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*

Sound it out

I started reading at age 3. My Mom would walk across the street to the laundromat, S & P's, and I tagged along. The owners gave me an old hardback about a farm. It's the first book I remember reading. Hip hop to school, and it was my favorite subject. First grade brought SRAs (Science Research Associates, Inc.) color-coded reading system, and I thought I'd reached the pinnacle.

Thumbing through those colors brought me incredible joy. Read a great story. Answer a few questions. Back to the box of color and stories. My love for that little box cannot be overstated. My predilection for this box of many colors and my speed at moving through it brought attention.

The principal and teacher gave me a fourth-grade SRA, and I missed one. Talk ensued. An offer to skip second grade and move on to third. I accepted the offer. And off I went. Reading never failed me. I tested post-high school in elementary on all those standardized test. Reading GIVES. You absorb so much around you without realizing because you're constantly seeking to add to your knowledge. 

I picked up an Eric Carle First Phonics Box to give to a granddaughter for Christmas. I have two in Kindergarten right now. One in Pre-K. One is three. My little stair-steps. 😌

I decided to keep the books here for the girls to read and practice at the house when they come over. I broke them out, for the first time, last night. 

LeeLee sat on her mother's lap, we're all piled in the big bathroom for a reason I can't remember, and read, "Cats cats cats."

It was beautiful.

The best thing? She closed the cover and immediately reached for another book. 😊 And if she heard the phrase, "sound it out" once, she heard it ninety-two times. But she kept going. Read four books in all. 💖

I let her borrow the next five to take home and practice with mom and dad because she's going to read those to Mimi when she comes back in two weeks to celebrate Christmas up here. 

I remember the absolute joy in becoming a reader. The delight in seeing stories come to life.

But watching a reader become?

My heart will never be the same. Nor will hers.

*******

I'm in love with a plastic flamingo...

...hear me out.

I am an eclectic soul. I will dive into the deepest of holes for information I find fascinating, collect factoids like others collect spoons, rocks, or stamps and horrify when appropriate or inappropriate.

I know realize, while entertaining the wonderful in-laws last night, I rattled off several facts about serial killers. 😬

I can only hope that, over the years, they've come to accept this in their eccentric, but well-meaning, daughter-in-law. 

It makes my Google searches a million times more fun, not to mention my Google history. 😶

And my Facebook feed and other social media ads? 😵

Case in point, I'm scrolling my FB feed, and I often come across different books, as I'm an author. But I'd never come across something quite like this. It was a "lawn ornament shifter" book. 

Say again?

A romance between a woman and a lawn ornament shifter, a flamingo to be exact. I'm still processing. 

I'm not even sure of the exact premise, but I want this to be a Hallmark movie, like yesterday.

I mention this only to reiterate: WRITE WHAT YOU LOVE.

I love writing romance, it's literally a part of my soul. But that's not stopping me from writing about a child serial killer. 

My whims and I. 😊

Be secure in who you are and what you want. Don't look to others to validate you. Take that first step. And if you need to shuffle for a bit, then do so. But keep moving forward. Bit by bit.

That's what I'm telling myself now as life has been crazy and chaotic. Only now finding my feet and trying to get back to whatever "normal" even is. Usually N/A. 😎

Lawn ornaments are the new Ryan Reynolds.

Crystal*

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. 

💖