The Grey in the "Grey Area"

I didn't know it, but I've been wanting to write this for a long time. I certainly never quite had the words before. However, as tragedy has struck so close to home for me, I felt sadness on a level I haven't let myself feel in a long time. 

The Orlando attack was personal for me. I didn't know how personal something like that could be for me. But, all I could picture were the faces of all my LGBT friends. And it finally dawned on me- it was MY community. I generally present more "femme" though I go back and forth. I'm in a committed hetero relationship. But, I am bisexual. Perhaps, pansexual is the better term. I suck at keeping up with all these new terms. At any rate, there's no clear line for some of us, and we fall in this grey area of what the LGBTQIAS acronym stands for.

Beyond that, well, it gets complicated. Most people don't understand that one day I can feel one way and another day I can feel the opposite. I tried to Konmari my clothes and it was grueling. "I know I love these board shorts, but I don't feel the love like I'm supposed to... at least not today." Trying to explain that to anyone outside of the community is near impossible. I've been met with blank stares or just, "I accept you as you are." But, I've come to realize that "as you are" may mean only on femme days. Or in my masculine days. 

I don't care about pronouns for myself. For others, I still fumble around like a child first learning their letters and constantly mixes up the letters d and b. 

So, I've never really felt like I belonged in the community. I didn't feel a drive to fight for my rights because even on my gender non-conforming days, no one really gives me hell. I get the "Tomboy" label a lot, but that's usually the end of it. Today was different. 

Today, however, I was faced with the reality that the ONE club in my area IS my safe zone to be that grey area and to not answer to anyone. Even though I may not feel like I have an answer to what I am, I know I can go there and just be me. 

When the news struck, I felt fear. Fear that something so beloved, was now tainted. Fear that if I went there, I might end up a headline and my son without a mother. I was afraid to lose other friends to hate crimes. 

Let me explain this grey area more. The grey area is where you aren't exactly one of the clearly defined labels. I'm not transgendered, though I've been told I am. I am not a lesbian, though someone would think that simply because I would date a female. I am not really any of those things, but a blend. Now, here is the grey within the grey, some days, I am NONE of those things, and I feel like a straight hetero white girl. This has been going on for so long, I can no longer accept it when people give me the "it's just a phase" look. No, it's not. I dress how I feel. 

So, in general, I've stayed at arms length from the community, supporting from the sidelines as I've watched wonderful people transition and obtain their personal gender confirming freedoms. But, no more. I have a place in that community, it is mine and I belong there. The idea that I would fear going to a gay establishment for being who I am is not what I want. It took me a lot to go to the vigil tonight. But, for once, I went to not be support for others, but because I needed to be surrounded by support. I am different, and while I may look like an ally on the outside, I am not. I am on the inside of the group of people who struggle with being honest to gender identity and sexual identities. To accepting who they are. If you want a label, well, I don't have one. I am the grey within the grey. But, I know one thing, I refuse to let the fear control me. I wept for that today, as I wept for those lost. For the SANCTUARY someone tried to destroy. For the friends already taken. I wept for myself, knowing that I had been no different than anyone else in their struggles to find out who they really are. The LGBT community, well, they are my people and I don't think I ever really had that clarity until I felt someone's hatred try to take it away. 

I can't be silent. I risk a lot, as we all do, when we start coming out of the closet. Please, realize there are those of us who don't even fit in the boxes of LGBTQIAS acronyms. We are the grey area within the grey area. And today, after so many years, I realized this. And it hit so hard, I felt dehabilitated. How could I have not known? It was when my sanctuary was attacked that I realized that a gay bar could even be a sanctuary. That it was my sanctuary. I am not a box, but I still belong. 

Much love and light. 

Xoxo,

AE

Review of Sorts: Counterfeit (Band)

I'm not sure what to tell the world anymore. I've been drowning my world in music. So much music. I listened to Counterfeit's Letter to the Lost, and I was a bit blown away. I'm a bit biased because I like their frontman's public persona (Jamie Bower), so I was thinking I was being a bit more forgiving of the continuity in the music and lyrics. But, I did like it, so I listened again. Of course, with a friend in mind, two actually. Then, I listened again, and it made sense. A lot made sense.

At first, there was too much fluctuation of emotion in the song and melodic rhythms that my mind couldn't grasp... because I've been trained to follow this certain rhythm of the world. Oh, man, did that make me sad- the realization that I've been stacked up to follow a certain march. It made me think of the military and how they march to a regimented beat. They have been marching for as long as there have been armies to march. Somewhere along the way, I fell into step. As an artist, that's just sad.

But, I've never really understood the uniformed marching. When I was a server, I used to be able to speak Spanish to a guy in the kitchen who spoke Italian, and we could understand each other (English was both of our first languages, but still, it was fun). We understood a lot of things, but there were a great many things that didn't make sense. They were different languages. And in hearing, Letter to the Lost, I feel like it was broken, perfected, clear, and distorted. The fact that it was all these things was great, sure.... but the fact that I understood them, well it was like hearing my own language spoken to me again. 

So, I went to find their other music, lo and behold they had an EP releasing in days. Go figure. So, I thought I'd give it a listen when it came out. Suddenly, I'm listening to their lyrics, picking it apart -  I'm a writer, it's par for the course. In truth, it kind of makes me laugh. This is supposed to be their really raw work, and it's applicable... at least to my life. It's funny how that works, something real and personal becomes the anthem of many. For once, in quite a while, I'm looking forward to hearing more from a band. 

Thanks Music for tearing me out of line, away from the steady march so that I could finally hear someone speak my own language again. 

Also- The song itself, Letter to the Lost, was pretty much verbal vomit of what a survivor goes through set to music that matches emotionally the struggles of said survivors. I guess it says something that I liked it, (nay, loved it) but what it is that is says... well I just don't put that much stock into what my tastes say about me.

How Much Time Do Writers Waste?

We all have many hats we wear. It's par for the course of being human. With technology ever expanding, it seems that instead of helping us reduce the numbers of roles we have, instead we are increasing our responsiblities. 

As an added bonus, technology has opened up a whole other set of distractions. Games. Access to rag mags. "Information." 

Take for example Distractify.com and BoredPanda.com. I can't tell you how many times I find myself on one of those sites and ask myself, "Why? Just whhhhyyy?!?" 

I'm not bored. I certainly would never sign up for something to distract me from my life. I may want to get away sometimes, but that seems to be happening more and more. Is my life so difficult that I can't handle it? Or perhaps it is too mundane. Either way, the answers to solve these questions do not come in the form of the "Next" button or in just one more episode. 

Disengaging is the problem, so therefore engaging would be the solution. My challenge to you is to merely start paying attention to the media you consume. When we read an interesting article, ask yourself this: "Is this going to contribute to the goals in my life?" 

For my writers and artists: 

Is this really research? 

Is this really information I need? 

Am I calling this inspiration so I won't feel guilty for indulging? 

Wake up folks. It's not that we aren't moving forward, it's that we are not moving in the right directions. 

Birthday Wishes to Sean... Wherever You Are

Dear Sean,

Today everyone is writing on your FB wishing you a happy birthday and missing you. I wanted to do it, too. I've actually been composing this letter in my head for years now. It always felt so cheap to do it on Facebook cause we didn't FB with each other that much (if it was MySpace that'd be a different story). I wondered how it would be perceived. So, I'll do it here, on my blog (I'm sure you'd be thrilled) which is something I did, even on Myspace.

My birthday was six days ago, and every year I get sad around this time. And every single year I can't figure out why I'm sad... that is, until I remember your birthday follows so closely behind mine. I don't really mourn you on the day you died. I mourn the fact that you aren't here on your birthday. Maybe that's weird. I can't tell you how many times I think about you and can almost hear your voice in my head with your response. You'd say, "It's cause it's my birthday, bitch! ...just kidding, I love you. What are you gonna get me?"

I went through your pictures on FB a few days ago, the ones everyone had posted of you. It makes me a bit angry because I know most of those pictures are mine. I took those pictures downtown, that was my scooter (scoot, scoot!), and your love affair with Ramsley (which we came up with together). Those "photo shoots" were just a way for you to see how handsome you were. I won't forget how you had such low self esteem and the way you handled it. ...speaking of which, it bothers me that people don't ever seem to talk about the reality of you. Maybe it's what happens after you are gone or maybe it's just that people don't want to admit it. I'm sure a great portion of it is that they really just didn't know. You hid it so well with that smile... unless you were drunk... then it was trouble. Then, you needed help.

Maybe that's what it really was. I would never quantify who you were in "loving life" or "living life to the fullest" which has pretty much become your legacy. I would say that you made people have a place to belong. You forced people to own up to the truth about themselves, which you saw, and you magnified. But, you were always so blatant about it. If you thought something was gross, it just was. If something was fabulous (like you, of course) then it was. And it was that way for everyone around you. In that space, you made a home wherever you went.

But, you were sad, too. Behind closed doors and when the partying had stopped, you got sad. But, you shrugged that off, too. "Whatever." My therapist once told me it was important to feel pain, to experience it, because that was part of the process of healing. You had that figured out years before I did. You had a c'est la vie attitude, and when something wasn't going your way, you either threw a fit or moved on to something else. Usually both and in that order.

I'm simultaneously angry and sad that you're not here. I get angry because when I hear certain people talk about you, I want to scream at them that they have no right because you hated them or they were jerks or lied etc. Then, I think that some people may feel that way about me. But, like you would say, whatever, they didn't know.

I owe you a thanks, too. I know we understood each other. God, we were so much alike. I'm sure you'd tell me not to be stupid, but it is weird you were over at my house a few days before you died and making plans to watch The Pursuit of Happyness with me. I kept the cigars we smoked together for a long time. As well as the beers. At some point, I decided I needed to let go. I needed to not cling to momentos that only caused me a crippling nostalgia every time I looked at them. No, Sean, that doesn't mean I don't love you anymore. Trust me, I've cried plenty. You ruined Mr. Jones for me. That was my favorite song before I met you. As well as You Can't Hurry Love, the Dixie Chix version.

If you look down on us now and it seems we may have forgotten you, you're wrong. If we look happy it's cause we are working hard to have a life despite the pain. We learned that from you. I do miss you. Like I said, it's always worse around this time of year. It's not that I think your death didn't matter, it's the lack of your life that reminds me and your life was always celebrated the most this time of year.

Happy Birthday.

Fifty Shades of PTSD

"Yeah...in a nutshell, folks. If 50 Shades was sexy to you, I kind of have to question your past."

I've read a TON of posts about the Fifty Shades of Grey situation. Yes, it's a situation. I honestly was not on either side of the line. It's fiction. Yes, fiction influences... etc. but, when I informed my husband of the newest wildfire buzz going on in my literary world he scoffed. His response was, "What about Dexter?" 

Yes, what about Dexter? Or what about all the vampire novels? Or any NUMBER of horror shows that we can't seem to tear ourselves away from? We idolize all kinds of villains. I'm not saying this is right, but I do believe it's a matter of choice. 

Now, about that quote that led off the blog. I'll take a moment to try to calm down. Nah, there's no point. I have nothing against the person who said it, but I feel like some tutelage is necessary. So here goes:

Yeah, you probably might question my past. It's none of your business though. But, I'll open up that door for you just a little so that you might get a glimpse of why that upsets me. I'll try to be quick and not go off on too many tangents. My past is sordid. I was abused as a kid. It took me a long time to realize that it was abuse and an even longer time to stop comparing my abuse to others'. Well, I wasn't raped as a child. It wasn't violent. My therapist talked me out of all my excuses for realizing what had really happened. There's something else they don't tell you about early childhood abuse... it can linger. 

It can linger in ways you don't even hear about. It's called PTSD. There are images and flickers and reminders of things that make me absolutely afraid to move. I'll tell you the other thing about childhood sexual abuse that you probably do know... just not in the way you think. See, most people who become abusers have a history of being abused. Now, chew on that for a moment. I have been stigmatized in that people believe I will be an abuser simply because I was abused. I would never.  

But, it doesn't mean my abuse didn't affect my sexual appetites. Now, my sexual appetites are none of your business. They simply aren't. And the fact that they would even be questioned makes me cringe and want to go hide under a rock because I feel guilty. It reminds me how I was shaped -programmed- sexually as a child. But, I logically know I have nothing to be ashamed of. So what if I find the character appealing? 

When I read that my past should be questioned because I like something? Are you kidding me? Yeah, thank you, I'm having to remind myself that my past is not my fault and that it's nothing to be ashamed of. It's certainly not for anyone else to judge. You can't preach sexual freedom and then judge the freedoms they take. 

As for Christian (and as I said in my original review of the series), I think he has PTSD. I told my husband I would never knowingly wish my issues on another human being. I actually advised my neighbor against having anything to do with someone who had PTSD that refused to get help. It's a no-win situation. It's because I know what the disorder does. It's not pretty. But, that doesn't mean Christian Grey's don't exist. I don't think Christian Grey is a villain. I think he is a hurt man who eventually finds some form of redemption. That's all I can hope for myself... some form of redemption. So while you bash him, it feels like you are bashing me and all those who are like me. Now you know. 

Not All People Heal Like You

I've started this particular blog post several times. I've wondered what it'd do to my career or what it would do to my personal life. However, I just read a blog that made me so angry. I will not call out names, I don't much care to start web drama; plus, I respect the person who wrote it. I just disagree. Sort of.

Her rant was about how "awareness" campaigns where people attempt to garnish attention for causes are stupid and that apparently we already know about them plenty. She said that people posting about how hard it is to [insert dealing with a specific diagnosis here] are not heroes. Well... I beg to differ. Hardly enough people know about my kind of disorder or all the things that people with different disorders suffer. Also, I think the attitude of her kind of post is what makes me so afraid to say what I've always wanted to say.

The "Post" I've Been Afraid to Post

I was raised by a very strong mother, controlling, but strong. She surrounded herself with strong women. These women were so strong it seemed they were more like steel, cut with edges that you didn't want to come too close to for fear of being sliced in two. I was pinballed around by these women, never quite getting a hang of their language, but adapting their mannerisms with near perfection. I was taught to own up and take responsibility of all my actions. To my detriment, at first I didn't take responsibility. Then finally, also to my own detriment, I did.

I was "rebellious" and "bossy."
I had "an attitude."
I was manic depressive, I was borderline personality disorder, I was "difficult."
I was labeled.
I was none of these things.

After years of being told how I was not forming the way I should, how I was failing as an adult (18 is a fully prepared for the world adult, right?), I started to chastise myself for my "rebellious" ways. I thought that the way to "fix" me was by owning up to every mistake I ever made. I took everything I did and tore it apart looking for a way to do better, to be better, to be more acceptable. Acceptable was just something I never really achieved, and now I was seeking it with a vengeance.

But, in taking responsibility for all the things I did wrong, I also started taking responsibility for things that were not my fault. Things like being abused as a child. I literally had an adult tell me when I was a child of 9 that I "should have known better." The abuse was not my fault. Also, my mother's controlling nature, which is entirely contradictory to a person with PTSD's issues, was not my fault.

Did I forget to mention I have PTSD?

And herein lies the rub. I am still met with these strong people (like the one who posted the blog that got me to writing this) who say I have to take responsibility for my actions. They're the people who say "the past is the past," "I was abused, but you don't see me [insert some socially unacceptable behavior]", or "I have [insert another issue/disorder] but you don't see me using it as an excuse."

All I really want to do is say, "Congratu-fucking-lations! Aren't you just amazing? No, really, good for you." Seriously, whatever works for them is great, but please for the love of all things holy, not all people heal like you. 

The world is so full of people lacking compassion, and in all honesty, I'm pretty sure that no amount of therapy will completely heal the hurts I've faced. Because of this, I am openly admitting that I want what some people label "special treatment" for my disorder... I call it grace.
IS THAT SO TERRIBLE? How does that make me a lesser person because I admit that there are areas where I need more grace because I haven't figured out how to navigate that without somehow screwing it up?

I don't want to wear the label "I have PTSD" on my forehead, but on the same hand, I think it'd probably be awfully helpful when trying to explain to someone why it takes a lot of work on my part to ride in the passenger seat with pretty much anyone other than my significant other (who I've been with for 8 years). I usually refuse. Or how about how I don't pick up on social cues or fit in with normal society because I have a habit of saying things that make others uncomfortable? Or how about how paranoid I get after I see someone because I don't know if I did something wrong?

Some might say it's not the PTSD. I'll tell you what is then: the anxiety, the nervousness, the paranoia. These things all make me react a specific way. I have a tendency to want to control situations. Remember the "rebellious" child from above? That was me trying to take control of my situation because I had been robbed of control and was desperately seeking it back. I still seek it. I'm controlling because I am seeking safety. I highly doubt everyone knows about that. I don't think it hurts to continue awareness campaigns. Hell, if more people were aware of PTSD, especially the fact that it doesn't just come from battle situations, then my life would be easier. I wouldn't be so embarrassed by it. I wouldn't feel like I was having to explain my issues so much.
Maybe, I'd feel like -- for once -- it was okay to heal in my time, not in theirs.

AMTRAK RESIDENCY- LAWFULLY STEALING OUR RIGHTS?

An Amtrak residency sounds great. Amazing, in fact. I've been drooling since I read about it. So, tonight, I went to put in my official application. But, since I read a pretty amazing blog Writer Beware, I've learned to pay much closer attention to terms and agreements.

See, part of the Amtrak application asks for a sample submission of your writing. Of course, I figured I'd just submit the first chapter of my book. It's strong writing, and it sure does pull you in. Trust me, ask my beta readers... or don't cause I won't tell you who they are, but they are writing professionals, so take that for what it's worth. (Update: I say all this about my book to point out that they could have legally taken something very precious from me and potentially valuable.) In any case, I started reading the rules, and this bit right here really didn't sit right with me.

"Applicant understands and agrees that Sponsor has wide access to ideas, stories and other literary, artistic and creative materials submitted to it from outside sources or developed by its own employees and agents (together, “Sponsor Creative”); and, such Sponsor Creative may be competitive with, similar to (or even identical to) the writing sample/answers to questions created and submitted by Applicants; and, Sponsor shall have no liability to Applicant or any third party in respect to or in connection with the development, use, sale and/or commercial exploitation of all or any portion of Sponsor Creative by Sponsor and/or its designees and licensees, all of which liability, if any, Applicant hereby expressly and irrevocably waives, releases and discharges. 

6.   Grant of Rights: In submitting an Application, Applicant hereby grants Sponsor the absolute, worldwide, and irrevocable right to use, modify, publish, publicly display, distribute, and copy Applicant’s Application, in whole or in part, for any purpose, including, but not limited to, advertising and marketing, and to sublicense such rights to any third parties. In addition, Applicant hereby represents that he/she has obtained the necessary rights from any persons identified in the Application (if any persons are minors, then the written consent of and grant from the minor’s parent or legal guardian); and, Applicant grants Sponsor the absolute, worldwide, and irrevocable right to use, modify, publish, publicly display, distribute, and copy the name, image, and/or likeness of Applicant and the names of any such persons identified in the Application for any purpose, including, but not limited to, advertising and marketing. For the avoidance of doubt, one’s Application will NOT be kept confidential (and, for this reason, it is recommended that the writing sample and answers to questions not contain any personally identifiable information – e.g., name or e-mail address – of Applicant.) Upon Sponsor's request and without compensation, Applicant agrees to sign any additional documentation that Sponsor may require so as to effect, perfect or record the preceding grant of rights and/or to furnish Sponsor with written proof that he/she has secured any and all necessary third party consents relative to the Application."

From what I understand, if I had submitted the first chapter of my book, it would officially be theirs and they could sell it to whoever they wanted to be "developed" however they saw fit. And guess what, they wouldn't have to pay me a dime. They are only taking 24 writers this month, and even though in the application page they say that "A passion for writing and an aspiration for travel with Amtrak for inspiration are the sole criteria for selection" if you go the the Official Terms, you'll find out that to be the "ideal candidate" you will have to have "extensive social media connections." Yeah, I'd love to see their definition of extensive. I wonder if they check Klout scores (I hope you can tell I'm being sarcastic.) Psht. I was so excited about this. However, this is bogus. Most of the writers who would really benefit from this because they need a change of scenery or maybe a break from the kids or whatever are not going to get it. Not unless they are doing just fantastically on their own with social media, and in that case, I question whether they really need it.

Amtrak is underhandedly taking people's rights to their work. Why not fork over the money for what they've written? This whole program made me so excited until I read these Official Terms.

Oh, and be prepared to be handed a 1099 tax form because they've informed you your gift will be reported to the IRS. So, make sure all you winners remember to file and pay that. (Granted, this is expected, but it's nice to remind us of it after they say they're taking all their applicants rights to their work.)

Anyone else have a problem with this?

Your BEST Book Recommendations?

I've been organizing my bookshelves, as I said every writer should, in my last post. It's been a somewhat exhaustive and eye-opening experience. I am so utterly disappointed at my selection. So, I've decided I need to swell my collection. I want, nay I NEED, suggestions on what should absolutely be on my shelf. I am accepting every genre, with the exception of horror. Sorry, folks, I've still not quite fallen for that one just yet. Maybe, in another 10 years or so my PTSD won't be a factor in which books I choose to read. Okay, so maybe some horror, just no human torture horror. I can do zombies and ghosts and that kind of horror, but nothing that involves torture. For example, I read Charlie Higson's The Enemy, and I did just fine. I started Stephen King's It and had nightmares for weeks. Hope that helps, and for those of you that read horror, I'm thinking it will.

Much love, and comment away! Please, also tell me what genre the book falls into, that way I know where to look in my local and used book stores! And how about we splash the pot a bit, if I get 20 different people to comment (yes, I need that many book recommendations), I'll do a raffle for a $25 Amazon Gift Card. (To which, you will have 3 days to give me your info so I can get your gift card to you! If not, I'll redraw...)

Writer Spring Cleaning List

Okay, come on, we all know most of us put it off. I have only heard of people who actually rotate winter clothes for summer clothes. The closest relation I have to one of those people is my husband's aunt who I've never met. But, as a writer, we all NEED to do this.

We are, in general, a pretty messy group. We have any combination of soda cans, coffee mugs, Starbucks cups, tea cups, and/or glasses with remnants of who-knows-what surrounding our writing desks. Writing desks themselves, I've come to realize are mythical things. I go through periods where mine doesn't exist. There's a myriad of printed out rough drafts, pictures of who we think our MC's resemble, queries, and doodles that are a direct result of writers block. Don't even get me started on the post-it notes.

Don't try to tell me that your mess makes sense to you. Chances are it's just a way to make you think you've been productive. Or in some cases, to mark your territory, "I am a WRITER. This is my DESK. This where I create mind-blowing awesomeness and simultaneously wallow in self pity! Behold it's greatness!"

No, no.

So let's get started.

1. Clean that bookshelf off. Yup, do it. It's not just cluttered with books anymore. Put everything else away so that you can get to that book on writing that's going to help you make your prose shine. Doesn't do any good if you don't use it. 
2. Also, organize your books! You've bought more books than you've gotten around to reading, and now when you go to look at your shelves for that friend that wants a book recommendation in a certain genre, you're at a loss (What was that book again?). No need to alphabetize if you don't want to, grouping them by genre should be more than enough. 
3. Put all the books you haven't read on one shelf so that you know what you need to work through. It gives a visual to that reading list. Bonus: take a look at your "unread" shelf before you go to the bookstore, it may stave off your need to buy 20 new books. 
4. Throw away old rough drafts. Yes, I said it. These take up A LOT of room. It's great to be able to look back on your old work to see how you've progressed, but I've never met a writer who has come across an old MS and didn't sit there for a while reading over it. This is time wasted, folks. Besides, sometimes it can be depressing: "Wow, I used to think this was awesome! This is such crap! Maybe the stuff I think is gold now is really crap and I just don't realize it." Boo. No need to put that kind of black cloud over your head. 
5. Buy a cork board. If you have one, take everything off and rehang it in a manner that makes sense. We all know you've added stuff through the year as a quick place to hang onto something we don't want to get lost. Take stuff from your desk that you "use for inspiration" and hang it up. I can personally attest to Command Hooks. Those things are great for organizing EVERYTHING. Probably my favorite thing about them is that I can remove them, use a new adhesive strip, and move it whenever I want. (Please note, I am not endorsed by their company.)
6. Make your snack(s) easily accessible. I have a college mini fridge in my office that I got from someone who wasn't using it (my brother). Because, let's be honest, how many times have you gotten up to get a drink and gotten distracted? This is especially true for those who also take care of the house. Don't leave your office if you don't have to. 

This is my list. I would LOVE to hear more ideas and suggestions! Just leave the suggestion in the comments. 

Accepting You Can Belong In Two Camps - A Writer's Article

"I've been suspended in a pool, adrift between two islands. To the east is indecision and derision. To the west is where the sun sets and where its rays set fire to my success." 

As a blogger, a woman, a mother, a survivor, a friend, a sister, a daughter, and writer, I see things from many different angles. Over the last few days, I've been reading my old blog entries, and I can't help but wonder, "who is this?" There's been entries written from either "island," either praising hopefulness or exposing defeat. I contemplated where my place was as a writer. How could I possibly be both hopeful and defeated at the same time? That's just not possible. No one is like that... .

I am wrong... er... was wrong.

I was wrong because there is someone who both miraculously believes in their own work while living in a realist's reality. This person is me. You could call me a pragmatic idealist.

This realization hit me about an hour ago while I was simultaneously wondering why I bother staying up so late to read books on improving my craft while knowing I was doing it to build my craft. It's like asking someone why they would look for a needle in a haystack. To one person, the person observing, they'd think the person searching was crazy. To the person searching, it seems quite obvious... they need a needle.

So, no more battling the two sides. No more picking who is right, no more figuring out who wins. I used to think that I had to either believe in myself or not. That there was only one right. I think it may be the Christian upbringing in me telling me (more like shouting, as my upbringing usually does) there is no grey, no in-between. Which, as a grown adult, I know not to be true. There's tons of gray. Whole countries are built on in-betweens, and in-between is how we managed to survive through childhood to adulthood. All these in-betweens are as awkward as they are real. Which means that there is no reason for me to think that the place in between the raging fire of success and my own doubts of publication is going to be any less awkward. But, I think if I can learn to deal with this in-between as I have all the others, which is with unequivocal acceptance, I can finally move forward.

Anyone else in between two camps? I'd love to hear your thoughts.

Literary vs. Escapist

I have this deep resounding fear that I'm writing the wrong thing. I sit down to write, and sometimes it's eloquent, gut wrenching truth. It's only three lines, and as I read over it I feel like I'm betraying everyone I've ever known. I slam shut the laptop, and remind myself that this is why I write escapist fiction.

Sometimes I sit down to write, and the words come crashing to the page in an all too familiar way that makes my past too much of a reality, too heartbreaking for me to accept, and too many shadows are cast on people who are now very different than how they turned up on my page. This time, I click the "x" and just close the document. "Do you want to save?" No, why would I ever want to save something like that?

Then, I'm running, running to the bookstore to pick up something that will take me away from the Pandora's Box I've just unleashed on myself. I look at covers, and I imagine my own sitting there on the shelf beside all the others. I find one I want, but hesitantly put in back on the shelf, reminding myself that it's too hard to hold a hardback book and feed my child at the same time. I'll just download it later...

The later never comes, and instead I find myself reading literary magazines and journals, all of which are hell bent on exalting the writer who dug within themselves to expose some nasty truth about humanity. I hear a whisper, you have stories like those. Those are your best stories. 

So I sit.
I open a document.
I punch out the condescending drivel and absolute truths that have come from years of living my life. Then...

I hear my child doing that fussy cry when he wakes up that will surely be followed by hysterics if I don't go collect him. But, by now, I'm so deep in my reverie of lost dreams and corruption that I have to pull myself back to here, to the now. I have to try not to resent my husband as he attempts to harness a few hours of sleep before he goes back into work third shift.

This is why I write escapist fiction, I remind myself. It's fun. And I mean it.

_________________________________________________________________________________

I have been wanting to write a few articles on escapist fiction, and I intend to do so. But, I wanted to start with my reason why. Thanks for reading. 

Late in the Game - Self Pub Hell

I've been a huge advocate for self publication for years now. Despite having queried (and received requests), I never could quite get on the bandwagon of having to fork over so much money and control over my original work to someone else. I mean, hell, you don't see a painter have someone else go in after they've finished and say, "Here, get me more paint and let me just add some more, and you know what, hand me that bottle of turpentine too while you're at it." Or perhaps, it's like a choreographer/coach working with a dancer for a long time on this beautiful piece, only to have someone run on stage and ad lib in the middle of the performance. Traditional publishing has just never felt right to me.

However, lately, and I'm ashamed to admit that I'm so late to the game, I've been learning about another side of publishing, a tedious and exhaustively overwhelming side of self publishing. It seems so obvious that you have to do it yourself, but the side of self publishing I was never prepared to face was the business management. I've always been a bit of an idealist, thinking that writing, cover art, and editing was the bulk of the work. Oooooh, I've been delusional. It's a bit embarrassing seeing as I've been such a huge advocate for it. On a daily basis, I look at my significant other and say, "I get it now. I know why people traditionally publish, to avoid all this s**t." Then it's usually followed up by something like this,

Me: Wanna know what I've been reading about today? I've been reading about __________.

Him: What've you learned?

Me: It's the devil, and no one will take you seriously if you do. Your book will end up in the trash if you do/don't do ________.

Him: So what does that mean?

Me: Well, from what I can gather, and I'm only on page 56, I'll essentially have to start my own publishing company and hire a printer to print my books if I want to go full on true blue self publishing. I think. Hell, I dunno. It's expensive.

This all stems from me doing something I never thought I'd do, and my reasons for not doing them were arrogant and weak. I didn't read books on the craft of writing and publishing. I shall now divulge my own misconceptions.

1. I thought that all that information was free and out there on the Internet.
2. I thought the books were only sold for the idiot who was taking writing up as a hobby...you know, "This might be fun, I have money to throw at it." 
3. I saw these books as a kind of "get rich" or "how to turn your talentless self into a sensation." And while some of those type books have merit, they are usually marketed to those who buy them around New Years and quickly stuff them on a shelf.  
4. I thought they were aimed at the literary who had no shot at real publication.

Oh, go ahead. Hang me now. I deserve it. I know I do.

Collecting Things Part 1

I've always had a penchant for journals. The blank pages are like a precious form of artwork to me; the covers are art. It's one of the few things I collect, along with tarot cards. Who knows why anyone collects anything these days. I know someone who collects salt and pepper shakers, which is undeniably a thing you only can use one set of at a time. I suppose if you had multiple types of salt and pepper from all over the world, then it would make sense, but this salt and pepper shaker collector does not. In fact, I'm pretty sure she uses salt from one of those $1 disposable cardboard picnic shakers.

Some people collect in hopes that whatever they are collecting will someday be valuable. Or, in the case of my journals, I see them as valuable. To me, they are the embodiment of  writing and creation. They have space for any number of stories or ideas.

I wonder what others might collect. Four leaf clovers? Trading cards? Bottle caps? People of notoriety? Memories? Lucky rabbits feet? And of all the odd things out there, what does this say about the collectors? What kind of character does this create...

Blogging Without Coffee - 2013 Recap and some 2014 plans

It's been well over a year since I've posted on this blog.

I've grown a bit rusty at blogging; I'm tired of ranting and you should know by now how I hate the term "platform building."

To get me back into the swing of things, I suppose I'll do a recap of 2013. Well, we should start in the end of 2012 because that's when I got pregnant. Well, that occupied most of 2013. Ya know, lots of months carrying my son, the six hours it took to have him (guess I do have birthing hips after all- pain med free mind you, which means I'm a goddess), and then the months of sleeplessness. Now, we're on to teething.

So as I sit here contemplating what to write, I find myself drumming my fingers over the keys and never really pressing down. I ask myself what great nugget of information I've learned and need to share with the interwebs. Don't get me wrong, I've learned plenty, but either the people reading this are already parents and have been there and done that. Or, they don't have kids and don't need me to add to the list of people telling them just how hard it really is.

So, I ask myself this, do I have any news on the writing/editing front? Well, I guess it is kind of news that I've closed shop on the editing front. I turned away too many people in the last year, simply because I didn't have the time dealing with all the pregnancy issues. Nowadays, I'm fearful that I just may be too snarky for my own good. I have a hard time being polite and nice, especially if I haven't had my Starbucks. Which, come to think of it, may be why this blog entry is kind of sucking.

I have been doing daily writing prompts, which is great for my fiction writing. I've also filmed a crowdfunding campaign to launch my book. The number crunching for that is kind of devastating, but by my non-solid (at this point) numbers, I'd only need approximately 3K folk to give up/donate/"back" $5 worth, which is essentially a cup of coffee... totally doable right? I think so.

Honestly, the reason why I want to publish is because I want to be able to be more altruistic myself. I really want to help my family out more. Trust me, they need it. My talent lies in writing, so this is the best solution I can come up with: lean on others altruism, then pay it all back to the world many times over. Of course, the crowdfunding campaign comes with perks, so by definition it's not entirely altruistic to "back it", but I say screw the definition, it sure seems altruistic to me.

There's so much ahead of me, and this is all I was able to blog about today. Maybe I'll try again after I brew myself some coffee.

Hope - "I'm Living on Such Sweet Nothing"

There are about a million things that can get me in hardcore writing mode. Usually, it's tragedy or triumph. So with the Sandy Hook shooting and a combination of Calvin Harris' Sweet Nothing Song, I'm feeling more than a little driven at the moment.

I guess since I'm a writer and editor and whatnot, I'm supposed to be building a platform with this blog. Pish posh. That's not who I am. I've never been a platform builder. I'm a very extremely, bluntly, unnervingly honest person. You ready? Here I go...

The main chorus in that song I'm listening to is, "I'm living on such sweet nothing." That's how I feel. I am living on something that feels wonderfully empty. I mean, I'm pulling from something that's not even there. And I realize I am what most people are, or at least should be: hopeful.

I live from day to day hoping in something that isn't brought to the forefront of our lives. In the news, children are being murdered in their classrooms and movie theaters. We blow up buildings for our religions. We condemn who people love. We hate others because they are not what we want them to be. What in recent news has given me reason to have this hope? NOTHING. But... it's still there....

I'm living on such sweet nothing.

It's that hope that wakes me up every day. It's my hope for my friends and family to see them prosper. But, almost every day my heart is breaking when things continue to go wrong. The miracle (and I really do believe it's a miracle) is that I still have hope. I still have faith in people. I will always write about people like that.

I'm not talking about that blind happy hope. I certainly don't have that. I have that quiet little hope that reminds me what it felt like when things were easy. How a daisy was an apology or when a bandaid fixed those cuts. Something in me tells me that this hope is far stronger than the other kind. That other kind can be stolen, robbed, and stripped from us. This hope is one that no one can take.

So, I'll end with my the usual writer tip. Don't let your characters have this false fleeting hope. It's fake and everyone will hate your character for not understanding what pain feels like. No one likes those bright chipper people who have no pain. If that's what your character portrays to the world, that's fine. We all do that in one way or another. But, I better see a freaking break down behind closed doors. And I need the hope too. Give me a reason to care. Show me they are just like me.
 

Behind Closed Doors: The Good from the Bad

Hello my lovelies. I will tell you, this was an EXTREMELY difficult article for me to write and post. So leaving me some kind words or just a smiley face will help me know you don't think the worst of me.

Remember that post about going behind the closed doors of writers? I promised to look behind closed doors and address things that would typically ruin a writer's platform. You know, air the dirty laundry. Until now I have not been really moved to write about it. But something happened to me yesterday that really knocked me off balance.

What could wound me so badly? Well... a letter from my maternal grandmother. If at any point this becomes uncomfortable for you to read, I encourage you to skip down to the "Here's what's important" section.

You see, I was abused as a child. I've suffered all the typical symptoms and signs that most who are abused do. I blamed myself, loathed myself, and all those nasty little things. For the past four years, I decided to face this issue head on. I decided it was time for me to learn how to deal with it. Considering where I was at when I started on this journey and where I am now is quite phenomenal. The fact that I'm sharing the tragedy that was my grandmother's letter is even more shocking.

Last night, I sat down to read a letter from my grandmother completely unprepared... a letter saying that the abuse was my fault. She said that I had provoked the abuse by seducing my abuser. I was probably 4-5 when this abuse happened the first time. I know, after much coaching and understanding that I've garnished from getting older, that I was not at fault. Children do not seduce. I logically know that. While that knowledge filled my head, in my heart, I felt all those rotten feelings come back.

My breath was caught in my chest and I struggled between anger and simply shattering while I fought for peace. Her words resonated with all the fears of those negative beliefs I'd held my entire life.

I believe when something horrible happens to someone, no matter how big or small, that a piece of darkness is in a way transplanted into them. I believe this because I believe that we were created to love and be happy. It's what we all seek. For me, I can't understand someone doing something so destructive to another person, so I rationalized that I brought it on myself.

While I understand this isn't true, that I didn't do anything to justify someone abusing me, I have had to find another way to understand that dark voice inside me that tells me it's my fault. It's a part of me, after all. And we all have it. I hate my abuser. My family says I should forgive, after all the abuser was relatively "young" as well. I've tried. I've tried for years, and I cannot do it. And when I have a flashback or (in this case) receive an antagonistic letter from my grandmother, I hear that dark voice wishing my abuser was no longer on planet earth, or a voice telling me that I deserved it, all the more spurring my hate for him. I hate him for having infected me with this darkness.

Here's what's important:
We all have a darkness inside us. It is not who we are. When we go through hard times or when darkness finds it's way into our lives it's like we get infected by it. Sometimes it's something small, like someone being rude. Sometimes it's bigger things like being bullied or excluded. No matter what it is, we've been faced with it, and it is our jobs to overcome it and choose not to pass it along.

As a writer, I've learned a few things from this experience. For one, I realized that the darkest and most painful villains are the ones that don't see evil as evil. They revel in what they see as justified or righteous morals. Take Hitler or Dolores Umbridge, for example.

I also have found myself asking myself questions that I can then apply to my writing to deepen the characters' development:

1. What deep seeded evil resides in my own characters?
• Where did this evil come from?
• What have they done to try to eradicate it?
• Where they able to eradicate it?
• How does it physically manifest in their behavior?
• What horrible thing happened to them and how would/does it twist their personality or view point on the world?
2. Are my villains really as horrible as they could be?
• Are they just power hungry?
• What is a fitting "righteous blindness" that they could have?
• How does this evil physically manifest itself in these characters?
3. How do my protagonists handle the evil that is thrust upon them?
• Is it an example that I stand behind?
• Is it an accurate account of how a person really reacts? (I know I haven't written a scene that mirrors my meltdown last night.)
4. And this is a big question, how do my characters handle the evil in others?
• I come across as a very hard person. For those I've edited for, they know my standards. I'm a tough cookie to please because I'm always searching for the best. But, I also have a lot of compassion, and that is trait I don't think I really project quite so well. I know others who would read the same letter I read last night and go into a fit of rage. This is a normal reaction. It took me a while to fully understand how everyone has their own pain. There is no pain meter when it comes to emotion. (←I like that line, I might insert it in my MS.) 
• Is it believable?
• Have I developed the character so that their reaction to this evil person is believable and not some regular knee jerk reaction?

I have had a lot of time to come to terms with the way I am treated within my family. I am no martyr, and I'm not a victim. Maybe I was once. I like to think it was just something that happened in my own story arc. When anyone comes into your life to attack you, it's just a side effect of their own story arc. You have to figure out how you (or your characters) really feel about what happened. I don't believe what my grandmother wrote in that letter is true. I can, however, take the experience of last night and transpose it into my characters and how they feel and experience their hardships. I just have to stay true to what I have discovered about myself. And in doing that, I can more precisely make sure my characters are staying true to what they have discovered about themselves.

What's Wrong with Your Writer?: A Non-Writer's Guide

I am soundly convinced that people who don't write don't understand what it's like to be a writer. As I writer, I have a few confessions to make. You non-writers sometimes really don't understand me. I'm going to explain why. (After re-reading this article, I realized it came with a good bit of snark. Please, this is all said in love and adoration for my non-writer cohorts as some of them are my readers, too. ;) )

1. When I enter into the world where my characters live and you try to engage me in any sort of conversation, you are interrupting me. You are literally interrupting me mid-sentence. I don't care if you can hear me talking or not. You've interrupted me. It's like waking someone up from the middle of a dream; it's not like I can just close my eyes and go straight back to what I've spent hours building myself up emotionally to be able to write. Thank you, you've just destroyed half a days work. 
2. When you enter my zone... This is just wrong. My ideas sometimes escape my head and float all around me for me to admire and toy with. When you walk in, you scare them off. Sometimes you scare them off so horribly I get writer's block. This is a serious disorder. It can last for ages. Once again, you've just destroyed a days work and possibly put me out of work for several more days, and there is no unemployment check issued for writer's block.
3. When you disregard when I'm getting "called back to the office". You may not get this, but my characters are one of my bosses. They are the story. If they decide I need to get back to the office then I have to get back to the office. Your attempts to derail this are not appreciated. Also, I am not crazy just because I answer the call of my ideas. I don't look at you weird when you take a work call in the middle of our luncheon, do I?
4. When you treat my character discussions (whether they are to myself or to you non-writers) like I am being an insane housewife arguing over whether a certain throw pillow will tie my whole room together. It's not the same. Picking and choosing character traits is quintessential. It defines the plot, which is either engine or machine of the whole book. It's like using the wrong materials to build a bridge; if one thing is wrong, the whole thing will collapse.
5. When you add anything to my mess. I don't care if my desk is a disaster, it's a mark of how I've moved forward in my work. If that mess is moved forward by someone else, it's all I can see. Sometimes I mark by progress by how many cups of coffee or Mountain Dew cans have accumulated around me. Screwing up that equilibrium is like screwing around with my alarm clock.
6. When you assume my house should be clean because I work from home. What's wrong with you? I work full-time. In fact, because I work for myself I usually work more than the normal 40 you put in. It's actually statistical. Go ahead, check the facts. I'm pretty sure that's it's more like 60 hours that self employed people put into their work.
7. When you enter my zone... this deserves more analogies. What if I just showed up at your office just to ask you a "quick question?" Wouldn't you be a bit embarrassed if I did this a lot? It depends entirely on my mood whether "I knocked" is a good enough excuse to bother me.
8. When you think that my modes of inspiration seem like I'm procrastinating, wasting my time, or being lazy. If I watch a movie and you see tears, trust me, it's work. If I'm searching tirelessly for a certain version of a song just so I can listen to it a million times while I write a certain scene, it's work. It's like trying to drill in a tough screw with a screwdriver instead of a drill; without the proper tool to drive the screw home, it'll end up messy. Worst case scenario being that the screw is stripped entirely and everything is ruined. Everything ruined.
9. When you think writing and all the parts of it aren't work. Just because I enjoy my work doesn't mean you get to treat me like it's not work. If you lived with me and actually saw how it torments me at times, you'd know, it's work. Also, just because I enjoy my work doesn't mean I don't get angry with it. Just because you love your kids doesn't mean that they can't annoy the living hell out of you sometimes and make you flippantly say, "What made me think I ever wanted to have kids?" You don't mean it, and when I say, "why would anyone want to be a writer?" I don't mean it either.
10. When I scream or grumble or look utterly frustrated for no given reason and you think I'm angry with you. Like I've mentioned before, a lot of work for a writer happens in their heads long before it comes out on page. So if I feel like having a hissy fit and I'm just sitting there looking unprovoked, don't assume it's about you. You've once again entered in on a moment that does not involve you.
11. When you cannot possibly understand that writers "take their work home" with them probably more than any professional out there, with the exception of health care professionals perhaps. We live and breath emotion. That's our job. Sometimes I get sunk so deep in my characters that if they just experienced heartbreak, I too am feeling heartbroken. If they are angry and ready to murder someone, I am seething as well. And if they feel like going out on an adventure, don't get irritated because all of a sudden I want to go have one myself.
12. When you disregard "works been tough", "I've been having a lot of late nights in the office", or "I've been having long days at the office." This means the same to me as it does to you. Writing doesn't just mean make-believe. It means make-believe and then reconstruction. It is engineering something new and the process is just like a real world engineer. You start off with an idea and sketch it out. Then, you go back and figure out the components that it would take to build up this idea. You test it out, and when it comes back failing tons of tests, you have to figure out how to fix it so it passes. If you change one component, six others may need to then be readjusted. There are times when you want to pull your hair out. Remember how in math class your teacher told you that these precise calculations mattered because if you started building a bridge and was only one inch/centimeter off on one side that you could be several feet/meters off on the other side, resulting in a collapsed bridge? Yeah. So when I'm telling you that I just found a huge scene that was played off a scene that I ended up deleting in the redraft and I just now realized it, I'm telling you I've collapsed the bridge.
13. When you think that chatting to my writing friends is the same as hanging out with my regular friends. It is not. Sure, we cut up and sometimes we don't talk about writing at all. But, last time I checked, when you're on your lunch break with your co-workers you aren't always talking about work. It's nice to just take a breather from writing with people who know what you're struggling through. These people are important to have good relationships with because when it comes time to have beta readers, they are the front line. It's basically like asking someone to pile hours onto their already encumbered workload. It's like asking your friends to volunteer to be crash dummies for a new car you've designed. This car just happens to be going on an intense outdoor test course, and you might have not put in the right shocks to prepare them for the ride. It could be painful for them, possibly excruciating. What's worse is I have to like them enough so that when they get off that ride and the hell fury comes from their lips and it hits my ears, I know that they say it all because they love me.
14. When you don't get how blogging, formatting, and social media are part of my job. Hello, I'm trying to make sure my other "boss" knows I'm working. I'm smiling and giving progress reports to my boss. See, whereas most people have one boss and the upper management above them, I have thousands of bosses. They are called readers. They are who pay me. Don't get angry because I go out of my way to make sure they are happy. If you think this isn't the same, be absent from work for a few days without any good explanation and see if you still have a job tomorrow. You won't. If I don't put myself out there, I lose readers. Sure, I can get new ones, but you could get a new job, too, couldn't you? And see, when I get new readers, it's like getting a raise. So be happy when I'm happy about my progress.

 Thanks to all the non-writers in my life who tolerate what you assume is odd behavior. But, just so you know, in writer world I'm entirely normal.

Share this if you know some non-writers who need to see this or if you want proof that you are not the only writer who does these things.

Why Do We Romanticize Tragedy?

So I know this is probably gonna rub a lot of people the wrong way... but have you ever noticed how we romanticize tragedy? Don't get me wrong, I love good stories, but seeing a pin recently on Pinterest made me wonder if in 100 years or so someone will write a romanticized story of 9/11. Subsequently, will a group of people create fake accounts for the people in that story?

Think about Vietnam War movies or World War II movies. My generation loves those highly played out and generally inaccurate accounts.  And maybe it is just because Titanic had such a romantic plotline that people have latched onto those characters. I haven’t gone searching for any memes or fake role playing accounts for other movies, but let’s think about this for a minute.

I wasn't around to hear of friends or family members dying in those wars. I didn’t deal with economic crises in those times or worry about the draft. Or, I didn’t hear about a tragedy killing 1,502 people.

I've been around for our "War on Terrorism", and I was devastated when I saw that the Pentagon had been hit. I remember bawling when I saw the side that had been hit was in my dad's department. But, as we all know, that side had been evacuated for remodeling. I certainly didn't know that then. These are tragedies of my country alone. In my generation, Hurricane Katrina took the lives of over 1,800 people. Compare that to the 1,502 that drowned, froze, or died in some other horrible way on the Titanic.

•  85 years following the sinking of the RMS Titanic, the Kate Winslet and Leonardo DiCaprio movie was released.

• 54 years following World War II, Saving Private Ryan was released.

• 29 years following the first troops setting foot in Vietnam, Forrest Gump was released.  

• 19 years from the supposed time period of the movie (1968), Full Metal Jacket was released.

 So, I’m asking myself how long will it take for me to find Hurricane Katrina as a “moving” or an “emotionally intense” movie? Or what about 9/11? I know there were movies made about it, but I didn’t see them. I certainly wasn’t ready to relive it.

Is 85 years how long it takes for it to be okay to make fake accounts and joke around about people dying? They aren't alone, I mean there are plenty of fake Hitler accounts.

 

Have you given it much thought? I'd love to hear you guys weigh in. Seriously, I would like your input. Anonymous is cool as long as it's not hateful.

Another Epic AE Rant

So there are some general rules when it comes to blogging. Learn them now. And, as I say that, I'm going to break them utterly and without losing any sleep.

The United States recently had a presidential election. I, however, could care less. Because, in all honesty, it's one man. My FB feed has been completely blasted with political posts for a while now, and the aftermath of the ballots rolling in has people unfriending folks left and right. I just want to scream some very loud obscenities right now. No, I wasn't unfriended by anyone (because I'm not a politically involved person).

However, I have a much bigger point. And let's go ahead and bring Hurricane Sandy into the mix. Or maybe we should talk about 9/11 and Katrina, too?

During moments of crisis, I become very proud of my country. We seem to all want to rally together to help. Granted, I hate that it's that we all "text to donate." That's just a way to show what our country is; we all have smartphones and our way of helping involves 30 seconds of composing a text. But, it is still help, and I still am impressed by how people give...

 

...IN TIMES OF CRISIS.

But what about every other time?

No seriously.

Plenty of people have approached me for editing work and get a small package or even just a sample edit. They "love" my work and can attest to how I'm willing to work with them even after they can't afford it. Now, I have my business colleagues who are also self employed, and they tell me I'm crazy. My work is worth something, they tell me. My work is worth a lot actually. I spend a lot of time trying to make sure I understand what the author is aiming for. Practically every edit I do is a substantive. I work for the industry, but truth is, I don't make much money doing it.

I'm the haggler, and I'm the bargain hunter. I'm the price matcher. I don't have time to be a full-on couponer, but if I did, I would.

I saw someone's post today saying that he didn't know if he'd be able to pay his rent. And my first reaction was, "I wonder if he has a Paypal and we could do a small campaign to catch him up?" I know the stress that not having the money to pay bills causes.

So, back to the times of crisis. Most people at any given time are in some sort of crisis. I've been running for so hard and for so long just to make ends meet, but I'm still giving away free edits. There are plenty of good people who could use a leg up. Those are the people who need help. You know, your average everyday Joe who really is doing the best they can.

I give what I can when I can give it, and sometimes even more often than that. With my family, they know that whenever they need something, I will be there to deliver. I can't always guarantee a good mood, but I can guarantee I'll deliver. Namely, right now it's rides to work etc, but sometimes it's food out of my freezer or letting them come over to use my laundry machine.

I'm not in the middle of a hurricane, but that doesn't mean I couldn't use a break (haven't taken a vacation, even a small one, in over 3 years). Or how about that guy I mentioned earlier who doesn't know if he'll make rent?

While I am a bargain hunter, I don't try to haggle with people who are just trying to get by. The big auto chain price-matched the distributor I put in my car and got I $80 off. But, I try to buy locally, and I send every bit of business I can their way.

Here's my theory, everyone is in a crisis.

1. I don't care if their crisis is worse than mine or menial compared to mine. There is a human being in stress.
2. I don't care if they brought it on themselves; you live you learn. I'm not error free, and I've made bad choices, too. The idea is not to repeat them. But, getting bailed out of poor decisions you've made helps you realize how wonderful people are.
3. I don't care if they are hateful people. They are that way for a reason. Something happened to them at some time to make them bitter, which means they've suffered plenty.
4. I don't care if they have more money than me. Sometimes, this does irk me. But, I do my best to understand their problems anyway.
5.  I do care if this is something ongoing that they refuse to face. Meaning, they know what the problem is and do nothing to attempt to rectify it. If you're dirty, take a shower. This concept works for the mind, body, and soul. We all backslide, the point is to keep moving forward.
6. I do care if it's at the expense of someone else. Plain and simple: don't hurt others.
7. I do care if all they're doing is sitting there with their hands out. Help yourself the best you can.

I give homeless folks money because they are usually sitting out in the heat or cold. I give street musicians money because they are working hard, and I almost always enjoy their music. Sometimes it's only fifty cents. Most of the time, fifty cents is all I have. Seriously. But, what if out of the 500 people that passed him by 100 of them gave him fifty cents? He'd have fifty bucks.

Or, if I hook you up with an edit, how about putting $5 in my Donate section? Or even asking for my Paypal email so they don't get a "cut" for giving me the button. Maybe that $5 would go to me treating myself to a Starbucks, which is quite uplifting for my spirits. One time I was donated $6, and that went into my gas tank. You never know. But, those donations made a huge difference to me, not just financially but to my mood and stress levels.

When I see Americans rallying around a crisis, I wonder how often those same people look or even see the crises that are happening everyday all around them?

I watch those video ads on small blogs because some of them get paid only when someone has watched the entire video. Chances are I'm not actually watching the whole video, but if it's playing on my computer the ad agency paying them doesn't know the difference. Sometimes, I just click on their ads.

Here's the deal, you help others get a leg up, chances are later on down the road, they will be in a better position to give someone else a leg up.

Isn't it Gandhi who said be the change you wish to see in the world? Why is everyone so concerned about the change of one man? (Do not in any way try to argue the merits or downfalls of the 2012 Presidential candidates, that's not the point. Your comment will be deleted if you do.)

Don't wait for the next disaster to happen to help, get plugged in to those around you, or do something nice. Sometimes a few cents goes a long, long way. I should know.

WIP Blog Hop

I should announce this, I don't do blog hops. I don't talk about my book very often... at all as a matter of fact. But, when one of my two best friends (Heather Jacobs, her website is here) tags me, I really had to. Plus, she made me want to do it. This will be a good year for the both of us. I won't make you read a long drawn out thing so let's get to it.

The rules are:

1. Answer the 10 questions below about your WIP on your blog/website.
2. Tag 5 other writers/authors/bloggers.
3. Add their links so we can “hop” over and meet them.

1. What is the working title of your book?

Shadow Awakening

Where did the idea for the book come from?
I really hesitate to tell the truth because of this:

I did dream of my main character. But, the dream only lasted long enough for what would be Chapter 1 of my book. From there, I made everything up from living in my imagination. In my edits, Chapter 1 got completely cut. So, in essence, my book came completely from my imagination. It only started in a dream.

What genre does your book fall under?
Oh, well, this is where it gets tricky. I've used the general blanket of fantasy. I've also said paranormal romance. But this is not Twilight.

Which actors would you choose to play your characters in a movie rendition?
I can't pick the female lead. It's downright impossible. But, I do have a story board of random photos found on the internet. Only three famous people have made it. I have particular looks, not people that fit my characters.

For my male lead we've got two canidates, James McAvoy (there are several moments that fit for him) and Jamie Bell (it's only the last picture that fits for Jamie Bell):

It's the harshness in the looks. It's the way they look like they hold a secret, in a way trapped within themselves. The counter male lead has been stolen by one picture:

What is the one-sentence synopsis of your book?
I don't like this question. To find herself, Lani must transcend who she is and leave her present and visit the past.

Will your book be self-published or represented by an agency?
I queried around a while ago. I got some bites. But, after discovering and exploring the indie world, I decided this was the place for me.

How long did it take to write your first draft of your manuscript?
I'm really not sure. The years tend to blend together for me. Things start and then get set aside. I believe I started it in one year and finished it two years later. But in days spent writing? I probably, in all, spent about three months.

What other books would you compare this story to within your genre?
It fully encompasses pretty much all the fantastical creatures, and of course, I'd like to say it's unlike any story in it's genre, but I am sure there is a book out there that is close to it. I just haven't found it yet.

Who or what inspired you to write this book?
I'm really not sure. I just like writing. I enjoy creating worlds and characters. In all honesty, I think it was Twilight that did it. I read the romance and I did get caught up in it. But, when it was all done I thought that I could create something more real.

What else about your book might pique the reader’s interest?
It's odd, I don't like really talking about it. It's not like I don't want to share it... because I do. I just don't think it's quite ready. I refused a while ago to write love triangles, but there is some semblance of one in my book. Rarely anything is at it seems, and everyone has their own secrets. The rules of time are bent, and the rules of love are broken.

Now... who to "tag"? (I've added links once they've done their Blog hop posts!)
I guess if I wanted to asked anyone about their stuff, it'd be Stephen Moran, Mark Brassington, Melody Kaufmann, Imran Siddiq, and finally Rayne Hall. (I know some of your have pubbed, so therefore, maybe your first book.)