Thanks for stopping by. Here’s where you can find my work:
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Hadrian’s Hall: Expert business, communication science, legal, social advice and insight often repeated but ignored.
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Warts & All: The hard to swallow truest truths, satirical W&A examines the meaning of this life. Not for the faint of heart.
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Manual Focus: Helping creatives overcome and decry harsh realities by providing a sanctuary for ruminating. Or: Where you can come to not feel bad that you’re poor.
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Solitude Spiral: Moving and meaningful short fiction, flash fiction and poetry. By introverts for the world.
More hang outs:
My Patreon Page (which I avoided for two years). My Author Page (which is woefully neglected). My Photography Page(where I spend much of my time so I don’t become homeless). My Instagram (because I need social media to be taken seriously).
I intend to post almost daily across the four publications - and to invite, encourage, and support new contributors so readers have a consistent flow of delicious content. But I may get distracted and miss a few days. Or a month. I’ll do my best.
If you want to learn about me, keep reading. If you get bored, surf away to your social media feed. Don't let the boss see you're using the company computer to search for soup recipes.
Time-outs, intended to encourage good behavior, are inherently subjective. Those Problem Children who don’t obey nonsensical rules, who speak up at injustice, who demand freedom, who indulge passions, or who crave attention, also suffer time-outs. I never enjoyed facing the corner for the hour others had cookies and story time. I learned to ask the parents to develop film from my Instamatic camera was “annoying,” but presenting a science award was “what a good girl.” I learned to guard third base, to argue, and to excel at math was “not ladylike.” I learned to cross my legs and to do what was expected of me. I took advantage of Good-Girl Status until pretense became the time-out prison I was trying to avoid. (Cue suspenseful piano chord.)
I accomplished heaps of nonsense just to avoid a time out.
, blah blah, Juris Doctorate, blah blah, lawyer for 20 years, blah blah, professor for 20 years, blah blah. The point is, I obeyed and followed for as long as I could stomach. No disrespect to lawyers: I enjoyed success and emotional reward as an attorney. I believed doing my duty would allow me the freedom to write and create as an artist. What a load of bullshit that was.
Try to write a novel when you have to be in court in the morning, attend committee luncheons, meet with six clients, manage a busy law practice, teach two classes in the evening, and do laundry while catching up on case law until 2 am. Pass out. Do it again.
Like most Gen-Xers, I’d been duped! I did everything “right.” (Except for a few divorces, but who's counting? Shut up, Liz Taylor, you’re still up a few on me.) I had the McMansion. The gas-guzzling luxury vehicle. I incurred the impressive Mount Fuji credit debt. Wore the parent-teacher, band parent, delivering gourmet cupcakes for every class party badges. I landscaped with all that leveling effect crap, the pond, and the tailored deep green lawn. I obtained the required permits. Paid my taxes. I supported friends’ pyramid schemes, led the bookclub and the sunshine committee, ran the church fundraisers.
All I wanted to do was write, travel, have fun with my sons, go to any concert I wanted, try exotic recipes, be a photographer (or florist, I vacillated), and have sex as much as possible.
Instead: court, meetings, manage, teach, laundry, read, repeat.
All the while, I raised my kids, became a certified coach in one, two, three disciplines, studied semiotics and nonverbal communication, and mastered making rice without having 700 servings because it always looks like there’s not enough water, then not enough rice, then… well, you know.
A tussle with The Grim Reaper snapped me out of my hypnotic American-Dream state. In that hospital bed, the movie-credit list of proper and dignified roles scrolled before my eyes. What the hell had I been doing? Avoiding the po-po? The tax audit? The principal’s office? Mommy’s wrath? This had gone on too long and, without realizing it, I was in the corner, facing the wall. In a Lifetime Time Out.
Whew. Grim Reaper 0. Chris 2. (I won twice in my life. No salmon mousse here.)
I decided to write, to embrace my artist-self, to travel, to renounce false relationships and to find my tribe. I would assert my freedom. No more voting party lines.
. My camera is attached to me and I’m living the life I desired at age nine. I’ll “develop” my own film with a smile!
Hubby and I live outside of Atlantic City, New Jersey, travel, and spend time with our cat, Odin.
Image: Copyright C. A. Schmidt, 2022.
I teach, addicted to the moment another human has that ah-ha moment I ushered into his or her consciousness. Better than meth, Mr. White.
And I write every day, striving to entertain, enlighten, and enliven others. So…be a problem child and let’s break the rules!
Favorite food: ice cream
My favorite writer: Too many to list. Check out my Goodreads to see what's currently piled all over the house.
My favorite band: Tool
Favorite dog: Doberman
Image: Copyright C. A. Schmidt, 2017. My girl, Artemis Blu. She lives with my son, Jordan, where she gets to hang out at the best inn ever.