The Joy of Pity Parties

Yesterday, I held myself a pity party and enjoyed every minute of it. I even whipped out an incredibly bad blog piece full of misspellings, grammatical errors, and creative dog poo (don't ask me why).

The problem lay in my inability to make any progress on any of my current projects. Even editing, which normally bores me to the point of starting up writing on another project, didn't crash through my blockage. I felt stupid, ignorant, and annoyed with everyone and everything.

So, I held a Pity Party for myself: I snacked on the very last Cadbury Cream Egg that I found at the bottom of purse (nice and squishy with a hint of lint), I put extra sugar in my lemon water, I fired up a new time-wasting game on my iPad, and I bribed my tortoise-shell cat with treatsies so she would snuggle with me.

I watched Youtube videos, snarked a bit on Twitter, played Hay Day on my iPad for over an hour (don't tell hubby), and watched Parks and Recreation for over two hours -- all at the same time!

And then, this morning, a miracle occurred: a story idea that's been stuck in my head, suddenly unstuck itself and I have a solution to unsticking two characters stuck in a muddy plot with zero direction. This morning, I felt better. Not necessarily rejuvenated, but not quite so....defeated? Disheartened? Frustrated? Useless.

I didn't feel so useless as I did yesterday.

So, what I learned in the last 24-hours: Pity Parties can lead to a stronger sense of purpose and self.

Thank you for listening.

I'm Doomed.....

What the heck stands between me and my keyboard? I mean, what the hey!?!

When I was driving home from Bible study all these great ideas floated through my head. The minute I get home? Gone. Gone. Gone.

I folded clothes: this awesomely funny idea flitted around my head until a snazzy punchline made me snort and giggle. Sometime between blowing my nose and sitting at my keyboard? Gone. Idea is gone.

I know this comes as no surprise to other writers: writer's block sucks. I don't feel prepared to handle this. All the websites and blog posts I've read so far give writing exercises to break through.

Well, that's fine and dandy, but what do I do about the depression? The feeling of failure? Defeat? Or how about the stupidity that keeps flipping through my head?

I mean, I feel as creative as dog poo - and I'm pretty sure my dog can sculpt human faces as he dances around letting the poo drop. That means my dog possesses more creativity than I do. His poo appears far more artistic than my writing.  Especially this blog piece.

The only thing that makes me feel better is that after I post this on Twitter, no one will bother to click on the link except bots.

22 bots, exactly. Every day my blog records 22 hits. 22 bots scan my blog for no reason whatsoever.

I rock.

Well, I found one last Cadbury Creme Easter Egg at the bottom of my backpack. I'm going to eat it, enjoy it, and forget about writing.

Until I need to feel bad about myself again. Then I'll try to write again. And try to remember those kick-ass ideas that only seem to come when I'm up to my elbows scrubbing the shower.

Thank you for listening.

Writing Priorities - where writing isn't the priority

I love sitting down with a cup of awesome tea, my puppah laying down next to me, and some good music tinkling in my ears. I love the process of writing. However, I love my family more.

I preach that this philosophy - family comes before writing - needs to belong in every writer's psyche.   Long before your writing ever sees income, your family will support you (or not) and long after your writing fades away, your family remains.

After returning to writing after a long break, my family moved forward with a foster-to-adopt situation. I felt very little dismay as, once again, I set aside my writing to take care of my family. As I write this today, I can see where the items from the spare bedroom sit in the front room. Tomorrow, I'll keep working in the spare bedroom and write, alternately.

When our new family members arrive, summer will arrive, as well. This means even less time or perhaps actually packing up and leaving the house. I mean, as it stands, my teenage son cannot leave me alone for more than 15 minutes (no exaggeration) when I write, how do I expect two little girls to leave me alone?

However, as my children age, I don't want to miss important events, cues of problems brewing, shopping trips, special times of treats, etc.

Yes, I dream of publishing, of representation, of seeing my  work in a bookstore or on the page of bloggers. However, long after I'm dead, my writing will fade away whereas my descendants remain. So where should my priorities lay, really?

As long as publisher or editor aren't waiting on me, I put my family first.

Thank you for listening.

Authors: Can We Talk?

Someone, somewhere told you of the importance of an online social media presence. Like a dutiful and conscientious writer, you immediately set up your Facebook account, your Twitter account, your Blog, maybe a Vlog, maybe an Instagram, maybe a couple of other accounts. Now, you thought, all you have to do is sit back and wait for the sales numbers to rise.

They won't. Sorry. They won't.

Let's examine the phrase "social media". Media, means collectively, the means of electronic communication. (Remember that word "communication"). Social, in a nutshell, centers on communication...the word relates to interaction with one another. (Remember: "interaction").

So, let's interactively communicate. 

When that advisor, or friend, or webinar on book promotion told you to go forth and Tweet, Facebook, post blogs, etc., they meant for you to interact with those communities. Interact: behave with reciprocation.

Some of you "fail" to understand social media or interactive communication. You simply post links to your book or to your book's positive reviews over, and over, and over again. You do not interact. You do not communicate you do not reciprocate in communicating with the Twitter, Facebook, etc. communities. 

I've purchased many books as a result from Twitter because authors interacted with me. I own all of Tasha Alexander's books because she and I communicated with one another. I started reading James Rollins for the same reason - even though I never would normally read his writings (and I love him). Cyndi Tefft convinced me to try her books because I find her interesting. I admire Courtney Milan on Twitter and applaud her fight for the rights of writers, so I own a vast majority of her books. 

If all you do is tweet links about your books, how will I know you're interesting? How will I invest in you?

So. From this point forward, please, I implore you: practice interactive communication.

Thank you for listening.

Looking for Inspiration

I'm pooped.

The crap with my son just sucks all of the energy out of me. The energy, the joy, the "yay" all get sucked out by the drama swirling through our house.

Life sucks the weenie. Big time.

So, I'm sitting in a freezing Starbucks, hungry because I skipped lunch, and am desperately trying to find some sort of inspiration for my blog. I just know that if I don't come up with an entry, that guy who reads me in Poland will feel disappointed in me.

Where do we find inspiration? I'm actually not sure.

For years, the line: "He stood in the middle of the room and faced his three ex-fiances" has whirled through my mind. It's visited me in the shower, it's followed me during lull times at work, and lately, the line helped me fall asleep.

I cannot tell you how many ways I've fleshed that puppy out: I've imagined it as a contemporary romance, as a murder mystery, as a revenge novel, and lately as a Victorian era historical romance.

Ask me where the line comes from and I cannot answer. I don't know how long the line floated in my head, either, until I finally started a notebook to put my ideas for fleshing it out.

But where will the inspiration for the flesh come from?

Since I see the line opening up a Victorian-era romance, I've started listening to music from that time period (yes, you can download some from iTunes). I've also started a habit of reading books from that era: a few pages before each writing session. I try to think through what breakfast was like during that time and eat a bit like that (lots of eggs and toast). I drink tea while I write, while sitting most properly. In other words, I try to immerse myself in the time period as much as I can.

When life sucks one dry, look for inspiration through immersion. It'll assist you in finding an escape from this world and enable you to expand creatively.

Thank you for listening.

The Death of a Dream

My Lovely Boy faces a really harsh legal sentence thanks to a bad decision he'd made as well decisions that came before and came after. You can talk and talk and talk to a teenager, but they always think they know more. My son believed he knew way more than my husband and I because he'd spent 14 years in the Foster System. He didn't know more and now faces the end of his dreams and hopes.

All parents possess their own dreams and hopes. I don't care if the child is biological or adopted. We all hold that child in our hearts and our dreams for that child begins.

I dreamt of seeing my son graduate high school. A poor choice involving sex, drugs, Facebook, and a minor girl took care of that. He spent his graduation staying with my dad, while my husband and I researched ways to help him emotionally and psychologically. Not to mention that my son's behavior during his senior year actually might have kept him out of the ceremony, anyway. Regardless, while my brother has a beautiful picture of my nephew on his graduation day, my husband and I only know memories of putting Lovely Boy on a plane to Michigan.

When Lovely Boy returned, he seemed better, healthier and more open to his therapy. Against all odds, he started community college in the fall. He loved attending. He seemed to enjoy the atmosphere and liked the fact that he did well. He passed with his first attempt at each class and wanted to take on more. He joined the college group at church and loved attending a kayaking trip and a week in the snow. On the surface, he seemed so well. So much better.

We began to dream again: hoping of his actually making real his dream of graduating college, going into the military, beating the odds. The odds beat him with this latest round of mistakes and he's going to need to redefine his goals.

And so will we.

Our dreams died when he came under legal investigation. If convicted, he'll need to move from where we live and, more than likely, he might find himself unable to attend college for awhile as he fulfilled the other penalties.

The pain of knowing that we may never see him graduate college or even know an emotionally healthy relationship makes my chest hurt. His hope for the military is over, as well. I mourn the loss of his dreams and the death of my own dreams for him.

I've gone through anger and I struggle with tears. I'm trying to remember the rest of the stages of grief, but since this is the second time I've experienced this with him, the pain seems worst. The anger seems to almost consume me and I struggle with sleep. My chest hurts like a hammer trying to pry itself out of my rib cage. I cannot seem to cry this time. I just feel....resigned...defeated...exhausted.

People tell me that our dreams and hopes for him are not important: after all, we can't live his life for him. That doesn't mean we can't possess dreams. He's only lived with us for five years (one as a foster child and four as an adopted one), but we still knew dreams and tried desperately to help steer his life into a place where he could see the fruition of his own dreams and hopes.

We don't know what will come of the legal issues, we're still waiting for a letter from the police department (he'll be charged with a really serious misdemeanor). While we wait, we mourn.

Thank you for listening.

Does One Need to Blog Daily?

No.

I returned to my "muse": John Saddington and his blog post "How I'd Start (Restart) A Blog If I Were to Begin Today".

My question centered on why I choose to blog. I found myself, once again, wanting to define why I'm here or why I choose to write here nearly every day.

He said something that caught my eye:

"There is room enough for you to have your voice heard. You simply may not have given it the time and attention that it needs and deserves. That’s on you (but you knew that already)."

That's why I blog: often time during a day I need to speak out. I do not design my blog posts for any ulterior motive. They come from whatever thought came into my head when I sat down to write. The blog pieces I've done so far this year stem from my own thoughts and needing to see them in writing so I can better understand where I'm coming from with this new direction in my life. I'm using these pieces to sort out my life as it stands now, though I've not written about some of the darker turns my life's taken in the past week.

So the question I'm asking myself starts with commitment to writing: do I need to sit down and write something every day? Do I need to make sure I'm writing daily?

The answer I came to today? No. No, I do not.

What I do need to keep moving forward though. So, on days when I don't blog, I find other ways to keep moving on a writer's journey.

This last weekend, I spent time on the patio with the pups and I read a book out of my wiring genre (not mystery or romance) and I did do one writing exercise just because the prompt caught my imagination.

So, I know this will break the heart of those who read my blog, but I won't write here daily. And that's ok.

Thank you for listening.