Why am I like this?

You'll never guess what happened last night as I was trying to drift off to sleep. Never ever. Never. 

*ahem*

ANOTHER book idea. 😒

Dear. Lordt.

Good news? My creativity has decided to make a guest appearance.

Bad news? Um...I already have at least three projects...*snort* AT LEAST...to work on.

But am I completely enamored with this idea? Fuck yes, of course I am. 😑

Great premise. Awesome characters. 💃💃💃🖕

The timing is exquisite, right? With all this free time and nothing else to do. 😶😂

So here I am this morning. Sitting at my desk. Fans on high because Oklahoma is trying to bake me. Brain actually firing on the creative side. Water at the ready. And...unsure of what to do.

Start on ANOTHER effing book??? Because I know I could easily bang out at least 4,000 words on it today?

Or work on "Out of the Shadows" which may or may not work out, depending on if I can get in the groove on it or not? 

This some bullshit.

Wish me luck. Just going to throw myself in a trench and see where I land.

Did I mention I have TWO book conferences in August???

I'm a hazard to myself.

*******

No ducks here

People are all about the saying...having their ducks in a row. 

That's cool. For them.

I have no ducks. There are no ducks here. If I had ducks, I would be petting them and oh-so-unconcerned about them lining up in a row.

And little known fact, I DID have a duck once. He was a mallard. Named him Drake. 🦆 Oh, but he was a sweet boy. Got him as a wee duckling. He was being picked on by the chickens. Took his little ass home and loved on him. And ducks are so soft and sweet...NOT Muskovy ducks...he was a treasure. They have the softest little place on the underside of their beaks that is pure silk. Their wings are smooth and glossy. There's a gland on their little duck ass they use to rub on their wings to help them float. Some oily something or other. Then to watch them dive and eat in pools. Head all down. Ass in air. 😁  

What were we talking about???

Ah, yes. My non-existent ducks.

I've been struggling. And I quite hate it. I've a new med doc, and they're messing with my meds because of my new ADHD med. It's creating chaos that I neither want nor need. My body's in an uproar, and I'm completely not a fan. 

My creativity...my LIFELINE...is nowhere to be found right now. It's a slow death, to be honest. I can't focus when I'm in pain, and right now, my body is trying it's best to play Tchaikovsky's 1812 Overture, cannons and all.

Let's be honest, the best I do, on the daily, is to try and manage the PTSD, GAD, depression, and ADHD. You don't ever get one over on them. You simply try and juggle the best with what you've got. And while I truly want to work on "Out of the Shadows" and my newest Contemporary Romance AND my Paranormal Thriller...I don't have the fucking wherewithal to do so at this moment.

I have two conferences in August. Ya girl is feeling somewhat defeated at this point. 😞 

I would honestly kill for some ducks right now. 

quack quack

The call is coming from inside the house

When I'm in the writing flow, I can easily pop out between 4000-6000 words a day. It feels seamless. The words are coming to me effortlessly, and I am in authorly ecstasy. But when my world is not going well, everything is affected. Simba's passing was a heart punch I'm still dealing with daily. My body is flaring like it thinks it's the best thing to do. And my brain? That heifer feels like she's split into a million little pieces right now.

Focus? Biggest joke ever.

Usually, at this point, I would start the self-defeating talk. Asking myself why in the holy hell I can't just pick myself up by my boot straps and carry the fuck on. This is the talk I would always give myself when everything would be too much. And I'd pick myself up, weary as fuck-all, and continue. 

I mean, really? What the hell was wrong with me, anyway?

ADHD.

Not an excuse. But a verified, late in life. diagnosis. Why can't I pay attention? Why am I bored easily? Why am I easily distracted? Why do I zone out when I should be doing something? 

I'm NOT a weak-ass bitch. 😤 (Thank you, trauma, you fucker.)

My brain was made this way, and I'm just now taking meds that can help alter these patterns. Is it still frustrating?

BEYOND

so so beyond...

But I'm working on being a bit nicer and more understanding to myself and not such a force of unforgiving nature.

I once had a boss tell me that if I expected everyone to work to my standard, I'd never be able to work with anyone. How right she was.

I have two conferences in August, and I need to finished Canary: Out of the Shadows. I'm watching my oldest granddaughter Monday-Friday, and life is still popping. Will I make it? Jury is out. But the bottom line?

I need to calm down.

Crystal*

Exhales...

...a little.

Feel like I've been surrounded by bad juju for a long minute. Still trying to find my feet as I'm off-balance. Not my favorite position, in the slightest.

Still dealing with the loss of Simba daily. And oh, but it stings like a son of a bitch. I've put his little box of ashes back on the day bed behind me on the blanket he used to lay on. It, at least, feels a bit familiar. 💔

I've not been writing because I can't find focus with the Webb Space Telescope at this point. It evades me. I wake with eyes sore and already done with the day I haven't yet started. My thoughts here, there, and wherever but anywhere they are supposed to be. Thought the new ADHD med may help with that. So far? Not really, kids.

I've a running headache. It keeps me company. The little bastard switches to either side of my head and behind my eyes. It's on the side of my right eye at this moment. 

But still?

Life is better. It's getting there slowly. I'm thinking about the books. Always my intro to get back to them. Thinking about Ray and her multiple dilemmas. Serena and how she fits into Ray's cracks. Nessa and Cody. Lacey. Dale. John. I DO love my characters...

The other world has always saved me, you know. From a young age, I would immerse myself in the stories as opposed to what was happening in the real world. 

I still do.

Crystal*

OKC Thunder wins 2025 NBA Championship

Bet.

You heard it here first.

Literally.

You guessed it. I'm on one.

Series tied 3-3. NBA analysts verbally fellating Joker and panning J Dub. 

I'm so sick of this shit.

First of all, let's cut to it. 

NO ONE, as far as analysts and NBA elite, wants OKC to win a championship. We're still "too young" and "too inexperienced".

fuck you

That shit played out last year. 

None of you can stomach us, let alone stand us...thanks Em. 😙

We have EARNED this mfing spot, you elitist shits. That goes for you keyboard players who would shit yourself if Lu or Chet came up on you, and YOU KNOW IT. We didn't get here by chance. It's called talent, you remorseless fucks. And we have heart. You don't LIKE the fact we're kicking ass and kicking teams down? Sucks for you.

We're going to keep doing it.

Over and over and over again.

Nuggets on Sunday to eliminate and then the Timberwolves in the series to win the CHAMPIONSHIP. Because that's how we motherfucking DO.

Shai will be MVP because that's how he DO.

@stephenasmith You're running around looking like a cartoon character on acid verbally jerking the Joker off and trash-talking the Thunder. For years, dude. Years. Sing another song. Your shit is old as you are.

@shaq If you had to say a nice thing about the Thunder, I think it would physically PAIN you. For real?

It was worse when it was KD, Russ, and the Beard. Exponentially. But 9 and 10 years later? Y'all still coming with your tired old bullshit while we're on the come up. 

What's going to happen when when we hold that trophy high? A bunch of mumbling and more weak ass shit? Or finally the recognition this team deserves?

Handle this shit.

Crystal*

Simba

 Lost my feline son of 14 years Saturday.

Going to be radio silence for a bit. 💔

Why the villain?

I speak in fiction, of course. There's the cute little saying about how you should pick a villain over a hero because a hero would pick the masses while a villain would pick you and let the world burn.

Romantic, isn't it?

Is it?

Women are both simple and complex creatures. But we are each different to such a degree that a partner cannot carbon copy their behavior from one relationship to the next. Even if their type is sporty. That could mean fishing, kayaking, climbing a mountain, running, biking, etc. 

We come in different flavors.

But yet...throw a bad boy in front of us, and we are on board.

And he doesn't have to look a certain way. Because this "villain" is all about the confidence. The arrogance. Oh. He can do what he says he can do? 😳 Yes, please.

But let me back it up a second. 

Let's take my favorite sociopath, Sherlock Holmes, specifically--Benedict's version. A sociopath lacks empathy for others. Sociopaths now have "Antisocial Personality Disorder" which rather spells out the issue. They must have lifelong treatment to adjust behavior and reduce the risks of harm to those around them. Sherlock is grey area. He IS anti-hero. He's the drug-addicted, risk-addicted genius who steps on those around him without a second thought. But the magnetism is unholy.

Nonetheless, Sherlock is not the "villain" I refer.

A fictional villain doesn't belong on a psychological spectrum, in my opinion. These villains aren't true sociopaths nor psychopaths. If they were...there would BE no redemption unless chemical interference or something of the sort. They simply COULD NOT CHANGE. The Joker, being a great example.

A fictional villain, the kind a reader flocks to, is damaged. They may be armored, but there are cracks in that armor which have been tended to and reinforced. Nice was two decades back. Nice didn't work. Kind was for idiots. Only power. Only cruelty. Only madness prevails. 

The villain, no matter the gender, buried that piece of humanity deep inside the armor. They actually told themselves they've purged it. But the tiniest bit of their soul clutched it tightly. Held it deep.

And that's the part, dear readers, we connect with.   

Executive Dysfunction

Putting the "fun" in ADHD.

"Executive dysfunction" is a term used to describe faults or weaknesses in the cognitive process that organizes thoughts and activities, prioritizes tasks, manages time efficiently, and makes decisions.

Executive function skills are used to establish structures and strategies for managing projects and to determine the actions required to move each project forward.

In other words, let's say I have an appt at one o'clock. I am up at nine. Eat breakfast. Shower. Get dressed. I am worthless until said appt. I will do absolutely nothing until the appt because I am frozen until then. I literally an UNABLE to do anything else but wait for that appt. 

I have no idea why.

Science. 

I didn't know there was a term for this bullshit.

Surprise! There so is.

This is also the term for my short ass needing to write but unable to do so. I will alphabetize my tchotchkes before I open a Word document. *pulls out hair in author*

The frustration level, right now, is nearly at crying jag point. It's not simply "writer's block". No. This is some next-level cognitive fucked-up shit.

Now.

I've consulted with my mental med doc. We're going to start me on some ADHD meds, but they are CONTROLLED because Hey! Of course they fucking are. And she's not a "doctor" but a practitioner, so I must attend a fifteen minute meeting in three weeks, from a "doctor" warning me of the addictive nature of the med I want to try for this brain fuck.

Never mind the fact I took myself off Oxycodone after the hip surgery because I hated it, and I've gone cold turkey off Tramadol and Percocet because my prescribing PCP passed away. (She prescribed pain meds for my fibro. Good woman.)

ANYWAY...I feel like I'm spinning wheels with the barest of tread, and I'm fucking so over it, I could probably write a book about THAT.

 

Deep breath now that I've vented my spleen. WOOSAHHHHHHH

I need to calm down.

I'm a roller coaster, on a good day. But since my ADHD diagnosis, I've been like the granddaddy of roller coasters. You know, those bitches where you think you've caught your breath...only to plunge down again...heart in throat?

Yeah. That.

My med doc moved. I don't have one right now so I haven't started with any of that. I had therapy a day before I found out about the diagnosis, so I haven't really had a chance to unpack mentally. 

Knowing has somehow made it worse? Is that possible?

*ROLLS EYES AT SELF REALLY REALLY REALLY HARD*

My focus right now is zero point shit. I want to: clean out the fridge. Shop at Sam's. Pick up my meds. Not do anything. Watch CNN (masochism at its finest). And I'm stuck sitting at my desk with absolutely zero energy and a brain that's doing the splits in eighteen different directions.

The Cube and I don't have ANY idea what's going on. Part of me wants to crawl back into bed because I'm damn tired. Wait.

FATIGUED. I am fucking FATIGUED. 

Still have allergies that are kicking my ass and waking me up every three hours. Wait. And I need to do dishes, too. 😒

Ope.

Bed.

Bed won.

Maybe the two wolves in my mind need a nap. Probably more like a rave of squirrels. 🤔 A murder of crows? 😶 A mishap of meerkats? 😑

Writing weather

Rainy weather is best for writing. Gloomy, overcast, with rain driving at my Sanctuary window makes me a happy author.

For once, the Oklahoma weather delivered.

We're supposed to have rainy weather through Sunday morning. 🥳

I'm around a third of the way through "Canary: Out of the Shadows" and hope to be about half finished by the end of the weekend.

I told you--lofty goals. 

Saturday, Middle Daughter and heathen granddaughters are coming up. That's a no-writing day. I'll get back to it on Sunday.

Something about the darkness. Room only lit by a couple of lamps. Fairy lights atop my desk. Both monitors glowing in anticipation. The sound of rain hitting the window. Slippers on. 

The vibe is vibing.

The author is writing.

Nice.

I had myself tested.

I like to take my own temperature. Sometimes it gets lost in the day-to-day minutiae and daily rote. Because life is so damn busy. I had four appts this last damn week, and I couldn't tell you the calendar day, or day of the week, but I could tell you what appt it was.

Such is my life.

In all the wonderfulness of my physical and mental journey, I felt as though I missed something. Or perhaps, instead, something was missed.

I tell this horrible story to my therapists because it highlights how neurodivergent boys were treated back in the early eighties.

I moved in fifth grade to a different elementary and had the good fortune to be seated next to the most hyperactive, out-of-control, FUNNIEST, redheaded young man named Scott Schmidlkofer. He was wired for sound. When he became a bit much too handle, he went out in the hall---in a big refrigerator box. 😡

Horrifying, yes?

Honestly, there are still MILES to go for all the sexes.

But females weren't diagnosed. I didn't know what ADD, ADHD, or Autism was. I barely knew, in the mid-nineties through the two thousands, raising my own kids.

However, I've always been different. I embrace it now. I have for quite some time. I don't think like other people. Or react. Could chalk it up to some mental or physical factors. But still. But...still... 

WHAT IS GOING ON?

So I had myself tested. 😊😌  

You don't know until you know.

Now I know.

I have ADHD Combined. Combined type ADHD is the most common manifestation of ADHD, including symptoms of both inattentive type and hyperactive-impulsive type.

Ta-da! 🥳

Currently dealing with research overload because I want to know all about it and how to deal and find others with it and how they deal and...and...and...😂

The one thing I'm trying hard NOT to do is pastflect. Try to see if I could bend the past if I'd only known. 

It does me no good, and it's bothersome, guys. It's...bothersome.

Now I know. And you know. And whoever knows. All good.

Always writing*

...and being neurodivergent...

Eliciting emotions

Elicit: to draw forth into existence.

What a word. What a feeling.

It's my job, of course. It's what writers strive to do, or at least good writers, in my opinion. I write for myself and the satisfaction of it, but I want to grab as many people as I can to bring them along into the story. That's my purpose. 

Come with me. Feel with me. Be with me.

I want you to feel pleasure, relief, and angst. Love. Betrayal. The dark and the light. 

Readers live a million lives through the eyes of others. 

Making it happen is a massive responsibility.

"Meh writing" is a travesty. We've all had books that we've cracked open the cover with anticipation and then chunked it at the nearest wall.

It's heartbreaking and all-around disappointment. Leaves a bad taste in our mouth, and we're not soon over it.

Makes us a bit book-shy.

But when we crack open a book and our hearts and minds are filled with a story which takes us on an adventure we don't want to end?

It fills us up in ways even we aren't aware.

I strive to make readers laugh aloud. Cry. Curse. Reread the sexy parts. I want full immersion. Sink into it. Full saturation.

I'm either writing a massacre today or a long-awaited sex scene. Both will be deeply emotional and satisfying. 

Loss? Love?

Whichever I choose, I'll put my heart and soul into it.

It's no less than any writer should do.

Always writing*

...I think I'm killing people today...  

 

 

Rewired

Trauma changes you. Trite but true. 

I used to write chronologically, before my house burned to the ground December 9, 2006.

Also, funny thing (not haha-in this case), I can't remember dates for shit. Also, it was a Saturday.

Before HF (house fire), my story would unfold for me. Like carefully taking apart an origami animal. I had just signed a contract for my four-book Elemental Guardian Series. I only finished two before the ashes. I believe I stated I would release one every three months but changed it to four, at the last minute.

After the HF? I still had two to write. Quickly.

I've stated previously I'm a mood writer. 

My world, and my children's, fell apart. We lost everything, including the person I was with at the time, and their son. So...half our family. And also, someone I considered family.

Devastating would be putting it mildly.

When I tried to write again...I started at the beginning, but my Muse didn't appear to agree with the same ol' methodology. Scenes came to me out of order. Dialogue would pop into my head whenever the hell it wanted, and I adjusted. Wasn't easy. I didn't like it.

Anyone who knows me knows I don't turn a corner quickly. But I learned if I didn't jot what came to me down, it would disappear, and that was the biggest loss.  

I cranked out Wind Goddess on time, and I feel bad to this day I don't remember writing bits of it. I believe I was still in shock and dealing with trauma for several months after the event. Honestly, there are moments, even now, that trigger me with simple things such as smelling wood burning.

I wrote Earth Goddess as I settled back into myself. Accepted the new normal. 

I love that book. 

Even now, I'll start a book and think I'll continue chronologically, but it never happens. I suppose that event rewired my brain in some way which is incredibly interesting and wholly terrifying. We are at the mercy of our grey matter. Thankfully mine is still giving. We simply like to play a bit of hide-and-seek and Clue and Guess What I Know and You Don't? 😂  

Be easy with yourself. Even small things can throw you off for a bit. 

Like right now. I understand trees are helping me breathe, but they are NOT helping me breathe. They are being incredibly hateful, and we are not friends. 

Dendron non grata

Always writing*

...except for last week, which was Spring Break, and I had two of my heathen granddaughters, and Sweet Baby Jesus...they gave this Mimi a run for her money...

Let me share a thing or two or more than I should...

...because what would be new? 😂

My only sister is five years younger than I am. We played Barbies ALL THE TIME. But, it was more than that. Because we played, "Dolls of our Lives."

Cue the music.

That's right, readers.

We grew up on Kim and Shane. Patch and Kayla. Bo and Hope. And BY GOD, our Barbies would go through the same shit, if not worse. 

Sis liked to hang hers by their limbs in mortal danger. They always had a broken something or other. I was about the drama. 

You did what? When? With who?

I like to think I sharpened my storytelling teeth on those poor dolls who didn't stand a rat's ass chance of finding happiness. 

Until I let them.

Oh...the POWAH! 🗲🗲🗲

But my favorite soap duo...ever...was Mason and Mary from "Santa Barbara."

Mason was a horrible lawyer with no scruples whatsoever.

Mary was a nun.

A. Fucking. Nun.

👏👏👏

Mason was absolutely corruptingly delicious. This man was toxic with a capital "T", but he fell for Mary and exposed his softer side.

I would record their dialogue on cassette only to listen to it again and again. The cadence. The banter. I strive for this perfection in my scenes. Dialogue, to me, is foreplay. It sets the tone between characters in a most important way. Words spoken are completely telling.

Couple things: I played Barbie's until I was twelve. Maybe older. It's all kind of blurry. We actually sat them down for a group photo once. Wish I still had it.

If you don't know what a cassette is, Google it. 😑

It's important you know where you came from. 💖

Always writing*

...working on OOS scenes today...OKC Thunder later

Dietary doings

My short ass has gained and lost weight so many times, it's not remotely funny. Over decades. I was pregnant three years in a row. Then I lost all that weight. Gained it back. Repeat ad nauseum.

I've tried, and successfully used: step aerobics, Tae-Bo, The Firm, Denise Austin, walking, and aerobics.

But something major would inevitably happen, and I would put the weight back on. Oh. Had an ulcer once. Lost weight with that, too. Mustn't forget that. Had a friend ask me what diet I was on. Told her the ulcer diet.

sigh

Lost hundred pounds for my hip surgery. Retired and gained sixty of it back. I've now lost fifty of that. 

My poor body.

I started Keto last September. Not being a moderate person, I, of course, went cold turkey. I stopped my comfort food of sourdough toast and skimmed milk for breakfast. 😭

I began to experiment with eggs. (I have to have a hot breakfast.)

Then I added sausage to that. I'm finally happy with where I'm at there. Fills me up. Tastes good. 

Woot! 🥳

Other meals can be...difficult.

I like meat. No hardship. Sometimes I'll make shrimp fajitas in the air fryer and eat on that for a couple of days. Sometimes I'll repeat breakfast. Chicken. Tacos. Meatloaf. 

Secret is to use pork panko crumbs for the meatloaf and low-no carb tortillas for the tacos. You wouldn't believe the offerings out there now. 

I've checked out books from the local library for research. Follow some groups on Facebook. 

Sometimes I get discouraged, but I'm fitting into pants I've not seen in a bit and buying more in a size that makes me smile. 

Keto works for me, and I see it continue to work. It's something I can do long-term. My lab numbers, cholesterol and whatnot, are good. No worries there.

It hasn't helped my chronic pain, but I'll take what I can get. 😌

If you're still searching for something that works for you, don't give up. There are a million combinations of foods and diets. Your body is unique. Don't try to make it do something it doesn't want to. Dip a toe. See if you can work within the parameters. Tweak it a bit. Keep looking for your fit.

Good luck!

Crystal*

Am I a real writer now???

Imposter syndrome:  "Imposter syndrome (IS) is a behavioral health phenomenon described as self-doubt of intellect, skills, or accomplishments among high-achieving individuals." This definition is straight from the NIH (National Institutes of Health).

I've always heard the term and have known the basic definition BUT didn't know it was among "high-achieving individuals" supposedly.

I'm fairly open with my mental health. Good days. Bad. Weird. It's whatever. And I don't struggle with imposter syndrome often...but when I DO...ugh.

"They" (other authors):

More fans

More books published

More connections

Farther along than I am

All over the news

More sales

FILL IN THE BLANK

What do I do when this happens?

First...I take a deep breath. In through the nose...out through the mouth. About five of these bad boys. 

I remind myself that every journey is not the same. This is important. I've been through it. I'm still working through it. I'm proud of myself. Periodt.

I love the connections I have. I'll make more over time through my work and other book conferences and conventions.

EVERYONE is somewhere different on their author journey. This is a good reminder.

I am where I'm supposed to be right now. I'm a firm believer in this one. Keeps me grounded and thankful.

It's easy to be downtrodden when you think, perhaps, you've not lived up to some expectation in your head or compare yourself to someone else's highlights. Part of that is human nature. But we have the capacity to remind ourselves how amazing we truly are. We can look back at OUR journey and marvel at accomplishments. We have every right to have pride in what we can and are capable of. Don't dismiss yourself out of hand. 

Don't dismiss yourself at all. 💖

Am I a real writer now? 

I was a real writer the moment I tapped key to monitor with intention back in 2005. Now? I simply need to remind myself of it.

Crystal*

Age old question for writers...

...plotter or pantser?

Let me tell you. I'd read tea leaves, if they told a good story. 😂

But seriously, I've tried to plot a story. It's not for me. I don't even wish it were for me. And I'll tell you why. I write by clicks. When I write, it's like a massive set of dominoes that's been set up. I start when the first domino falls.

If ever a domino doesn't fall, I've lost my click. I'm off the path. I stop. Find my way back. Begin again. Push the domino down and continue. 

I've added elements in a novel that I consciously didn't know where in the hell they came from, only to have them swoop back in, to perfectly make sense two-hundred pages later. When that happens?

Oh. You can't tell me NOTHING. 🥳 

I admire those that plot. You have your entire story all worked out. Plot points. The whole she-bang. You're amazing. 

I honestly don't think I could do it even under threat of harm. 🤔

Case in point, I have a scene, a HUGE SCENE, in "Out of the Shadows" that I've written three times, in three different ways.

If you guessed I'm writing it today, in a new and different way, you'd be correct. This version is going in the final manuscript. It fits better. I'm constantly trying to improve on what I do and how I do it. My brain is constantly running 100 meter sprints like an idiot, and I can't get the damn thing to stop. And I'm also working on other projects that my grey matter deems important at two something in the morning because WHY NOT? 😶

I don't like the word "pantser" because I feel that's not representative of me and who I am as a writer. Never much liked pigeonholes, anyway. So, I'm going to say I'm a mood writer. Because THAT has everything to do with what's coming out of the brain and through the fingertips.

Maybe I'm a moody writer.

Maybe this is going downhill fast.

Always writing*

Red Bulls and book covers

Slamming Red Bulls and making book covers.

Ahhhh...what a day. 😂

First go at "Canary: Out of the Shadows." 

It's the final book in the "Canary" trilogy.

What do you think?

Going to let this marinate for a few and look back at it. I hope. Or I could spend all day picking at it. 🤔

Decisions. Decisions.

😶

Conflict, Stakes, and Tension

Yessssss...

I'm a member of the Oklahoma Romance Writers Guild. We meet once a month and often have wonderful speakers who delve a bit farther into our craft. Dawn Alexander gave yesterday's presentation about "Conflict, Stakes, and Tension."

First things first.

Dawn was great. Presentation pacing was on point. Information was both precise and valuable. Would recommend her to any groups looking for an interesting and knowledgeable speaker. Her pop culture references are also fun. 😄

Second things second.

You can be a member of OKRWG for free. No matter where you are. It's a great group, and you will love the support, the growth, and the continuing education for members.

Third things third.

I have anxiety prime. But I LOVE tension in a book. If I'm not gripping the cover, or my phone, I need things to pick up.

And writing it? The greater the tension? The bigger my smile. I'm contrary that way. 😂

Some important things I noted from Dawn's talk as an author:

What happened the day before the story started?

Characters must keep encountering problems. If they reach goal midway, they must encounter a new set of problems.

NOT making a decision is STILL making a decision.

Internal Conflict is a character's line in the sand.

Don't make characters too self-aware in the beginning.

If you're creating tension in a scene...don't plop down the whole loaf of bread (my visual)...drop breadcrumbs. Be slow and deliberate in the scene.

*******

I learned long ago characters need both internal and external conflict. And these conflicts need layers. No person is one-dimensional. 

Your characters shouldn't be, either.

Always writing*

...just me and my anxiety prime...then I'm laughing thinking about an A on my chest and Hester Prynne which really isn't funny but then I segued into Emma Stone and the A on HER chest, and I probably need to go back to the list I made myself today and quit spit-balling...

The worm has turned...

...the indecisive asshole.

Me. Today.

Because why NOT drive myself crazy with three crucial scenes in "Canary: Out of the Shadows"? And why not finally give a story to a character name I couldn't get out of my grey matter about a week ago? I mean...WHY THE HELL NOT???

This?  This insanity smooths my edges. I'd rather be a chaotic cow tapping maniacally away than a sad sow looking at my keyboard longingly.

So. Bring on the chaos and the characters and all the mania and mayhem.

I've been waiting for you...

Also...my favorite worm right here. (No shade to Slimey.)

I need a mechanic for my struggle bus

Today, my brain is braining. But it is not, of course, braining like I NEED it to brain.

I need the fucker to focus.

The wee grey matter does not want to focus on writing. It doesn't want to focus on posting on my FB page. The bastard isn't cooperating at all.

I am...displeased.

My goals for this year are large. LARGE, I tell you. Sitting on my hindquarters, staring into the ether, and having the most random shit boot-scoot through is NOT productive. 

It is quite maddening.

I don't exactly need more maddening.

I want to finish three book titles this year, but I've mentally upped that to four because why not fuck with myself? Actually, one is not a romance, and I've mostly finished it. But it needs some heavy editing. It's not for the faint of heart, and I often wonder why murdery books don't sell as well as romance. True crime, to me, is horrifying and yet fascinating. I used to read thrillers, but they've waned for me lately. 

I've taken to watching The Hunting Party, and I'm on the fence a bit. The premise is AMAZING. 

"The Hunting Party follows a small team of investigators who are assembled to track down and capture the most dangerous killers ever seen, all of whom have just escaped from a top-secret prison that's not supposed to exist."

But the episodes are squished tight. There is so much information they need to convey, it feels like you've only received the clues, and then you've caught the killer. They should have made each episode two parts. Explored the character and his/her behavior and rehabilitation techniques further. The psychology is fascinating.

Think I'll go read and maybe clear out the cobwebs...

I dislike remakes

I say this firmly, head held high, eyes straight. Why mess with a classic?

But money talks, and extraordinarily bullshit copycats are made. Off the top of my head, I would throat punch ANYONE wanting to remake:  Labyrinth (you don't mess with Bowie in a codpiece, Ludo, or the cutest fucking worm ever created...the end), The Breakfast Club (the cast, the chemistry, and Bender 💖), The Princess Bride (As you wish, the best dialogue ever created, THAT CAST), or The Lost Boys (vampires, that soundtrack, costumes, Jason Patric and Kiefer Sutherland).

Because you can't replicate nostalgia. You know what I mean. That feeling when you first watched Bowie twirl those crystal balls in his hand. Mesmerizing you with those eyes. Your heartbeat slamming in your chest when Judd slipped Molly's earring into his ear. The absolute pin drop when Cary stood, pointed at Chris, and demanded, "Drop. Your. Sword."

Viewers' reactions are so pure at first watch. And we chase that high again and again on rewatch. I will never grow tired of watching the crew dance on top of the railing in the library. I will always swoon watching David and Jennifer glide around at the masquerade ball. Billy and Carol send me into stitches every time. And when the boys drop from tracks? Goosebumps.

Would The Princess Bride be the same with Nicholas Galitzine? Honestly, he would be a great Westley, if there weren't an already even greater one previous. And who would, God forbid, play Inigo Montoya?

I shudder. Okay, maybe Lin-Manuel. But I'm just spit-balling, and may this never ever happen.

Money can't buy nostalgia. It can't purchase the feelings we feel when we settle in to watch these movies or shows that mean so much to us and evoke strong feelings of joy. Anything less than the original is simply a cheap copy meant to pacify us long enough to spend our dollars and keep these assholes repeating this pattern.

Always writing...

and diatribing about remakes, apparently...  

I cannot do two things at once.

Okay. I can but maybe not well. Tropes, as promised, on my Inman Books Facebook page. It's funny. My chaotic short ass desperately wants to make up new tropes. I am THAT writer. And, you know, they tell you not to be.

That's the rub.

I love being different.

Different storylines. Different characters. Simply...different.

But, to sell, authors are told to be the same in book covers and descriptions and aesthetics.

And, God forbid, you color outside the lines.

Guys, I'm not even coloring on the pages.

I'm coloring in my Mind Cabin with umbra, a character born to a psychotic demigoddess and Nyx, Goddess and personification of Night. I'm playing Spades with a gay dragon and his Berserker husband. I'm watching the stars with a half-blind warrior and his lover. I'm petting a hellhound twice as big as I am who is glowing a bit to keep me warm on this chilly evening.

I'm not a beach house writer with margs on deck. I wouldn't know a billionaire if he bit me on the ass, though he could certainly try. I don't write about functional families because I didn't have one. Writing what you know is brilliant fucking advice. 

BRILLIANT

But I know and like weird shit. That's why I enjoy paranormal. I can blend weird factoids and mythology and history. I can take so many different little pieces and make a mosaic. I stir shit together and out comes this ridiculously rich tapestry of lore stitched with my heart and mind. 

THIS is what excites and soothes my soul. Why I write. Why I love words. Why I WHY.

Back to it. 

Always writing*

It's better for me if I hate you

I don't like nice guys, bookishly speaking. At least, not like I used to. I blew through Catherine Anderson's collection, and my favorite book was Baby Love. I was feeling delicate at that moment in my life, and I needed Book Daddy's that wanted to cuddle and take care of their women. This book delivered. 

I then moved on to the Black Dagger Brotherhood Series. Anything but sweet. These heroes made me sweat in the best damn way. I think I dropped off after maybe book 9, when I realized J. R. Ward and I did not mesh politically.

My favorite tropes, AKA categories of romance books, are usually Enemies to Lovers, Opposites Attract, and Fake Relationship. I like sparks from the beginning, and I love characters who are assholes. Not everyone is nice 24/7. I would question the shit out of that. I would immediately think serial killer because I AM A CYNICAL HEIFER. 😌

As a writer, I love damaged characters. I love writing and reading them. These speak to me more than any other, and they have the room for the most growth. I'm having stickers made for my next book event with this print:

But...they do. And we know that they do. But it's deep deep down, and I love the challenge of bringing that up and making the character evolve, emote, and bringing the reader along for the ride. 

Oh, darling. You want to be a dickhead? Please, do. We're going to have SO much fun together. 🥳

I'll be talking about tropes in my books on this blog and my Facebook page. Come chat with me!

Always writing*

I suck at newsletters.

Listen.

I can write a 78,000 word page book in three months readers love. What I can't do? Write a damn newsletter. 

Everyone, and I mean EVERY ONE, is saying I need to have one to sign up readers and keep them abreast of my latest comings and goings. I tried the newsletter thing for like, three months. I sucked at it. I sucked HARD at it.

I would forget what day of the month it was. This happens frequently in my daily life as I work full-time from home. I would feel my content was not up-to-par. I felt like a fraud. And I hated every minute of it.

I decided to give it up for my mental health. 

I've wracked my brain at finding suitable alternatives, and this is all I got. This blog. I'll post here and on my Inman Books Facebook Page.

That should keep everyone up-to-date. I love to blog and blather on about the writing and other subjects.

If you're joining me from the Flirty in Kansas City 2025 Book event, Welcome! I'm feral but friendly and honest to a fault. Okay. I am blunt. Blunt woman. Often uses profanity and does not understand people. Loves books, music, Simba--my golden child, and factoids. Eclectic. Weird. Can probably interchange those.

And...I suck at newsletters. 😌

If I get my shit together together this year, I want a PA, and this ray of light will be in charge of newsletters and making me virgin jello shots.

 

Always writing...

on a book or two or Facebook or LinkedIn or my blog or anything but a newsletter!

Et tu, Amazon?

Snafus are fun, aren't they??? 😑

I mean, here I am, living my life, trying to plan ahead for my next book event, Flirty in Kansas City 2025. Ordering new business cards, swag, and more books.

Well. TRYING to order more books.

And I did. In a timely manner. 

They were supposed to be delivered January 25th. Twenty-five each of two titles. But now? NOW???

Oh. They're being delivered ON THE DAY OF THE EVENT. 😡

What the absolute shit, Amazon?

I have books to sell, don't get me wrong. But I needed more of Canary: Dark Descent and more of my Erotic Romance, Please Come Again. This is a FOUR room book event. Thousands will come through. 

Sure, I'll have a notebook as a back-up, but this is my first real cock-up at an event, and I'm displeased.

Of course, it'll be fine. I'll be fine. It'll be fine. 

Fine fine fine. 😶

I'm going next year, as well. 

I'll have a stockpile ready. 😂

Even when you plan ahead, there's always the other guy. Unreliable little shits that they can be. I'm looking at YOU, Amazon.

Always writing*

...and putting together infinite swag bags...oh, help me...

Age of Aquarius

I'm exhausted.

WM pick-up this morning. It was snowing and like...six degrees. 🥶 Didn't get my meds sorted yesterday since two of the granddaughters were here because they didn't have school. Made and ate breakfast. Sorted the meds. Dishes. Took my own self out with a chair to my left knee. Had to sit the fuck down before I fell. Kudos to coordination. Just not mine. Started laundry. Onto my list of shit to do.

😑

The Book Me Romance 2025 Event is in August, but the organizer wanted our pre-order forms. She is on her shit. I cannot say the same.

Let me state, in the most delicate of manners, that me creating said document can eat my whole ass. I'm not good at it, and the sheer stress of it literally causes me to spin up and off into unsafe mental areas that make Stephen King's The Territories look like a playground. It's done. That's all I got.

Register for therapy at two.

This new system sucks. I believe it's all about receiving the copay before the session. Perfectly fine with that. But you nearly have to press an open vein to the computer monitor before you finish check-in. 🙄 

Good Lord. Take my money and quit being unreasonable. That's my job.

Swag stuff. Ah, yes. Remember my conundrum about swag business and how much and blah blah blah? 😂 Good times. Turns out I signed up for RWA's Indie Author Weekend this weekend, as I love some continuing education in my craft, and WILL NOT BE inviting middle child up to help stuff 500 bleeping tiny bags of business. 🥳

I will be enjoying my own fucking company and squeezing that in over the next couple of weeks. 😭

I can't with myself. At this point, I don't think anyone else can, either.

But wait, there's more!

The zodiac world tipped over into the Age of Aquarius (my sign) yesterday, and my wee brain, during those hours I should slumber, delivered unto my short ass, a fully-formed book with premise, characters, and ending. 😮 Because why the fuck not?

So I typed that up in my Microsoft OneNote (she's a sexy girl).

My characters for the other three books I'm writing this year are *ahem* less than pleased.

Ray, "Canary", has already told me to sit down and focus, or she's going to do bad things to my fingers. She would, too. 😱

That's me at nearly one o'clock on a freezing Tuesday afternoon. The Honey is home sick. Simba's sacked out on a pile of blankets behind me. I keep kissing his little forehead, and he keeps washing it. bahahahaha

Always writing*

...I LOVE my day planners, but sometimes I don't LOOK at them...😬

 

Oh. You mean NOW NOW???

I crack myself up. And by crack myself up, I mean I drive myself stupid, set my hair on fire, and wonder why I smell something burning. 

I am selling and signing books at Flirty in Kansas City in February. Cool beans. I had it in my wee head the date was near the 27th or 28th. Obviously, the calendar and I are not well-acquainted, as the event is on a Saturday. *ahem*

I look up the date yesterday to write in my shiny 2025 Day Planner. (My love affair with day planners is another post entirely.) I'm looking at the graphic in the FB group and squinting. Enlarge it. Blink. Because no way in fuck does that read February 8th. Frantically Google. Oh, no. That's correct.

Sharp pains literally shoot behind both eyes. I wonder if I'm having a stroke. My tongue is fine. I say my birthday. No. I'm simply an idiot who forgets we track things by numbers, and when the sun goes down and comes back up, that's another number. I look at the date on the computer. Oh. Look at that. January 7th. 

I. Panic. I am overwhelmed.

The amount of things I have to do roll back in forth through my brain like a scene from a cartoon. Hotels, books, swag, and preparation.

My headache goes full-blown, and I start talking to myself to gather and calm. 

First. Hotel. I find the venue, don't want to pay the price for that hotel, and begin the process of finding a nearby hotel that is okay. I've booked one hotel in my life. This is my second. Onwards and upwards.

Books. Ah, blow me. This is a big venue. How many do I take? What if I don't take enough? What if I take too many? I can overthink the shit out of this. I order books. Send the receipt to the Honey and wince. 

Son of a cow! Swag. Almost out. Once again, big venue. Shit shit shit. 500 pcs? Too much? Not enough? I have two more events this year. Brain is starting to melt down. Buy the stickers! Order the bags! The Honey can only divorce me once! Send another Amazon receipt. 

Oh, and fuckity fuck. I'm nearly out of business cards. Are you shitting me? NOW? NOW??? *tries deep breathing* *almost hyperventilates*

Quietly brings up VistaPrint. Designs business card. Saves design. Waits until today to order. I'm fooling no one. Sends receipt to Honey. 

Going to ask Middle Child to come help put together swag. 

I'd love a PA, but I don't think I could do that to someone. 😂

Like...I need one. Obviously. 🙄 But I am a lot. And I mostly enjoy my chaos. I'm like a transistor radio. I sound like static to a lot of people. I can be hard to understand because of the way I talk or convey myself. But once you tune in to my channel, you realize all the quirks and oddness are part of the package. 

Always writing*

...yes, I'm BACK to it! 🥳

Phoenix, the creature of myth and legend...

 ...rising from its own ashes and bursting from the soot to soar triumphantly to the heavens again. 

😕

Me:

Burnt and ashy as hell. Choking on cinder and ember.

But I am HERE! Cue "Rocky" music. The trumpet one. THEN the "Eye of the Tiger." 😌

I took the rest of December to try and reset and balance. Did I? Honestly? As much as I could. I attempt to manage my mental and physical health. It's the best I can do. I can understand why I have some of the mental issues I do. But I still hold a large grudge against anxiety because, as I told my therapist, it's like my brain playing chicken with itself, and it surely pisses me off. Physically? Fibro can get fucked. No detours.

Now then.

The writing. One of the loves of my soul. I need it as I do breathing. I didn't write resolutions, as I haven't for years, but I write goals. And the seven I posted in the Sanctuary refer to my writing. Lofty? Sweet Jesus. You could say. But you have to dream big. Never been a problem for me. Now to try and convince my body and mind to place nice.

I tend to feel better when I write because it activates the happy part of my brain. That little corner is dusty as hell right now. Cobwebs. Dark things with bad attitudes. I'll need to open windows and sweep floors and keep it up a bit better.

I want to finish four titles in 2025: Canary: Out of the Shadows, Dream Walker, Incantation, and a Contemporary Romance. Finished in this order except the last two might be interchangeable. 

I'll try to be more present as I have a tendency to disappear when my mind and body go haywire. And just to end this on a good note...my furry son, Simba. I love this little asshole more than I can say. Thirteen years-old and such a heathen. 💖😌

Happy New Year

Crystal*