Saturday, 30 January 2016

Author KK Weil's Anti-Bucket list

We read about bucket lists all the time. I’ve even blogged about a few things I’d love to check off mine. It’s fun to think of all the places I’d like to visit and experiences that I’d want to try, at least once. But when I heard about the idea of an Anti-Bucket list, I started to laugh at the funny or gross things I’d never have any desire to do. So here’s a short list of mine.

1. Be anything in the medical profession. I have the highest regard for doctors, nurses, and anyone else in this profession. Such a high regard that I would never, ever attempt to insert myself into it. When my children fall, I have to steel myself before I can inspect their injuries, terrified of what I might find. Even if it’s just a scraped knee, I imagine the blood will be pouring down to their sneakers. I cover my own cuts tightly with my hand before I muster up the courage check them out. And when a friend tells me she’s sick, I take a step back as a joke, except I’m really not joking. I don’t think I should even discuss my bedside manner.

2. Get a root canal. Now, I’m not saying anyone would actually want this, but for some, it probably does not insight the fear that it does in me. If I even hear the words, I start to shiver and imagine metal scraping inside my gums, shooting horrible shockwaves throughout my body. I’m sure it doesn’t feel like that, but I’ve never had a cavity, so even the thought of a needle in my mouth freaks me out.

3. Ski. I have been skiing, so it’s not that I’ve never tried it. I just don’t want to do it again. I really hate the cold, the snow, the wind and anything that goes along with them. I’m dying for my children to learn to ski, because unlike me, they love the snow. One of these days, I’ll get them on a mountain. My sister is a skier, so either she will teach them or I’ll get them some lessons. I, on the other hand, will appreciate their experience from the warmth of a lodge, with a warm drink by the fire. And I’ll have hot chocolate ready for them when they return. 

4. Run a marathon. I want to want to run a marathon. I know a lot of people who had it on their bucket lists and did it. Each one has described how amazing the experience was, how the crowds gave them support and cheered as they ran, and what an incredibly fulfilling experience it was overall. Many even say it’s addictive and go on to run more of them. I do enjoy running. But I run three miles and I’m done. I could maybe see myself doing six, but after that, I’d lose interest. I have so much admiration for people who are dedicated enough to endure the tremendous amount of training it takes to be able to complete 26.2 miles. I’m just not one of them.
5. Eat a bug. Just yuck, gag, gross. Not even if you paid me. 
Griffin Stone knows the stats. Sons of abusers become abusers. This is his single fear.
After witnessing firsthand his parents’ tumultuous marriage, Griffin worries that he, too, harbors an explosive dark side. Can he escape from his father’s rage-fueled ways or is he destined to become part of the cycle?

Unable to persuade his mother to leave and wrestling with his resentment towards her for staying, Griffin volunteers at Holly’s House, a safe haven for abused women. Through sculpture, Griffin gives these women pieces of themselves they’ve long forgotten. Holly’s House is the only place where Griffin finds peace and purpose.

Until he meets Frankie Moore. 

Frankie is an aspiring photographer, finding beauty in things most people miss, including Griffin. Griffin is attracted to her free-spirited, sassy attitude but fears Frankie will trigger the most intense part of him, the one he must keep buried.

Frankie’s got to get her act together. Her anything-goes behavior is leading nowhere fast. She’s hopeful that her latest hobby will be a building block for the future. But when a stranger appears on the other end of her camera, looking as complex as he is handsome, Frankie thinks this might be just the change she needs.

About KK:
Instead of telling you how I’ve always loved to write (which is true) or how I dabbled in different genres for years while I was a teacher, before I took it up full-time (also true), I’d like to let you get to know me a little.

I love trying all different foods. I enjoy everything from street meat to decadent delicacies. When I travel, I pester the locals for restaurant recommendations, off the beaten path. Having said that, I am a savory fan. I don’t have a sweet tooth. I’d much rather have another bite of dinner and one more glass of wine that save room for dessert. There is one exception to this rule. Reese’s peanut butter cups. Sometimes I think I love those more than I love my children. I’m kidding. Maybe.

I’m left handed. I blame my horrendous handwriting on this, even though I don’t really believe they’re related. Everything in this world is built for and by righties. (Ever try using a can opener with your left hand?) So when I meet another left-handed person, I feel an immediate bond to her, like we’re in this special club. A club founded on being inconvenienced. When I was young, I was desperate for my sister to be a leftie like me. So even though she grabbed things with her right hand, I’d quickly switch them to her left. Now she’s ambidextrous.

I always save the best of everything for last. It’s a compulsion. I don’t like pizza crust very much, so I eat it first. I tear it off, piece by piece (I don’t bite the slice backwards. I’m not a Neanderthal, for God’s sake), until there’s just a little bit left in the center. I use this as a handle. 

I have an irrational fear of lice, bedbugs and any other insect that can become an infestation.

I prefer beaches over grass, heels over flats, dramas over comedies, coffee over tea, night over morning and fall over spring.