A Few of Liz's Published Posts:

Sampling of Recent Flash: 
Fragrant Flowers, Every Day Fiction - Oct. 1, 2024 
https://everydayfiction.com/fragrant-flowers-by-liz-debeer/ , 
Not Too Old, Switch- Oct. 2024
https://www.switchonline.org/items/not-too-old
Catch and Release: Life Lessons from a Bad Date, Libre- Sept 23, 2024
www.librelit.com/themagazine/catch-and-release-life-lessons-from-a-bad-date
Water Color Memories, Lucky Jefferson- Sept, 15,2024
https://luckyjefferson.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/09/Ember-No.-12-ONLINE.pdf
Distracted, Sad Girls Diary · Jun 9, 2024 
https://www.sadgirldiaries.com/post/distracted-liz-debeer
Mourning Doves, Spillwords Press · May 18, 2024 
https://spillwords.com/mourning-doves/​
The Blue Bird Word · Apr 1, 2024
https://thebluebirdword.com/blue-jay-by-liz-debeer/​
Sampling of Recent Essays on Writing:
My Teacher, My Students, Myself, Brevity Blog, Sept. 14, 2024
brevity.wordpress.com/2024/09/16/my-teacher-my-students-myself/
Flash Writer, Flash Reader, and Flash Teacher, Too, Book Inc. Journal ,Jun 13, 2024 bookinc.org/flash-writer-flash-reader-and-flash-teacher-too/
Harvesting My Writing, Book, Inc. Journal · Apr 18, 2024 
bookinc.org/harvesting-my-writing/
Ripping Out Seams, Book Inc. Journal · Feb 8, 2024
bookinc.org/ripping-out-seams/
Catching Writing Inspiration From Surfers, Book Inc. Journal Sep 7, 2023 
​ bookinc.org/catching-writing-inspiration-from-surfers/
Other Publications 
Insider NJ Visiting Writer. 
https://www.insidernj.com/frustration-over-stolen-lawn-signs/  
​www.insidernj.com/what-motivates-progressives-to-write-postcards/
New Jersey English Journal,  Co-Editor in Chief, Sept 2015-March 2019, & Regular contributor, 2006-2019. 
MultiCultural Review & Small Press, CT,  Book Reviewer, 1989-1993.

More of Liz's Publications
With Links to Columns & Teaching Essays:  www.linkedin.com/in/liz-debeer/details/publications/
Sampling of Liz's Blog Posts:

Hate on the Way to a Peace Rally


​On my way to a local peace rally, I stopped at a crosswalk to wait for the light to change. I was carrying 20 white roses to represent peace and resistance as well as a protest sign. My husband and a friend waited with me.

A white man joined me at the curb, glared at me and hissed, “I hate you.” Then he pounded the button to make the light change faster. Although he pressed the button over and over and over, we had to wait there together, his words hanging like bad breath between us.

The light changed and we both continued on our respective journeys.   Although I had not spoken to him, my sign declaring tolerance and love angered him – threatened him.

Why?

Why would declaration of love and tolerance enrage someone?  Many articles have been written analyzing such sentiments, so there’s no need to rehash the reasons such as job loss, misogyny, racism, naiveté, etc.

Instead, I keep thinking about that man aggressively pounding the button and nothing happening.

He was powerless to change the light.

And he and others like him are powerless to make America go backward. It won’t happen.
 
The light will change and the tides will change, and we will find ourselves in a new place. We may have some moments of regression, but it will take on new forms; it won’t be the same. Not possible.

I don’t know where the angry hateful man went.

But I went to a peace rally, where people gave out hundreds of white roses to represent peace and resistance, where interfaith religious leaders and neighbors of various ethnicities, races and religions stood together and prayed for peace.

While a peaceful rally may not enact a new law, it brings people together and inspires them to continue the work that makes a longer lasting impact.

Community sustains me, and it can sustain teens as well, which is why it's one of the themes in my  current manuscript,  a contemporary YA novel set around a high school swimming pool.

Lessons from a Sloth


​I met a sloth.
He blinked.
I blinked.

Then I reached for my phone, rushing to capture the photo.
He was so close!
I’d be so annoyed at myself if I missed the photo op.
I clicked, again and again.
Other people were coming and wanted the photo too, so I had to hurry.  I wanted to stay longer…. Didn’t want to miss anything.
I glanced at him one more time to take his image with me in my memory.
The sloth blinked again.
He had not moved.
I understand that is his way – likely due to his diet or something.
But now that I’m home, away from the sloth and his habitat, I recall him and the message I received.
Slow down.  Blink.  Smile.
Clearly, we humans have stuff to do – like pay the mortgage and go to the grocery store and the DMV.
But many of us forget the sloth’s lessons.
Slow down.
Blink.
​Smile.
Fortunately, I have the photo of that sloth to remind me.

Animals are teachers, wordlessly offering us lessons on compassion, patience, loyalty, and forgiveness.
In my YA contemporary manuscripts pets help teach teens about coping with pain, and death.
The sloth I met in Costa Rica, one of my favorite places, reminded me about the importance of living in the now.
For Teachers: My Favorite Mets Fan

True Story: September 28, 2008. Last Game at Shea Stadium: Mets v. Marlins.

Somehow, we secured boxed seats, which were behind the Marlins’ dugout. I'm not a huge Major League Baseball fan, but I love watching any game live.  

I sat next to a guy named Carl. I mentioned it was my birthday.

Carl says, “No kidding?” And then calls out to the Marlins’ ball boy: “Hey, it’s this lady’s birthday. Can we have a ball?”

The kid grabs a ball and tosses it to us. Carl—whom I’d just met—proceeds to pass the ball around, getting several celebrities to sign it for me. (I’m talking Jerry Seinfeld, Matthew Broderick, Glenn Close, as well as a handful of ball players.)

But that’s not the best part.

What really got me was Carl himself. His attitude. His mantra.

The Mets were struggling most of the game. Carl had several signs that he held up periodically.  My favorite, read “You Gotta Believe!”

Whenever the Mets messed up, Carl held up the sign, and sang a little ditty: “You gotta believe, you gotta believe, you gotta believe, you gotta believe!”

I LOVED IT.  

I had never before connected to the Met's famous saying (from pitcher Tug McGraw in 1973). But it was the highlight of that awesome day in 2008. Better than the signed baseball, better than the iconic experience.

I loved Carl’s reaction to setback, despite the Mets' loss. (Marlins 4 – Mets 2.)
Of course, I still have that signed baseball. But what I really treasure is the memory or meeting Carl, and hearing his Met's chant.

In the best of times, we teachers need Carl’s faith.
And in the toughest of times? We need it even more.

So I’m sending Carl’s chant your way, my educator friends . Because the students need you now more than ever.
 
Teaching is a act of faith or hope, but there are times when both teachers and students feel crushed by the amount of tests, papers, and projects.  Add Covid-19 and remote teaching/learning . . .

These are just some of the challenges faced by students and teachers, as well as the characters in my YA Contemporary manuscript who face these issues too, plus problems within their families and love lives.  But my characters know Carl's mantra by now.  After all, it's the mantra of every writer!

​Penis Drawings


​As I was taking an afternoon walk, I saw a penis on the pavement. It was just lying there, in chalk.
(See my unprofessional photo above).

You never know when or where you will see a penis. 
As a former public high school teacher, I saw penises all the time: on lockers, on the white board, on sign-out sheets, on posters, in textbooks, drawn in a variety of mediums ranging from pencil to ink to marker.

(As a colleague observed, many of the male students seemed interested in self-portraiture.)

Once, someone kept drawing penises in the sign-out book kept in a classroom I shared with another teacher. I felt especially bad because I wanted to respect the shared space, and it was her sign out book. Worse, I had a strong feeling the drawings were created during my class period.

I said to the class, “Look, I really don’t care if you want to draw penises on your own stuff, but could you please please stop doing it on Ms. X’s book? It’s embarrassing to me. Plus it's disrespectful. I won't punish you if you just stop.”

A young man whom I particularly liked, (and I thought particularly liked me), raised his hand and admitted that this questionable artwork was his.
“Why," I asked. "I mean, WHY did you draw it in the sign in book?” 
“I dunno," he said. "I guess I just...felt like it."

Another time, someone kept drawing penises on lockers – lots of lockers – right near the English Office.

Just as I was about to open the English Office door one day, I saw inside a senior boy’s locker:
On the top shelf was a Sharpie marker the same color as the penis drawings.

“Hey,” I said. “I heard the school administrators are going to suspend whomever is drawing the penises on the lockers. If they see that Sharpie marker, they might think it’s you. Why not let me hang on to that marker so you don’t get in trouble?”

“You know I would never draw on lockers,” smirked the boy.

“Yeah," I said, "I know you wouldn't. But why not just let me make sure no one accuses you. Plus, I think there might be some cameras installed up here, so I’m sure they'll catch whom ever is doing it.”

Actually, there weren’t any cameras, but I had heard that the administrators were serious: they were determined to suspend someone, and they were hassling us teachers to find out the culprit.

“Ok. Take the Sharpie, but I’m not drawing them,” the boy said.

I took the Sharpie, but I didn’t turn him in. I didn’t actually see him drawing penises on a single locker, and I wasn’t 100% sure. However, the drawings stopped after I took his Sharpie.

I hadn’t thought about him or the drawings in a long time. Then I saw a penis on the pavement and my mind wandered back to all the penises I had seen on lockers, on the white board, on sign-out sheets, on posters, and in textbooks.

​I wonder, where I will see one next?

Pardon Me? 



A week in the U.K. taught me, the English teacher, that I couldn't speak English. 

Or at least not British English.

While in London, I had a blister and asked a pharmacist for a band aid. 
He shook his head: “What?”
"It’s for a cut. I need a bandage," I explained.
Blank face.

A man who had plunked down a coin for a newspaper turned to the pharmacist and said, “She wants a plaster.”

A plaster?           

The pharmacist brightened, then offered me "plasters" in fabric or plastic. That is, bandages. What I've always called Bandaids. Which is of course a brand name.

The British also said “lift” instead of “elevator” – but at least “lift” made sense to me.

Then there was the menu at the local pub.
Banger?
Butty?

I knew enough not to ask about haggis, but I cornered a bar man to ask what a butty is.

“You take two pieces of bread and put something in it. Preferably chips.”
“Oh,” I said. “We say a sandwich.”
“Well you should stop. It’s called a butty,” he retorted.
​
Then he pointed out that we should also stop saying “chips and say “crisps” instead because it’s more accurate.  Why are we saying French Fries when we could use the correct word: “chips”?   

The jacket potato also bewildered me.  I thought it would be potato skin but no. It was a potato wearing its jacket: a baked potato.
​
Worse, some people had such thick accents or spoke so fast that I couldn’t catch the words. I spoke slowly so people could understand but many people did not return the favor.

Fortunately, everyone knew the word for beer and I knew enough to ask for a pint.

While I was often unsure what I was eating,  I knew enough to say “Cheers” and hope for the best.