It's all coming back to me now...

...well, not all. 

But as I tried to sleep last night, it wasn't chaotic thoughts, per usual, that filled my head, but dialogue.

Blessed dialogue. More specifically, dialogue from Canary: Out of the Shadows. 🥹 

I nearly got out of bed to jot it down, but I didn't. The two scenes were dynamic enough, I knew I wouldn't forget them. 

It's like being in the silence so long and finally hearing a whisper. 

It was...everything.

I haven't touched a Word .docx in probably a month. I'm too author-fragile right now to check. It'll only reinforce the issue more, and I am merely flapping my wings a bit over here. Getting the wind under them again. Feeling how smooth it can be. Remembering.

Going to hop over to OneNote and put the dialogue and scenes in. They're Ray being...Ray. 😄 

Poor woman doesn't know what's on the horizon. None of them do. 

But dark things have waited so long for a chance to play. 

Back to writing*

Limitations

These can come in many forms.

Mine, for nearly the past four weeks, has been depression. I didn't realize, at first, that's what it was. When you're mired in it, it's the norm. But I began to realize...it's NOT the norm. I suffer from depression, anxiety, and PTSD along with chronic pain and a host of other ailments. I live and write DESPITE these assholes.

But I haven't been doing much of either. I've also been battling some type of stomach issue with nausea(???). Which could be, or could not be, related to any number of things I already have. Or hey! Could be something new and different. 😶

Interjecting a bit of humor here. Good thing about depression? You don't have much anxiety because you don't give a shit. Ba dum dum...

No energy. No appetite. Exactly no sense of humor. 

Missed a deadline (for myself) on my book. Am a month behind on all my writing things. I'm exhausted doing nothing. 

Thanks. I hate it.

That's me. Digging myself out right now. Battling daily to do the minimum. I haven't disappeared...exactly. More like my body put me in timeout. 😡

Ungrateful vessel.

Here's to a better November. 

💖

Away from desk

Rounded out the granddaughter birthdays in September. My youngest child's bday is today. She's 29. Last of my babies clinging to the twenties. My middle child turns 29, apparently AGAIN, on October 20th. 

I'm simply happy to actually be sitting at my desk. AT MY KEYBOARD.

Taking youngest granddaughter, newly 3, to shop and lunch this Saturday. I've been spending Mondays and Wednesdays with the heathens (newly 6 and 4 year-old granddaughters). 

This time of year is hectic, and I am beyond the realm of tired. 

Need to make a list for my professional items to round out the year. Need to FOCUS.  

Unfortunately, Amazon sent their toy catalog, and I'm thumbing through there like a mesmerized nine-year old related to Bill Gates. My inner child is so much my outer child.

These toys are next level, and I am HERE for it. Grandson loves Spider-Man and the yellow-haired Anime guy in the orange suit. Don't come for me. Too lazy to Google it right now. Granddaughters love race cars, TMNT, Paw Patrol, Barbies, dress up, and so much more.

In all seriousness, I need to finish "Dream Walker" in the next couple of weeks and push it out by the end of the month. Life has been SOMETHING lately, but goals are goals. Then finish "Canary: Out of the Shadows" which is burning brain cells as I type this.

Onwards and upwards.

Always writing*

...and sneaking peeks at that damn catalog...oooooooo

Dream Walker

I write what I should write. 

In essence, I write what the voices tell me. Does the absolute madness of that sentence bother me? Not in the slightest. The voices say it shouldn't. 😂

While I have over two dozen ideas for books TBW (to-be-written), I don't go willy-nilly into the fray. I have some semblance of order in the madness and gorgeous chaos.

However, sometimes a stray idea wanders in, tells every other story to fuck smooth off, and settles itself into my grey matter with a bottle of Wild Turkey. The liquor flows. The story goes.

Two completely unexpected things happened this year. 

I tried to force myself to write to market. Sweet Jesus. This was horrific. I failed miserably. Wasted my time. Regret. Flogging myself with an ampersand. Shame, etc.

The other being a character named Rissa, who wandered into my world. Okay. She kicked in the doors, scared the shit out of everyone but Ray, and settled in for the long haul.

Her story resonates. I have a thing for damaged characters. A ken for the lost souls. Being a serial killer at the grand age of seven counts.

Ever had something special about you? Something wonderful no one else could do? Then have it twisted to become the worst thing about you? Used with absolutely no regard to your mental or physical health?

Rissa has.

And the price?

The price was only her soul.

I had to tell her story before I finished Ray's in "Canary: Out of the Shadows". 

I should finish this month. I lack right around 10,000 words or so. Some stitching. Definite polish. 

But the story? The awful story? And Rissa's redemption? Oh. It's all there. 

Mother/Mimi/Writer

Yes. In that order.

I always thought once I reached a certain age, I would have less complications in my life. I now know that was bullshit to the highest power. 

There are second-generation issues from my babies.

There are third-generation issues from my gbabies.

Everything else steps aside for them.

I write every weekday morning, Saturday, and occasionally Sunday. This morning, I chose to write and work on my book cover for "Dream Walker". (I DO like my period outside the quote marks.)

I edit from the beginning of DW, do a bit of stitching (pulling scenes together, adding chapter headings), and write on a couple of scenes.

FB message from middle child. She is encountering a large amount of stress. Would like my thoughts on something. My pleasure. We chat for a few. I think she feels a bit better as we wrap up.

I go back to the written work.

Ten to fifteen minutes later, oldest child snaps me and asks if I'm busy and if he can vent. Nope. Not busy. Hit me, child.

Snappity snaps.

Writing is my passion. I often joke I would be the woman in Bellevue, back in the day with a piece of chalk in her hand, content to scribble on walls the rest of her days. I know for sure I wouldn't have been let loose on the streets. But I digress.

But those who come from me are my soul. These are the pieces of me left long after I've disappeared from this earth. They deserve my love, time, and support more than any one or thing. 

That is perspective. 

If it takes me a wee bit longer to finish DW, then I suppose it takes a bit longer. 

True dat.

Always writing*

...and searching for the purrfect gif...

   

 

Continuing Education

Everything in this world could use some continuing education. You like to paint ceramics? Keep taking classes to find out new brush strokes or combinations of colors. You like to write scripts? Keep taking classes to keep up with what's in demand. You like making slime? Keep watching YouTube videos for what you can put inside slime that won't disintegrate.

And if you love writing books, well, you've a world of continuing education in front of you.

First of all, the book world is constantly evolving. "Never" is never used. Writers will "never" like they've "nevered" before. I love it. Second of all, market changes on a dime. Vampires are big. Now not so much. Buggy (Amish) are big. Now not so much. What's hot right now? Dark Romance. Reverse Harem. Women are ruling the world AND in-between the pages. 

What do writers do?

We educate ourselves.

I would advocate taking at least six courses/workshops/going to a couple conferences a year. This keeps you connected to the living breathing being that is the writing world and especially your genre(s).

I wasn't able to go to a workshop I registered for last week because I was watching granddaughters, but I caught up this morning. An hour and forty-five minutes on Planning and Brainstorming by Jen Graybeal. It was fantastic and FREE. If you ever get a chance, take one of her classes or workshops.

I have an Oklahoma Romance Writer's Guild Meeting at 2 pm. If you can join a group of likeminded individuals, please DO! This is ALSO free! Wonderful to have a supportive peer group.

At 3 pm, I'm attending another workshop. This one is "Secrets of a Bestselling Amazon Book Page" with Penny Sansevieri. I believe this one cost $10.

It's incredibly important to continue with learning your craft. Honing. Shaping. 

Learning never stops, guys.

If you're in love with what you do, then this is truly a labor of love. 💖

Always writing*

...or attending some writerly business...

The world keeps spinning

I'm in the "WOAH WOAH, you wily bitch...slow your ass down" phase.

It's Thursday, right?

Monday, I got up at 3:35 in the AM because a family member had surgery. Didn't leave the hospital until nearly eleven. Vaguely remember arriving home to shove something in my mouth and fell into bed where I stayed until nine the next morning.

Body? Displeased. Brain? Slightly scrambled. 😬 

Tuesday, I picked up groceries. Well, I park, and the wonderful associates at 'Hood Mart bring them out to me. Shout out to EJ and Kameron! Brought them home(the groceries, not the associates) and attempted to meal prep and whatnot. Was in the kitchen until two in the afternoon. Trying Keto. Wore myself out. In rocker recliner rest of day.

Wednesday morning, I received a text from hospitalized family member saying she's sprung, and I put on clothes and drove down to rescue her. We waited for Rx to be filled. Three out of four. 😒 Dropped her at home and then came back to the city to go to Sam's to finish the rest of the grocery list. 

It's hot.

Have y'all noticed?

The heat wears on me like bags of sand around my waist. I feel like I'm swimming in mud uphill. I loathe it. So I grab a cart I can lean on and amble into Sam's. 

Grab my stuffs.

Check out my stuffs.

Drag my ass back to my car.

Unload.

Park cart.

Shuffle back to car.

Start car and put air on HIGH.

Leave butterfly shades on front because I'm sweating like a dog. 
Eventually cool down enough remove shades and get the hell home.

Repeat grocery hell.

Strip down and slingshot bra (secretly hoping to never see it again). Lay on bed. Fan on. Briefly wonder what day it is and decide I really don't give a shit.

End scene.

Actually in the Sanctuary today. Hoping to write before it gets too hot in here to do so. I'M DONE WITH SUMMER, THANK YOU.

Always writing*

...and bitching about this bullshit heat...