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Not that you need to enter my crazy mind, but here you go anyway. Enjoy! |
| A personal journal about the crazy life of a writer, a mom, and an avid reader (sometimes I even feel like one person). I can't promise this will be organized or even stick to one topic, but I can tell you it will chronicle my efforts to get back into the writing community and build up my career. Thanks for reading, it's great to have you here. Feel free to reach out! |
| It's funny how certain happenings can change the direction of your life. When I was fifteen, a boy broke my heart. Yes, I do know that's common for girls of that age. However, for me, it wasn't just dark rooms and songs where I identified with every word--although I did that, too. I began to write the words I was feeling and, before I knew it, poetry became my main form of expression. Words began to flow like water--granted, not always good ones--and after a while, my inspiration became more for stories than for poems. Ideas would hit me and swim around in my brain, building upon one another until I got them out on paper. And so began the beginnings of my dream to become a published author. It hasn't been easy. At all. And I'm not there yet. But by all accounts in this industry, it's not supposed to be. See, most people think writing a book is easy. You get an idea, you write it down, you check for spelling errors and send it off. Voila! Instant publishing deal. Please excuse me while I try to quit laughing. Writing a book is HARD. You have an idea. Great! now what are you going to do with it? Believe me, books don't just write themselves. You need characters, plot, obstacles, humor. Then you have to give those characters back stories and developmental arcs, introduce conflict and then make sure your characters are believable. Then there is the story itself. Does it even make sense? Is it boring? Does it flow nicely? Will anyone even want to read it? And all of this before you even finish the first draft--which is actually one of the hardest parts and one of the destinations most stories never see. Okay, so now you've finished the first draft. You're so excited! Your masterpiece is finished and when you read the words you have so painstakingly typed into being, you take a deep breath, hold it in anticipation and realize...that it's crap. That's right, I said it. The book you worked so hard on, nearly drove yourself crazy trying to finish is absolute rubbish. But that's okay! They call them rough for a reason. This is the point where the general masses think you're finished and you can now magically send it off to a major publishing house and they'll be thrilled to publish it for you. Ha. Yeah, right. No, now it's time for revision. Lots and lots of revision. You have an entire book to rewrite, you know. You're now tightening plot, deleting scenes, adding more, changing up characters. And all of this is BEFORE you get down to the nitty gritty of spelling, grammar and punctuation. Still sound easy? Wait. There's more. All edited? Perfect. Now you need to find an editor. No, not one at a publishing house. You need to HIRE an editor. All the critiques by friends and family are great, but you need someone who actually knows what they're doing to help you out now. And this costs money--which can be another problem. But this is your DREAM, your future, and the money it takes isn't just an investment in that dream. It's an investment in you. Now comes the feedback. And no matter what, not all of it is great. Chin up. They call it constructive criticism for a reason. Use it. Because now it's time for rewrites. And more edits. And more rewrites. And then, FINALLY, it's ready to be sent off. You only need a query letter. What, exactly, is a query letter, you may ask? Torture. Absolute torture. It is a one page document where you not only have to condense and sell your manuscript to a stranger among hundreds of other hopefuls per day, but you have to condense and sell yourself. It. Is. Excruciating. However, without one, the publishing world will have no idea that you exist--which can prove problematic if you want to be published. Okay, so after a few hundred rejections (and a couple dozen bottles of wine and a vat of ice cream to drown your sorrows) you hook an agent. Hooray! You're done now, right? Ha. Nope. Not even close. Yes, it is now your agent's job to pitch you to editors, but your part is no where near over. You still have to sell yourself to the public (as you've hopefully been doing all along). Even if you snag a deal, you have to ruthlessly market your own work. Just because your book is on the shelves doesn't mean anybody will know who you are and buy it. In this industry, you MUST be your own advocate. So now you have an agent and she manages to interest an editor in your manuscript. If that editor likes you, that is a HUGE step forward. But don't get too excited yet. You still have another few rounds of revisions to go, and that's BEFORE a publisher says yes. There's likely to be dozens of rejections at each step of this process, but if you have the talent, determination and the perseverance to keep going even when it feels like it's NEVER going to happen, you may just make it. Right now, I have finished two novels, one of which has undergone numerous revisions and rewrites. I have dozens of ideas, hundreds of poems (not all of them good) and one of my novels has been sent off to my developmental editor. (Check out Stacy Jerger, Apoidea Editorial. She's awesome.) Before the second half of my rewrites, I queried a couple dozen agents and got turned down a couple dozen times. I'm still here. With all the different avenues for publishing these days, society is under the impression that anyone can write and that getting your work out there is easy. Those people are wrong. It's not just the literary community who is going to turn you down. Your friends and family are going to write it off as your "hobby" and wonder when you're ever going to finish--IF you're going to finish--without having any idea what it actually takes to make it. Being an author--a quality author--is not for the faint of heart. But I know that if I want it enough, nothing can stop me. Everybody has a story to tell. Every writer has a journey. This is mine. Stay tuned and see how it goes. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
| Do you ever go through phases where all you want to do is complain? Everything aggravates you, everything makes you want to groan, makes you angry and nearly thought is, well...negative. I'm going through one of those phases right now. And let me tell you, it's annoying as hell. Not only am I probably driving everyone around me crazy with my comments that I just can't seem to hold back, but I'm dragging myself down when I know that I shouldn't. The reasons don't even really matter. It's my actions that are creating this perpetual raincloud over my head and it's affecting everything. My job, my relationship, my parenting...my writing. I'm grumpy at work so I'm less inclined to be cheery which makes an already stressful environment downright depressing. My attitude is even starting to rub off on people at work (or at least it seems like it. Maybe I'm just blaming me.) Every little screw up--by me or anyone else--gives me cause to complain and I sit here and listen to myself and holy crap, I just wish I would shut up. At home, I get irritated and end up snapping at the people I love or taking offense when no offense was meant. My boyfriend stops talking to me, my daughter cries and really, I'm just taking out my negative mood on them. And I hate it. Then there's my writing. The one thing that I've always been able to just lose myself in, that makes me feel better all the time, is my work. My dream. The worlds and characters I've created. But being so negative all the time, I'm blocked. Which is definitely not good when you're trying to get revisions done by the end of the month. My deadline may need to be pushed at this point. Damn. So here's my pep talk: Chin up. Where's that positive attitude you always have? Where's that sunny disposition that you worked so hard to maintain? Find it. Find quotes that make you smile, that inspire you, that empower you. Go on walks--rain or shine. Do fun things with your family and spend time by yourself. Quit moping and do all that spring cleaning you've been telling yourself you're going to do. Start acquiring things to brighten up your home. And by all means, write, write, write! Don't stay in that funk. Call your friends, go out and do things. Exercise. Read. Write. Study. Accomplish your goals and keep going. I've said for years that your life is as happy as you choose it to be; as you make it. Guess I should start putting my money where my mouth is. |
| Life is never what we expect it to be. If it was, let’s face it: we’d all be bored. Every chance we take, every decision we make (no, I’m not singing a Police song–though I did create a story about one once) can shape the rest of our lives. A few years ago, I was in an unhappy marriage. That was really all there was to it: we didn’t get along and we were not happy. No cheating, no huge betrayal. Just enough. But before I finally got brave enough to walk away, I found myself sitting on my best friend’s couch, day dreaming about what my life would have been like if I had done things differently. I wouldn’t have partied in high school. I would have worked as hard my sophomore and junior years as I worked my freshman and senior years and I would have gotten a scholarship to SOU. I wouldn’t have let my grief consume me and given in to melancholy and peer pressure in college. I would have gone to class. I would have studied the entire year the way I studied first term. I would have lived in the library rather than with friends. I would have studied abroad and travelled to Greece my junior year and Ireland my senior year as I had always planned. I would have majored in English Literature with a minor in Creative Writing–not to be a teacher as I kept telling myself was the practical thing to do–but to be a writer–which is what my soul told me I was meant to do. I would have joined the Peace Corps. I would have gotten my Masters Degree in Creative Writing. I would have focused on me and my goals rather than get wrapped up in a boy who ultimately broke my heart; shattered it into a thousand pieces. I would have left my worst memory–my high school boyfriend–in the past. I wouldn’t have been so afraid to try new things. I never would have gone back to my ex. That was the big one. He was the husband I had nothing in common with–truthfully, didn’t even love anymore. He was the biggest decision I would take back. And sitting on the couch that day, seeing the pity and the sorrow in my friend’s eyes, I almost believed that had I done that one thing differently, my life would be better. Rest assured, I no longer think that. The truth? My life would be different. Not better or worse, but different. Had I stayed away from the boy in high school, I wouldn’t have been so hurt, so damaged. I would have kept the confidence I let him take from me, the innocence to the pain this world is so full of. I wouldn’t have been my first statistic. But I also wouldn’t be as strong as I am now, even when I want to break. I wouldn’t know that it was me that let him destroy me, and while I will never take responsibility for his actions, it was me who didn’t walk away, me who let him hurt me. And me who will never be a victim again. Had I not drank in high school, not gone to parties, I would never have met that boy. Had I not dated that boy, I would never have had that pain. Had I not had that pain, or the issues with my parents I’m still dealing with, or the grief from my Grandpa’s illness, I would not have been out on that ledge that night, would not have caught the eye of an incredible, intoxicated boy. And had I not met that boy, my heart would never have shattered. But had I not met that boy, I might not have believed in me. He did. I might not have known I could pick myself up from anything. He did. I might not have realized that I deserved better. He did. Had I not met that boy, I would have missed out on one of the best people I’ve ever known and –albeit, in a warped way–one of the best things to ever have happened to me. I would never have had that friend, that one person, who knew me in ways I didn’t even know myself and could sing my song back to me when I forgot the words. We no longer speak, but there isn’t a day that goes by that I’m not grateful for him and what he gave me. On the flip side, if it weren’t for that boy–and all the other issues I had at eighteen–I might have stayed in school and finished my degree. I might have gone back. And I might have two degrees and a few more life experiences behind me. But I didn’t. I went back home, I enrolled at the community college and I tried to fit back into the life I had left behind in the first place. And then I met the man who would be my husband. The first time we dated it was only for nine months before I broke it off. The question I have been asked so many times the last couple years was not why did I get married, or why did I wait so long to leave (though I was asked those, too) but why did I go back? The truth is, I don’t really know. Part of me thinks I was still hurting over the love I had in college, though by then it had been nearly two years. But really, I still don’t know why. But that doesn’t change the fact that I did go back. And because I did, it could be argued that I wasted six years of my life. But I also gained the absolute best thing in my entire world, hands down. Without my ex-husband, regardless of what I think of him now, I wouldn’t have my daughter. And I would never, ever give up my little girl. Not even for a different life. And, as luck would have it, I have a man I love and respect more than words. One who gets me in ways nobody has gotten me in years. One who is there for me, to make me laugh (or aggravate me) to let me know when I have crossed the line and encourage me to follow my dreams. A man who is not just my love, but my best friend. A man whom I turn to for advice, or knowledge, or just a hand to hold. And without my past, I may not have had him either. Without his, he may not have had me. So we can all dream of the fairy tale. We can all believe that life is somehow going to end with a happily ever after and that one day our dream come true with enter our lives and sweep us off our feet. Or, that because of our poor decisions, our happily ever after may never come. But life isn’t so black and white. It isn’t the expected that makes our lives so meaningful. It isn’t the grand gestures or the fancy things or big careers. It isn’t the money or prestige or anything like that that truly makes a life well-lived. It’s the little things. It’s the choices we make, the reactions to we have, and what we do with the curve balls and frickin grenades the universe throws at us. We never know what good could come out of a decision someone else might think is bad and we should be grateful we get to live at all. So expect the unexpected. Try something new. Revel in a sunrise, jump off a waterfall. Ask that girl out. Say yes to that guy. Take that job–or quit the one you hate. Embark on that adventure and be thankful that you’re alive. I’m a firm believer that life is not a fairy tale and that love does not exist the way it does in novels. Fairy dust and happy thoughts don’t make you fly and losing your shoe at midnight probably means you’re drunk. But I also believe that the best situations can come from the worst and that you can’t have a rainbow without the rain. And hey, even Cinderella never asked for a prince. She asked for a night off and a dress. |
| People keep telling me that I'm strong. More so in this last year. But what does that even mean? What does it mean to have someone seeing me doing the only thing I know how to do on the outside when inside, I'm screaming? Yes, each day I am choosing to see the silver lining, to believe there is a bigger purpose, to have faith that there is a higher power and that I am meant for something great, that all of this pointless bulls*** is happening for a reason. I have to. But how does any of that make me strong? I feel so helpless, so powerless. I feel weak. I can't stop time. I can't change someone's mind when he says he's leaving. I can't stop death. I can do nothing to stand in the way of its cruel clutches, stealing away the life of someone I love. I can only step aside and watch. The thing is, I KNOW death is a part of life. I KNOW pain is a part of living. Loss, heartbreak, betrayal. Putting your trust and heart in the hands of the wrong person. These things happen so that we can appreciate what we do have. Love, family, friendship. Hope. But it doesn't make them fair. Bad things happen to good people, and sometimes, the bad people get away with their sins. So what? Life isn't easy. Life is hard. Apparently, that's the point. And I am so angry! I'm so mad that these things keep happening to people I care about. To people who are so GOOD. And yes, part of me is angry that they're happening to me. But I can't stop them. So I do the only thing I know how to do: I keep going. I push on, keeping a brave face for the outside world, even though even a smile feels like a lie sometimes. I just keep living. I don't know how to do anything less. But I don't think that necessarily makes me strong. I'm not starving. I don't live in a world where being a woman limits me. I am not a slave. I don't fear death each time I walk out my door. I am not sick. My country is not at war on our soil. I don't have to hide who I am for fear of federal retribution. I don't have a lot of money, but I'm not poverty stricken. I have options, I have choices, and I have so many things that other people don't. Tragedy has struck my life, yes. But I'm still alive. We're still here. And when it's all just a memory, there will still be life to live. I could rail against the gods, the universe. Demand answers I will never receive to the all-consuming question of "why?" And I have. But it does me no good. The good and the bad co-exist. You cannot have one without the other. Death is a part of life. Heartbreak is a part of love. Pain is inevitable. We cannot control it. We cannot stop its coming. We can only choose how we handle it. I could sit in a corner and cry until my tears stop; weep until I have flooded the room and purged my soul of all my pain just to have it fill anew. Or. Or, I could ride it out. I could take it in, accept that it just IS and adjust. It doesn't make the hurt any easier. It doesn't make the truth any less horrible to take. It doesn't make the knowledge that I am only holding it together by strings spun of glass, pulling them tighter for my loved ones, locking down every emotion expect the one that people call strength, any less depressing. But it does help me to just keep going. I do recognize the concept of quiet courage; of waking up and trying again instead of dwelling on what could have been. Of fighting for life every day instead of just accepting existence. And I respect it. That, to me, is what being strong looks like. My mom used to tell me I wasn't as tough as I thought I was. Once again, I know that she's wrong. You are only as tough as you think you are. But today, I don't think I'd call what I'm doing "strong." I'm just trying my best to get through. Though if you think about it, I guess that's all strength really is. |
| Every day, we have a choice. Who do we want to be today? What kind of life do we want to live? If we died tomorrow, what sort of legacy would we leave behind? Every single day, whether we know it or not, we make this choice. And yet every single day, how many people actually decide to live in the moment? Truly? How many people think to themselves, "Yes, today, I am going to worry about the right here and right now. I may respect the past, I may understand my actions today have consequences on my future. But I am going to live for this moment, right here, right now." How many people actually say that? Not many. Too many times, we over-think, over-analyze, brace ourselves for what other people might think about what we do. We worry so much about a problem that we can actually think it into creation, therefore creating a problem where--once--one didn't exist. So how do we get around that? We decide. Whether we know it or not, every single decision we make, from the minuscule choice of what we want for breakfast, to the impactful decisions about where to go to college, changes the course of our lives. Every one. So then you start to ask yourself, "What if? What if the grass really is greener? What if their hedges were taller? What if she's prettier, he's buffer?" What if, what if, what if, what if?! But you know what? Screw "what if?" Those two little words should not be anywhere near your today. The past is gone. Done. Over with. You may have gotten to where you are by climbing the stairs, but each stair you climbed to get to your current destination is now in your past. Thinking too much about it can drive you crazy. There's nothing you can do about it now. You did what you did, met who you met. The only reason it still matters at all is because it served to get you exactly where you are today. So own it. Be proud of who you've become, even if you're not thrilled with everything you had to do to get there. But don't be ashamed of it. And by God, don't let yourself be ruled by it. Same goes with the future. It's coming whether we want it to or not. So why worry? Life changes every second, with every decision and we never quite know where our roads will take us. So what?! If we lived our lives mindful of the fact that our current choices will shape our future instead of trying to read smoky images in a crystal ball, we would all actually enjoy life. Now, I'm not saying it's easy. Far from it. But living in the moment, appreciating what you have while you have it and giving the present your all, that is a choice. Who you are and how you live, how you treat people, is subject to change. But what you really have to ask yourself is what can you gain by choosing differently? And what do you stand to lose? So decide. Who do you want to be? What life do you want to live? Got it? Now be that. Decide. |
| Strange things happen when you reach out to people. Or when they reach out to you. I was contacted not long ago by a man I went to high school with, but hadn't actually spoken to much in years. It was extremely weird and random, but also flattering and if I hadn't been so speechless, I probably would have sounded a lot more eloquent. (Who would have thought I could be rendered speechless? Well done.) It's one of those things where you don't realize that people actually notice you. Now, I wasn't unpopular...exactly. I went to a small rural school and cliques were heavy there. A lot of the student body (at least in my class) didn't exactly accept you unless you'd been there since kindergarten or beyond. I got there in eighth grade and believe me, there were a few girls who hated that I moved to this town (as did I) and made sure I knew it. My best friend throughout those years had been there her whole life and most people knew me as just her friend or some other variation of the title throughout my high school career. So it is absolutely dumbfounding to find out that might not have actually been the case. This guy was senior class president. He was a joker and quite frankly, pretty much loved by the whole school. (From my lowly sophomore vantage point, at least. Far be it from me to speak for the entire student body.) I think he'd said "hi" to me a few times and honestly, I was probably as surprised then as I was tonight. All I could think was, "He actually knows who I am!" And he said I was amazing. It's incredible---and a little embarrassing---how one little thing can transport you back a decade in time. I had no idea I had made that much of an impression. Although, the feeling is mutual. Despite my ill regard for certain aspects of my high school life, I still feel a kinship for the school and my classmates and it has always struck me as wonderful that no matter what, we always support our own. This particular guy went on to be a lawyer and venture into politics. Now, if I had to classify myself as anything political, I would be democrat. He's republican. So while I didn't actually vote for him (sorry!) I couldn't help but be incredibly proud of his daring and success and I secretly hoped he would win every position he ran for. (Do not anybody tell my mother I said that. Republican is probably considered a dirty word to certain members of my family. I swear they stop listening to anything you say after that unless it's bashing the political party. We all have our buttons.) So, a request of he-who-shall-not-be-named, (please tell me you get the reference): Please explain this random conversation! I can only think on it for so long without having my head explode. |
| I love the message of these lyrics. Strength, passion, confidence. Lyrics of the Moment: ---Titanium--- by David Guetta You shout it loud, but I can't hear a word you say I'm talking loud, not saying much I'm criticized, but all your bullets ricochet you shoot me down, but I get up I'm bulletproof, nothing to lose fire away, fire away ricochet, you take your aim fire away, fire away you shoot me down, but I won't fall I am titanium you shoot me down, but I won't fall I am titanium Cut me down, but it's you who'll have further to fall Ghost town and haunted love Raise your voice, sticks and stones may break my bones I'm talking loud, not saying much I'm bulletproof, nothing to lose fire away, fire away ricochet, you take your aim fire away, fire away you shoot me down, but I won't fall I am titanium you shoot me down, but I won't fall I am titanium I am titanium I am titanium Stone hard, machine gun Fired at the ones who run Stone hard, as bulletproof glass You shoot me down, but I won't fall I am titanium You shoot me down, but I won't fall I am titanium You shoot me down, but I won't fall I am titanium You shoot me down, but I won't fall I am titanium I am titanium |
| Once upon a time, a friend of mine used to call me his Silent Radio, because I would always message him random song lyrics. Music speaks to me much the same way books do, pulling me in to where I feel their emotions, their pain and triumphs in a very real way. So today, these are my lyrics of the moment: ---Bleeding Out by Imagine Dragons--- I'm bleeding out So if the last thing that I do Is bring you down I'll bleed it out for you So I bare my skin and I count my sins andI close my eyes and I take it in I'm bleeding out I'm bleeding out for you (for you) When the day has come But I've lost my way around And the seasons stop, and hide beneath the ground When the sky turns gray And everything is screaming I will reach inside Just to find my heart is beating Oh you tell me to hold on Oh you tell me to hold on But innocence is gone And what was right is wrong Cause I'm bleeding out So if the last thing that I do Is bring you down I'll bleed it out for you So I bare my skin I count my sins I close my eyes I take it in an I'm bleeding out I'm bleeding out for you (for you) When the hour is night And hopelessness is sinking in And the wolves all cry To fill the night with hollering When your eyes are red And emptiness is all you know With the darkness fed I will be your scarecrow Oh you tell me to hold on Oh you tell me to hold on But innocence is gone And what was right is wrong Cause I'm bleeding out So if the last thing that I do Is bring you down I'll bleed it out for you So I bare my skin I count my sins I close my eyes I take it in I'm bleeding out I'm bleeding out for you (for you) I'm bleeding out for you (for you) I'm bleeding out for you (for you) I'm bleeding out for you (for you) I'm bleeding out for you Cause I'm bleeding out So if the last thing that I do Is bring you down I'll bleed it out for you So I bare my skin I count my sins I close my eyes I take it in And I'm bleeding out I'm bleeding out for you (for you) |
| "The indispensable first step to getting the things you want out of life is this: decide what you want. --Ben Stein Today's writer's devotional had to do with setting goals, so I took the time to write mine out. My overall writing goal is to have a successful career as a novelist. I don't want to write in my spare time around some other job. I want writing books to be my job. I'm assuming every writer wants to see their work on the best seller lists, and of course I do, too. But I don't need any fancy awards or movie deals to feel accomplished. (Although I wouldn't turn any of that down!) What I want is for my stories to be heard, to be shared. To have the characters that mean so much to me mean something to someone else. I want to walk by a group of people, or even just a couple friends, and overhear them talking about my books the way I talk about other people's stories to my best friend. And, all of that is well and good, but what about right now? I need to have short term goals that don't seem so overwhelming in order to get things done. So here are my writing goals for 2014: *Revise Spark In The Ashes. *Have Spark In The Ashes professionally edited. *Find a literary agent. *Get a publishing deal. *Finish draft one of Flickering Flame (Book Two in the Shadows trilogy). *Finish draft one of Wild Rose. *Finish draft one of Jaxon's story (and give it a title!). *Reach 500 followers on my Facebook writing page. *Get established on Linked In, Twitter and Google People. *Review every book I read. As goals go, it's a fairly long list and a lot of work. Realistically, I will probably have to push some of these into 2015, but I'm not going to think of that as an option until I have to. "If you don't know where you're going, you might wind up someplace else." --Yogi Berra |
| Today's Daily Devotional: "The role of the writer is not to say what we can all say but what we are unable to say." ---Anais Nin Books to read that speak for those who cannot: *The Color Purple by Alice Walker *Persepolis by Marjane Satrapi (graphic novel) *Uncle Tom's Cabin by Harriet Beecher Stowe |
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