Nest & Heart

Leaping from my previous blog, I’d like to inform you, my beautiful and kind readers, that I have found my person.

I’m sure you really want to stay up to date on my love life, but what the hell. Why not? It should give you some insight on what’s going on and why I haven’t been posting much about my writings lately.

In my current evolution and self discovery, I have found that it is entirely healthy to speak about your previous persons because they are a part of who you are. There is no shame and you can’t negate a long stretch of time in your life. There is no redacting or even white out for that stuff. So, I will talk. Get used to it.

If you’ve been keeping up with my latest rants, you’ll know that my previous boyfriend (of nine years) and I split up in 2016. It was one of the toughest moments in my life. We had grown up together. Our families considered each other as relatives respectively. Mine still do and I have absolutely no qualms with that. We just spent way longer on something that probably should have stopped about year seven. We were great friends. Some day, we will get back to that.

Forward.

I waited a while before really getting involved with someone new. I didn’t think it would be fair to the next person if I was still upset over my break-up. About five months afterward, I started in the dating scene. I was feeling much better after the major holidays and I wanted to see what was out there. There were a couple of significant people who came in, but things just weren’t quite right, people were getting hurt, and I really didn’t want to be retracing steps. So, I pulled away for a while. I really spent time for myself and didn’t think about dating again. I eventually became bored.

I went online and ran into Patrick. A hopeless romantic with deep hooks into his inner child. Very intelligent, never serious. Someone who adores my smart assery and always tries to beat me to the punch. An adventurous spirit with whom I am totally in love with. It didn’t take long either. Both of us knew on the first date that it was serious. I even made the first move and kissed him an hour later! It has been just like breathing. Everything so natural and there never was any doubt with either of us on if we should be together. He said those three words by the fourth date. There’s no looking back now!

This bled into an interesting and eventful first year for us. We moved into a tiny apartment together. We adopted a dog together. Took so many trips together and I proposed to him a month after our first anniversary. I didn’t spare anything either. We’ve just moved into a large house where we are so excited to continue this adventure. Soon, we will be married and jauntily moving into the rest of our lives. I am so much more in love with him than that first month (I know that’s so cliche to say) and it couldn’t be more obvious. I found my happy. I finally found it.

I’ll end my update here, but I’m sure you’ll hear more about Patrick later.

It’s all fruit: Traditional versus Self Publication

Good Day, lovelies! Since I mentioned the aforementioned title in my previous post, I thought I would proceed with my thoughts on why I chose self publication over traditional. For the newbs out there who are interested in the joys of writing; apples or oranges, it really is all fruit. what I mean is both paths are going to take a great deal of work on your behalf. There is no easy path.

Be prepared for the awful misconceptions out there. First, you are a writer the very day that you start gliding that pen across paper or tapping away at that keyboard. The instant you step into the world inside your head and transcribe it for the rest of us to see, you are a f*cking writer. DO NOT let anyone tell you otherwise. Being established does not mean that you have to have a book ready to purchase in order to gain the title. You are what you have always been. Own it!

Second, you do not have to be traditionally published in order for you to have validity or credibility as an author. Thanks to technology, we now have the opportunity to have our works published faster, and the ability to reach more readers in a matter of minutes.

Okay. Now that we’ve cleared that up… On with the show.

Like many Indie Authors, I hungrily researched others down their paths to publication and beyond. I read articles, watch videos, read books, et cetera. I have weighed the pros and cons and went full speed at self publication. The biggest reason? I wanted complete control over my manuscript and creative rights. Now, that’s not to say that when you traditionally publish, you don’t have a say-so in anything. That isn’t true. But, like with most things, your publishing house is investing in your work and like all investors, they want to have their hand at steering the ship. My story was 20 years in the making and I would be having none of that, sir.

The positive side to traditional publishing, though, is that you have someone else putting in the time and money on the finished product. Someone else does the marketing for you. They setup interviews, book signings, book conventions, and anything else that promotes your book. But you do have to do some dirty work yourself. Writing query letters and sending out your manuscript, your baby, to people who know nothing about you or has any care on how hard you worked to make it just right. You have to be able to deal with criticisms and rejections.

Alternately, with self publication, a ll of that time, effort, and money is coming from you. If you’re someone like me, money isn’t easy to come by and this stuff is not cheap at all. Thank goodness for CreateSpace, as I would still be scratching my head on how to get Charlee out on the shelf. When you’re outsourcing the services (as you should) like editing or cover art, it all adds up. You’re employing someone and you have to pay for their time. By the way, I love my cover artist, Lyn at LV Book Design.

#shamelessplug #loveplug

Here are two ladies that I follow on YouTube religiously. These are collaboration videos with these two routes.

 

 

 

 

 

Publishing a book is not just an art, it’s a business. No joke… Tax forms and everything. You learn it very quickly and I won’t lie, it is a tad bit discouraging at first. Don’t let it stop you from pushing that book baby from your literary vagina brain and sharing it with the rest of us. Go ahead. gestate that novel, post pics of it online like it’s the best thing you’ve ever done with your life (because it probably is), you stand atop that author platform you’ve built, holding up your pure paper creation by the spine, and make us roll our eyes at you wallowing in your accomplishment and smile with pride!

Dedicated to Depression

Good Evening, Love. I hope you’re well; fitted with sunshine and a belly full of love.

I have been plagued with the ever saggy-eyed, lifeless friend Insomnia tonight. As you probably know, creative types are creatures of the night, which is where Insomnia lives. What a life it is to be chained to a brick of mud; painting our own sight with the tap-tap-tapping of plastic squares on a machine. I wouldn’t change any of it.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about my history of depression. It seems to be another well acquainted confidant of the night. I can remember having dark, self-loathing thoughts as a child. I don’t know if it was a learned thing, or a gift for being born on a rainy, December Thursday.

You see, I should really dedicate most of my published works (including this blog) to my dear depression. Who better to be the most in tune with their feelings (and so out of tune with everything else)? Whenever I feel a little defeated or some sort of discouragement, I remind myself of a moment that was so crucial and pivotal. The key turning point that pushed me in the direction that inevitably lead me to this keyboard… and you.

I have always hated popcorn or decorated plaster ceilings. The house I was living in at the time had lazy swoops like someone was in a hurry to fill an order. I remember this, because I spent about an hour staring at it from the peel and stick flooring of the bathroom. I had lost any happiness that existed in my life and I was ridiculing myself for not having the courage to end the rest of it. I had no drive, no ambition to do so. I had thought myself a burden to everyone I knew. I had sought love from other people to fill a void, only to be rejected and turned away. Why was I so hard to love? I certainly didn’t deserve any of it, but someone could have been generous. Someone could have taken pity on me and donated a bit of their love, because I certainly didn’t have any for myself.

I lied there; hopeless and a dry well for tears. An unlovable coward who hid her agenda from her father who was just three rooms away. Something strange happened, though.

“No one is here.” A phrase that I had repeated to myself over and over. Initially a thought that I was lonely and no one cared. But somehow, the tone in my head changed.

No one is here.

No one is here.

No one is here.

I am the only one. I am here. No one else is here.

A revelation pushed me up from that awful green flooring. It straightened my spine and I pulled myself up from the edge of the sink, staring at my puffy, blue eyes. I must’ve stood there, examining my reflection for several minutes.

It was only me. No one else pulled me up from the floor. No one else was staring back in my reflection. No one else that I had to face when I woke up in the morning. What the hell was I doing? Why was I destroying the only thing I had left? The only thing I ever really had. It was mine. It was me. Only me.

I realized that it wasn’t cowardice that kept me from leaving this Earth. It was me. The one who was fighting to survive. The one who knew I had so much more to do than letting that darkness consume me. Letting it win.

“I like your freckles,” I said to myself with a slight giggle. I felt awkward saying something kind to myself. After the years of critiquing and criticizing every single little thing, I wanted to reject it. But I couldn’t. It was the one phrase that was going to save me.

I turned the knob to the door, went to the kitchen and made dinner for my dad. A few months later, I took an offer to move out of the state with my employer. I needed to leave. I was stuck in a dismal bubble where doors to leave didn’t often appear. I found a really old copy of Charlee while I packed up boxes from my childhood. I ran into Mrs. Fritts later that day. The Universe spoke. So, I left to rehabilitate. To rebuild myself in a city that was going through its own revival. I wrote my novel and finished the first draft before my dad passed. I published a few months later.

So, I’ll say this with a wince. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you, sweet Depression. I should dedicate it all to you. But I owe it all to my relentless, brave, courageous, wild Spirit.

Strange things happen when writers congregate…

Nora Chat

Having writing buddies is incredibly important for us writers/authors. These are the people who will get your ass in gear more than an editor, but they’ll do so with love and coffee. Emphasis on that last part. They motivate you and need motivation. They groan and complain the same way you do and understand the whys.

Creative people work at (mostly) night. It’s almost like the entire world sucks up the earth’s mojo during the day, and we (selfishly and selflessly) use it to slice open our wrists and rest them against the keyboard. The easiest part is writing. The hardest part is writing. Creative people understand this and are there for a shoulder cry over a fictional character at 3 a.m. It’s an entire underground support system that not many people understand.

I, for one, get excited when I find other writers. I flock to them like a proverbial leach and hope that I am not too weird. If you happen to be a writer, feel free to send me a message here or on my Facebook page. I will be incredibly happy to have new friends. Especially ones that are up this late. :S

Need more motivation? Here’s Jenna Moreci…