Nicole Higginbotham-Hogue
Bio
Nicole Higginbotham-Hogue is a lesfic author at amzn.to/36DFT2x. Sign-up for her newsletter at higginbothampublications.com
Stories (122)
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Rejection Ejection
I have been rejected a number of times in my life, and though it still burns sometimes, if I hadn’t been rejected, I probably wouldn’t be where I am now. For instance, I remember when I was a teenager. We had finally gotten our first computer, and I was allowed to write on it. Now, I had taken several typing classes so I knew how to use the writing applications on the computer, and writing on a device like this was way better than using the typewriter that I used to have. Every time I made a mistake on that, I would have to go back and retype it. You could only cover it up if you had some kind of white out. So, using the computer, I started to write a story. I worked hard on this story, hoping to create a book that others wanted to read and generally enjoying seeing how the story turned out as I wrote it. I never really know how my stories will end. After a lot of work, I finished my book and made it look as good as I could during that time, hoping that it looked nice enough for a publishing company to accept it and turn it into a book. E-books weren’t a thing back then, and the paperbooks available in my town were limited. There wasn’t an online ordering service that shipped them to your home, at least not one that I knew existed. Therefore, the way that you published a book was to find the publishers in a writer’s guide and send off a cover letter and the copy of the book so they could judge whether or not it fit their criteria. I did this several times. I sent my book to every notable company that I knew of that might accept it, and weeks later, I received quite a few letters, letting me know that my story wasn’t their cup of tea. I felt deflated. I had spent so many hours coming up with my story and doing my best to learn the latest formatting techniques. I had researched the companies that I had sent my book to, and I had even gotten a hold of manila envelopes to send my script off. However, the only response that came back was a series of rejections. I was left without a publisher and with a completed manuscript that no one would ever read. I continued to write and while I did that, I made a copy of my existing work, putting it in binders with protective sheet covers so my friends could read it at their convenience. I figured that if I did that, the book wouldn’t get lost, and this would give someone a chance to read it, even if it wasn’t a very big audience. My friends read through my work while I tried to figure out the publishing business, and to be honest years flew by before I did. By the time I figured out that self-publishing was an option, I had already received so many rejection letters, even a few from one of my favorite publishers, that I needed a binder to hold them all. My dad had told me to keep them. He told me that a lot of people got rejected at first, and I suppose he thought they might be more meaningful down the road. To my surprise, he was right. These letters were more meaningful, because when I stepped foot into the publishing world, I knew that despite all of the barriers, I had finally made it. Now, don’t get me wrong. I have never been an author that has been talked about on television or one that has such a large marketing campaign that you would see my work at every store. However, even though I haven’t hit that mark yet, doesn’t mean that I haven’t been successful. Success is measured in what you want to get out of the task you are doing, and I wanted my work to be seen and to make an income off of it. That slowly started to happen, and though I wasn’t making a million dollars or having one of my books signed to an up and coming movie, I felt good. I was able to do what I loved and support my family doing it. This experience taught me to keep trying. Even though my work wasn’t everyone’s cup of tea, that didn't mean that there wasn’t a little place in the world for it, and I found that there were some readers that actually liked it so much that they waited for my next release. This felt good, because I had worked so hard to make my passion work for me, and the blessings that I experienced after finally making it were worth the wait.
By Nicole Higginbotham-Hogueabout a year ago in Unbalanced
Hug an Enemy
After we moved to a new town, my parents had to network with different people to find childcare for us. Prior to that, I had gone to a daycare right by our house as had my sister, but the town that we moved into was forty-five minutes away from that facility, making it too difficult to stay with the same babysitter. This proved to be a difficult task for my parents. Not only were we in school but they also had to worry about making sure they could find someone that could take care of our little brother. Not every babysitter was up for watching three kids, so they went on the hunt for one that was. Ironically for me, the babysitters that they chose were usually two years older than I was. This proved to be both an interesting and somewhat unflattering choice, because I knew that I would end up going to school with the same people that were in charge of caring for me. They went through five different babysitters, but one of those babysitters ended up making a bigger impact on my life than the others. This babysitter only came to watch us once. She was just like the others, two years older than me, and though we got along while she was at my house, years later, she would become my school bully. Now, I don’t exactly blame her for thinking that it was odd that she had to watch a kid that was almost the same age as she was. I thought this was weird too, but I assume there was some kind of law regarding how old you had to be to stay home alone at the time. Eventually, I got to the age that I needed to be at to watch myself and my siblings. I finished elementary school and middle school, and I ended up in high school. I was excited to be a high schooler. That meant that I only had a few more years until I was on my own. I was looking forward to meeting new friends, and I was curious about what classes and activities would be available to me now that I was a little bit older. Nevertheless, I would have never guessed that I would be in the same class as the girl that had babysat me, but to my surprise I was. One day, I walked into my history class only to find the girl that had babysat me, sitting on a back counter with a couple of kids that were in my grade. I didn’t think much of it at first. Sometimes, people had to take different classes, depending on their graduation requirements, and I had gotten along with her back then, so I let her be. Ironically, she didn’t feel the same way as I did. Instead of leaving me along and tending to her studies, she did anything and everything that she could to start a fight with me in front of the class. I was upset about this behavior as I felt that we were old enough to do the things that were required of us in class without this extra bit of chaos, but she wouldn’t stop. She would tease me in the halls. She would call me out in class, and finally, I had enough and decided to call her on her actions. She didn’t back down. It became a back and forth routine between the two of us. She would do something mean to me, I would leave glue under the handle of her locker. She would talk to my classmates about me, I would tell everyone the new nickname I came up with for her. It didn’t stop until she graduated. Fast forward fifteen years later and that girl hadn’t crossed my path or my mind for a while. Then, a news story comes up regarding her family business and a devastating loss. As upset as I was for how she had treated me in high school, I still felt bad for her and her family. They had lost a business that had been passed down through generations of their family, and I really wanted to help. I wrote an article, doing my best to spread the news about the loss and getting the information in front of the eyes of people that didn’t necessarily watch the news. I’m not sure how many people saw my article and were able to help her family, but I did realize that by doing this, I was able to help myself. No longer was I held captive by the memories of my childhood bully. Things had evolved, and I realized that even bullies deserve compassion from time to time.
By Nicole Higginbotham-Hogueabout a year ago in Writers
No Control But Self-Control
Like most children, when I was little, I believed in the tooth fairy and Santa Clause. I also believed that the characters on Sesame Street were real and that I was going to be a Ninja Turtle when I grew up. Who wouldn’t want to hang out with their friends and eat pizza and practice karate? Anyhow, I had this big idea of what my future would be like, and I knew that one of the first steps in getting there was to meet the Ninja Turtles. So, one eventful evening, mom and my grandma took me to Ninja Turtles live. I was able to see the Ninja Turtles with my own eyes and after we got done with the show, I was full of excitement and energy. We got into the car and were driving back from the show when my grandma asked me if I knew that the Ninja Turtles weren’t real. I was in shock. How could she say such a thing? Maybe, she just didn’t know the truth. I believe I argued for a bit before finally conceding, and then, my grandma broke the news to me that Sesame Street wasn’t real either. I was devastated. My entire life’s plans went up in smoke. What was a kid to do? I mulled over this new revelation, feeling the sadness of knowing that my favorite characters were fake and that I would never have the chance to meet them. Soon the holidays approached and like I was on most weekends, I was at my grandma’s house. Now, at that time, I am pretty sure I had forgiven my grandma for telling me the truth about the Ninja Turtles and Sesame Street. She was a very honest person, and I was sure that she just wanted me to know the truth. So, I did what I normally did while I was at my grandma’s house. I watched television and drew pictures. I even hunted under the couch cushions for money that my uncles left behind. That’s when I saw it. There was a present from Santa sitting in between the couch and the coffee table. I was astounded. How did it get there? Santa wasn’t supposed to arrive for a few weeks. Maybe, it was from last year, but if it was, why hadn’t anyone opened it? Questions flooded my curiosity, and I decided to ask my grandma. I don’t remember my exact wording when I told her about this present, but I think I went up and told her that I knew Santa wasn’t real. Now, I’m sure that when I did this, I wasn’t ready for her response. In fact, I’m pretty sure that I expected quite the opposite, but my grandma’s response was loud and clear when she confirmed my suspicions. So at this point, I had found out that Santa wasn’t real. The Ninja Turtles weren’t real, and Sesame Street wasn’t real. It didn’t take me that long to learn the truth about the Easter bunny and the Tooth Fairy. I was devastated. I no longer had the expectation of meeting any of these fairy tale characters, and it almost felt as if some of the excitement of childhood had been taken from me. Years later, I was talking to my little sister, who was still fairly young at that point, and she was telling me how people in her class were telling her that Santa wasn’t real. I was angry. How could these kids take away my sister’s experience of believing in Santa? She was way too young to learn the truth, and I was determined to do something about it. I told my sister that the kids in her class weren’t telling her the truth, but she didn’t believe me. She still had her doubts, and my sister was smart, so I knew that I would have to do something to prove to her that Santa was real. That’s when the idea came to me to write letters to her from the elves. How could she deny Santa if there were elves at home leaving her letters? I started writing different letters to her. I used a new style of handwriting, so she didn’t recognize the fact that I was really the one that had written these letters, and I left them all over the house for her. Her excitement came back, and she suddenly believed in Santa again. I did this year after year until she was about eight or nine and old enough to understand the truth about Santa. My sister loved this process. She would get excited about the letters. She would search for them, and the joy of waiting for Santa finally came back. I loved this too, because I knew how hard it was to find out that Santa wasn’t real at such a young age while other people my age scrambled around in excitement, and I was glad that I had the opportunity to preserve this childhood milestone for her.
By Nicole Higginbotham-Hogueabout a year ago in Humans
Try and Try Again
I was always geared to be the best at everything that I did. If I didn’t have the skills, then I would do the best to learn how to get them, and if I wasn’t great at something right away, then I would try to learn how to be better. However, there were a few cases where I was upset when someone else did better than I did. I remember being in grade school and having the instruction from the teacher to write my own book. Every kid was to write their book and then, we were all supposed to illustrate it, so she could staple it together and we could bring it home to our families. I worked hard on this, and I had a lot of practice at drawing and coloring, so I was sure that I was going to do pretty well with this task. I took my time and got my book together, and then when it was finished, I showed the teacher. The teacher liked my book, but she also liked the book that the girl across the table had created. I looked over at the other girl’s work, and I was astounded by how good it was. The pictures were nearly perfect. It was as if a professional had come in and illustrated it for her. Her story made sense. It was indeed a very good book, and I was ashamed by my own work, knowing that there was no way my book could compare to hers. I hung my head, trying to figure out where I went wrong with this project and sulked in my own self-pity. Then, when I was a little bit older, I found myself in competition with two other students for the title of valedictorian. I studied night and day. I found a study group that could help me with my math, and I did my best to answer every midterm and final to the best of my ability. The race was tight, and up until the last two years of high school, I had the title in the palm of my hand. However, now that there were two other competitors, I knew that I had to do better. There was one last exam. It was an English exam, and though I did well in this class, I knew that I wasn’t perfect. I also knew that if I didn’t do better than the other two students, I was going to lose the chance at representing my class as the valedictorian. This was a sad realization as the only thing people had identified me in high school with was my intelligence. I wasn’t the fastest person or the best looking person. I wasn’t even the most charismatic person. I was the smart kid, so if I didn’t get this title, it was as if my entire identity would be lost. We all took our English tests and the results came back. The teacher marked my grade one grade lower than one of the girls I was competing with. Then, I found out that the boy that was also competing got a better grade too. I was now in third place for the title, and I knew that there was no chance that I would be able to represent my class at this point. I was just an average joe with good grades. This upset me significantly. Then, when I was in the military, I applied to be a squadron leader. I wanted so badly to be in a leadership role. I thought that it would better me as a person and help me obtain the skills that I needed to advance later in my career. Unfortunately, this role was given to another woman, and she became a favorite of our training instructor. I remained a regular member of our troop without any exciting title or accolades. All three of these situations were upsetting, but as I grew up and experienced different things in my life, I realized something. These people did better at these things because they needed to. If they hadn’t, I wouldn’t be on the same life journey that I am now, and they probably wouldn’t be where they are now. Success isn’t something given to one person. It is something that everyone needs to experience every once in a while. It helps give people the confidence to move forward in their paths and sometimes it shows them where their skills are necessary. If I had been the best writer when I was a little kid or the valedictorian when I was in high school, I might not be the person that I am today, and I am happy with that person. You’re not always going to be the best at everything. If you were, then no one else would get a chance to be good at it too, and how boring would a world be where just one person won? I’m sure it would be pretty boring. So, what I learned from this is that it is okay when someone else does better than you. They say that everyone has their fifteen minutes of fame. Maybe, that is theirs, and if it is, it is okay to be happy for them. You never know what was going on in their life before that win, and by doing well in that one area, they might be inspired to do well with the rest of their life too.
By Nicole Higginbotham-Hogueabout a year ago in Motivation
Who's the Clown?
Once I got past my shy phase, I found that I was quite a talker. This opened me up to meeting people that I wouldn’t have had I not found my voice and when it came to competition, I became more motivated to show how good I could do with whatever challenge was given to me. I started showing off, letting others know the skills that I possessed, hoping that this would give them a better perspective of my personality and hoping to make friends. Nevertheless, I found out quickly that this wasn’t the best way to do this. One of the first times that I remember doing this was in first grade. The teacher thought that I was good at creating stories and offered to let me put on a play for the students next door. I got my little team of people together and we came up with a play, assigning each person to his or her role. We practiced, and when we thought that we were ready, we walked to the other class to put on our performance. However, when we got there, everything fell apart. At first, our play was flowing naturally. Everyone was doing the best job that they could with their roles, and people seemed to be having fun. However, when the initial excitement died down, I decided to hype things up by deviating from the script. Everyone was scrambling to figure out how to do their part. At some point, shoes were thrown, and the teacher in that class kicked us out without us having the chance to finish our play. I was sad and embarrassed, and I knew that if I hadn’t tried to show off, I might have gotten a standing ovation. Then, when I was in second or third grade, I tried out for the basketball team. I got in, and it was cool, because I was one of two girls. I was bound and determined to do my best. I had found that usually when I was around all boys and I was playing any kind of sport, people favored the boys over the girls, so I wanted to show everyone that I was just as good as they were. I worked hard and practice ended, leaving all of the kids there to hang out and wait for their parents. That’s when I saw one of the boys playing on the monkey bars in the gym. I was used to having to prove myself, and I didn’t see the point in not making a new friend, so I walked over there and began to play with him. We competed, trying to see who could go across more bars, when I slipped and crashed to the gym floor, breaking open my chin. I don’t remember much about what happened next. I know my mom came, and I know that I had to go to the hospital and get stitches. However, everything happened so fast that keeping track of each and every detail is hard. What I do remember is that after that, I wasn’t allowed to play any sports during recess and I couldn’t go back to my basketball team. If I hadn’t tried to show off, I might not have been in the same position. Then, when I was a teenager, I was riding my bike and saw a couple of boys that I knew from school. One of the boys was someone that I used to hang out with, and I thought that I would get their attention by trying to ride my bike without holding on to the handle bars. This was all good and great until I fell off the bike and into a curb, breaking open my lip and injuring my wrist. The scar on my lip became a permanent fixture, and my wrist still hurts every once in a while, and I know that if I hadn’t tried to show off for them, I might not have had that unfortunate accident. I learned that it is okay to be thankful and happy for your achievements, but you have to be careful about showing off. Sometimes, when you are trying to get someone’s attention in that way, it goes south, and there are times when that happens where you end up with permanent scars from your experiences.
By Nicole Higginbotham-Hogueabout a year ago in Confessions
Dating Debacles
Dating and Inattentiveness Why aren’t you present? You might have been with someone for a while and though the two of you may love and care about each other, there might one issue. You might have an issue that your partner doesn’t listen to you. So, what do you do if your partner doesn’t listen to you? How do you approach this type of situation? Though the answers to these questions may be different for everyone, here are a few suggestions.
By Nicole Higginbotham-Hogue3 years ago in Confessions
Business Bustle
Adding an Extra Hand If you own your own business and you have expanded your consumer base in the last year or so, you may be wondering if there is a way to be more efficient in producing your product while addressing the consumer needs. This may have brought you to question if you need an extra hand to help with the business and if it is time to expand your workforce. So, what benefits would bringing a helping hand into the business give you? How could this move help? Though the answers to these questions might be different for everyone, here are a few suggestions.
By Nicole Higginbotham-Hogue4 years ago in Journal
Work Smarter, Not Harder
Avoiding Burnout There are some days where it seems like the work never ends, and if you have a lot of these days then you might be feeling a little burnt out. But how do you avoid feeling this way while still accomplishing your goals? Is there anything that you can do? Though the answers to these questions might be different for everyone, here are a few suggestions.
By Nicole Higginbotham-Hogue4 years ago in Journal
Analyzing Your Relationship
Getting Serious After dating a person that you like, you may be wondering when the appropriate time to take the next step is. You might be falling for the other person, but you might still have concerns as to how fast to take your relationship and when you should move forward. Though everyone might have a different take on when the right time to get serious is, here are some suggestions on what you might look out for.
By Nicole Higginbotham-Hogue4 years ago in Humans
“Finding a Voice”: Chapter Seven
It had been a couple of weeks since Ziggy had left Alicia’s, and she had begun to realize how lonely it was without her cousin’s company. She hadn’t made any friends on campus, mostly due to her frustration in having to use a voice app to speak and her fear that others wouldn’t have the time or patience to wait for her to type out her contributions to the conversation on her phone. However, her voice had slowly begun to come back in the last couple of days, and though it was currently a gravelly mirror of her regular tone of speech, she was ready to get out there and meet some people. Therefore, Ziggy had decided to have a dorm party in order to meet some of the neighbors in her hall. She had made up fliers for the event and put one under each door on her floor, hoping that it would encourage the other students to get together and socialize and make it easier for her to get to know others on campus.
By Nicole Higginbotham-Hogue4 years ago in Fiction
