(The recipes, including a link to the index of printable PDF files, can be found at the bottom of this post.)
We often think about things that are "different" as bad, unsavory, or at least unpleasant. When we see something unfamiliar on the table for dinner, it's common to think "I'm not going to like that." And when the new kid in school dresses differently or has a funny haircut, we might wonder if they'll fit in with our friends...
These days, I'm pretty good at keeping an open mind, because most of my very favorite things in the world are things that were "different" when I first encountered them. (This of course includes most of my favorite people!) But I still sometimes have to remind myself that "different" isn't a bad word.
Especially when I feel like I am the one who is "different." When it feels like everyone else knows "the rules" and I'm stuck on the sidelines, wondering why no one taught me how to play the game. When I can't figure out the right words to say or the right clothes to wear or the right...anything, and I worry that I'll never quite "fit."
That's how I've felt my whole life, until last year when I was diagnosed as autistic. Suddenly, the whole world made sense! I wasn't broken. I wasn't defective. I was just Different. And that's a good thing.
She always, always sticks to them. This means keeping her feelings locked tightly inside, despite the way they build up inside her as each school day goes on, so that she has to run to the bathroom and hide in the stall until she can calm down. So that she has to tear off her normal-person mask the second she gets home from school, and listen to her favorite pop song on repeat, trying to recharge. Selah feels like a dragon stuck in a world of humans, but she knows how to hide it.
Until the day she explodes and hits a fellow student.
Selah's friends pull away from her, her school threatens expulsion, and her comfortable, familiar world starts to crumble.
But as Selah starts to figure out more about who she is, she comes to understand that different doesn't mean damaged. Can she get her school to understand that, too, before it's too late?
This is a book I wish I'd had when I was growing up. I didn't know anything about autism. I had never even heard the word. I absolutely didn't know it was my word. If I had been able to see myself reflected in the books I was voraciously devouring from the library every week, maybe I would have been able to see that "different" is not a bad word. Yes, I was different from many of the kids in my class. I saw things from a different perspective. I processed information through a different lens. I had different reactions to various stimuli. There's no denying that I was in fact different. And like Selah, I tried so hard to follow the "rules" for being "normal," with often frustrating results. I wish I could have known that Different can be a very good thing.
This is why we need diverse books. (side note: Because the theme for this week's KidLit Confections post is so similar to the last one, I'm going to stick with the password WeNeedDiverseBooks for printing the PDF versions of the Kid Lit Confections recipes!) We need to see the world reflected through all kinds of lenses. Not just the "normal" point of view from a white, cis, able-bodied, neurotypical perspective. Children (and adults!) of all types deserve the opportunity to see their perspectives reflected as Good Different. And even more, we need the opportunities to visit the perspectives of those who experience the world differently, so that we can better understand each other. That's why it's so important to not only have books that populate their fictional worlds with diverse characters, but those that are written (and illustrated) by folks who share those Different perspectives. Meg Eden Kuyatt is an autistic author. She understands what it's like to see the world through this lens. She knows what it means to be this particular kind of "Good Different," so her portrayal of Selah's story rings true in a way that those who haven't experienced it wouldn't be able to quite pinpoint.
Some people love a big, strong hug. Others like a gentle hug. Some don’t like to hug at all—they like to shake hands instead. Same Love, Different Hug is a gentle picture book that looks at how different people connect and navigate boundaries, modeling social-emotional skills for the youngest among us.
This is another book that I wish I'd had years ago. It's such a perfect way to explain to young readers (and adults--and everyone in between!) that everyone has different comfort levels with physical affection. Sometimes because of personality differences, sometimes because of disability reasons, and sometimes because we simply need some space (or a giant cuddle) at the moment. Paying attention to the ways our friends, family members, and others want and need affection is one of the best ways to show genuine love and care.
I read this book through the lens of someone with autism, who sometimes gets overwhelmed by too much sensory input (and can't handle being touched) but sometimes needs the weight and pressure of a tight "squish hug" to reset my senses. And also through the lens of someone with a brain tumor that can cause all kinds of issues with my sensory inputs as signals get crossed on the way between my brain and the rest of my body. Sometimes, I want a squeeze-me-tight hug to know I'm not alone (or because my brain has literally forgotten how to breathe, and a tight hug can trigger the signal to remind me how to use my lungs). Sometimes even a feathery light hug is too much--sometimes even so painful that it makes me want to cry. It took me years to figure out how to express this to my family so that they could offer the right kind of hugs. And sometimes, I'm still too shy to ask for the hugs I need, because I'm afraid I might come across as either too demanding or too stand-offish. Books like SAME LOVE, DIFFERENT HUG make it easier to communicate to others that we all need different things from each other sometimes.
The author, Sarah Hovorka, mentions in the bio on her website that she deals with Crohn's Disease, and on the jacket flap of the book, it says that this partly inspired SAME LOVE, DIFFERENT HUG. We have different reasons for connecting to this particular story, but the connection is there. This is another reason we need diversity on our library shelves. Because it's not something I experience, I wouldn't necessarily pick up a book about (or created by someone who has) Crohn's Disease expecting to find a perspective relevant to my own. But the struggles (at least in this case) are similar, and this book helped me to find simple words to help explain my needs to friends and family members who haven't experienced anything like it themselves.
No escape. Follow the rules. And don’t count on reality―in this uniquely vibrant romantasy from NYT bestselling author Pintip Dunn and daughter Love Dunn…
It looks like paradise…only it’s not. This was supposed to be a once-in-a-lifetime family trip to Thailand. One last wish for my dying mama. Instead, we’re stranded on a lush, stunning island with ten strangers―held captive as Thai mythology unfolds around us…and within us.
Now we’re being tested. We’re expected to face our greatest fears―and possible deaths―in hopes of awakening some kind of dormant gift…or curse. One by one, we’re transforming, echoing the strange and sometimes wondrous abilities found in Thai folktales.
But my mama has only days to live, my papa is missing, and I’m forced to trust a group of strangers…including our evasive, dark-eyed tour guide, who resembles a minor god. Toss me in the ocean and feed me to the naga now.
Only I’m no hero. My days are managed by numbers and the compulsions that used to keep me safe.
I have to prove how far I can go. To survive. To protect my family.
And to find a way off this perilous island where everything is a lie…including reality.
The main character in this book has OCD, just like the co-author Love Dunn. This is another kind of Different that has been unfairly stigmatized for years. And it's another kind of Different that I am exploring for myself. (My therapist is pretty sure I have it, but I'm waiting for an appointment with a psychiatrist to officially confirm the diagnosis. Because even though I firmly believe that self-diagnosis is perfectly valid in cases of neurodivergence, when most of the diagnostic criteria and assessments were written by neurotypical folks who don't fully understand the way our brains work...and even though I strongly suspect that my therapist is right, because I have so many "OCD Tendancies" that it definitely points to a diagnosis...I still need the "official" confirmation before my brain will let me claim it. Maybe that's a symptom of my OCD craving the completion of getting everything "right...")
I'm excited to explore this aspect of myself through a story that takes a deep dive into traditional Thai myths and legends. Because I'm a huge fan of retellings (as I'm sure you can gather from the themes of my own books!)
And because I love to pair the books I'm reading with favorite tried-and-true or brand-new delicious recipes, I thought that this week's books fit really well with my gluten-free, lower-sugar (for those of us who might need to watch our blood sugar, or who occasionally prefer a treat that isn't quite as sweet) "Good Different" Oatmeal Cookies. Oatmeal Cookies--especially my favorite variety, Oatmeal Raisin Cookies--often suffer from the same negative "Different" label in the cookie world that we apply to the people we meet who aren't "like us." But they are also extremely versatile and brimming with possibilities! Oatmeal cookies can be plain and simple or richly decadent, depending on what you add to them.
These "Good Different" Oatmeal Cookies are sweetened with a raisin puree, instead of processed white (or brown) sugar. They aren't sugar-free, because raisins have quite a bit of sugar in them (about 104 grams of sugar in the cup of raisins used to sweeten the cookies), but that's a significant reduction from the sugar in my original Oatmeal Raisin Cookies (approximately 210 grams of sugar: 100 grams in 1/2 c. of white sugar and 110 grams in 1/2 c. of brown sugar). This provides an excellent base for all kinds of creative mix-ins to personalize your cookies.
Turn them into a healthy breakfast option by adding bits of dried fruit and your favorite nuts for lasting energy and protein to get you through your morning.
Make a decadently sweet treat by adding chocolate chips, M&Ms, or even mini marshmallows. There's literally no limit to what you might create when you dare to explore new options!
“Good Different”
Oatmeal Cookies
1 c. raisins
¼ c. water
1 c. butter
½ c. peanut butter (optional)**
2 eggs
1 tsp. baking soda
½ tsp. salt
½ tsp. ground ginger (optional)
1 tsp. cinnamon
2 tsp. vanilla extract
3 c. gluten-free oat flour
2 c. gluten-free oats
Blend water and raisins together to make a smooth puree. In a large bowl, cream together butter, raisin puree, and peanut butter**. I like to use natural peanut butter (100% peanuts), so there’s no added sugar.
Add eggs, baking soda, salt, ginger, cinnamon, and vanilla. Mix until combined, then turn speed up to high and beat until light and fluffy (3-5 minutes).
Mix in flour. Reduce mixer speed to low and add oats. Then,
stir in 1 ¼ to 1 ½ c. of your favorite mix-ins. I used 1 c. walnuts and ¼ c.
raisins. Or try: dried blueberries, chocolate chips, sunflower seeds, pecans, chopped
dried apples, M&Ms…whatever you like best!
Roll into 1-inch balls. Place on parchment-lined baking
sheet about 2 inches apart, and press to flatten each cookie slightly.
Bake* at 375 degrees Fahrenheit for 9 minutes.
Let cool about 5 minutes on tray before removing to a wire rack to cool
completely.
Makes about 5 ½ dozen cookies.
*Optional: Bake a few cookies & freeze the extra cookie dough. Roll
dough balls and flatten slightly. Place cookies on parchment-lined baking sheet
(no space necessary) and freeze for 2-4 hours. Once frozen, transfer cookie
dough to a large freezer bag and return to your freezer. You can bake straight
from frozen at 350 degrees Fahrenheit for 12-14 minutes. Freshly-baked cookies
anytime you want!
**If you choose to omit the
peanut butter, you may need to add 1 c. oat flour with the eggs in order to
achieve the right emulsification to get the light, fluffy texture to the batter
before adding the rest of the flour, oats, and mix-ins.
(The recipes, including a link to the index of printable PDF files, can be found at the bottom of this post.)
Ah, January. That time when we collectively resolve to change everything about ourselves in order to fit the mold we think everyone else wants us to cram ourselves into. Isn't it magical?wonderful?? absolutely terrifying?
Ugh!! Stop.This isn't a post about my New Year's Resolutions. BecauseI don't believe goals should wait until January 1st to begin. We can set new goals and look forward to achieving new milestones every single day. Give yourself a year to work on them, if you want, but who says that year has to start on January 1st? (The US government starts their fiscal year in October. Who says you can't start your goal-setting year in May? Or February? Or September?)Goals are better than Resolutions. Goals give us something to work toward. Resolutions are all about the things we're trying to get away from. And I'd rather embrace the good and build on my strengths than focus on the negative, which has never worked for me anyway.I said so, and this is my blog, so I get to make the rules!
I've been thinking about this post for weeks. Trying to come up with the perfect words to share my new project. But trying to find the perfect words has kept me from moving forward, so I'm just jumping in!!
Presenting: #KidLitConfections
New (and sometimes previously-shared, but often recently-revised) recipes for delicious cookies, pies, and other desserts (as well as some savory treats, if I feel like it!!) paired with the book(s) I'm reading these days and why I love them. Featuring super-cute artwork by my artist husband, Philip Bartles
For this inaugural #KidLitConfections post, I wanted to find the perfect books to highlight to really kick this off right. But the more I thought about the books I've read recently...and the books I've read not-so-recently...and the books that touched my soul so deeply that they helped to shape me into the person I am today... I realized that there really isn't a "perfect" book (or even a group of books) to kick things off with. (But I do have a growing list of book recommendations on my bookshop.org lists, if you're looking for something fabulous to read!)
Because the most wonderful thing about dessert is that there are so many different kinds (even if you narrow it down to just one category of desserts--like my favorite, cookies). You can find examples to fit almost every flavor preference...and if it doesn't exist yet, the perfect recipe can be created! Chances are, everyone you know has a favorite dessert. And chances are also pretty high that many of the people you know have a different favorite than you. But when we share our favorite treats with each other, we not only grow closer in those shared experiences, but we get a little taste (quite literally) of what makes the other person who they are.
That's also the most wonderful thing about books. There are stories about so many different experiences. Tales from every culture and point of view. And when we share those perspectives with each other through our books and stories, we get a little taste (metaphorically speaking) of what makes "them" special. (Because as much as we want to pretend we can ignore an "us vs. them" mindset, those who are honest with ourselves will admit that we cannot help but see those who are unfamiliar as "them" or "other.") And if the books that contain these "other" stories aren't published yet (perhaps YOUR experience is one that is missing from the big picture!), there is always room on the bookshelf for more. Sadly, the world sometimes fights against the need for these books, but make no mistake: we need all of the stories. Because all voices matter. All experiences matter. All people matter. Even you. Even me. Even "them."
We need these diverse books, just as much as we need diversity in our dessert menu. Not just because you would personally miss them if the world didn't have your favorite chocolate chip cookies. Or gingerbread. Or flan. Not just because people (especially children!) need to be able to see themselves represented in the books they find on the library shelves. This variety is also important because desserts are a fun way to explore new flavors, and because books are an essential way to discover new outlooks. You might miss out on a new favorite treat if you never get to experience the sweet nuttiness of baklava or the syrupy, creamy decadence of gulab jamun. And you might miss a connection with that neighbor who seems a little different or fail to appreciate the beauty of your best friend's cultural celebrations if you never have a chance to explore the world through their perspectives.
You might, like me, discover something new about yourself. I was in my 40s before I discovered, though reading things written by autistic authors (and then going through testing and consultation with first a therapist and then a psychiatrist for confirmation--although I absolutely believe self-diagnosis is perfectly valid for neurodivergence) that I am autistic too. And as soon as I discovered that I was autistic, so many things in my life just clicked into place. Suddenly, the world made sense in a way it never had. But I would never have even looked if I didn't have the opportunity to explore the world through a voice I thought would be completely separate and "other" from my own.
You might, like so many others, discover that the "other" voices you're experiencing in the stories you read truly are different and unique from your own perspective. (Not every story is yours, and that's okay!) But in stepping into that POV for a moment, until you hit "The End" and close the book, you may discover that the "other" you dreaded, or even detested, is not so different from you after all. You may discover common ground that allows you to form deep and lasting friendships. And they might be able to understand you better as well.
Not every story is for every person. You may pick up a book and discover by the end of chapter one that it simply isn't for you. That's okay. Put it back on the shelf for the person who needs it. But it's important to keep sampling new and different things from time to time. And to make space on the shelf for those stories that haven't yet been told (or that aren't told enough)! Because ultimately, our stories are the only things we have that can truly bring us together.
With that in mind, today I'm sharing two different cookie recipes. Both were recipe requests from the same person.** If you would like a printable PDF version of these recipes, there is a link to an index for all #KidLitConfections recipes at the bottom of this page. The current password for printing is WeNeedDiverseBooks
The first recipe, Cilantro & Lime Cookies, was very difficult for me to create because I'm one of those people for whom cilantro tastes like soap. So I couldn't (and frankly didn't want to) taste test these. But with a bit of trial-and-error, and a LOT of willing taste-test volunteers who love cilantro, I was able to create a recipe that was universally declared a winner by every cilantro-loving taste-tester in my sample group. I can't attest to the deliciousness of these cookies. They simply aren't designed for me.
The second recipe, Dark Chocolate Raspberry Cookies, quickly became one of my favorite cookies ever. It tastes like luxury and decadence, with a hint of nostalgia. (My dad used to get chocolate raspberry sticks for Christmas every year, and he would always share them with me while we sat and talked about the Very Important things going on in my life.) For me, this is the perfect combination for the ultimate dessert. But for my youngest daughter, they are disgusting. She hates the flavors of chocolate and fruit combined. These cookies are simply not designed for her.
You might love one and hate the other. You might think one is meh and love the other. You might love or hate both varieties. But wouldn't it be sad if we only had desserts that fit my criteria for the best treats? Or if my daughter's taste preferences ruled it all? One of us (and likely many of you) would always feel left out. We need diverse desserts. We need diverse books. We need each other.
Cilantro &
Lime Cookies
You will need:
1 bunch cilantro (about
2 oz)
½ c. olive oil
3 eggs
¼ c. lime juice
½ c. butter
2 c. sugar
8 packets true lime
crystalized lime
1 tsp. baking powder
1 tsp. baking soda
1 tsp. salt
3 Tbsp. cornstarch
2-2 ¼ c. fine cornmeal
2-2 ½ c. gluten-free all-purpose
flour (Bob’s Redmill 1-to-1 is my favorite)
Gold sugar sprinkles
Instructions:
Remove and discard cilantro stems. Wash leaves and pat dry on
a folded, clean cotton towel.
In a blender, blend together cilantro leaves, olive oil, and
eggs on high speed for about 45 seconds to a minute, until smooth. Add lime
juice and True Lime crystalized lime powder. Blend for 30-45 seconds. Set
aside.
In a large bowl, cream together butter and sugar. Add
cilantro mixture, baking powder, baking soda, salt, and cornstarch. Mix until
combined, then turn speed up to high and beat until light and fluffy (3-5
minutes).
Stir in 2 c. each of cornmeal and flour. If mixture is too
sticky, gradually stir in up to ¼ c. extra cornmeal and ½ c. additional flour.
Roll into 1-inch balls. Dip into gold
sugar sprinkles and flatten each slightly. Place on parchment-lined baking
sheet about 2 inches apart and bake* at 350 degrees Fahrenheit for 10-12
minutes. Makes about 6 dozen cookies.
Dark Chocolate &
Raspberry Cookies
1 ½ c. butter
1 ½ c. sugar
4 eggs
4 Tbsp. tapioca starch
2 tsp. baking powder
1 tsp. salt
1 c. freeze-dried raspberry powder
1 c. cocoa powder
3 ½ c. gluten-free all-purpose flour (Bob’s
Redmill 1-to-1 is my favorite)
6 oz. mini chocolate chips
In a large bowl, cream together butter and sugar. Add eggs, starch,
baking powder, and salt. Mix until combined, then turn speed up to high and
beat until light and fluffy (3-5 minutes).
Stir in raspberry powder and cocoa powder. Mix until
thoroughly combined.
Mix in 3 c. flour. If mixture is too sticky, gradually stir
in up to ½ c. additional flour.
Roll into 1-inch balls. Place on parchment-lined baking
sheet about 2 inches apart, and press to flatten each cookie slightly.
Bake at 350 degrees Fahrenheit for 8-10 minutes. Let cool
about 5 minutes on tray before removing to a wire rack to cool completely.
Makes about 6 dozen cookies.
*If desired, you can freeze
the extra cookie dough. Roll dough balls, dip in sprinkles, and flatten
slightly. Place cookies on parchment-lined baking sheet (no space necessary)
and freeze for 2-4 hours. Once frozen, transfer cookie dough to a large freezer
bag and return to your freezer. You can bake straight from frozen at 350
degrees Fahrenheit for 12-14 minutes. Freshly-baked cookies anytime you want!
**I have a "cookie challenge" for missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. If they write to me--a hand-written letter sent to me in the mail--and tell me about a small daily miracle--something beautiful and uplifting that they have seen or experienced, they can request any kind of cookie they'd like, and I will create the recipe if it doesn't already exist (or simply make the cookies if it's an already established variety--I've had a few requests for plain chocolate chip) and send back a letter of my own with a sampling of their requested cookies. (I started with friends, family, and missionaries who have served in the areas where I've lived, and I allow them to share my address with their friends and family as well, so now I even get letters from missionaries I've never met, some of which are connected to me by three or four degrees of separation! I also have extended this same challenge a few times to a few other friends--mostly other KidLit writers and illustrators I've met through conferences and other events.) I think it would be fun to open up the challenge with a wider scope and see where and what kind of letters I could receive...but I haven't been able to figure out how to do so without sharing my address with the whole world or investing in a PO box (which is currently outside my budget)...
Whether we're real-life, in-person friends or just casual acquaintances from social media, if you're here, reading this blog, you probably know me well enough to know a few key facts about me:
1. I love KidLit! From cute and quirky picture books to heart-wrenching middle grade novels to YA books that make you think about the world in new ways (hopefully with a heavy dose of laughter swirled in)... books feed my soul and nourish me in ways that nothing else in this world can.
2. I love a challenge! Most of the diverse skills I've acquired over the years, most of my biggest accomplishments in life, most of the things I am most proud of have been the result of a challenge either explicitly or implicitly given.
3. I can make just about anything into dessert. I always laugh when I see the dieting advice that says if you are easily tempted by sweets, just don't buy them, because you can't be tempted to eat something that you don't have access to. Because I can make a pretty delicious dessert out of ingredients you wouldn't usually categorize as "sweets."
So... a few weeks ago, when I joined the #KidLitChat (Tuesday nights at 9 pm Eastern on the BlueSky social media app), and someone in the chat mentioned once eating a Popcorn Pie, I was intrigued! I love popcorn! And who doesn't love pie?** Of course, we all demanded that they share the recipe, and when they didn't, I quipped that I would just have to create a Popcorn Pie recipe to share! And last Tuesday night, I had a delicious piece of Popcorn Pie to eat while talking about the business side of publishing in #KidLitChat. But just because the pie was finished and ready to eat didn't quite mean I had a recipe to share just yet.
My recipe creation process is much like my writing process for the books I write. The idea sparks with a fully-realized main character (in this case, Popcorn Pie) popping into my head to say hello. Then, I need to sit with them for a few days (or weeks...or sometimes longer) to get to know them well. Who are they? What are they made of, deep down? What surprises will they share with me if I'm patient enough to really listen? What assumptions might someone make when first introduced to them? Are any of those assumptions correct? (And how do I best help the audience to let go of their false assumptions?)
When I feel like I know my main character (in this case, the Popcorn Pie) well enough to really understand what they're made of, the real work and experimentation can begin. With my manuscripts, this is when I pull out my story pencils and a notebook and begin writing the first draft of my novel or picture book. With my recipes, this is when I start pulling ingredients out of the pantry and fridge and tossing them together to create the thing I've imagined. And with both manuscripts and recipes, I am well aware that there will be mistakes and missteps along the way, plenty of opportunities to revise, and maybe even a moment or two when I tweak something in an attempt to make it better and only make it worse. (This is why I keep copies of every draft of my manuscripts--in case I need to revisit the scene I deleted twelve drafts ago--and why I always buy at least double what I think I'll need for a new recipe!)
This messy-draft approach to recipe creation usually means that by the time I have the recipe figured out well enough that I'm ready to share taste tests of the dessert, my page(s) full of notes and scribbles are illegible to most anyone but me (and my children, who all learned how to cook by helping me in the kitchen--and often acted as my scribes when I was in full recipe-creation mode and just yelled out ingredients and quantities as I tossed them into the bowl). So just like a manuscript needs a final once-over to look for typos and missing words before sending it out into the world, I usually have to make the recipe once or twice more to make sure I remember how this messy list of ingredients came together to make the final product.
Now, just in time for tonight's #KidLitChat, I finally have the recipe ready to share, with a few variations for those who might want to do some experimenting of their own!
1/2 c. homemade caramel sauce (recipe below will make far more than you need!)
Cooking spray (or a little bit of extra butter--to grease your pie plate)
Whipped cream (make your own, or use the stuff from a can--either way, it's delicious)
Spray your pie plate with cooking spray (I like to use the buttery-flavored spray oil for this, because it gives that tiny extra bit of butter flavor without the extra work of slathering real butter around the pie plate--but either way works. The point is to make sure your caramel corn crust doesn't stick!)
Pop your favorite popcorn and measure approximately 4 1/2 cups into a large bowl. (Make sure to pick the fluffiest pieces! You don't want to break a tooth biting into an unpopped or half-popped kernel.) Pour 1/2 c. of your caramel sauce over the popcorn and stir to coat thoroughly, then quickly pour the whole thing into your pie plate. Spray your hands lightly with oil (or rub a tiny bit of butter in like lotion--so the caramel doesn't stick to your hands), and then press the caramel corn into the bottom and up the sides of the pie plate to form a crust. Set this aside while you make the custard filling.
In a heavy-bottomed saucepan, heat the milk over medium-low heat, just until small bubbles start to form around the edges. (Watch it carefully and do not boil! Milk can burn quickly if left unattended.) Drop in the roasted corn teabags and set aside to steep for 10 minutes.
Meanwhile, separate your eggs and place the yolks in a large mixing bowl (save the whites for a yummy omelet in the morning). Add cornstarch, sugar, and popcorn salt, and whisk together well.
Remove teabags from milk (squeeze gently to express the excess milk from the teabags back into the pot) and stir in heavy cream. Return to medium-low heat and stir gently until steam begins to rise. (You may see small bubbles around the edges of the pan, but we aren't really trying to get the milk/cream too warm at this point.)
Remove milk from heat and very slowly pour into the egg mixture (I like to use a ladle to add the milk a small amount at a time), whisking constantly so that the egg doesn't curdle.
Once the milk is fully incorporated, pour it back into the pan and return to medium-low heat. Heat slowly, stirring constantly, until the mixture begins to thicken. (You'll know it's ready when the custard coats the back of a spoon.) Pour into the caramel corn crust and chill in the fridge for 3-4 hours. Garnish with whipped cream and serve.
Variation #1: The moisture in the custard can make the bottom of the crust a bit soft. If you don't want that, you can melt 1/2 cup of dark chocolate chips and spread over the caramel corn just after forming the crust, before making the custard. Allow the chocolate to cool and set. This will act as a moisture barrier to keep the custard from soaking into the caramel corn. (If you spread the chocolate too thick, however, it makes the pie difficult to cut into!)
Variation #2: The custard filling has a pleasing buttered popcorn flavor, so if you don't want the added sugar of the caramel corn for your crust, you can use your favorite homemade or store-bought pie crust instead. Simply bake the crust in advance, as you would for any custard pie.
Variation #3: If you can't find the roasted corn tea (I bought mine at Wegman's, and I've also seen it at Korean grocery stores, but I also found it on Amazon, if your local grocer doesn't have it), you can make the custard with popped corn instead. You will need to adjust some of the ingredients for the custard recipe:
2 c. skim milk (instead of the 1 1/2 c. in the original recipe)
5 c. popped corn (instead of the roasted corn teabags)
1 Tbsp. cornstarch (instead of the 1/4 c. in the original recipe)
Place popped corn into a large bowl. (No need to pick out the partially-popped kernels for this part!) Pour the warmed milk over the corn, and stir. The white, fluffy part of the popcorn will melt away into the milk, and it's kind of fun to watch! (This is why it's important to reduce the cornstarch from the original recipe. I didn't think to do this the first time I tried this variation, and it made my custard way too thick!!) Let sit for 10 minutes, as in the original recipe, while you prepare the other ingredients.
Using a fine mesh strainer, strain the milk back into the saucepan. Press lightly with the back of a spoon to get as much of the milk out of the corn as possible. (You may see some of the starchy parts of the corn squeeze through the holes of the strainer into the pan. This is not really a problem, as they're very small and they kind of melt away into the custard anyway.)
Continue with the instructions above to finish making your Popcorn Pie.
Homemade Caramel
1 1lb. brown sugar
1 c. karo syrup
1 stick butter
1 can sweetened, condensed milk
In a heavy pot over medium heat, melt together sugar and corn syrup, stirring constantly, until it comes to a boil. Boil 1 minute. Remove from heat and stir in butter, then milk. Return to medium heat and bring back to a boil. Boil 2 minutes, stirring constantly. Use 1/2 c. to make your caramel corn crust. Transfer the remaining caramel to a glass jar and store in the fridge for future desserts. Or simply make a giant bowl of popcorn and pour the caramel sauce over it all, so you have caramel corn to snack on with your pie (or tomorrow, when you're sad that the pie is all gone).
*Note! If your custard starts to curdle a bit when you're cooking it (if you mixed the hot milk mixture into the eggs too quickly, or if you forget to keep stirring while cooking it afterward...or if the kitchen gods decide to test your patience by throwing a problem into the mix when you're sure you've done everything right, and why won't this turn out the way it's supposed to???) DON'T FRET! Just pour the custard into your blender and give it a spin for a minute or so (or hit it with the immersion blender right in the pan, if you have one of those!) and the lumps will probably melt away. And if not, it will still taste good. (And mistakes just give you an excuse to make another Popcorn Pie later, right?)
**I know there are people who literally don't love pie. You might be one of those people. But honestly, you must admit that most people who have tried it enjoy pie.
Next up: I've been challenged to create a Cilantro Lime Cookie! I've never failed a recipe challenge yet, but this one will be tricky. (I'm one of the folks with the gene that makes cilantro taste like soap.) Luckily, I have a group of taste-testers ready and willing to sample batches of cookies until I get it right
This post will probably be the most vulnerable I have ever allowed myself to be in public, so if you are only here for the recipe, I'm putting it right up top for you.
This is a fun, fall recipe, inspired by my love of the Netflix original show, Julie and the Phantoms. After you bake the cookies, you won't be able to see the mini marshmallow "ghosts," but even though these ghosts have no bodies, like the three musical spirits from the show, their essences won't disappear!
Maple Phantom Cookies
2 c. maple syrup (reduced to 1 1/2 c.) 2 c. butter 1/2 c. cornstarch 3 eggs 2 tsp. baking soda 1 tsp. salt 5 c. gluten-free all-purpose flour mini marshmallows (aka "ghosts")
Pour 2 c. maple syrup into a 2qt. glass measuring bowl. Heat on high in the microwave to reduce the liquid. The timing will vary based on your microwave. Start with 3 minutes, but don't take your eyes off it for a second! Stop & stir every time it starts to bubble up, so it won't boil over! Once the syrup starts boiling, you will have to stop it more and more frequently to stir down the bubbles, until it starts to thicken. (Once some of the liquid has boiled off, it will bubble up less.) -- Keep heating on high, 30 seconds at a time, until the syrup has reduced to 1 1/2 c. (You can also reduce the syrup by heating on the stove, stirring constantly so it won't burn or boil over.)
Stir in cold butter, until it's thoroughly combined. Chill 2-4 hours, until butter/syrup is slightly solidified, but not hard.
Transfer to large mixing bowl and beat in cornstarch, eggs, soda, and salt. Stir in flour. Then cover and chill overnight.
Scoop dough into 1/2-inch balls. Flatten each ball into a disc and place a mini marshmallow in the center. Fold the edges up around the marshmallow and pinch together to seal. Roll slightly in your hands to even out the dough, then place on a parchment-lined baking sheet.
Bake at 375F for 8-9 minutes, until slightly browned on the bottom. Cool for a few minutes on the tray, then remove to a wire rack to cool completely.
Usually, my crazy cookie challenges come from friends or family members trying to stump me with wacky ingredients. (Capers, feta, & celery? Spinach & zucchini? Olive oil & rosemary? Who knew that would make such a great cookie?)
But this recipe is all me.
Mostly.
As inspired by Julie and the Phantoms.
The recipe, like the show, is fun and sweet and full of things to make me smile. Which is exactly what I need in my life right now. And for those of you who just came for the recipe, there it is. I hope you enjoy it!
For those of you who came for the life story you know I always include when I share recipes here ... I'm going to try to explain why Julie and the Phantoms means so much to me. Why I have watched every single episode at least 15 times through (and many of the scenes within the episodes hundreds of times) even though the show has only been out for a month. And why (at least for now), this obsession is exactly what I need.
But before you read further, I feel like I should issue a content warning for depression, anxiety, sexual harassment, and suicide. As much as I try to live in a world full of rainbows and bubbles, the real world just isn't always like that. And this post will be one of those not-quite-like-that moments. If you want to read on, but you aren't in the right headspace to handle these topics right now, feel free to skip down to the "Julie and the Phantoms" header way down there--where I talk about the hope and joy and inspiration I am finding in this show.
...
...
...
,,,
,,,
,,,
If you're still here, still reading ...
Umm...
Hi.
This might be the hardest thing I've ever written, but I feel like it's time. Maybe someone out there needs to hear this. Maybe I just need to say it, so it's not echoing through my brain alone anymore. Either way, I'm probably going to ramble. A lot. Because I'm pretty sure I'll lose my courage and cancel this entire post if I try to edit and polish it up very much. I apologize in advance.
Confession: I have been thinking of writing this blog post every day for the past two weeks, and Monday night (10/12), I promised myself that, since after two weeks of not writing it, I still felt compelled to do so, I was going to force myself to sit down and write the thing and do nothing else (not even going to bed) until it was done. I sat down at my computer around 5pm that night... By 8:01am on Tuesday morning (10/13), I had made it this far. (I did take a small break for dinner Monday night, and a slightly longer, unintentional break when I fell asleep in my chair for a few hours during the night.) It's not that I don't know what to say ... it's that I kind of know exactly what I want to say, but I don't want to overwhelm anyone, and I don't quite know how much is "too much."
Story Time:
This is going to be long. I'm sorry about that. But honestly, I can't figure out how to say what I need to say without going through the whole story and being actually honest about everything. (And I know I have hinted at a lot of this stuff before, so those of you who have been reading along for years probably have figured out a lot of this ... but there are parts I've never admitted out loud before, and right now, it just feels important to be more transparent.)
But first one more disclaimer:
I'm not writing this to beg for attention or to paint myself as having a more difficult time of it than anyone else. In fact, I know that there are a lot of people who struggle so much more than I do. I promise I'm not trying to play the hardship Olympics here. I simply can't pretend to be okay anymore, and it has to come out somewhere.
Okay, for real this time...
I have struggled with depression and anxiety my entire life, at least as far back as I can remember. When I was a child, it confused me to no end that I could sit in my room on a perfectly lovely day and just cry. Especially when I couldn't actually point to a single reason for being sad and I could, in fact, point to lots and lots of reasons for being happy. Being sad, or crying when I didn't have a reason to be sad didn't make sense to me.
I knew I was broken.
And I was positive that no one would want me if they knew I was broken.
Especially when they all had things of their own to worry about.
Especially after I once heard my mom tell one of her friends "I never have to worry about Veronica." (To this day, I have no idea what the context of this statement was. And it was such an off-hand remark that I am certain my mom doesn't even remember even saying it. It's quite likely that she was talking about a certain situation where she could count on me... like "I trust that Veronica won't go jump into the community pool without a lifeguard on duty," but to my little 6-year-old mind, it meant "You cannot ever make a single mistake, or your mother will not love you anymore!")
So I learned to play the part I knew I was supposed to play.
My mom tells a cute, little story about how, when my preschool teacher would set out stacks of coloring pages for us to choose from, I felt compelled to color one of each different option. I still remember the absolute panic I felt the day she set out twenty different types of coloring pages (all of the leftovers from previous coloring times). There was so much to do, and so little time to finish! But I had to finish. I skipped nap time and snack time. I sat at the table all by myself while the other kids were playing with toys for free time, and I still had to rush so much that I got some of the coloring outside the lines.
But I managed to color all twenty of those pages before my mom came to pick me up from school. And luckily, she was in a hurry, and didn't look closely enough to see that I had strayed outside the lines on several of the pages. Because I had to be perfect.
Always.
For all people.
In all situations.
Even when it was just coloring pages in preschool.
I became the person everyone else could lean on for support, no matter what, in all circumstances. Even if I didn't know how to hold my own self up. And above all else, I knew that I could not be a burden.
But everyone has a different definition of "perfect," and it's really hard to be the perfect person for everyone else. The perfect sidekick, who would smile and nod and help my best friend get the guy I had a crush on to ask her to the school formal. The perfect sibling, who would help my sister sneak out to see her boyfriend, while simultaneously being the perfect daughter, who would never tell a lie to my parents or break the rules. The perfect student, who not only got perfect grades, but always said yes when the teacher asked her to help the boy who was struggling in class. And who never complained, even when that boy spent the entire class period, instead of studying the material I was supposed to help him understand, describing in graphic detail the way he imagined my naked body.
The only thing I "knew" with absolute certainty (whether it was true or not) was that no one wanted anything to do with the real, imperfect me. And so I learned to be as perfect as I could be for as many people as I could. Except when I was all alone in my own room. Only then could I let myself cry.
This isn't to say that everything in my life is doom and gloom. I promise, I haven't been secretly wallowing 24 hours a day for the past (more than) 25 years.
I grew up.
I survived high school.
I went to college and made some friends.
I met a boy, who turned out to be the love of my life.
We got married almost 25 years ago, and he has helped me to see that it's okay to be me.
Even if I'm not always the perfect wife / mother / daughter / sister / sidekick / friend.
Even if I'm still sad sometimes, when I have every reason to be happy.
Even if life is still sometimes depressing and real.
Even if I am still broken.
The thing is, depression is real, but it doesn't always consume my life. Most days, even in the sad times, I am really good at looking for the rainbows and bubbles.
I used to carry a small bottle of bubble solution in my pocket at all times, so I could blow bubbles while I walked down the street. To remind myself to find simple reasons to smile, even on sad days. (I still have a bottle of bubble solution in my closet, for when it's safe to be out in public regularly again...)
I am an incurable optimist, and I refuse to let depression & anxiety win!
And yet...
I have been STRUGGLING in recent years, for a lot of reasons (which you probably already know if you've been a regular reader on my blog, and which you can go back to read up on if you're new here, so I won't take up time here rehashing all the details). The important thing to know for this story--the thing I have never admitted to anyone until this week--is that last year, I nearly gave in to the demons telling me that the world would be better off without one of me in it.
I was really good at keeping up the act, but I couldn't see the rainbows and bubbles anymore.
More than anything in the world, I wanted to write again. I have stories--joyful stories--bubbling up in my brain, pushing to make their way into the world. But I couldn't write. I would pick up my story pencils and just sob for hours over a blank page, not writing a single word. I would open up a completed draft of a manuscript on my computer, and my eyes would fill with tears until I couldn't even see the words I was trying to revise. I wanted to write. I needed to write. I had words and stories right there ... but I couldn't get to them. I even had fully-finished, revised-and-polished stories on my hard drive ... but I couldn't bring myself to share them.
Because what if those nasty whispers of doubt inside my head that told me I'm more trouble than I'm worth were really true? What if the people I know and love really are just counting the days until I'm gone so they could celebrate the burden being lifted from their lives? What if putting more of my words, my self into the world just added to the burden of my existence? Do I even deserve to be heard?
I made a daily, conscious effort to fight against those voices. Because of course the people I love don't think I'm a burden on society. I may have a brain tumor. I may get sick easily, and I may not be able to do all the things I used to be able to do for people, but surely the people who loved me understood that, right? They weren't secretly sitting back and watching and waiting for the day when they could finally be rid of me. That was just my stupid anxiety brain talking. I didn't need to be afraid to write!
... But I have been sick a lot lately. Unable to do some of the things I used to take for granted, without putting in a lot of effort. What if I started something, and then my stupid brain tumor finally won the battle? Then, I would leave behind yet another half-finished project that my family would have to deal with or make sense of after I died. I was already a burden (stop it, Veronica--quit telling yourself you are a burden--no one thinks that--do they?). I couldn't write new words if I couldn't guarantee that I would have a chance to do something with them.
And the more I tried to write, the more I fought to let these lovely, hopeful, bubbly, sparkly words flow out of me, the more I spiraled into a darker and darker place.
I let myself fantasize about letting go. ... Not that I was really thinking of killing myself. (Right? No. Of course not. Never.) The perfect wife / mother / daughter / sister / sidekick / friend would never really do something like that. I couldn't kill myself.
But what if it was an accident? ... If I had a headache and took too many pain pills and then maybe accidentally ate or drank something that would cause an adverse reaction ... Or if it was raining and I was driving on a winding road and accidentally took a turn just a little bit too fast ... Or if I was at the top of a very tall stairwell and accidentally leaned over just a little bit too far to look at something on the floor below ... Even a perfect wife / mother / daughter / sister / sidekick / friend might make a tragic mistake sometime. I couldn't be blamed for that, right?
Only, I had so many people relying on me for so many things. I realized that I couldn't be done until I checked some things off my to do list. Until I put up alternate support systems for the people I loved, so I wouldn't leave them floundering to get by without me.
And then the pandemic hit.
And suddenly, people I thought I knew and trusted were loudly proclaiming that people with weakened immune systems (like me -- thanks a lot, stupid brain tumor) were acceptable casualties, if there was a choice between keeping them safe and protecting the economy as we know it. Declaring masks an oppression. Insisting that people who might get sick more easily should just quarantine themselves and stop selfishly imposing their needs on the rest of the world.
And I realized that, those nasty, awful voices inside my head that told me my friends and family were just waiting for me to get a clue and kick off already... Those voices were right. That horrible little fear that people who should care about me really just couldn't wait until I was gone? It wasn't just a random fear. It was real. (Not everyone, of course. My sweet love-of-my-life has been so supportive and uplifting. He's not giving up on me.)
But enough people felt that way to make it really hard to ignore the voices.
And I just couldn't do it anymore.
I pulled out my to-do list. I started really looking closely at all of the projects I had going, all of the ways that people were relying on me. If I could get enough things checked off the list so that people wouldn't miss what I was doing for them, I could die and the world would be better off. I analyzed and organized and slowly started knocking things off the list or delegating them to others.
I pushed all of my own writing, anything with my own voice, so far to the back burner that it fell behind the stove and sat there quietly posing a fire hazard. But that didn't matter, because I wasn't going to be here to worry about it anymore.
I was actively making plans. Daily analyzing the mental health of everyone I was close to. ("Are they strong enough yet to stand on their own without me?" "How soon will they be ready to say goodbye?") And I slowly started pulling back from everything that I could distance myself from.
I still didn't necessarily want to die. But the idea of not living anymore was so freeing. (Yes, I realize that distinction might sound odd to some of you, but it's also 100% accurate to the thought process I battle with regularly.) I was literally living each day in hopes that it might be my last. Maybe I would even catch COVID19 and become one of those "acceptable casualties" that everyone was talking about. Or maybe I should stop being so careful about where / when I fall asleep, because if one of the random times when my brain tumor causes me to literally forget how to breathe happens while I'm sleeping (something I have struggled with since my brain surgery in 2006--one of the reasons I don't often allow myself to sleep for long stretches of time unless there is someone else who is awake and checking on me periodically) If I stopped being so careful and just let it happen... maybe I just wouldn't have to wake up tomorrow morning. Then, I wouldn't have to do it myself.
I pulled away from the friends and family members who I knew were struggling just as much as me. I stopped commenting on their social media posts to remind them that I love them and that I hoped they would keep fighting for one more day. Because how hypocritical would that be? I couldn't honestly tell them that life was worth fighting for when I had decided I was done fighting myself.
I also actively distanced myself from all of the friends & family members who made me feel like I was selfish for not pulling the trigger immediately, because I wanted to do it carefully, deliberately, and in just the right way. I wasn't going to let them make me feel guilty for living one more day (or week)... but I had decided to let them win. Because it had become so difficult to keep fighting that this felt like a win for me too.
Then, on September 12, 2020, I got a call from my mom.
My niece had died. Suicide.
And of course, my first thought was crushing, overwhelming grief at the loss. Because she was such a beautiful person, inside and out. The world is measurably darker without her sweet smile.
And I knew I should feel guilty about the fact that I had totally ghosted on her for the past six months, even though I knew she was struggling. I should feel guilty about not reminding her that she had so much to live for, and that she was loved more than she let herself believe. I should feel guilty for contributing to the fact that she felt so alone, she couldn't see any other options.
Instead, I just felt jealous.
She got there first.
She got to say goodbye.
She got to be done.
And now I had to figure out a whole new timeline, because I couldn't make my family deal with two suicides at the same time (how do you Google "appropriate wait time between suicide attempts?") and I wasn't going to force my family to split their grief between my sweet, amazing niece and me. Because she deserved better than to have me steal any part of the thoughts that should be focused on her (and also? if I'm being completely honest... I'm 98% sure that most of the people who were grieving her death would be more irritated at me for stealing her spotlight than missing me at all)
I couldn't even find comfort in reading my scriptures, which has always been the one thing I could count on to pull me through when everything else crumbled. But every time I opened them to start reading, I thought of this Facebook exchange from a couple of years ago, when she asked if she could have my marked-up scriptures.
Now, every passage I marked brought the grief squeezing in ever tighter.
This is where I was one month ago: September 14, 2020.
I was doing my best to be strong for my children, who were dealing with the loss of someone they were very close to for the first time ever. I was wishing I could be there for my sister, who shouldn't have had to say goodbye to her child so soon. I was trying my best to be the pillar for anyone who needed to lean on me. So I couldn't allow myself to cry or break down ... But this night, I was home alone, because my daughter who still lives at home was working, and my husband went to pick her up.
I opened up Netflix to look for the show that my "extra daughter" (aka my older daughters' roommate) had recommended the week before. Maybe it would help numb my brain and let me escape my feelings for a few minutes.
But I couldn't remember what it was called.**
And I didn't have the energy to ask.
So I just started scrolling through the Netflix recommendations, just in case I recognized a title.
Except, I didn't even have the energy to keep pushing the little arrow button on the remote to scroll to the next show. I just dropped the remote in my lap and let my brain shut down.
And Netflix started auto-playing the show I accidentally landed on.
Julie and the Phantoms
**This was not, in fact, the show I had turned on Netflix to find. That show was actually Sweet Magnolias, which I still haven't actually watched, but I just learned that one of the actors on that show is the twin brother of Carolynn Shada, an amazingly talented dancer who happens to be the wife of Jeremy Shada, who plays the loveable Reggie in Julie and the Phantoms.
The shows opening performance of the song "Now or Never" by the fictional '90s boy band, Sunset Curve was a bop my teen self would have loved back in 1995. And it hit in an uplifting / inspiring way, with lyrics like "Keep dreaming like we'll live forever, But live it like it's now or never!" And the vibe / voice of the whole scene felt just like the feeling bubbling through my veins whenever I think about the young adult novel I've been trying to finish a final revision on for months.
It was like cotton candy for the soul.
Sweet and light and completely addictive from the very first bite.
I stayed up until well past midnight, binge-watching the entire first season (only 9 episodes?? I need so much more than that!), and honestly, if only for the "cotton candy for the soul" factor, this was time well-spent. But as I continued watching, I realized this show has so much more than just the sweet fluff of cotton candy going for it. (Lots of spoilers ahead, because there's no way to explain what this show means to me without going into a lot of detail ... so if you care about that sort of thing, and you haven't yet seen the show, go watch it now. I promise it's worth your time. I'll wait.)
When Julie sits at the piano for the first time in episode one... I felt that emotion deep in my soul. She has so much music locked up inside of her. She can feel it with every breath. She wants to play, to let it out. And yet ... the grief is so strong, so palpable, so overwhelming that it's literally too painful. She can't. And it's killing her.
This is how I have felt about my writing.
I want to write.
I can feel the stories bubbling up inside of me. I can hear their voices. I can almost touch them. But when I pick up my story pencils to write something new, or open a document with an existing manuscript to revise on my computer, it hurts. The pain is so overwhelming that I literally can't do it. It's not that I don't want to. It's not that I don't know what to write. It's not that I'm suffering from "writer's block." I just. Can't. Write.
And watching Julie flicker through those exact emotions with her music in that fleeting moment onscreen? This cotton-candy show suddenly became so much more.
It started out as merely enjoyable, then quickly became relatable.
This is when I knew I was going to keep watching. This was a moment I could point to and tell people "thatis how I feel." And it might seem silly, but in that moment, I felt a little bit less alone.
And when, in the end of episode one, Julie plays "Wake Up," I literally sat up.
Here's the one thing
I want you to know
You got someplace to go.
Life's a test, yes,
But you go toe to toe.
You don't give up, no, you grow.
And you use your pain
'Cause it makes you you
Though I wish I could hold you through it.
I know it's not the same,
You've got livin' to do,
And I just want you to do it.
So get up, get out, relight that spark.
You know the rest by heart.
And suddenly, it wasn't just relatable, it was aspirational.
I wanted to reach that point, when the light flows in and the music of my soul can flow again. And for the first time in a very long time, I felt just a twinkle of hope that maybe I could get there, if I didn't give up. Maybe I still had some livin' to do.
And I could almost feel my sweet niece sitting next to me on the couch, leaning her head on my shoulder the way she used to do when we would have a serious conversation, and smiling that sweet smile of hers. "Pay attention, Aunt Veronica. You've got this."
The next day, I watched the entire show again. And when I got to the end of the last episode, I wanted to immediately start over for a third time. (Come on, Veronica. You're getting a little bit obsessed, aren't you? That can't be healthy.) I couldn't justify continuing to sit in front of the TV, so I went looking for the music. Those songs were so amazing, surely they would have put out a soundtrack, right?
Yes!!
I added it to my Amazon playlist, bought a copy on iTunes, and even re-downloaded the Spotify app, so I could add it there too. I set the album to an endless loop and kept it playing non-stop during every waking moment for the next week, until the lyrics were so firmly embedded in my mind that I heard them even when the music wasn't playing out loud.
And the more I listened, the more the messages of those songs resonated with me.
It had moved from aspirational to inspirational.
Woven throughout every single song on this soundtrack was a message of hope and encouragement.
"Don't look down, 'cause we're still rising up right now..."
"It's not what you lost. It's what you'll gain, raising your voice to the rain..."
"...gotta get ready, 'Cause it's been years!"
"Make 'em say wow!"
"Fight through the dark, and find the spark..."
"If somebody hurts you, I'm gonna get hurt too. That's just how we work..."
"Can't stop the music back inside my soul, and it's stronger than before..."
"Life is good..."
"Ain't perfect, but I can't miss..."
"We know we can make it. We're not falling down under..."
"We come to life when we're in perfect harmony."
"We're standing on the edge of great..."
"Maybe time would not erase me..."
"Life's short, not a minute to waste..."
"Whatever happens, even if I'm the last standing, I'ma stand tall..."
By this time, I had watched through all the episodes so many times I had lost count. I knew the soundtrack by heart. I even found a YouTube video with all of the songs from the show, so I could watch the soundtrack, when just listening wasn't enough, but I didn't have time to watch the full episodes.
And the more I listened, the more I started internalizing these messages. I wanted to pick up my story pencils and write something new, so that I could proclaim "This [author] is back!" I wanted to share the stories I've finished and shelved, and maybe even "make 'em say wow!"
And more than a few times, I caught myself bopping along to the music inside my head that told me "Life is good!"
I could see the rainbows and bubbles again.
And slowly, as I continued to immerse myself in this world where hope was a tangible thing, I could see a glimmer of me fighting through the darkness again. I wanted to believe that it was possible to have that kind of joy.
That's when it moved from inspirational to motivational.
I discovered bits of encouragement to carry in my heart from some of my favorite scenes between the songs in each episode. And by the end of the second week, I could open Netflix and immediately cue up whatever scene I needed from any episode.
If the demon voices in my head tried to tell me I wasn't anything special, I could watch the clip from episode one, where Reggie stops Alex from disparaging his talent. "Could you just own your awesomeness for once?"
If those voices tried to tell me that the timing wasn't right, that I needed to wait until x, y, and z were taken care of before I could justify taking time to work on anything of my own, I could watch the clip from episode 2, where Luke encourages Julie to go for it. "Learn from me. Your tainted hotdog could be right around the corner."
And I can't pinpoint the exact moment it happened, but slowly, gradually, my thought process shifted.
I stopped looking at my to-do list as a bucket list to accomplish before I could have permission to say goodbye. Instead, I wanted to clear space in my brain so that I could reclaim those parts of me I had pushed off the back burner.
I pulled out my neglected journal that I hadn't written in for months, and I wrote about my grief over losing my niece, but also about the silly, bubbly, happy way this story and its music made me feel. I still couldn't write my stories, but I was writing again, and it almost felt like I was myself.
I started following as many of the actors as I could find (even the side characters, who are also brilliant), plus Kenny Ortega (the director) on social media, hoping to see an announcement of a season 2. Because I wanted to live in this world of hope and joy and goodness forever. And I saw that Kenny had an Instagram Live event scheduled, where he would be talking to Madison Reyes (Julie), Owen Joyner (Alex), Jeremy Shada (Reggie), and Charlie Gillespie (Luke). So of course I watched it (even though I was technically supposed to be tech support on a webinar at the same time--shh! don't tell!--I was muted, so I could watch the interview on my phone while keeping an eye out for anyone who needed my help...)
This led me down a rabbit hole, searching out many more interviews with the cast. And these friendships and supportive relationships that seemed so effortless and real onscreen? That's because they actually feel this way about each other in real life! Hearing Owen, Jeremy, and Charlie literally gush over Madison's talent ... Listening to them all talk about the ways they encouraged each other ... Discovering that my favorite musical moments on the soundtrack (the song Perfect Harmony, the guitar solo in Edge of Great, the solos from each of the boys in Nothing to Lose) were all written by the band, with the full support and encouragement of Kenny Ortega...
They were so genuinely kind to one another. Lifting each other up and shining the spotlight on each other's talent. But it wasn't just the 4 leads. Each of them was so excited to talk about and lift up the other members of the cast and crew. Giving full credit to anyone who had a hand in creating the magic, even when they could have easily taken credit for themselves. (For example, this interview, where Charlie explains that when he does the kiss thing in the scene where he's showing that he has chemistry with everyone he sings with... "Our prop guy, Calvin..." came up with the idea.)
In a world where I am overwhelmed by people fighting to put themselves first, even at the expense of someone else's life... this shining example of a whole group of people who genuinely care about other people is so refreshing.
It gave me hope.
Of course, Phil noticed how much time I was spending with this show. And I expected him to tease me about it, or maybe point out that an obsession this strong couldn't be helpful ... Instead, he laughed and said "maybe you need a ghost writer to help you get over your slump." AND THEN HE DREW ONE FOR ME!!!
And that spark of hope, combined with an example of that kind of real-life support, was like a key that simultaneously tied everything together and unlocked the gates.
Everything that made this story relatable combined with the aspirational, inspirational, and motivational moments, and a glimmer of light began to grow until I felt like maybe I could be me again.
So the next day, I picked up my story pencils and turned to a fresh page in my notebook.
I didn't write any words on the page, but it didn't hurt to be in that space again. And I all of the bubbles and rainbows and butterflies fluttered so close I could almost touch them.
Maybe tomorrow...
I put my notebook and my story pencils on my desk, where I would be able to find them easily when it came time to try again.
But those negative voices are persistent, y'all.
By the next morning, I realized that I was failing all over again. Sure, I held my pencil and my notebook without having a panic attack. But just holding them wouldn't put words on the paper. I had nothing. I was nothing. What was I thinking, smiling over something so insignificant? Besides, even if I did manage to write something, it probably wouldn't be any good. The books I wrote before were just flukes. I should just give up before I made a fool of myself again.
But then, I opened my Instagram, and the first thing on my feed was this video:
I watched this video 5 times through, then picked up my story pencil and my notebook.
And I wrote SIX PAGES of content related to my young adult novel! They were pages of backstory that happened long before the "actual" story begins, but it helped me to flesh out some details on scenes that just weren't quite sticking right in the last revision I attempted before I stopped writing.
And the next day, I completed a full draft of one of my picture books.
And the day after that, I revised and polished a picture book manuscript that needed some tweaking.
And the day after that, I gathered my courage (and watched the "we believe in you" video six more times) and hit "send" on a manuscript I had been promising to send to an editor for over a year (but kept talking myself out of sending, because what if they tell me I'm no good?)
I'm not going to lie and tell you that everything is all better, with nothing but sunshine and lollipops. Because this is real life. And real life doesn't work that way. Of course I still have my down days and my moments where the demon voices are way too strong. When it takes everything I have not to listen to them.
I can't tell you that Julie and the Phantoms is a magical cure-all that will align the planets and bring everything together into perfect harmony. But it was the magic I needed at the moment I needed it.
I believe that the Lord speaks to each of us in the language we are most prepared to hear at any given moment in time. For me, in this moment, when I was at my lowest point and even reading His word wasn't comforting me, He brought me hope in a way that uniquely spoke to my soul.
Because on top of all of the other amazing things I've mentioned about this show, the thing that hits hardest is the fact that three of the four main characters are GHOSTS.
They are dead.
They have no bodies.
They have passed their expiration dates.
They died just hours before the biggest performance of their lives and never got to realize their dreams.
They missed out, and the world moved on.
And yet...
Their music lives.
Their words still matter.
They still matter.
They have no bodies, but contrary to what Reggie says, they are not nobodies!
And that was a direct answer to my biggest fear. The giant wall that blocked my path and kept me from writing for way too long was the fear that I might die before I finished everything I was trying to do.
But even if I die, I still matter. My words matter. My voice matters. My life matters.
I am not a nobody.
And that is what I needed to remember.
That is why I can finally be me again.
And that is why I will continue to watch this show on repeat for as long as I need it, until I am ready to stand tall on my own again.
No regrets.
And if you are struggling with your own demon voices that tell you to give up, please don't listen to them! In case you need it, the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline is 800-273-8255. Please don't wait, like I did. I promise, you are worth it. And the world is a better place because it has one of you in it.
And just in case you need another sweet reminder that you are not a nobody, here are two variations on the Maple Phantoms cookies that are not hollow (they have bodies).
Variation #1:
Maple Chocolate Cookies
You will need:
Maple Phantoms Cookie Dough (1 batch) 2 large chocolate bars (broken into 1/2-inch pieces)
Make the cookie dough as directed above, but instead of a mini marshmallow, place a piece of your favorite chocolate in the center instead.
Be sure to seal the dough well around the chocolate. If you leave spaces where the chocolate is poking out, it may ooze out all over the baking sheet.
Bake as directed above, and serve warm with a glass of milk, or cool completely on a wire rack, then store in an airtight container.
Variation #2 (for the more adventurous snacker):
Maple Bacon Cookies
You will need:
Maple Phantoms Cookie Dough approximately 1/2 pound hickory-smoked bacon
Make the cookie dough as directed above. Set aside.
You will want the bacon to be as crisp as possible, without burning or overcooking it, so patience is key in this step!
Preheat a large skillet (cast iron is best, if you have it) on high heat for a minute or two, until it's hot enough that when you flick a few drops of water on the pan, they bubble up and sizzle away immediately. Then, turn the heat all the way to low and add the bacon.
Cook the bacon, a few pieces at a time, on low heat until the fat renders out and the pieces are fully crisp. Watch carefully, especially in the last minute or so of cooking, as the bacon can go from not-quite-done to perfect to oh-no-you-burned-it! in just a few seconds. (Luckily, these cookies are sweet enough that if you burn the bacon just a little bit, they'll still be delicious!)
Carefully lift bacon out of the pan to a paper towel-lined plate to absorb some of the grease. Pour off the bacon fat remaining in the pan after each batch, so you won't end up with bacon swimming in grease by the end. You can save the bacon fat in a glass container in the fridge for other uses, like frying potatoes, later -- or if you know you won't use it later, just dispose of it in the trash (pour it into a glass bowl to cool for a bit before scraping it into the trash. Pouring hot grease directly into the trash can could melt and/or burn things, causing quite a mess!) -- Make sure you do NOT pour the bacon grease down the sink, as it will cause quite a nasty clogged drain when the fat cools and solidifies.
Break off a 1/2-inch piece of bacon and place it in the center of a cookie dough ball.
Carefully and gently, pinch the dough up and around the bacon, then roll gently into balls, and bake as directed above.
Remember, bacon is a perishable food! If you are not going to eat all of these cookies in one sitting, make sure to refrigerate any leftovers. (You can always rewarm them later for a few seconds in the microwave, if you desire.)Please do not forget this step! Tainted hot dogs might bring about adorable ghost bands, but tainted maple bacon cookies just aren't a good idea.
Add eggs, baking soda, salt, ginger, cinnamon, and vanilla. Mix until combined, then turn speed up to high and beat until light and fluffy (3-5 minutes).
Mix in flour. Reduce mixer speed to low and add oats. Then,
stir in 1 ¼ to 1 ½ c. of your favorite mix-ins. I used 1 c. walnuts and ¼ c.
raisins. Or try: dried blueberries, chocolate chips, sunflower seeds, pecans, chopped
dried apples, M&Ms…whatever you like best!
Roll into 1-inch balls. Place on parchment-lined baking
sheet about 2 inches apart, and press to flatten each cookie slightly. 
![Julie and the Phantoms: Reggie, Alex, and Luke with the caption [Alex]: I have been crying for 25 years?](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6Z_ELIZJWh9tdEAe68ZKyTttIz4t7ScUT1kM6KDWWNBmp1r6TXKcrt_XLlacZl7Ni5c6CPLFXgD6dSVLmCoKobMubZ4NVkmSwTi5Abu2kIqR7onsuySdWynMv3PPU4M0hLj7Zs44BdGg/s600/crying-25-years.jpg)
