Really, the only certain thing that all disabled people share is that they have some form of disability. Just get to know us as individuals, just like you would with anyone else.
　

So, hopefully you found that enlightening, or at least interesting.
 
Want to follow or interact with me on social media? Find me on Twitter by following @jennifermorash or head over to http://www.facebook.com/jennifermorashblog. I post blogs every week on Wednesdays.

They say that vision boards work. Unfortunately, making one wouldn’t do a whole lot for me. Y’know, with me not being able to look at the pictures and all. Plus finding them could prove a teensy bit difficult. I do know of one blind person who did this anyway, but for me? It’s words. It’s always words.

　
So instead of a vision board, I’m going to make a vision blog. Why a blog? Because perhaps sharing it with you all will be entertaining for you. It also means that if I succeed, I can point back at this list and be all “Lookit! I did it!”

　
Some of these goals are serious. Some are frivolous. One or two may be silly. We shall see.

　
1. Get something, anything, published by the end of 2019. I’m not aiming for my novel here, but even a short story would be good. Even online publication would be good. I will consider winning a contest to fall into this category, or even placing highly in one.
　

2. Acquire an agent by the end of 2020. A literary agent, that is. Not a travel agent or anything. I am giving myself a little more time for this, though naturally I’d be pleased if this happened more quickly than that.

　
3. Publish my novel by the end of 2021. Or at least have a contract in place to be published, I know that the actual process can take longer than this. I need number two to make this happen. Heck, I probably need number one for number two.

　
4. Return to Disney by the end of 2022. Sooner would be better. A group of folks I am close to are all going in September of 2020, and I would love to be with them as I may be the only member of that little group not going, but doing it solo is difficult bordering on impossible for me, and Disney is expensive. So I’m giving myself a bigger window. Bonus points if I can pay for this trip with money from sales of my writing. If I do sell my book, this is honestly what I would likely spend the money on, unless there is legitimate need for it elsewhere. Future sales can be saved, my first book sale is going to be for celebrating.

　
5. Dye my hair purple. No goal date on this one, but it is likely going to happen this fall. I’m growing all the current dye out of my hair so that my natural white streaks are all there, because it’s the only bit that would show purple without bleaching. It won’t be permanent dye as I’ve done in the past, but expect this to start a cavalcade of varying colours.

　
6. Acquire at least one unicorn necklace. Particularly if it is sparkly, purple or pink. Or all three. Or two of them.

　
7. Learn to do more with makeup. This one is likely a surprise to those who see me frequently, as I almost never wear any, but this is because I can only do very basic stuff with it, and also because I don’t even have any good stuff. But I want to change this. Somehow. I wish they had taught this kind of thing at the school for the blind I spent a year at in my mid-teens.

　
8. Be a guest at a con. No target date for this one, either. This is a goal for two reasons. The first is professional. Being asked to be a guest would be an indication of success. It would mean that I have been not just published, but noticed. The second is emotional. Honestly, this idea terrifies me to the tips of my toes. I don’t care for crowds, and I have social anxiety. Doing this would mean overcoming those and going for it anyway. It wouldn’t be easy, but I would like to be able to say that I’ve done it.

　
9. Win a major award for my writing. Hugo, Nebula, John W. Campbell, etc. The list goes on and on. This is the “pie in the sky” goal. Winning something like this isn’t just about talent, though talent is certainly required to do it. But there are many, many talented writers out there, and only so many awards to go around. You don’t have to merely be gifted at writing, you also have to get noticed by the right people. This is a combination of talent, luck, networking and marketting. And likely a few aspects I haven’t actually considered. I may never reach this one, and failing won’t mean that I’m not a good writer. It wouldn’t even signify a lack of success. But I’d be lying if I said that it wasn’t a dearly held dream.

　
10. Meet someone cosplaying as a character that I’ve written. Preferrably not a friend doing it to make me smile, though that would also be nice. I just want to meet someone who loves a character I’ve created enough to want to dress up as them at a con or some such thing. Some writers love getting fan art, but for me… the thought is nice, but I couldn’t appreciate it to the depth sighted writers can. So for me, this is that kind of accolade. I have never, and never will, write a character chiefly to give people something to cosplay as, but I have written a few characters already that I think would make for great cosplay.

　
Ten is a nice, round number, so I think that I will leave it there. Ten goals. As I warned, some are silly. Some are serious. Some are certainly more achievable than others, and a couple rely on things outside of my control. But for this, “goals” aren’t necessarily something I can work towards. Some are dreams.

　
Dreams are important.
　
Want to follow or interact with me on social media? Find me on Twitter by following @jennifermorash or head over to http://www.facebook.com/jennifermorashblog. I post blogs every week on Wednesdays.

When I decided to write this review, I was a little uncertain on when to post it. You see, I’ve already written this week’s blog post, but haven’t yet set it up for it’s pre-programmed publishing on Wednesday. I could push that post back a week, but I like it. I could post this one next week, but I want to give people a chance to get this book the way I did. So, we’re doing a bonus blog.

　
“It’s Not What It Looks Like” is an audiobook written and performed by Molly Burke. Molly is a youtuber, instagrammer, motivational speaker and “social media influencer”. She is also blind. This book is about her life, her triumphs and her struggles.

　
Here’s the thing. I identify and have so much in common with this young lady that I was genuinely relieved when she got to a part that didn’t match my own outlook on life. No, I’m not going to tell you which part that was, because it isn’t important. But I’m glad it’s there. She even has purple hair. Which I do not have, but which my stylist and I have laid solid plans to achieve in the fall, when I’ve grown my hair out enough so that my white streaks are fully in evidence. She makes the same sort of blind girl puns as I do. She even keeps calling herself a “blind girl”, which I do. Or sometimes, blind chick.
　

But understanding me better is not the only reason you should pick this book up. In fact, it’s more of a side benefit. If you are not disabled, I genuinely believe that listening to this audiobook will give you a lot of insight on how to handle interactions with the disabled. From everything from what not to say to why it is not cool to call your untrained pet a service animal, no matter how much emotional support they provide.  If you are disabled, this is a positive example of how it is possible to live your life and pursue your dreams.

　
Now, I am no carbon copy of Molly Burke, nor she of me, but she’s a good example of how normal a blind person can be, while also not sugar-coating the challenges. She, like me, is not defined by her blindness, but also refuses to hide the fact that it has shaped her. Her story is heart-warming, and will give you the feels. It is also entertaining, and occasionally quite funny.

　
It will also make you think. It made me think. In fact, it has challenged something that I believed about myself, and even just wrote about, namely that the reason I don’t care about physical appearance is because I’m blind. I still stick to what I said, but it may have a lot more to do with being a massage therapist and seeing bodies a bit differently. Incidentally, I don’t think Molly is wrong about this. I don’t think someone is wrong not to be physically attracted to larger people, or shorter people, or blonde people, so long as they don’t discriminate against those people because of what doesn’t attract them, which Molly does not.

　
That’s also not the difference between us mentionned above, just so you don’t think you found it.

　
I’m not sure if this book is available in print, and I am not going to look it up so I can tell you, either. Why? Because I think this should be experienced as an audio book. As it is an Audible Original, I doubt that you can get it anywhere but from audible.com, either. The good news? If you are an audible member, this is listed as one of the two free Audible Originals you can nab for the month of August, which is both how I found it, and why I decided to write and post this immediately.

　
Here is how you find it. During August of 2019, open up your Audible app, and find the “Originals” tab. It will be there. If you are reading this after August, or don’t use the app, go to https://www.audible.com/pd/Its-Not-What-It-Looks-Like-Audiobook/B07TVF9RMY?qid=1565013973&sr=1-1&pf_rd_p=e81b7c27-6880-467a-b5a7-13cef5d729fe&pf_rd_r=N4CCEPJX3G2B2YBTJH88&ref=a_search_c3_lProduct_1_1 and grab it from there. I can’t tell you how much it is, though, as I didn’t look before  picking it up, and the price doesn’t show on the page once you own a thing.
　
Regardless, check this out. You’ll love it. I loved it so much that I decided to put up my first book review on it before even finishing it.

　
Want to follow or interact with me on social media? Find me on Twitter by following @jennifermorash or head over to http://www.facebook.com/jennifermorashblog. I post blogs every week on Wednesdays.

So, I did a thing.

　
Those of you who have been reading this for awhile already know about this thing. Those who know me in person absolutely know about this thing, and may wish that I’d just shut up about it already.

　
I wrote a novel!

　
See, here is the thing. I’ve spent my whole life thinking that I should write a novel. That if I just did write a novel, it would be great. But I didn’t.

　
Why? Because while a part of me thought that a novel I did write would be great, a differet part of me thought that I couldn’t actually do it. No idea was quite good enough. This was a case of my confidence on the big picture being overly enthusiastic while my lack of confidence on the small stuff kept me from ever doing it. And the latter turned out to be more of a problem.

　
I think we all have that little voice. It isn’t shouting at us about how we are utterly without worth. It lets us see that there are things we probably could do, if only we… .

　
If only we were in better shape, we could do that marathon.

　
If only our nose were a bit smaller, we could be a model.

　
If only we had a better speaking voice, we could get that part in our community theatre group.

　
If only we made more money, we could get the attention of that nice looking person over there.

　
If only we were more organised, we could put a proposal before our boss and get the promotion.

　
If only I had better ideas, I could write a book.

　
Here’s the thing. That voice is a jerk. That voice does not have your best interests in mind. Those “if only” whispers? They’re lies. Okay, sure, there’s not much you can do about the shape of your nose without resorting to drastic means, but.. maybe you don’t have to.

　
The “if only” voice is capable of lying to you on two fronts. First, it may be presenting you with goals that you may not actually want. Not always, of course. I actually did want to write a book. But I may not want that hot guy. That promotion it’s talking to you about may not be the actual position you’d be happiest in. That voice can, and does, provide you with a false goal that is not only wildly implausible, but may not make you happy.

　
Then, it presents you with the stumbling block, and this is where it gets you. This is the part where it tells you that you’re not good enough to get the shiny prize. It wears away at your confidence in what you can do by pointing out what you can’t do, what you don’t have. We all have flaws. Some, we can get rid of with work, and some we can’t. That voice doesn’t want you to think about how to either rid yourself of or overcome those flaws, though. It wants you to focus on just having them. And, let me repeat this, it is lying to you.

　
Maybe you don’t have a speaking voice that sounds like some sort of angellic bell, but that doesn’t mean that you can’t act. Distinct can be better than generically clear for some roles.

　
Maybe you’re not making much money, but do you actually want the sort of partner that cares enough about that to turn you down because of it, or do you want the sort of partner whose goals align with yours who will work with you to get there?

　
Maybe the reason you can’t get a proposal properly together for that promotion is because it isn’t an area that your talent should be put in. Maybe you really should be in an entirely different department where you’ll find the work actually rewarding.

　
Maybe you’re not in the sort of shape that would let you run that half marathon, but if you start with small, manageable goals, you can get there. If you actually want to, and are not simply focusing on it because others have done it.

　
If onlies don’t want you to think like that. If onlies want you to focus on what is holding you back, not on what could move you forward.

　
If onlies told me that I didn’t have good ideas. They lied. I simply didn’t have the right idea yet, but because of them, when the right idea did come along it took me six months to get past the years of thinking that any idea of mine couldn’t be a novel. Sadly, I had some ideas over those years that probably were good enough. Perhaps I’ll remember them some day.

　
What are your if onlies telling you? Figure it out, and challenge them. Find the lie.

　
Tell your if onlies to shut up, already.

Want to follow or interact with me on social media? Find me on Twitter by following @jennifermorash or head over to http://www.facebook.com/jennifermorashblog. I post blogs every week on Wednesdays.

I wish the world could see the way I see, sometimes. Not all the time. Not really. Not literally. Yet I do wish the world could see as I do, or at least see one another.

　
Because I don’t see through my eyes. I see through my ears, my hands, my nose and my heart. Largely through my hands.

　
I became a massage therapist in 2013, though I decided that I wanted to be one in early 2008 or so. It took me awhile to get my backside in gear, and then it took me much longer to get through the program.

　
Because I also became blind in 2002. At least, that was the most recent time. Another story for another day, that.

　
My name is Jennifer, though many know me as Jenny, and I am a blind massage therapist.

　
Are you one of those people who secretly wants to try massage, or go more often, but you keep feeling like the person working with you is going to be making judgements on your health, your physical fitness, the garlic on your breath, your degree of body hair, or really anything? Trust me, we are not. I am not. Granted, yes, that is in part because I can’t see you, but most of us don’t.

　
But I’m here to talk about myself, and what I see. My hands are my eyes at work, and I see much, much better with them than you do with your eyes. A hand placed lightly on your back instantly tells me that there’s tension here, that this rib is misaligned with it’s connecting vertebra, that you tend to hunch your shoulders up towards your ears when you feel anxious and that you spend way too much time with your head bowed forward.

　
I have “seen” many things in the course of my job. But with few exceptions, I do not see anyone who isn’t beautiful. Your body is a temple. After all, even those who don’t follow a religion can admit that that Tibetan monastery or this ancient cathedral is beautiful. You are a work of art. You are a perfectly balanced column of sums. That muscle working to pull your arm up is counter-balanced with another one that is already tensing up to keep your arm from falling back the moment you stop lifting that cup to your lips.

　
You are a finely calibrated system of levers and pulleys working in concert to move you through life. You are a billion billion cells, each performing its specialized task, working with one another.

　
You are an intricate tapestry, each experience serving as just one thread that weaves together with the others to form a picture. I can read the surface of that tapestry like Braille to find the places where things are getting a bit tangled. Should you be one of those that likes to talk, the things you say or don’t say add a second layer. If you’re silent, as many are, than sometimes something as little as a catch of breath can tell me volumes.And that tapestry is beautiful.

　
And you are beautiful.

　
Not perfect, no. Perfection wouldn’t need my elbow in just the right place to work the kinks out, but perfection isn’t beauty. Perfection is a cold, sterile thing, and true beauty requires nuance and subtle flaws that somehow enhance the whole.

　
Perhaps you came in wearing sweatpants and an old, worn t-shirt. That doesn’t make you less lovely. I can’t see them anyway.

　
Perhaps you have more bulk in areas than you think you should, or perhaps you have less than you want. That also doesn’t matter. You are still beautiful.

　
The only ones who ever seem ugly to me are those I witness treating my coworkers, or treating myself, with contempt. And even then, I’m sure that if I looked hard enough I’d still find some beauty. But I’m not perfect, either, so sometimes I don’t look.

　
If I had the superpower to teach the world the lesson I think is the most important, this is what it would be. See the beauty in yourself, and then turn that vision onto the rest of the world, too. Close your eyes, and see with your hands, your ears, and your heart. That is where you’re going to find the true beauty.

　
Oh. And get more massages. You deserve it. Also drink more water, okay?

Want to follow or interact with me on social media? Find me on Twitter by following @jennifermorash or head over to http://www.facebook.com/jennifermorashblog. I post blogs every week on Wednesdays.