It’s All Happening

Sort of.

Here’s the thing, it can be so easy to get discouraged in this writing life. There are millions of books available, so many amazing writers out there, and being an indie is a definite double edged blade.

And I’ll be the first to admit, both edges are usually serrated.

Discouragement can come at any given moment though. Truly, how many of you can say you show up for your job every day, all day, and leave at the end of the day knowing you did great work you didn’t get paid for (yet, if ever)?

I can imagine most, if not all of you, would laugh until you cry then walk away to make a paycheck. Most days, weeks, months, I don’t make a lot. And generally speaking that’s because I started this thing all wrong.

In recent months, weeks, days, I’ve learned from some of the most amazing, successful, indie authors out there about how to better position myself, advertise, release books. How to market. How to really connect with people who want fiction.

But still, this is a slow-slow-fast kind of industry. Overnight success that only took 30 years to accomplish!

So, sometimes it’s difficult to quantify that moment. That one moment where you start seeing things happen. Actual progress and growth in your career. Steady growth. Steady increase in sales.

For someone like me, however, skating by with only a few downloads a month, to see that number spike overnight into double digits will bring on a tinge of giddiness.

Okay, a surge of giddiness!

Giddiness warranting the titling of a blog post ‘It’s All Happening’ I guess.

That day, the double digit spike day, was today. At least, I saw it today. As a gal who hasn’t released a book since last November when Makeup Your Mind dropped, I got out of the habit of checking my KDP reports daily.

I know, I know, don’t set me on fire with scathing comments, please.

Again, let me reiterate how discouraging it can be to do ALL THE THINGS on a daily basis, especially when the monetary results for all that effort are niet 99.9% of the time.

It’s hard to work for free. To create entire worlds and format and promote and about 2,700 other things I do with a book to make it a professionally produced indie publication. Every time.

But I totally chose this life and I wouldn’t change it. I LOVE writing as a career. It just finally hit me recently that I walk around saying ‘I write books for a living’ when in reality the ‘for-a-living’ part is a myth.

That shit is all about to change.

I’m finally learning how to use the system over at the ‘Zon to my advantage. Finally reading the right information, joining the right groups full of writers who aren’t just passionate about putting words down but about the dolla dolla bills, yo.

Because, again, most people don’t work for free. Most people don’t pursue a career with zero salary attached. Those people are called volunteers. And I have no problem with people who want to do that with their lives, I commend them in fact. But that’s not my intention.

This week’s post was fortunate on timing, there happened to be 5 Fridays in the month and I had this bonus week to fill. I’m so super glad I got to fill it with a happy update on the ‘for-a-living’ front.

As I spend my days from now until the end of the year stockpiling fully fleshed out novels/novellas/short stories, all with the intent of publishing on an algorithm-capturing schedule, I’ll be excited to look back on posts like this.

Something to motivate me to KEEP GOING no matter what because, when I do, good things happen.

Because I’ll still be working the rest of 2018 “for free” but at least I know 2019 will shake out to be a banner income year.

Bring. It. On!

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In addition to this drivel I also write books, both fiction and non-fiction.
Learn more on my author page.

From the Front Lines of a Failing Author

It’s raining today. Started last night around ten-ish. After leaving Boston and moving somewhere with abundant sunshine I not only appreciate rainy days, I kind of crave them now. And this winter Phoenix doesn’t seem to want to disappoint me.

Thanks weather patterns!

Rainy days bring out the melancholy, no matter how cliché that might sound it is 100% true. They let me access that place in my head where I sometimes need to swim around in order to pull out the emotions necessary to craft a realistic fiction story.

Speaking of which…

The last update here was all about my cranky attitude and NaNo.

Well, I failed. In grand fashion.

29k words. Just over halfway to a win.

But, as always, the experience/journey is what everything is really about. Right? That’s what I’m going with because it makes me feel better about losing the challenge.

I lost only this one battle though, not the war.

Not a single word of all 29k words I typed during November made it into this book. The one that’s still in-process. The one I plan to finish writing by the end of 2016 and publish in early 2017.

After failing the NaNo challenge you might be wondering how I can say I’m going to publish “this book” in the next couple months.

During the first week of December I pulled an empty journal off the shelf, gathered my arsenal of black ballpoint pens, and sprawled across the sofa to tuck in and write.

So far I’m over 10k words. All by hand.

And let me tell you all, this is how I’m going to write everything from now on. I got away from pen and paper in favor of the much faster keyboard. But there’s nothing personal about plucking away on keys.

My main character, Deb, had no face and no discernable characteristics when I was blindly typing thousands of useless words. Editing that mess of shit would have taken me until 2018. And I guarantee the book would have made a complete 180 anyway so I figured it was better to just go with it and start over from word one.

Now, her character, as well as the MMC, side characters, and the setting, are firmly entrenched in my head. I can see it all. See them, who they are, where they are, their motivations.

Why does that matter you might ask? Because no author can craft a believable story, where characters portray unique voices, without essentially living in that character’s world.

Period.

And I don’t care what kind of book you write. From a reader’s perspective, if you can’t insert yourself into identifying with at least one character in a book you likely won’t finish reading the thing.

The important shit that makes a character seem more real. Relatable. That’s why motivations matter.

So, once again, I failed at NaNo but won at the challenge of producing a book. Almost. Not quite there yet but well on the way. I know I will finish this story because they are all but jumping off the page now.

And, aside from putting the wheels in motion to finish this book, I accomplished a couple other things while handwriting that I didn’t expect.

First, I developed a basic formula for all the books to follow. Now, before you ugh and roll your eyes the only thing I plan to formulate is the pace and overall structure of the stories. Because that’s the second thing I figured out. Every book in my California Dreamin’ Series (for now) will be based around characters you already know.

So, let me explain. As a teenager I always wrote stories that revolved around the meet-cute (despite not knowing what the heck that even was at the time) and the initial falling in love of the two main characters.

In Carol + Chad 4-eva! Carol talks about her life and the lives of those close to her. A huge, almost endless pool of potential characters.

If the stories about Jess, Cherry, Lara, Deb, and maybe more, were to be the focus of this series, I needed to figure out what part of their life stories I wanted to tell.

I started handwriting Deb’s girl-meets-boy story and it all clicked.

Every one of the people in Carol’s life had a someone. They were all in different stages of their relationships – some having just met before the end of Carol’s book but others had been together for a while.

But all of those people had to meet their person at some point. And that point was the 1990s, in California.

Boom!

The proverbial lightbulb clicked on and it all made sense.

They meet, experience some type of conflict, eventually realize they’re supposed to be together, end up in happily ever after. Like I said, formula for structure.

But, just like Carol, all of those characters will struggle to get their HEA ending.

The conflicts will change from character to character, but they will always be there and in roughly the same timing.

Because the bud eventually falls off the bloom, right? No matter how hot they may be for each other at first, at some point they’re going to see the real other person and face a struggle to overcome that defines if they can make it together or not.

Just like life.

So now I’m filling in the blanks of Deb Martin’s life. Who was she before she appeared in Carol’s diary? Who is that boyfriend Carol mentioned her friend moved in with? How did she meet him, where, when, etc.?

Failing is never failing in this life as a fiction author. It’s only a chance to start again. Build a new life for the character. One that fits who they are, where they came from and where they want to go. No matter how disrupted they end up after falling in love.

On this mellow, rainy Friday, I’m looking forward to getting more of Deb’s derailment onto the page.

• • • • • • • • • • •
In addition to this drivel I also write books, both fiction and non-fiction.
Learn more on my author page.

It’s Book Release Day!

I didn’t think this day would ever arrive. In fact, last year in November when I started, and stopped, the first draft of Reckless Mind twice, it actually felt like I might leave the whole series dangling like a participle.

Nothing seemed to resonate. Nothing sounded right. Shaw’s story wasn’t seaming up in the way I’d planned and I didn’t know what to do.

So I let the thing fester in the dark corners of my brain while I worked on other stuff. I started a short fiction (novelette length) which is nearing completion now too. I started another book that it’s too early to talk about. I wasn’t writing what I wanted to write but at least I was writing.

Then in March something clicked. Apparently, all the time I spent “not working” on Reckless Mind was nothing more than working on it after all! I sat down and opened a new document. I brought JJ back right away. First chapter in fact.

And it all seemed to fall into place from there.

See, Shaw McLeary takes off for Seattle, WA in this third installment. She needs to spend time out of her natural environment in Phoenix because JJ and all the lingering drama that resulted from her assumptions about him, all live in Phoenix.

Shaw needs to see her mom. She will begrudgingly see her sister as well.

Escape, of course, is fleeting. Isn’t it always for her character? This time around, though, her mother becomes a suspect in a suspicious death and Shaw is going to need as much help as she can get to clear Betty’s name.

And she might get even more help than she bargained for when an unexpected surprise shows up on her doorstep.

And this might be Shaw’s last appearance.

Well, to be truthful, it is her last appearance as far as I’m concerned right now. I can see her story continuing but I’m just not entirely sure I’m up for writing it right now.

Remember those other projects I just mentioned that I started while waiting for Shaw to tell me what she needed to do? Well, two of those projects are mere weeks away from The End!

But let’s not focus on that right now because

TODAY IS BOOK RELEASE DAY!!!!!

Have you read Reckless Abandon and Reckless Hearts?

If not you can find them on my amazon author page here.

If so then what are you waiting for?

Go and pick up your copies of Reckless Mind A Shaw McLeary Mystery #3 at these links:

BUY THE EBOOK

BUY THE PAPERBACK

And now back to your regularly scheduled ranting…

• • • • • • • • • • •
In addition to this drivel I also write books, both fiction and non-fiction.
Learn more on my author page.

In My Estimation

Well, I did it. Finally.

The first draft (AKA: fast and loose version that needs MAJOR editing) of Reckless Mind is done. Finito! Complete!

As a matter of fact, lots of stuff has happened over in my little corner of the world since getting back from vacation. Hence the long-ass absence (and right after I said I’d be writing over here more frequently, of course).

Today I was supposed to celebrate and reward my hard work by taking my 40% off coupon and doing some shopping. So, obviously, I’m sitting here writing up a blog post.

I’ll get to the store eventually.

When we arrived back on U.S. soil, my fingers were so ready to start typing again. For months I’d been struggling with that book. I’d literally started and stopped three times before opening a blank Word doc back in March and rebooting the damn thing starting over from word 1.

Now the manuscript is written and falling at just under 33K words.

Since returning from our tropical beach paradise vacation in early May I’ve penned 42,989 words of fiction across two completed draft 1 manuscripts.

Can I get a fuck yeah?

Normally I’m not one to rah-rah myself but I am mother fudging proud of myself for the first time in a long time. Because, no matter how much this story was sucking when I first tried writing it, I wouldn’t let myself give up on finishing it. And that means more to me than just about anything else right now.

Last night Matt said I was doing my own version of NaNoWriMo and he was right. I got all those words out in roughly 18 days of typing.

What the whaaaaaaat?

To be honest I didn’t even realize just how incredible this accomplishment was until I started doing the math. And I’m shooting to have both books edited, completed, and out by July/September. Plus, I have 2 other half finished manuscripts I plan to get to ‘The End’ before the end of this year.

Because my dedication level to myself, my work, my career is through the roof right now and I couldn’t be happier!

I woke back up while we were away. Or, at least, my inspiration was revived after a very, very long slumber. Because I can’t seem to stop now that I’ve set myself on this path of completion.

Ideas and words are flowing as smooth as the water in my pipes.

Speaking of which, in the midst of all this real work I’m also meeting with contractors because Matt and I are getting our renovation on again this summer.

We’re bringing the laundry inside and out of the garage (finally), installing a whole house filtration system, rebuilding our covered patio as a screened in porch, renovating the kitchen (FINALLY!!!), a shit-ton of landscaping and other yard stuff, and anything else we can fit into the budget.

Something I’m discovering about AZ and contractors though? Very easy to get call backs, not so easy to get someone to show up.

Matt called landscapers and handymen – all kinds of excited to come out and bid the jobs – and after 2 missed appointments we’re moving on to new landscapers. The handyman? Eager to talk about the job then poof! Disappeared before even setting an appointment.

As a girl who grew up in the land of General Contractors, has a GC for a dad, ran a faux finishing business, this attitude mystifies me.

Back in Boston the guys always showed up to a least look at the job. It was common knowledge that if a contractor looked at the project and they found it would be too much for them, that they didn’t want the job for whatever reason, they’d quote some outrageous price to do the work. But they never, ever didn’t show up to bid.

At least in my experience.

But out here? Matt and I have asked for estimates from numerous contractors in various specialties and have been met with the returning sound of crickets.

I don’t get it. We’re not talking installing a garbage disposal here. I don’t want someone to trim my 1 palm tree. We’re talking thousands of dollars’ worth of work, possible referral business, possible future business.

And, nothing?

That lack of responsiveness makes us want to do most of the work ourselves. But, frankly, I have a life to live and a job of my own. That faux finishing business didn’t involve roof repairs, patio rebuilds, skylight installs or irrigation line digging. I want to pay someone to do their job so I can continue doing my own.

So why is it so damn hard to find a contractor worth a damn anymore?

You remember we had the plumbing debacle back in October 2013? Well those plumbers did such a good job we asked them to come back and quote on this new work.

So the same guy showed up the same day I called and came out to look over the job – move laundry water/gas lines, install slop sink, loop hot and cold water to run through a filtration system. He sent me the quote with 2 different options (a softening system, or, a conditioning system) within a few hours of coming out.

Matt and I did some research on installing the loop, how it would impact plants if it tied into irrigation, as well as the systems he’d indicated they could install.

We weren’t sold on the need for the loop or system at this time. We researched more. We found a filtration system with lots of great ratings for water in AZ. One that was listed at about ¼ of the price of the very specific model they quoted. The filter system was discounted during a Memorial Day weekend sale so we bought it.

The same day, I wrote the plumber to ask him to hold off on the loop and system, just quote the rest.

Sure, he said. The pricing for individual items could change due to not being a “package deal” anymore, he said. I’ll get that quote out in the next day or so, he said.

I’m still waiting for that follow up quote.

The one I’ll likely never see from Mr. Rooter. Because I undercut the initial job by probably $4000. So, what? The job isn’t “worth it” to quote anymore? Is that it?

He saw the job numbers shrink by a lot and apparently lost my email even though he’d been mister responsive before when our job ballparked in at $6000. (yes I’m using ballpark as a verb)

Funny thing is that if he’d just done his job and got me the new quote like he said he would, Matt and I would have considered talking to them about doing the master bathroom.

But he blew it.

And that job would have put you back up into the 6k range, probably would have garnered referrals and who knows what else.

New contractors have been called, appointments scheduled, and no feelings of ours were hurt in the process.

Now, can I edit my books and release them before we get someone to actually show up and do this work in our house?

The race is on.

• • • • • • • • • • •
In addition to this drivel I also write books, both fiction and non-fiction.
Learn more on my author page.

Daydreaming is a Contact Sport

Lately I’ve been longing for the good old days. When a girl only needed her pen, journal, and a daydream to write a story. During those days she could sit and write for hours. A time before she put a whole bunch of pressure on herself to try to make a living from her book sales.

Back in the days when authors at traditional publishing houses got an editor, book tour, paychecks. Because, back then, published Authors – the writers who were really, really, good at crafting a story - also ended up making a living.

It was hard to break in back then, but getting paid to be an author was a viable dream. Especially if you had talent.

That dream was mine.

I honed my skills. Worked on the art and technical aspects of writing, being a writer. Learned to spell. Typed while looking down at the keyboard because I never learned how to do it while looking up. Learned to craft a lead-in for a fiction story from every conversation I ever had. Used those lead-in writing prompts to spin out some short or long tale that I worked to edit numerous times before I ever considered putting it out into the world. Read books for inspiration and used my imagination to craft something that people wanted to read.

Then there was someone else’s dream – the internet.

Digital content.

Talent had to shift. It wasn’t about the story anymore. Writing a book took on a new meaning. It wasn’t about entertainment. If you released a book it became a companion piece for the other thing you wanted to sell.

Books suddenly became just another form of marketing.

Stories faded away. Fiction became passé.

If you weren’t giving away free books you could never grow your email list. And without your precious email list, nobody would ever know when you released another book.

The book you’d use to sell other things. The book itself was irrelevant, see.

The big circle of marketing. There are no corners.

And I don’t care if you have 10 Doctorates in marketing, nobody knows how it all really works. Because as soon as you pick a platform or a brand type or anything else that “helps sell your work”, you find out you did it wrong. You should have done this or that instead.

Everything current is already yesterday’s news. That article written yesterday is an old strategy. Time to learn something new, written by all the people who sold you books to learn about how they wrote books and sold them yesterday.

More circles.

Authors like me, who originated back in the days when you could identify a writer by the blob of ink on the first knuckle of their middle finger, are in competition with a whole bunch of people who have been working at this writing thing since all the way back in 2008.

Those people who sat around and said “I’ll get rich by writing books!”

And then they did.

Because those people apparently had their PhD in how to work a system they don’t even know. Or had tons of money to invest into their advertising efforts.

Or were just really, really lucky.

Get-rich-quick digital writers figured out how to make the internet and all the people who go along with it, to do their work for them and sell their books.

But not the books that were all the rage when I was just starting to form my daydream team. Not those well-crafted fiction stories of yore.

Because imagination is apparently dead. And if not dead, at least punched in the face to the point of bloody unconsciousness.

Someone took her out back and completely jacked her up with a syringe full of words like content, affiliate, click-through, backlink, SEO, page rank, impressions, keywords…

How many authors write without all of that spinning around their head anymore? Seriously. I need to understand how many writers are simply writing, sharing the imaginative worlds they craft despite everything already being done?

How many authors get to tell stories anymore and, if they do, can they possibly live on income from those stories?

Or, better yet, does anyone care about those stories enough to want to read them anymore or is it all just 800 word articles about what color your aura would be underwater?

Approximately 105,120 books are published on Amazon every single year so I suppose there has to be something to the whole book writing craze.

I just wish all those writers who used to say “everyone has at least one book inside them” would have shut their damn mouths. Because doing this job is about more than having an idea for a book. Being an author is about more than having that MA in marketing.

An author in this age of literature also has to know all of the following:

• School is irrelevant, spelling isn’t really a thing anymore. (Don’t believe me? This being defined in the Oxford dictionary might change your mind.)
• Plot is thin and wearing away because nobody cares.
• Most characters have the exact same voice, inflections, dialect.
• Books with a lack of shock and awe won’t sell.
• If you want to sell fiction it better have some graphic sex, violence, or both by page 5 or don’t bother writing it.
• Graphic sex scenes are written so often and in so many genres now the word “smut” should be revised in the dictionary.

But probably the most important point to remember is that everything I just said is wrong. There’s already a new strategy where some author in some desolate corner of the internet just made a six-figure income.

You can read all about it in the book they release next week telling you how you can do it too.

Look, I know I’m just whining here. And without the current way of things I couldn’t call myself a published author of fiction books. Ah, irony. Believe me, I don’t want to look the gift horse in the mouth.

However, while I don’t want you to think I’ve got this overly inflated ego, I know I have talent for fiction writing. For crafting a story based on characters. Plus, I know I have the dedication to keep doing this because I’ve been writing for almost three decades and don’t plan to stop.

So, I also know that if the internet never became a thing where I could share my work, I would have eventually persevered into published regardless.

It just sucks that what they tell you is to write more titles, release more books so your name can be seen from space. Better known as page 1 on amazon. Write more books simply so people find your titles, not because you want to tell a story.

And the merry-go-round marketing circle continues.

But I’m jumping off. I’m writing and releasing fiction no matter what the experts try to tell me is in or out. I never really cared about all of that popularity shit to begin with. And I can’t be the only one who thinks this way.

There must be some kind of audience out there for the work I do. People who are still interested in characters. In imagination.

I’m leaving the circle behind and getting my shit together in a straight line. Putting all that daydreaming to good use.

Finally.

• • • • • • • • • • •
In addition to this drivel I also write books, both fiction and non-fiction.
Learn more on my author page.

Writing for Real

I went out the other night with a couple writer friends. One of the things we talked about is where all of us are in our book writing endeavors.

Almost word-for-word, I said:

Every time I sit down to work on book 3 in my Shaw McLeary mystery series I give the finger to my laptop.

Yeah. Kind of been like that lately.

But saying that out loud got me thinking about what I'm doing with my writing life and, after flipping it off repeatedly, how I spend my days since I stopped all progress on the series.

Tweets, blog posts, and a brand new book are all on the daily docket. Yea, new things!

I love writing those things and that’s terrific but what about where I left my audience hanging in the last Shaw book? That phone call? The possibility of a relationship? Her trip to Seattle?

What happens if I just can’t bring myself to write it? What if I feel like giving the book the finger every day of its existence and I don’t release one single title this year?

If I leave the series in the dust and move forward with all of my exciting, new, shiny work instead, what happens to Shaw, JJ, Danny, Krista, Shaw’s sister and mom? Do they languish out there in the abyss for the rest of their un-finished lives?

In short? Yes.

So here’s a few things I need to face facts about:

1. Life isn't fair.

2. I’m being a pansy.

3. Boo hoo I have to do work I don't feel like doing...

Said every employee ever.

However, this is where the unique part of my job comes into play. I'm not really an employee.

Self-publisher, self-employed, indie author means I do actually get to choose what kind of writing I do on a daily, weekly, monthly basis. I get to be inspired and write things that I love. Be floofy! Play with my inner self-ness!

And of course I never have to worry about people forgetting about me and my writing because I take so long to release a book. Oh, and the other thing is I never have to worry about people caring if I answered all the questions from the first two books or not.

Wait, right?

In short? No.

Because I do have readers. People who have read the first two books, reviewed them, mentioned to me how much they’re enjoying the series. Said outright they can’t wait to see what happens in the next book.

That means, no matter how much I want to pretend I can do anything I want, that I can forget entirely about writing ‘the end’ on my series, I know what I have to do. And also what I want to do about finishing the thing that I started.

Whether number 1 up there is true or not I still need to be fair to my readers. As well as myself and my writing. And that means I need to see this thing through to the end I decided on when I started writing the series in the first place.

Because when it all comes down to it, I love writing new things, love scheduling tweets and posting blogs like this where I work out all the crap in my head. But that doesn’t get me the loyal, dedicated readers that I really want for my fiction.

I think I finally figured out that what I need and want to do have to meet somewhere in the middle. Until I figure out how to bring the Shaw book to light, I’m just going to dedicate some time to it every week and do my best to pull a first draft together by the end of February.

Using all of my fingers. 

• • • • • • • • • • • 
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No Longer Trapped in a Box

Until very recently I didn’t realize how special it is that I held onto just about every single journal, diary, or piece of fiction I’ve ever written. When I tell people this information I get a barrage of comments.

Mostly, those comments include words like – wow, you’re lucky, I tossed all that stuff years ago, even my parents got rid of all my early writing.

I. Would. Sooner. Die.

In no way can I imagine a life where I don’t have that enormous box full of my words. Countless hours (and money on pens) spent getting it all down. All of it. Other than digitally written stuff, my life’s work is inside that box. Anything I’ve penned since I was approximately twelve years old.

(Though I’m not entirely sure of the exact start date; I didn’t always date my work back then and I frequently write different things in multiple journals at any given time.)

Now, I know some people might think I’m using this word in the wrong way, but I’m not…

Literally my life is inside that flimsy cardboard container. At least, the written equivalent of my emotional life.

Every single crush, heartache, burst of inspiration, biting witty remark, or sarcastic feeling is somewhere inside the box, noted on countless pages of numerous journals and loose scraps of paper. Written down in blue or black ink. Edited in red pen or pencil.

I care so much about that box of words that someone once asked: if I could save 3 things from a burning building what would they be? Guess what was number one?

When I lived in my very first apartment and drove around in my 1974 Buick Apollo, that box of writing traveled with me. Everywhere. Yes, I drove around town with my life contained in the trunk of my car.

People picked on me for that behavior. Incessantly I might add.

But who gets the last laugh?

Okay, in all fairness, them. Because I’m not actually laughing, just smiling.

In fact, I’m freaking stoked to still have access to all those memories. To have prioritized that box full of words for all these years.

That I still have it in my possession at all is pretty amazing. (Seriously, it could have easily been lost in my first apartment or the twenty-two other places I’ve lived since I moved out of my mom’s place. And in all honesty, 22 isn’t an exaggerated number, in fact I could have even forgotten a few. I moved around a lot. But I digress.)

My entire history, and everywhere I’ve been, the things I’ve done (or haven’t done) live in that box.

So at some point over this past summer I started re-reading all the work I’d written. At first I wasn’t entirely sure why. And to be honest, it’s not the first time I’ve done that in my life so it didn’t occur to me to care. But something happened the last time.

All of a sudden I realized just how many viable, unfinished pieces of fiction I had written over the years. And they were just sitting in a box. Collecting dust. Acting as reminders of the past mistakes I’d made (or wished I could have made). Including the greatest mistake of all.

To leave that work unpublished for so long.

I considered just how to go about publishing work I’d written back when I was fifteen years old. I’m forty-two now. In case you’re slow at math like I am, that’s twenty-seven years’ worth of memories, stories, bits of inspiration.

These days I’m working on book 3 in my Shaw McLeary Mystery Series and I know the story. Know the character. Inside and out. So it irritates me to no end that I can’t seem to get it down on the page.

But every time I want to beat myself up for taking days off in a row instead of typing, try to convince myself that I’m “slacking off” or “lazy” about my job, I have to remind myself of the most important part of my career choice:

The process.

Writing is a process, not just a talent or a creative art. Even when I’m not working, actually physically sitting down with a laptop and typing, I’m still working. Somewhere in the back of my head, characters, scenes, situations are always forming. Dialogue between people everywhere is fodder for future work. Always.

Just, sometimes, I don’t like that part. The part where it can’t entirely be forced. I want it to come out as fast as I know it, the story in its entirety. But it doesn’t always do that. In fact, it almost never does that.

Case in point: the box of writing.

Twenty-seven years is a long time in any respect. A marriage, job, owning a home. To sit on a collection of stories.

So I finally started pulling them out of hiding, transcribing, editing. I’m going to finally put them all out there. Somewhere. I don’t know if I’ll enter contests, collect a bunch and release a short story book, give them all away for free in my newsletter like I’m doing now.

The ones that spark some new feeling, or even an old one that’s re-born, are open to re-writes, edits and release. I mean, I’ve been doing this shit forever. It’s high time to let it all out of the box.

• • • • • • • • • • • 
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Off the Deep End

So here we are again. And by “we” I mean me and all the characters that live in my head. It’s November and for the first time in four years I’m back doing NaNo.

Yup, that’s right kids. The time for fiction has returned!

What’s that you ask? Have I gone off the deep end? Let’s just get all the questions out of the way now so we can push on unfettered:

“Um, are you crazy?”

“Didn’t you just start a business with a partner?”

“Aren’t you already working as a writer?”

“How do you plan to find the time?”

“Won’t you miss showering?”

“Won’t you miss your friends?”

“You won’t try to sell this thing you think will be a manuscript, will you?”

“Um, are you crazy?”

For those not in the know on the NaNo skinny (and why any and all of those questions up there are totally valid points)…

The challenge is to write a 50,000 word novel during just the month of November.

Sounds scary right? Well trust me, it is every bit as scary as it sounds. But I’m doing it anyway because fuck it. If I’m going to be a writer then I’m going to be the type of writer I want to be.

That I’ve always wanted to be.

But, there are so many reasons I gave up on the whole idea of being a freelance writer after 3 years. I had to have a long sit-down with myself to figure it all out. Which wasn’t too challenging considering I broke my wrist at the beginning of October. I had more than enough time to ruminate on life and career while I sat around doing nothing.

And, boy, do I ever mean nothing.

I was in a ton of pain, could not type, and I could barely move my left arm at all. Hell, I’m still in a temporary cast right now!

Last month was really a wakeup call in so many ways – personal and professional. I discovered many things that I never would have thought about before the moment when I incapacitated myself.

The biggies:

- Freelancing is not for me after all. Hey, I tried. Honestly I threw everything at the wall on that one and really wanted it to work out because it would’ve been nice to make a steady paycheck as a “real” writer. Alas, no matter what I did or what wall I tossed it at so little stuck that I just couldn’t justify wasting perfectly good shit like that anymore.

- I’m way to narcissistic to be a ghostwriter. Yeah, I really do need to see my own name, in print, on the cover of some amazing book that I wrote. I was good at ghostwriting but part of what I discovered is that my ego needs to release work into the world and, when people read it, they’ll know I wrote it.

- My words are worth more to me than the frustration of working like a dog for peanuts. I can make that writing fiction and have more fun in the craft again. I did make some money as a freelancer, that’s true, which of course was nice because I worked my ass off for it. I just couldn’t ever feel what I was writing.

- Freelance ghostwriting is essentially all marketing all the time. Sure, marketing is super important no matter what field you’re in, but I was always writing with a spin in mind – be it for a product or service – everything I wrote as a freelancer had the end goal of bringing in a sale. Hey, I’m all for that because I have shit to sell too. Which is why I’m glad I took a few years to really learn the concepts so I can now market my books instead of someone else’s product or service I have no vested interest in.

- I was reminded of something I’ve been saying since I worked in retail (circa 1996-ish.) I hate people. Most people are crazy, only out for themselves and pay no mind to your schedule, your business needs or anything else that matters in your life because they’re too busy worrying about all that same stuff for themselves. Just like me. It was time to get out.

Bottom line was that I missed writing from the imagination and not the wallet, I’m glad I learned better ways to sell my books though, and I’m using NaNo as the catalyst toward getting at least four out next year.

Yup. Four.

My goal is to get the heroine from my second book into a series and have her solving crimes all over this great nation for the next year.

Which reminds me…

Side perk of fiction I don’t get as a freelancer? A trip to Colorado can be a write off. Or a trip anywhere for that matter. Score.

By the way, I’m totally using this as word count today.

Just kidding.

No I’m not.

Or am I?

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The Letter Ex

I could see them standing inside the xyst but from where I was down on the lawn below it was impossible to hear what they were saying or even try to read their lips. I was dying inside to know what the outcome was going to be. It had been too many years of agony on his part and she wasn’t in a much better situation. Their collective misery was a recipe for catastrophe. I was afraid the culmination of that chaos was set to diffuse within minutes.

With a look around I decided to see if I could get a better vantage point to maybe sneak a listen. With trepidation in my steps I edged closer to the covered portico where they stood about a foot apart from each other. I took no more than two steps then watched as she stepped backwards from where he was standing. He immediately reciprocated the gesture and took another step toward her. I stood stoic as she took yet another step back. Her motions were definitive and he didn’t mirror them.

Instead, he hung his arms at his sides in a loose manner and I watched his shoulders hunch over ever so slightly as his head dropped into his open, ascending palms. With her attention full on him, I decided to make another approach and took a small sideways step closer to the stone stairs that rose to meet the entrance of the garden path. Neither of them flinched or turned to look at me so I covered a little more ground. They were almost out of view but I assumed I would be at a better listening advantage.

I sat down on the third step from the top but all I heard was silence. Not a peep came from the other side of the long corridor of trees where he and she stood facing each other. I was anxious but didn’t want to make my presence known. After what felt like an hour, with nothing to hear or see, I had to admit defeat in my eavesdropping endeavors. I got up and started to make my way all the way across the lawn, toward the guest quarters, west of the main house and xyst.

Posted for April 2013 A to Z Blog Challenge X is for Xyst

The above story is fiction.

Pretty Vacant…

Being a Writer, being a rock star…what’s the difference really? For me, I’m not sure there is much of a difference. We’re both out there workin’ it to try to sell some kind of image or piece of work that we poured a big chunk of our heart and soul into creating. The sweat, tears, frustrations, celebrations, nights out, nights in, flexing of that creative muscle all blend into one carefully crafted piece of artistic expression.

Ugh, even writing that last line kind of makes me want to gag it sounds so cheezy (though it’s true). Which makes me notice one very important fact.

This week I’m starting to feel like the hotel trashing, punk rock type.

I’ve got a deep desire to toss television sets off of tenth story balconies and its starting to boil. I have to do something with it before it blows. Before I go and throw something, anything, that is.

I’m at the part of my manuscript where I’m trying to break through the plastic wrap that’s stretched across the train tracks of word count. I’m pushing and pushing at what feels like full steam but it seems the wrap is too thick to break through. It’s like I’m fighting the man.

Facing that makes me want to do one of two things. Either give up entirely…or say fuck it, I will write that scene and to hell with you if you think I can’t. That’s right bitch. You heard me.

Don’t I sound all gangsta and shit?

Did I spell gangsta correctly?

It pretty much all comes down to this - even though I would personally never do what they’re about to do, I’m not my characters. They would do whatever it is. That’s the story that needs to be told. I can’t let my personal feelings interfere with their personalities. Not everyone is the same. My character in this most recent manuscript is similar to me in only the following four ways – she’s late thirties, married, is a writer, and lives in Phoenix.

But she’s like a rock star – up all night, globe-trotting, moving and shaking quick, quick, quick! Well she has to be (details on that later) and I have no choice but to tell exactly what she needs me to tell. This isn’t my memoir, mofos, if I’m going to tell someone else’s story then I can’t let my own infiltrate the pages.

But I’ve also come to learn that I’m also just like a punk rocker right now. Well…sort of.

• I am in dire need of copious gallons of certain substances just to keep going.
• I would, of course, be referring to coffee.
• There are days when I’m cool while other days I say fuck the man and skip my gig on purpose just to screw with the system.
• When the faucet’s off you’ll find me strung out on almonds and blueberries, sitting on my sofa all day long, watching the Lifetime Movie Network. This is no different from days where I’m inspired, of course. On those days I have a laptop in my lap so I click away for eight hours with granola and LMN.
• My co-workers have been known to kick things, break stuff, and/or punch people.
• Of course all my co-workers are located in my head so I can pretty much let them run amok without real things, stuff or people being kicked, broken or punched. But it’s still fun even when it’s not real.
• I go to bed and wake up at ungodly hours.
• Lately I’ve been known to fall asleep at 10PM and wake up before 6AM. Watch out, I’m crazy like that. I may even stay awake until eleven. Lock up anyone you’re close to…I’m obviously way out of control.
• Sometimes I go almost full days without eating and rely on drugs to get me through.
• Caffeine and nicotine kept me alive over the Christmas seasons in the early nineties while working at Victoria’s Secret , so its sure to be enough now too, right? Well, that and the granola.
• I portray the image of a crazy as hell fantasy world because I live it, yo.
• All day long I have to allow my mind to embrace an entirely different life so I can accurately express the story my characters are trying to tell. It’s like being an actor without a camera. That shit can be exhausting.
• I’ve been known to trash a room or two in my day.
• You should see how much dust there is on my entertainment center and seriously, there isn’t a single dish in the cabinet because they’re all either clean in the dishwasher or dirty beside the sink waiting for the dishwasher to be emptied and refilled. When I’m on a roll writing 3500+ words in a day there’s not a minute to spare to deal with real life. Pffft.

So maybe I am a little punk rock after all. At least in my own way.

Anyway, the writing in this case is actually going pretty well. I’m behind the CampNaNoWriMo goal by a little over a day’s word count, but I’m not all that nervous to be honest. Making it to 50k by the end of August isn’t my main objective. It would be cool, sure, but what I really want is the bones for a solid book concept not just 50,000 useless words I never end up doing anything with.

For those of you that aren’t writers (or have even a teeny bit of interest in hearing about the random day-to-day of one) I’ll apologize right now. Because over the course of the next month or so that’s all you’re likely to read about over here. If I write anything here at all. MS3 is in process and lit up like pyrotechnics on the big stage right now.

On second thought, forget that. No I’m not really sorry that’s all you’ll be reading about. I take it back, this is my blog and I’ll write about writing if I want to. So there.

Yeah! That’s right! Punk rock, bitch!