The Eternal Internal Nag

by Alicia Rasley

Lynn asked me to guest blog this week, and told me the topic was nagging. Boy, do I know nagging! (Insert a mother-nag joke here.) I started thinking not of those sainted mothers now nagging the angels, but our own internal nags, the ones who berate us with ancient wisdom and modern sarcasm.

You know, the little voice inside that, when you are eager to investigate something, hisses, "Curiosity killed the cat."

Or when you accept an invitation to stay a week with a friend, "Fish and guests begin to rot after three days."

Sometimes the little voice is less clichéed and more personalized, like, "No one will ever love you."

Where does this voice come from? Where do the cautionary mottoes start? I think, like most dire warnings, these come from childhood, from the culture that surrounded us as we grew up. For example, my husband grew up in a small Midwestern town, and he swears the town motto was, "You can never be too careful." It was, above all, a cautious town. Other pioneers might have kept going to California, but the founders of this town found a flat spot near a river and stopped. You can never be too careful. This is as good as it's going to get.

Here are some sample proverbs that have served as mottoes for many families and towns. These dire mottoes are influential, but not necessarily determinative. In fact, they often have a rebound effect, encouraging the listener to act in opposition (my husband left his cautious small town to climb mountains, and, LOL, marry me!).

This got me thinking about how such mottoes can be derived for fictional characters, especially those who end up "rebounding" against the childhood directive. For example, there's the lovely song The King of Rome (sniffle alert), where the working man Charlie is told by his friends, "Charlie, we told you so; surely by now you know:
When you're living in the West End, there ain't many dreams come true." And Charlie responds, "I know, but I had to try." (Happy ending—listen to the song.)



So I started thinking about the characters in my own stories, and the mottoes they've lived with and reacted against. For example, John in Poetic Justice grew up with the motto, "Don't get above yourself." For his apothecary father, that motto served well to secure his place in the tiny Dorset village. But rebellious John defies that motto to acquire education, wealth, and a very "uppity" career as an art dealer. But when he falls for Lady Jessica Seton, that eternal internal nagging voice comes whispering, "You're getting above yourself!"

Jessica has grown up with a similarly chastening motto: "You can't always get what you want." As John says, she's a poor little rich girl, denied always for the loftiest reasons whatever she most wants (her parents' rare-books library, the childhood sweetheart killed at Waterloo). It's only when she determines the one thing she really wants (John) and decides to get that no matter what the cost, that she overcomes the dread that keeps her from wanting what she wants.

In fact, in romances, it can be quite fulfilling to make the desire to be loved by the lover the incentive for the character to silence that nagging voice and live free of dread and full of hope.

Me? Oh, I think my motto was always, "What you don't know won't hurt you." I realize that's the motto of all sorts of con men and felons! But as a novelist, I've learned that what characters don't want to know is the clue to their inner life—and should be used to hurt them indeed, and thus to cause them to change.

So what about you all? What mottoes did you grow up with, and how did you respond? How do these mottoes still affect you, even if you try to ignore that nagging voice?

Thanks for having me, Pens!

Alicia Rasley is a Rita award-winning author of nine Regency romances and many articles about writing topics. Her novel, The Year She Fell, has been an Amazon Kindle bestseller in two different years. She blogs at Edittorrent.

You can find some of the novels and writing books of Alicia Rasley at Amazon.com:
Royal Renegade, a Regency novel.
Poetic Justice, a Regency novel.
The Story Within Plotting Guide for Fiction Writers.
Rasley's Kindle Page

When Nagging Backfires

This week begins my new year. No, my calendar isn't incorrect. Nor am I talking about Chinese New Year.

Back on January 1, I was undergoing daily radiation treatments. But as of Jan 31, I'm DONE with both chemo and radiation.

Some celebrating is definitely in order. I'm making plans with friends, moving forward with my Gargoyle Girl Productions business, cooking new recipes that are both healthy and delicious.

But there's a psychological stumbling block that's gotten in the way of that last item. Nagging.

I was already a pretty healthy eater, but now I'm going all out to treat my body well. There's no way I'm going to eat healthily if the food isn't tasty, so I've been experimenting with lots of cookbooks and recipes to find meals that satisfy both necessities. I've found many fantastic healthy recipes, which I'm really happy about.

But as soon as someone *else* tells me I should be eating something healthier, that's when I want to go order one of those mega hamburgers you see on Man v. Food. Washed down with a pint of vodka.

I don't actually want to eat that burger. Or to have more than a single martini. But if someone tells me I can't have those things? Then I want them.

I'm finding my own style of healthy eating that works for me, and if anyone else nags me about doing something differently, it's only going to backfire.

--Gigi

Martha's No Nag

I grew up in a nag-free household. There was no persistent and annoying urging or being painfully bothersome to get someone to do something.

That's because I lived in a Tiger household, and my mom only had to ask once.
Preferably, my mom did not have to ask at all.

If we had been asked to do the dishes yesterday, then we took the initiative to do them today, and every day, ad nauseum. My brother and I visited my parents over Christmas and it was the first time I'd been to their house in years but yep, we did the dishes. I did not have to be asked to clean my room, to do my weekly chores, to do my homework.

Now, as an adult, I'm shocked when I have to nag people especially to do things in their own self-interest. Allow me to give you a representative conversation:

Me: Don't forget to clear up the guest room before your sister arrives tonight.
Husband: Yep.
(four hours later)
Me: The guest room hasn't been cleaned - would you please do it?
Husband: Yep
(four hours later)
Husband: Crap, I forgot to clean the guest room - why didn't you remind me again?

The first time we had this exchange, I was shocked. You see, I knew the room hadn't been cleaned, but I figured, huh, he still hasn't cleaned it, and this is HIS guest who he knows well, maybe the room is good enough as is so I'm done here.

I didn't realize that some people expect to be nagged, that they count on it to get things done. That they think of nagging like a snooze button and they'll decide when they are done pressing. Especially because, like Adrienne, I hate being nagged. If I want to do something, I'll do it. And very little "encouragement" will change my mind. So imagine my surprise when I find myself on the other end of very good-natured nagging.

You know how there's that saying that there are two kinds of people in this world? Maybe nagging applies. People who need to nagged, and people who don't. People who like to nag, and people who don't. May we all find the right partner. :)

Lisa's Nag...the ONE THING you need to give up this year

So Sophie talked about the Neti pot. And we've had lots of Pens weigh in on nagging themselves and others.

I'm going to talk about the ONE THING you need to give up this year (or at the very least, cut back on).

High-Fructose Corn Syrup. Fructose. Crystalline Fructose. Sugar (which is half fructose).

The first three are found in many, many manufactured products on our grocery shelves. Protein bars, gatorade, ketchup, baby formula. The addition of sugar, fructose, crystalline fructose and HFCS is insidious.

Why should you give it up?

Below is a fascinating video regarding the evolution of the food industry, beginning with Nixon's wish to create low-cost, affordable for everyone food sources, touching on the research that lead the FDA to recommend a diet that is slowly killing us (low fat, high carb) and ending with the current state of Americans health.

I had never heard of Metabolic Syndrome until I watched this video. Now I see the term everywhere. And before you say...yeah, it's one guy's opinion. He's a Dr. and Professor of Pediatrics in the Division of Endocrinology.

The video is long (however if you care about your health and your kids' health I really, really recommend taking the time to watch the entire thing).

But I'll give you my take away points. The things that totally blew me away.

*The way our body metabolizes fructose is just the same as alcohol. Except that adults and kids ingest far more sugar/fructose/HFCS than they would drink alcohol.

*The body cannot process the amount of fructose ingested, it literally turns toxic in your liver.

*The way fructose works, it doesn't send signals to the brain to tell your body that you've eaten, so people eat more.

*We have a huge percentage of overweight INFANTS in the US (I want to say 50 but I can't remember the exact statistic). He believes it is due to the fructose in infant formula.

So there's my nag for the week. :)

Lisa

Self-Promotion as Nagging?

L.G.C. Smith

I hate the word 'nag.' I'm old enough to still hear sexism in it. Women nag. Men . . . I don't know what they do. Hound? Nagging always seems to put a negative spin on things, and if I care enough to remind someone about something, or insist that a minimum basic standard of family or community participation be met, people should accept the admonition/encouragement (or whatever) appreciatively and snap to it. I am helping. I am being noble. You don't have to listen, but don't tell me I'm nagging.

There's one area where I can't help feeling like a nag, no matter how I spin it, and that's self-promotion. Whether we are traditionally published or indie-pubs, we have to find ways to let readers know we have something they might like to read.

I am constitutionally ill-equipped to do this. I was raised by people who felt it was bad form to toot your own horn. I internalized this completely.

So I have questions for readers: What can writers tell you that doesn't feel like nagging? How can we do it so you know we love and respect you? Because we do. Big time. Seriously. We are nothing without you. The last thing we want to do is nag you about our books.

I'm a Total Nag

It's true. I'm a total nag.

I think a big part of the problem was that I used to be pretty lazy. Through high school, especially, I was only semi-engaged with the idea of hard work. A big part of the problem was that I wasn't smart enough yet to understand how very little I know, and I could do well in things like school and after-school jobs with only a modicum of effort.

Then I went to college, and after a party-hearty first semester, I knuckled down. I definitely worked a lot harder than I did in high school, partly because I was beginning to realize that no matter how much I learned in class, there was so much more I didn't know. That said, I still wasn't winning any awards. Maybe I didn't "own" my life as much I should have, at that point, as I was still part of an educational system in which I knew I would, to a certain extent, be taken care of if I did what I was supposed to.

Everything changed, however, when I started grad school. Suddenly, either I got something done when I was supposed to, or I didn't. No one was there to remind me, or nag me, or help me schedule stuff. There were no helpful syllabi on which I could see what I must do, when. I just had to research a bunch of stuff, and then I had to write it, and occasionally pass stuff in.

All of a sudden, I was entirely responsible for my own success. And that changed me.

I became my mother.


My mom is an absolute power house of a woman who does approximately 1,000 things before dawn. The rest of the day is spent doing the real work. Seriously, she's amazing and slightly terrifying.


And I'm both proud and afraid that I've become her.


Now that I'm doing two things I love (writing and teaching), I have to be very productive in order to be, well, productive. Basically, I work all the time. It ain't pretty, but it's true. As a lifestyle choice, it works for me right now, and I'm not asking for an intervention. Where I go wrong, however, is not realizing that other people don't have to work as hard as I do, and very few actually want or need to.

Cuz that's when I start nagging. I know exactly what people in my life can do to become NUMBER ONE, so why aren't they doing it? I can't understand this, so I go ahead and fill them in on where they're going wrong. Eventually, I realize they want to punch me in the eye.

I'm shocked, every time.

So one of the things I'm working on is not giving advice unless it's asked for, and then dropping it once it's given rather than chasing up to see if they did what I told them to. I'm not not telling people what my MUCH BETTER PLAN THAN THEIRS is, and I'm no longer saying to people, "Why the fuck don't you just do it, already, and stop saying you'll do it?"

Because even if I am right, and I do have the answers, nobody wants to hear them. And I certainly don't want to be that person. Even if that person is RIGHT, GODDAMIT.

She's also annoying. That nag that is me.

Taurus Rising

-- Adrienne Miller

I don't take well to nagging. I never have. I suppose I could blame it on my stars. A few years ago my mother-in-law did my astrological chart, and while my sun sign is Libra, apparently my rising sign is Taurus. She told me that means that while I love balance and harmony (which I do) I'm also as stubborn as an old mule (which I also am). So what you get is someone who wants to everyone to be happy but always finds the sneaky, backdoor way to getting what I want.

I'm not a big (or any kind) believer in astrology, but in this case the description just happened to be accurate. I am that person. You can nag at me, and I'll smile and nod, but inside my heels are digging in so far that you could use me to plow a field.

I'll admit, it's not the most attractive personality trait. Some people would even call it passive aggressive, but that's only because I can't bring myself to be aggressive-aggressive. You know, those people who shout out their opinions loud enough for everyone in a three block radius to hear. I don't want to be that person either.

There has to be a middle ground. A plain aggressive. Someone who can just say no without explanation. Without raising her voice. Without sugarcoating anything. That's how I'd like to be. Maybe someday I'll figure out how to be that.

But until I do, seriously, don't nag me.

I Need a Nag!

--by Juliet

I need a nag to make me get stuff done.

I start things just fine. It's the finishing that kills me.

For instance, right now I’m on deadline. It’s that time in my writing schedule when someone asks me how I’m doing, and I take it as an act of aggression.

“Just how do you think I’m doing? I haven’t taken a shower in three days. I forgot how to brush my teeth and put on clothes. I'm hoping a car crashes outside my window so I'll finally have an ending to this freaking novel! That’s how I’m doing!”

All of this is accompanied, of course, by a crazed gleam in my eyes. Because I’m not really seeing the person talking to me, I’m seeing the fact that my inner nag failed, once again, to get me anywhere near finished before deadline.

As a mom, I nagged my son all the way through French school (bilingual nagging, even!) and then I nagged him through AP classes and SAT exams and college applications and now, guess what? He doesn't need me to nag him anymore! He now has his own inner nag, and does sensible things like getting his papers done ahead of time, and he's rocking something close to a 4.0 at his university. And he still manages to party.

So, um, why can't I manage to internalize my own nagging in some kind of effective way? Don't know, and I can't figure it out right now because I'm pulling an all-nighter to reach my deadline. I'm a mad writer stuck in my aerie.

And I’m trying not to take the need to write this blog as an act of aggression. I apologize ahead of time for my bad attitude. I’ll be me again in, oh, seventy-eight hours or so.

And after that...feel free to step up and nag. I need it.

Nagging Through the Doldrums

Yesterday, while at work, I wrote a thousand words while on a break. I'm in the middle (oh, the sagging middle) of a novel, and I get my words wherever I can, even if it means writing in the driver's seat of my car during lunch.

This, to me, is the hardest part of writing -- the first draft doldrums. (Related: you already knew, I'm sure, that the doldrums is slang for the low-pressure area around the equator where the winds are calm, making sailing difficult. It's damned hard to move without wind. But this was something I didn't know: In the doldrums, you can also have variable winds, squalls gales, and even hurricanes. Now, doesn't that remind us of writing the middle of the book? Flat, nothing going on, never gonna get anywhere, OH RIP ROARING EXCITEMENT, RIDE THIS AS FAR AS SHE BLOWS BAYBEEEE, oh crap it's gone again.)

So when I'm writing a first draft, I push through. Every day, I sit in front of the computer and wait for a breeze. If there's no breeze, I turn on my desk fan. If the power goes out, I puff out my cheeks and blow on my screen, wiping the spit off as needed.

I do it because I nag. I'm a nagger, by blood. My mother was a consummate and professional nagger, and I follow in her footsteps even though I don't want to. It's not as if I sit down and plan to nag. In fact, I spend quality time trying not to nag. If I nag my wife, she doesn't know about the thirty times I swallowed the request trying not to say anything. My sisters know to tune me out when I get wound up on issues like their health or their housing (and I do try to hold most of it in, I swear).

But I nag the life out of myself.

My eyes open, and it starts. Write. Write. Write. Write.

I roll over. Write something. Write anything.

I roll to my other side. Just sit at the desk. Three hours, that's all.

I pull the pillow over my head. Fine. You want to be that way? An hour would do it.

I squinch my eyes harder shut. Half-hour?

I hold my breath. Okay, ten minutes.

Fine. Ten minutes and you can have a carrot muffin at the cafe.

As usual, the offer of food-as-reward works, and I give in, just to shut the voice up. Then, when I get to the cafe, I can usually browbeat myself into three hours of work, just from that one carrot muffin and double Americano.

People often ask me (usually with an annoyed tone) how I get so much done. But I think I've just figured out why I feel like such a slacker all the time. If people had any idea how much more I feel like I should do, how much of the time I'm struggling to tune out the guilt-laced whiny voice inside my head, they'd understand how well I'm actually practicing active, chosen laziness whenever I possibly can.

It is one way to get through the doldrums, though. A thousand words? Great! And oh, by the way. It's not enough. Get off your ass and write another thousand on your next break. See you on the other side of the ocean, where The End lives.

Why You Must Neti If It's the Last Thing [I Make] You Do

by Sophie

NAGGING

In my family we are neti pot FIENDS. I cannot overstate how we adore the things. I think it was Lisa who introduced me to them, years ago, and I found the whole concept entirely appalling. I made her describe several times how you jam the spout of the pot of saline water in one nostril and the saline solution pours INTO YOUR HEAD and comes out the other side. Disgusting! "But they've been doing it for centuries," Lisa assured me.

Not for me, the crazy crunchy-club stylings of a mystic-eastern-obsessed new age sensibility. I liked my alka-selzer plus cold medicine. I liked my thera-flu.

But as the years ticked by and I got busier and being laid out on the couch for days at a time seemed less and less appealing, and I became more prone to persistent sinus infections, and - the last straw - the Alka Selzer people quit making the good stuff and marketed only the lame-ass version that didn't give you any kind of decent buzz, I finally got desperate enough to give it a try.

The first time was weird. I locked myself in the bathroom with the same sense of apprehension and embarrassment as the first time I shaved my legs with my dad's pilfered razor a thousand years ago. I couldn't believe it would work. And yet...with only a flash of a weird sensation up there behind the eyeballs, the liquid came dribbling out the other side.

Fascinating! I actually felt proud of myself as I watched this strange process in the mirror. I'd had the little weird throat tickle that signals an oncoming cold, and as soon as I was finished with my first eight ounces of saline, it already felt better. Placebo effect, I was sure, but then...I didn't get sick.

I'm not one of those who use the thing every day during cold season, but I made a beeline for it every time I felt the least bit sniffly. And I kept not getting sick. An entire year went by - no sick days. Then it was two. I would have made it three whole years, but last august I went on a camping trip and DIDN'T BRING THE POT. And I got sick as all get out.

Since the beginning, I've nagged my family to try this thing. My brother was the first convert, though I doubt it was my influence - those Brookline people kind of swing that way so he had lots of other people convincing him too. But then my Dad got hooked. It took us a year to Judy, my Dad's wife, on board, but once she neti'd she was sold. The only holdout is my sister Kristen. She's got her annual cold - the same one I got every year before I converted - and it is making me nuts. Every time I see her I go into my neti speech, which usually ends with me raising my voice and telling her she's choosing to be sick when she doesn't have to (I am a terrible, terrible, sister; really, all you folks who think I'm delightful, just ask Kristen, she'll tell you the truth). My Christmas gift to Juliet this year was....oh, I suppose you can probably guess. And the worst thing is that, wrapped up in shiny paper, the little net box looked like it could be something really delightful. Perfume, perhaps, or a bracelet or something. But no. Juliet received a neti pot with a whole lotta love behind it.

I nag, and I just can't stop. Tonight we quad-teamed my sister - did I mention my kids also neti? - it was me and Junior and my dad and his wife, all begging, pleading, imploring, but most of all NAGGING poor Kristen to give it a try. Truly, I don't know how she can stand it. I would have folded, just to get us all off my back.

I only shared this tiny little corner of my nagging with you because I can't bear to face the whole truth. According to my kids, I'm a yeller, too emotional, and most definitely a nag. I'm not proud of any of it, but I can't seem to stop. I'd apologize, but the truth is that the next time I see you with the sniffles, I'm going to want to force you to neti too.