Novel Concepts.

For the past day or so, I’ve been working on that novel I mentioned in my previous post. I’ve probably written more in the past 2 days than in the previous 2 years, and it feels so awesome to actually be doing what I love again (and enjoying it).

I can’t remember the last time I actually felt this inspired, this excited, to write, rather than doing so out of obligation. But it feels like I’ve somehow recaptured my seventeen-year old self’s passion for the craft and, if I could bottle it, I definitely would. And it appears I’m not the only one.

My mom, who’s a talented seamstress and specializes in medieval accessories (think capes and gloves) was telling me about how she spent the day shopping for materials for her latest project. She described inspiration, and the creation process, as a compulsion, something we need to do in order to recharge, and she’s absolutely “write” (pun intended). I agree completely, and it was nice to share that feeling with someone again.

This book is a labour of love, in the truest sense of the word. It’s over a decade of frustration, hard work, dedication… and, most importantly, it represents the best of myself and what I have to offer the world.

Cliff Notes version: the pills are working.And long may it last.

Care and Char(acter) Alike.

Today, I found an old external drive with some stuff on it from my old computer. On it, I found an old copy of my first-ever novel; sixth draft, dated 2010 or thereabouts~ it’s changed a lot over the years and, upon rereading it, I can see how much my characters have grown and matured with me over the years.

My FMC (female main character) is basically me in my teens: she’s feisty and mischievous, athletic, with a killer sense of humour and a bit of a mean streak; awkward, and still growing into her changing body. Her dream is to become a professional athlete, and the passion with which she pursues her ultimate goal (pun intended) reminds me of the fire I saw in myself at the same stage of development.

On the other hand, my MMC (male main character) is more like me, in my early 20s. He’s reserved and tends to keep to himself (since people aren’t really his thing), is in a band, and has definitely seen more than his share of shit in the short time he’s been alive. As a result, he’s lost interest in a lot of things that he once cared about, and the only thing keeping him sane is his girlfriend, who puts up with his issues more than she should.

Both of them have been with me for more than 10 years, and they feel more like family members or old friends than lives I created from scratch in the back of 11th-grade accounting class. And, after rereading that old manuscript and sensing the raw passion~ my own youthful enthusiasm for both writing and life~ in it, I feel a little more like myself again.

Perhaps it’s time to revisit their story and share it with the world.

The Sky’s On Fire, and So Am I.

Right now, it’s about 3:40 AM where I am, and I’m still awake. Nothing unusual for me, except that I’m bored. Bored, bored, bored. And yet I’m forcing myself to write this because, if I don’t, then I’ll never get rid of the urge to write… Something; anything.

I remember a time when I used to write three poems per day. I completed a 100,000-word manuscript in just 3 months, kept track of my daily word-counts, researched to no end, and sent at least one month’s rent worth of postage in query letters (this was 2010-2011)… and the list goes on.

I could crank out thousands of words in the time it now takes me to get dressed and find the courage to face the day. I want that passion, to write as passionately as I once did~ if not for me, then for my 17 year-old self, whose dreams were bigger than the sky and unfettered by logic.

I want to remember how it feels to write, and love it with every, single cell of my being. Only then can I truly touch what I’ve dreamed of, since I was a little girl~ I may not be young anymore, but I can still dream, create, and aspire to something greater.

I want my fire back. And maybe I’m imagining it but, these days, I can almost feel its flames.

Back to the Drawing… er, Writing Board.

Between feeling like utter shit and sleeping for about 16 hours a day, I haven’t really been up to much.

I’ve got this overwhelming urge to write, though I also feel lethargic and exhausted~ even reading seems like work, since it takes every ounce of energy I have just to keep my head upright long enough to watch a single episode of 24 (which my man is binge-watching on Netflix), let alone do anything that requires any actual thought.

See, it’s like this: people who have never written anything think that it’s super-easy to just write a novel and publish it. But it doesn’t work that way~ an aspiring writer needs contacts, an established fan-base, agent representation… All things that aren’t easy to come by, especially in areas where getting to conferences, etc. is not always an option.

That said, nothing worth achieving is easy. If there’s more than one way to skin a cat, perhaps there are also more ways to turn my passion for writing into a career.

 

flash (non)fiction #2~ sleep in a jar.

I just started on some new meds today, and all I want to do is sleep.

Of the last 24 hours, I’ve been awake for maybe 4 or 5 total. The rest of the day was spent either sleeping or feeling sick to my stomach. My doctor warned me that this might happen, but it’s still not a pleasant experience; it’s the kind that nothing ever really prepares you for, like looking both ways before you cross the street, then getting hit by a boat.

If I had to choose between this and tripping balls on the sleeping pills again, I’d choose the latter. At least the visuals were cool.

flash (non)fiction #1~ little green pill.

I’ve got sleep on the brain, so I’m clearly exhausted. I also just returned from the doctor’s office, where my M.D. asked me how I was finding the sleeping pill she’d prescribed (and, apparently “I totally tripped balls” was the wrong answer).

I don’t do drugs, and have never experienced hallucinations before, so this was definitely a new and strange (though not altogether dreadful) experience. Here’s how I’d describe it:

–

The air is shiny and sticky, like rainbows clinging to spiderwebs. It comes alive at my touch, a shimmering spiral of colours and lights~ red, green, blue… And I instinctively reach out to touch it. Fear and anxiety don’t exist here, wherever here is.

It’s a frothy, ethereal feeling that wraps itself around my hands just long enough to feel brave, before collapsing inward, a Big Bang of sorts. Somehow, I’m a wizard, swimming through spectral planes of my own imagining and reveling in the chaos.

Of course, my brain knows better and is shouting over the screaming swirls of light, but I choose not to listen. For just this moment, I want to feel invincible, until the sleeping sands lay claim to me once more.

–

(my doctor’s response: “that’s not normal, don’t take those anymore.”)

Until next time, friends!

Hold Onto Your Hats (And Your Kids)!

As promised, something slightly more interesting than the last update.

Recently, I posted something on Facebook~ a video of a child ramming a shopping cart into some guy’s legs. In the video, the child’s mother encourages the behaviour and does nothing to stop it, until the hapless victim finally dumps something on the kid’s head. The caption I posted along with the video read as follows:

the behaviour of both parent and child in this scenario is obnoxious, not cute or endearing, and i would not hesitate to do the same as this guy did (although, in this day and age, the kid’s parents would probably sue me for “emotional damages” or something).

if you control your kids in public, we’ll never have a problem.

–

This was a couple of weeks after my man and I had a date night ruined by a group of screaming kids. They yelled, kicked our chairs, climbed all over things, and generally acted like brats, and the lone adult entrusted with their care either could not or would not control them.

However, a few people on my Facebook list seemed to think that this was perfectly acceptable behaviour and unfriended me. Others agreed wholeheartedly, with parents chiming in and agreeing that they would never allow their children to behave that way in public. And I’m okay with both responses.

Yes, I have some pretty controversial opinions. I don’t push them down your throat, or demand that you agree with me, but I have the right to them just the same. And I knew that the intelligent people (parents and non-parents alike) on my FB would understand my point: yes, the method of discipline used in the video is extreme, though I shouldn’t have to discipline someone else’s kids~ their parents should have control of them; remove them from the situation and apologize to the person who was injured.

As I’ve said before, to all the parents out there, I don’t hate children and would never hurt them or wish them harm. That said, having a child was *your* choice; not having them is mine. And your choice should never interfere with my safety or well-being.

If one post on Facebook is worth terminating a years-long friendship over, then it’s clear that 1) we were never friends in the first place, and 2) if you honestly try that hard to be offended by someone having an opinion that’s different from your own, you probably shouldn’t be my friend anyway.

/soapbox.

Return of That Thing That Does Stuff.

Greetings, Internets!

As of starting this post, it’s 3:57 AM here. I’ve been awake for approximately 11 hours, and I have this insatiable desire to write… I tried working on my novels, but my muse has fucked off somewhere and is likely drunk on Windex again. And, suddenly, I remembered this little corner of the Internet.

For a long time, I was up to my eyeballs in book reviews; then, I took some time away from that to focus on my health issues, and I realized that I actually feel like writing again. It’s been so long since I felt the all-consuming desire to write~ the one I had when I was 17, that told me to put my work out there, because it might actually be awesome and received as such.

Suffice to say, I’m back (for now).

*slightly more interesting post to follow.

Picking Up The Pieces.

Greetings, wonderful people!

Yes, it’s been a while. I’ve been going to a lot of interviews lately, not to mention being up to my eyeballs in book reviews for ArtsEast and SFBR… But I could never forget you guys.

Today, I wanted to share a response to this article I found online. I was in a similar place, until quite recently, so I felt obligated to thank the writer for his work.

This article sums up exactly what I went through. To anyone who is still alone or afraid, I send you my biggest hugs: it may not seem like it now, but the pain will end.

Once upon a time, I was young and vulnerable and stupid; I loved someone who shattered me into more pieces than I could even dream of ever putting back together, and it damn near ended me. It seemed that the pain would never stop, and I figured that I would just have to settle for someone ‘good enough’.

I was never the same afterward; for the next 10 years,  I became Queen Elsa instead~ “conceal it, don’t feel it” was my new mantra; I learned to shut my emotions off, because pretending that I didn’t care was easier than putting myself in a position to get hurt again.

 Rather than getting over it, I simply transitioned from despair to indifference: I went  completely numb. When a 7-year relationship ended, I felt nothing. The next guy I dated after that was my best friend, and I did it because he was someone I trusted; he was safe. But, when I started to develop feelings for him, I immediately bolted and broke up with him out of fear; I was afraid that, if he knew how I really felt, he would leave. I justified it by convincing myself that I was looking out for #1 (me), but the reality is that a relationship based on lies will not work. That was when I realized that,  if I wanted to find that magical feeling again, I had to be receptive to it and stop closing myself off to people.

Around that time, a friend suggested that I try online dating. Being the cynic that I was, I told him that he was an idiot, but I made a profile anyway. Some days later, I received a message from this guy who was totally on my level and, after a month of talking on the site, we agreed to meet in-person. We were out for more than 12 hours and, after he had dropped me off at my apartment, I deleted that profile: my search was over.

Trust is earned. It takes years to build, only seconds to break.  But it no longer feels like my heart is missing a piece. The walls I’ve built over the years are slowly beginning to crumble, and I’ve finally found someone who’s willing to help me tear them down.

It’s not easy, but I will get there someday.

–

If any of you are going through this, it will get better: you have my word (and a big Internet hug).

Until next time!

Sweet New Gig!

Good day, internet!

Just for shits and giggles (or ‘shiggles’, as my boyfriend calls them), I applied for some book-reviewer jobs last week. I didn’t expect to hear anything back, but then this little gem arrived in my inbox last night around 8pm Atlantic time.

I will be reviewing new books that have been out for 90 days or less, and my official title is Freelance Copy Editor. How badass is that? Needless to say, I’m ecstatic.

Comp is mostly free books, but there are some reviews that will pay $25-80 each. Obviously, I can’t quit my day job or put a down-payment on my private villa in the tropics just yet, but it’s a start. And hey, FREE BOOKS!

Someone, please pinch me before I start smashing windows with my face to convince myself that I’m not dreaming.