Friend ,
Here is Chapter One of The GOOD Book.
In the introduction, I told you I’d share with you just how Nelly came to
light in my life. It is here that I must warn you that upon listening to this
chapter about Nelly, your inner child will fully immerge and she’s not going to
like that very much. Until now, she’s gone unnoticed and has had free rein in
all of your affairs. Understand that she’s not going to like being caught in
her past acts. However, if you can keep your sense of humor as you listen to
the chapters in this book, you’ll have fun with this timely meeting and you
will end up loving this precious part of you. I have known my Nelly for well
over five years and the relationship continues to blossom. Yours will too, as
time goes by.
On New Year’s Day, 2002, an acquaintance and past business associate that
will remain anonymous, was too sick to travel to be at my party, but she did,
and she was . . . there at my party. She’d planned the long distance trip and
wasn’t about to let a little snot and lung congestion keep her home. She
ruined my holiday festivities, not by bringing her germs, but by challenging
me with a thought that terrified me.
“You deed to write a huborous book (cough, cough, hack) about household
fidadce, prosperity ad abudadce. Tell people how to budget, idvest ad
(sneeze), s’cuse be, save.”
I flash-froze like a Tyson Chicken. I was in no position to write a word
about my financial state of affairs. It was ugly and, quite honestly,
I said to the woman, “you’re sick. You’ve got a fever and you’re so stuffed up
in the head it’s affecting your brain.”
“I dough I’b sick, but, (hack, blow) excuse be agid,… adyway, I really do thik
you cad write a fuddy book about fidadces.”
I popped back, “A funny book about finances? That’s impossible, there’s
nothin’ funny about ‘em and besides, mine are all screwed up. I’ve got seven
credit cards. Most of ‘em are maxed. There’s gotta be somewhere around
$16,000 on ‘em, I’ve got no savings and I’m renting. I don’t even own my own
home! I have a good title for it if I have any part in writing that book.
Finance; the other “F” Word. Just say the word finances to almost anybody
and you’ll get a cringe and a look like you did say the other “F” word.”
“Dow wait a binate, you bay be id a mess right dow, but I ab codfidedt that
if you focus od this subject you’ll fide the adswers ad you’ll be tradsforbed.”
“Say Lady, when does your plane leave?”
I wasn’t sure I could be transformed when it came to my financial state of
affairs, but before the night was over, the sick woman had at least
convinced me to try to write a “humorous” book about abundance, prosperity
and finance. Her best shot was when she said, “You wrote a fuddy book
about gettig orgadized ad that’s dot a fuddy subject. So turd your sedse of
hubor on fidadce and I dough you’ll cub up with a hilarious book od the
subject ad it will help people.”
But how could I write a book to help people get out of debt, organize their
finances and become prosperous when I considered my seven credit cards to
be a valid source of income? As a writer I was challenged by the daunting
task and could find more humor in global warming or having a pap test. But
the project promised to bring me money to fix my finances. I was stuck!
The sick woman was right about organization. It was a dull and boring
subject, and I had helped write a light-hearted book about getting
organized. But finance was not only dull and boring it was numbing and scary
and I hadn’t a clue how I would be able to meet this challenge. I knew I’d
have to clean up my finances before I could have my name on the cover of a
book that explained how to do that. I also knew my financial picture would
be held to scrutiny and I knew I wouldn’t be able to face the media and tell
about my book while I was in a personal money mess.
I could just imagine being on some live radio talk show and having some guy
from Household Finance call in and say, “Hey, Pam, I’ve got your statement in
front of me. Whew! What a mess. You’ve been late six times in three
years, how do you come off acting like an expert on wealth and prosperity?”
I went to bed on the first day of 2002 depressed and anxious as a
Chihuahua on the 4th of July.
After a couple of mopie weeks, I decided to take some positive action. I
started researching the books already on the market. I loved reading them.
Suze Orman. What a great writer. I hated her. Then there was Bob
Kiosaki, the author of Rich Dad Poor Dad who wrote about investing and gave
wonderful financial advice. Yeah, sure, I could invest... if they accept Visa.
I also read a book about a woman who was $60,000 in debt with her credit
cards; her husband was a banker and almost lost his job because of her
bookkeeping and spending. They almost got a divorce. There was a great
book about “deserving” money and several I really loved about the spiritual
aspect of money. I read eight books, sucking up the advice like a mosquito
tapping into a jugular vein.
I dog-eared, underlined and highlighted my research, which I bought on
Amazon using one of my credit cards. I boiled down all these experts’ advice
into eight truths, which I will talk about in Chapter Seven.
On February 3, I was suffering from the bug the woman had left behind.
My bug really liked me and opted to stay for a while. Fully acquainted with
it, I can honestly say that it had to be a close relative to SARS. I couldn’t
get it to leave and ended up in the hospital on death’s threshold. (Quite a
dramatic way to escape writing a funny book on finance.) I survived only to
face $3000 in hospital bills. That was my share after the insurance paid.
By March, I had also survived the annual post-Christmas shock of seeing the
credit card statements. It was some time in that month that it occurred to
me that in the eight or nine weeks of sopping up financial wisdom from the
experts, my finances hadn’t changed for the better. They had gotten worse.
The hospital bill didn’t help, but it wasn’t the main problem either.
Through March, I continued my research, re-reading some old books I’d
charged years earlier. One of the authors was now in prison. I re-read
Think and Grow Rich, by Napoleon Hill, The Dynamic Laws of Prosperity, by
Catherine Ponder, You’ll See it When You Believe it, by Wayne Dyer and The
Millionaire Next Door, by Stanley and Danko.
By May, I was starting to panic. I thought it would be stupid to glut the
market with yet another book on abundance, prosperity and finance. Just
because I could find humor in everyday life, who’d care that I’d re-stated
the basic principles of financial responsibility doused with a few laughs here
and there? I hadn’t written anything about getting in the black. Besides, I
knew my next windfall was just around the corner. We’d had a big piece of
property on the market for over a year and when that sold, I could pay off
my CCs and start over. THEN I’d cut them up. THEN I’d invest. THEN I’d
change my ways. Hey, my husband didn’t almost lose his job because of me.
I wasn’t $60,000 in debt; I was only $25,572 in debt. No, Terry and I didn’t
have a savings account or retirement plans, but with all the knowledge I was
accumulating, soon we were going to be just fine.
By June 1, I was suffering from a paralyzing episode of writer’s block. I had
written about my family, told about my “windfall mentality,” and I was
getting down to the wire on what publishers call “substantive material.” How
was this book going to help people change their lives by reading it?
On June 15, Terry and I went on vacation and charged it on MasterCard. I
was depressed and ready to plead for a prescription of Zanex.
On July 4th I awoke at 2:30 AM as my state of affairs jerked me out of bed
and sent me to my computer in a financial night terror. In a panicky fit of
fear, I decided I couldn’t in good conscience write this book. I cried
because I wanted to write another book and make some much needed money
to bail me out of debt. But I knew my book would not sell because it would
say in the introduction: Here is a list of books written by renowned
financiers who can tell you how to get out of debt. I read the books but I
didn’t take any of their advice because I didn’t want to! I am in debt, but
won’t be as soon as you buy this book. My advice to you is to write a clever
book and the sales will get you out of debt.
What was I to do? I sat for two hours in the dark of my office with just
the glow of my computer terminal and the blink of my cursor waiting for
something about the “F” word to strike me funny. While in that silence I
asked, “What is wrong with me? Why don’t I want to mind the basic rules of
finance? What is it in me that’s rebelling?” The answer came with a
question. “When you refuse to budget, ignore the value of compound
interest, flagrantly charge, and refuse to mind the experts what age have
you been acting?”
I thought about that for a couple of minutes and answered, “I’m about nineyears-
old.”
“There is a part of you that is very immature. Just look at your behavior.
You ignore the experts even though you know they’re right. That’s a brat. A
spoiled, rotten, I-want-it-now-and-could-care-less-how-I’ll-pay-for-it,
immature brat. It’s a dramatic tantrum throwing, self-indulgent conniving
and manipulating brat and she’s been running your life! Pamela Irene Young,
meet your inner brat!”
My life suddenly flashed before me. I realized I’d allowed a nine-year-old to
run my finances with her immature demands. No wonder I was in such a
mess. It was then that I realized that if I were going to help a nine-yearold
do something, anything, I would need nine-year-old tools. I couldn’t
throw The Wall Street Journal or Suze Orman’s book at her. She’d blank
out on me. Come to think of it, I’d bought several subscriptions to different
financial magazines like Business Week, Fortune and Money Magazine over
the years and she’d refused to finish a single article. I remembered that
she liked the pictures of fancy cars and the yacht advertisements.
Meeting Nelly changed everything. She was responsible for every impulse
purchase that ever landed in my cart at the grocery store. It was she who
just had to have those shoes, see that play, get that ring, charge that chair,
buy that new car, have that piano delivered, hire that professional landscape
designer, or whatever met her fancy at the time. It even occurred to me
that she was responsible for my first marriage, the one that ended in
divorce. Once she found out that Sandy Neal was after that boy, she
wanted him too. She wanted him bad. Besides, she wanted to have sex (a
nine-year-old in a teenager’s body) and marriage was the only way that would
happen. All the misguided choices I’d ever made were hers. Nelly was to
As I said in the introduction, I named her Nelly after the brat on Little
House on the Prairie. Naming her made it easy for me to keep her in the
forefront of my mind. I looked up the word “brat” in the dictionary and it
said, among other things, “an unpleasant child.” When I’m quiet, I can
actually hear her.
“I don’t care if we don’t have the money, I want it and I want it now!”
It was definitely because of Nelly that I had gotten into a financial mess.
When I realized that my inner child had this unpleasant streak, I knew I had
some work to do. She really seems to be between the ages of seven and
nine. Since I raised three children, I know a lot about kids. I know they
need limits and tangible evidence that they are succeeding. They need
constant surveillance, praise and guidance. They need short-term rewards,
and they need to look forward to fun in the future. They also need to be
loved and comforted.
With Nelly in mind, I created what I call the GOOD tools. GOOD stands for
“Get Out Of Debt.” I will explain the tools, what they are and how to use
them in Chapter Eight. What is absolutely amazing to me is that that sick
woman was right when she said I would find the answers to my financial
problems and that my life would be transformed if I wrote this book.
I just love the fact that Nelly first reared her untamed little head on
Independence Day.
Love,
