Sharla Dawn Gorder

Writer – Speaker

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© Jem Sullivan

I’m throwing myself a party this weekend, complete with birthday cake, party hats, balloons and presents!  I love presents.  I love to get them, and I love to give them.  I’m really good at both. 

But there’s a rule for this birthday party—in bold print right there on the invitation—No gifts please, unless you made it yourself, grew it yourself, wrote it yourself, or will sing, recite or play it yourself.  Draw me a picture or sing me a song.  Write me a limerick or grow me a flower.  Make me a macaroni necklace or a popsicle stick picture frame…

I’ve never been more excited to “open” presents.  Even folks who claim not to have “a creative bone in their body” are digging deep (perhaps in their garden), having some fun (like a kindergartner), and thinking outside the box (or gift bag).  Picasso wrote, “Every child is an artist.  The problem is how to remain an artist once he grows up.”      Continue Reading

“It doesn’t have to be this way.  It doesn’t.” (pg. 218 My Vices Collide; A Celebration of Being a Little Messed Up)

Is it vain to quote myself?  Well, maybe so, but no truer words have ever been spoken by me.  So I will say them again:

It doesn’t have to be this way.

I am proof.

You think it is a secret.  It is not.

You think you’re alone.  You’re not.

You think, “If I can only learn to moderate…” You can’t.

You think it will always feel like this.  It won’t.  It doesn’t have to.  I swear to you it doesn’t have to. 

Talk to someone. Before the sun sets today, tell someone that you’re struggling. If you can’t imagine who you’d tell, then tell me.  You’ve got my number.  Really. 

The following story, “Do Tell,” was the third story in the “Redemption” section of my first book.  It was hard to write.  It took me three weeks.   I thought I had nailed it.  My editor thought otherwise. So, I went to work on the next chapter, “All Told.”  It took an additional month, and once I was done, I felt like a weight had been lifted, followed immediately by an odd feeling of apprehensive determination.  Was I really going to publish this?

Yes, I was. I did. 

I did it for you, because you think you’re alone in this.

You’re not.     

Continue Reading

It was dawn and the beach was deserted—just me and my heron.  I shambled along the water’s edge, half-asleep, moving east toward the sunrise.  About two blocks into my walk, at about Avenida 14, I noticed another denizen of the dawn start to make his way down from the houses to the water. Our paths intersected, and before I could offer a greeting, the man blurted out, “I like your stuff.”

Ha!  Now if you have ever been unfortunate enough to see me before my first cup of coffee in the morning, I’m sure you understand my alarm—and perhaps his. 

My immediate response was to look apprehensively around me—were we really totally alone on this vast beach?  Why yes; yes we were.  I then looked down at my own disheveled self, and muttered the most eloquent of greetings—“Uh.” Continue Reading

“The best thing for being sad…is to learn something.”

Sometimes the best advice is the simplest.  And sometimes that advice comes from a legendary Welsh wizard—and a Facebook friend.

A couple of months ago I was idling around on social media, feeling a bit blue, purposeless, and irritable, when I stumbled upon a post that captured my fickle attention and held it. 

The post was not accompanied by a striking photograph.  It wasn’t flashily formatted with a bright background and a fancy font.  No, it was just some typed words—my friend’s words—and a quote.

Pattie—one of the most creatively brilliant women I have had the pleasure of knowing (for over 35 years)—reported that she had been feeling “sad,” and that her sister had shared with her a most hopeful and unconventional bit of advice from a fictional sorcerer of Arthurian legend. 

This is what Merlin the Magician, in T.H. White’s The Once and Future King, has to say about being sad, or blue, or melancholy—or even, I dare add, depressed: Continue Reading

Youser Manual, Part Two

I got unfriended a couple of weeks ago.  It wasn’t very nice.  Yet it was very necessary.  And I swear I’m not sitting here snacking on sour grapes when I tell you this: I am relieved.  A little sad.  A lot baffled. But nonetheless relieved.

Unfriend.  What a hostile sounding word.  Everybody knows what it means in the context of social media—to remove someone from your list of “friends” on Facebook.  But fortunately, that can happen without you even knowing it, and you may not have been actual friends to begin with.  In real life however, when you are “unfriended” you usually know it.  And it hurts to be “removed.”   To be dismissed.  To be rejected.  (Abandonment issues, anyone?)

I have been removed, dismissed and rejected before.  And I have, myself, been the remover, the dimisser, the rejecter.  Sometimes the end slowly evolves; other times, it’s like a you’ve stepped on a landmine.  Whoa!  What just happened?  Is that my leg over there? Continue Reading