C.A. Meyer
C.A. Meyer
Journalist. Writer. Actress.
Writing
How to Stay True to Your Beliefs: An 8-Step Guide
How to Stay True to Your Beliefs: An 8-Step Guide
CASTLES: My Debut Poetry Book is Here
CASTLES: My Debut Poetry Book is Here
You Feel What You Speak: How Your Words Determine Your Mood
You Feel What You Speak: How Your Words Determine Your Mood
You Don't Need To Be "Insta Famous": How to Bow Out of the Comparison Game
You Don't Need To Be "Insta Famous": How to Bow Out of the Comparison Game
The Life-Changing Truth About Forgiveness
The Life-Changing Truth About Forgiveness
 
 
 

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Writing
How to Stay True to Your Beliefs: An 8-Step Guide
How to Stay True to Your Beliefs: An 8-Step Guide
 
 

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How to Stay True to Your Beliefs: An 8-Step Guide
How to Stay True to Your Beliefs: An 8-Step Guide
CASTLES: My Debut Poetry Book is Here
CASTLES: My Debut Poetry Book is Here
You Feel What You Speak: How Your Words Determine Your Mood
You Feel What You Speak: How Your Words Determine Your Mood

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Former teacher copes with Parkinson’s, disease that killed his brother
Former teacher copes with Parkinson’s, disease that killed his brother
Graduate returns as Basic High School’s principal
Graduate returns as Basic High School’s principal
Card skimming on rise in Henderson, police warn
Card skimming on rise in Henderson, police warn
 
 
 
 
 

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The three of us wrote a song when we were 13 called “Crying on the Bathroom Floor.” It was important.
I’m so excited to finally share something I’ve been working very hard on, the purpose of which is indescribably close to my heart: I am founding a collective, or organization, for and by women who are struggling or have struggled with their faith. Chronicles of Eve, the collective, is a noncritical organization, digital resource, and community avenue with the purpose of helping direct women carrying the weight of a heavy past towards a light-filled life, one without shame or regret, by fostering honest connections through storytelling. . The idea for CoE came together over the last year when I recognized how difficult it was for myself and those around me to share our imperfect journeys to Christ without fear of judgement, self-doubt, and overwhelming impressions of unworthiness. I noticed how often Christian women, those outgoing about their faith and those more private, felt shame in telling their stories; the societal pressure for perfection leads so many to carry their scars in silence, especially in the realm of the social media “highlight reel." CoE is a way of speaking over the voices of our past by uplifting the truth of each other, for it was Jesus Himself who made disciples of the broken. . Through the Chronicles of Eve website, which offers an anonymous advice form in the style of the old “Dear Abby” newspaper columns for anyone in search of guidance, or simply a friend to share their struggles with, and the raw, real, storytelling podcast launching this fall, CoE hopes to empower all women of the Word to walk in truth, unashamed of the roads that got them there, together, in Him. . Explore the online haven of Chronicles of Eve at www.chroniclesofeve.com.
Get my debut poetry book, CASTLES, at the link in my bio.
After receiving a few calls as of late from various friends looking to embark on new professional journeys, a special cameyer.com newsletter is heading out tomorrow chock-full of my best advice to those bravely starting their own creative ventures! . Whether you're interested in designing a personal website, learning how to write and edit your own work, building a personal brand that adds value to the lives of others, or you simply want to delve into the creatives' world not knowing where your place is, I've got you covered. I've gathered everything I've researched and learned myself over the last five years after reading countless books, listening to hundreds of podcasts, and digging deep to find the best ways to stay true to who I am and what I believe in career-wise, network with the leaders in my field, and find joy from it, too. . Sign up at the link in my bio!
Dad takes me on a date to the theatre every time I'm in town. Thinking we were late, we raced up the steps of the Alley, until I heard Dad call my name sadly, staring at our tickets. He'd gotten the date wrong; we showed up a week early, before the play's opening. I started laughing at his pitiful guilt-face and told him we could take photos and pretend we got the date right. Although I suppose I've just given us away, haven't I? . We ended up seeing the Mr. Rogers' film, "Won't You Be My Neighbor?" and cried the whole way through, even though he'd rather not admit it. I love memories like this. I'm so humbled to have a father who schedules them, without fail, even if he gets the time wrong. I love that he's man enough to cry in movies about stories that matter, and I'm so grateful to the people who raised him that way, even though I never met them, so that I could behold selfless love, both my dad's and my Father's. . Psalm 103:13 comes to mind: "As a father has compassion for his children, so the Lord has compassion for those who fear him."
My A/C broke last night and to distract ourselves Conner and I ugly-danced in our pjs to the new Mamma Mia soundtrack, and by ugly-dance I mean dance-from-your-soul-like-judgment-is-a-foreign-concept, even though it only made the heat worse, and when I looked over at her jumping like a starfish on the carpet, it occurred to me that this is what life should be to everyone, all the time: dancing as if to shake your soul out, in the heat of a thousand small moments, with a friend who is more like a reflection of all the glittered, hysterical parts of you no one else ever seems to find at a glance. . And today we went to the Brooklyn Bridge. Happiest of Fridays, sweet friends.
I met Conner in the library during finals week our sophomore year of college. She pranced over to my desk in zebra leggings asking if there was an outlet nearby she could use and then sat down by me to study. It was as if I’d unexpectedly caught a mystical creature; I loved her instantly. We became roommates two weeks later. . Over the next three years, we were inseparable, never spending a single day out of contact with each other. It was a friendship books are written about; she understood me and my heart without saying a word. And that was invaluable to me. But during our senior year, due to life’s tragic twists and turns, we let ourselves drift apart. It was the biggest loss I’d ever felt. . When I moved to New York, I prayed for her every day and night, asking God to look out for her, even if we’d never be friends again, as I never thought it possible. It’d been over a year since our fallout. Life went on. . Two months ago, I got a call from my mom, saying there was a package with a letter on my parents’ doorstep. “I think I know who it’s from,” Mom said. “I recognize the handwriting.” Turns out Conner had been praying about us, too. . I picked her up from Grand Central yesterday. She’s here to visit me, to relearn my life, and me, hers. . While running errands for her visit last week, I was sitting on the subway, and I heard someone say that prayers don’t work, that miracles don’t exist. I just smiled.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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