Short Story Excerpt: Girl Plus WTF, 2

If you're following, I'm writing. Huge organization project so I need this light little break to free-write.

In the last chapter, Ryleigh wakes up in a strange world with extra appendages to boot. Her earthly humor falls flat on the ears of a young maid, Lyta, as she tries to come to grips with suddenly being a VIP in the middle of some pretty serious conflict.

*****************************

Ryleigh expelled a heartfelt sigh of relief, slumping her shoulders and dropping her head to her chest as the tension deflated.

And once more came eye-to-eye with god-awful dressing gown. The more she caught sight of it, the more she decided it was the equivalent of Level 1 armor you started a game with. Never mind that it was clearly expensive; why did so many expensive clothes look like camouflage you'd use to blend into your grandmother's couch?

Drawing more breath into her lungs, she tugged at the sleeves, letting it pool to the floor. It was only slightly problematic that she was naked as a jaybird with no alternatives in sight. It was only her and Lyta in the room after all.

Enter two head-to-toe armored soldiers, clanking around like a empty stack of tuna cans, moving mechanically into place flanking Lyta then coming to a halt with the stillness of display armor like she would see in museums.

Only in museums. No one wore metal deathtraps anymore, at least in the land where things made sense.

Yet another inelegant squawk emitted from her mouth and her hands slapped over her eyes. What am I, a toddler? I can't see them, so they can't see me? Shifting her hands over her intimate parts, she wished she had one of those ridiculous helmet visors to hide her embarrassment.

As if to further her stupidity, her wings snapped shut in front of her, a much better barrier than her hands. So much so that she was completely concealed behind a wall of feathers.

Ryleigh didn't quite trust her command of the wings to open just enough to see her unwanted audience, so she released her hands and pushed her wings apart with them, just enough to poke her head out between them.

She glared with reproach at the faceless men that towered over the perpetually bored petite maid between them.

"I... don't suppose you have any normal clothes. I'd rather go n--"

Nnnnnnnnope. She stopped that thought in its tracks. Was she really going to say 'I'd rather go naked than put that hideous nightgown on again'? Yup, and also big nope.

"The Council must be growing impatient. And I came to do just that, Ryleigh. Dress you, that is. A feat that should have been done five minutes ago had you not insisted you're not Queen Ryleigh, but some wingless girl with no sense of duty or urgency."

Lyta stepped forward and spun on the guards.

"Out with you! I can only assume the Council threatened to have your heads on the block if you didn't retrieve her with haste, but I'll not have you dragging our Queen naked before the jackals!"

Lyta swatted at them and the brutes stumbled out like Dorothy's beloved Tin Man as if she were some tyrannical Cyclops rather than a slip of a woman.

Even once, Lyta slammed the door behind them and slapped her hands together as if to brush away the filth. She shuffled over to an ornate wall and flicked her hand, a sparkle of light emitting from it, making swinging doors of the walls, revealing a whole host of ridiculously jeweled dresses.

Ryleigh couldn't help but gravitate towards them, still keeping her wings up in case of more surprise guests, but otherwise slack from awe.

"Oh, I've seen this movie before. If I don't find the plainest one, I'm going to burst into a cloud of dust..."

Lyta clicked her tongue at the latest absurdity.

"If you show up in anything less than one too heavy to fly in, you'll be the laughingstock of the kingdom. Not that anyone would laugh in the face of a Queen..."

******************

Let's leave the story at that for now. I have to say, I enjoy the hell out of injecting my nerd life into fantasy fiction. A nice break from the epic trials... I'll give the girl a break for now. She's got a lot more hurt coming to her, after all.

In case you stumbled in out of order:
Girl Plus WTF 1 

Next Up:
Girl Plus WTF 3

How I Clean my Fish Tank: A Writing Exercise

One thing I absolutely love are tasks that knock out more than one priority. Health is as much a priority as writing. Not perfect health-- I have my vices and I'm not trying to be strict and miserable but I like to be functional for what I want from life. That being said, cleaning the fish tank, while not exactly fun, knocks out three distinct purposes: strength workout, fish care and writing process.

I chose the wording of the post with care. This isn't a 'how to' but a 'how I.' I'm going to set up this list then help illustrate my point.

• Unplug filter, heater and air pump
• Remove plants (even if they aren't dirty, they get in the way)
• Fill buckets with diluted bleach and soak plants
• (Optional-- every 6-8 weeks) remove filter components to soak and replace
• (Optional-- every four months) drain and dismantle filter for full clean
• (Optional, as needed) remove hood light and doors for cleaning, clean where those sit
• Gravel vacuum, draining into 5 gallon bucket (app. 2-5 buckets filled for a 25-50% water change) MOVE ROCKS WHILE CLEANING
• Thoroughly rinse plants
• (Optional) Dry hood and filter parts if cleaned.
• Place clean plants
• Use two two-gallon buckets to haul clean water
• Treat water before adding it to the tank
• On the last bucket, add necessary amount of aquarium salt.
• (Optional) Replace hood, light and then filter if removed.
• (Optional) load new cartridges into filter
• Plug in filter, heater and air pump.
• Close lids.
• Clean glass
• Put away any chemicals.
• Attach table skirt.

*Notes: sometimes I clean the auto feeder while doing the tank, but this is a task that falls outside of a main detail and can be done anytime, usually every time it runs out.

If this is TL;DR, it's really not that important for you to remember this. The point is simpler. These tasks are very much like the planning that goes into writing a story.

There are some tasks that I do every time-- unplug, plant removal and cleaning,vacuum, replacing water, cleaning glass. You can think of these as key plots. No matter how I tackle a story, I have to mind those every time. You need a beginning, middle and an end. You need to know what you want to accomplish in each. No matter whether I write in parts, chapters, or in one big block, the keys will be the same or there is no process.

What comes next? Sub plots. In my list you'll see a lot of things labeled optional that are still incredibly important if I begin that task. If I hit the optional need to clean the entire filter, then every step that involves that process becomes important. If I make a plot that establishes a certain character, I have to develop every aspect of that character fully or I might as well never have started.

Then you have the details. You'll notice there are a few steps that probably aren't that important. When writing a story, there are some elements like dialogue that aren't always going to be static. There are going to be some optional plots that you can still successfully tell the story without. For the fish tank, I don't really need to close the lids or clean the glass, really any of the last four steps but it's the polish in my process. I set up these methods over time to get the most satisfaction out of the hard work. As you develop as a writer, you will learn which of these extras enhances the stories you write and which parts are unnecessary or tedious.

I'll leave you all with that to ruminate on. Of course, inspiration comes from reality sometimes and I have the full list to conquer today. Here's the thing-- many writers beat themselves up because they don't have time to write or they don't have the quality of writing they expect. Find ways to combine priorities, even if the only satisfaction you get is crossing things off of a list. Mentally turn it into a legitimate writing exercise where you are practicing the elements of a story as I just did. Sharpen your brain on those dull menial tasks so you have good habits to take to your writing when the moment comes.

Hibernation + Updates

I'm not in danger of burning out, but my brain needed a change of venue. Big projects are going on hold but I'm going down other rabbit holes, doing research and opting for some serious research via Witcher 3.

My characters have me beat on dealing with 'extreme' weather. No, this isn't the worst winter by far but it's a huge leap from what we've dealt with in years and it's funkifying my gears a bit.

My health for one. I'm not happy to admit that I've put on a few pounds even though I struggle to check my diet and exercise. I'm going to be careful but I'm not even going to attempt big changes until my body isn't firing off warnings that I can't tell are actual or the product of overactive nerves. Proceeding with care.

Drawing isn't proving easier with my hands not cooperating but I've been jotting down both comic ideas and keeping my drawing stuff accessible if the bug hits anytime. 

I'm playing it by ear. My playgrounds are still active but I'm not forcing it. I may not be hyper-productive for a month or two still, but I do keep the ideas fresh. 

I'm hoping I can still get Book 3 of my first series in order by Spring. It's a slow crawl, but I'm adapting. I may revert to crocheting a bit again. Who knows? It's not ideal, but I'm handling it the best way I know how. I have plenty to consider, plenty in patient wait for attention. 

There's still the Kindle Scout campaign going too. Vote for UnNamed in the SciFi/Fantasy category. I could use some good news to motivate me! This promises to be a unique and complex series. Unlike my first series that dedicates three books to each big plotline, this series challenges me to wrap up the main character's story in each one and start with a new character with a new set of limitations. Some characters reappear, but each story will stand alone. I won't be following the same style for each one. As usual, I just aim to paint a captivating picture with words.

Phew, so I may taper off on blogging and updating for a bit. You'll have plenty of time to get sick of my face when I hit breakneck speed again. For now, my stories are marinating for flavor...

Guilt-Free Breaks

There are a lot of creative people that beat themselves up when they skip a day. If you scour the internet like I do, you probably see quite a bit of people swearing you should be doing it every day or else... Or else, what? You dissolve into futility and forget everything? You lose all ability to call yourself serious about your craft? You'll never go back to it again?

You've probably heard this too. 10,000 hours is required for mastery of anything. That's probably true to some degree, although I believe skill levels aren't something you can measure quite so neatly. Artists of all kinds are the sort to journey towards what they want out of it and 'perfection' isn't necessary to accomplish satisfaction or success. We all want to log those hours, but working overtime doesn't always offer you the quality of maximizing the effort of your discipline. Balance is just as important.

Sometimes the most amazing milestones crop up in your quest when you're not even doing the thing you're struggling to master. I woke up from a nap today with this web comic idea roaring through my head and scrambled to put it to paper before the vivid sleep-addled ideas faded away. When I went down to make coffee, I had another laugh-out-loud idea for a two panel short. I wasn't drawing, I wasn't writing. In fact, I'm often finding these revelations about my ideas when I'm not obsessed with trying to.

I didn't leap into it right away either. Today, life hit me with the realization that I hadn't made anything for my nephew's birthday. I'm one of those people that will always make handmade gifts. I didn't stop at making one for him but I also made a gift for my friend's daughter who shares his birthday. I wasn't lamenting that I wasn't working on these burning ideas. Instead, the problem solving of designing gifts was unlocking the ideas with more clarity, refining with more care than jumping in would have allowed.

Of course, there are always those days where muses won't wait. Now or never. Still, it's an unreasonable expectation to tell yourself that creative slavery is the only thing you can do to assuage the guilt. Just as you refine your craft, sometimes you need to refine the way you view the value of your time and other priorities. Sometimes jumping right in is the equivalence of a sugar high. You charge in full speed and once that inspiration is satisfied, you end up in a mute state of horror that you are completely out of steam.

There is no one way to ride the waves. Sometimes we overwork for the simple fear that the opportunity will pass. Yet, like love, I think that distance can create a yearning, the sort that turns the heat of lust into the stuff that romance is made of.

If you've been keeping up, I like to tackle my work from many different angles: methods, expectations, moods, balancing priorities. There's no reason you have to entirely sacrifice something you love or panic when it can't come first. It's there, waiting. Take measures to record your thoughts when you can only spare moments. Even when I was working as a cashier, I kept a notebook handy to jot down thoughts or scribble out pictures. 

You won't always get to dedicate all of the time to your craft that you think you need to or just really want to. See those as opportunities to let your brain off the leash and see where things go. Court your thoughts a bit but don't spook your brain into paralysis. There is a reason so many artists are drawn to activities like yoga, meditation, or playing mindless card games. Excessive stress and demand can work against you. Always sacrificing sleep will catch up with you. It can be incredibly healing to do something monotonous or repetitive to help clear away the junk. You're not going to empty your brain, but you will gain the ability to attain some guilt-free breaks that do far more for helping you progress than cracking the whip.

If It's Hot, Grab It with Both Hands!

Don't try this at home. It's a metaphor, not an instant recipe for blistered hands. 

As usual, let me offer some back story that sparked this topic. I've mentioned in the past that I signed up to participate in a fun anthology idea with 11 other fantasy authors. We were given a word count limit, a theme, and we were off. I completed the first draft fairly quickly, complete with changing perspectives and a unique take on the theme. All good. It was a bit skeletal when I finished the first draft at 12K words, but I was confident I could beef it up and still not blast past the limit.

I put it down there. For two months. I got through the holiday season on a minimal of writing and drawing, enjoying the time with family and sneaking in a bit of work here and there.

Tonight, I picked it up again and, holy hell, it hit me. The ideas for what I wanted to make a good story great came pouring in. Suddenly, I was meeting these ideas with fresh eyes and the words flowed with a staggering level of excitement.

It harkens back to an old lesson I learned about myself. Ideas do not always come easily. Sorry if I ever made it look effortless, but my ideas aren't plucked like perfect fruit. Often, talking with friends and bouncing off of their ideas is where I've always found momentum. Even my current stories do that. I'm not one of those people that benefit from Stephen King's advice to pile it all on out of the gate then have to trim the fat. I'm the sort that builds a frame and stuffs it full of goodies later. Which sounds a lot like a piñata, but in reality, it's more like a float in a parade. The goal isn't to smash it open but to dress it up and show it off.

In cases like this one, I felt the story click into place by being inspired by the pieces I started with. No glaring blank slate or numbing halts where the ideas aren't coming just yet. I charge ahead and make a note to strengthen it later. 

Like on the post about starting on Page 42, some people benefit from working 'out of order.' There is a lot of halted confidence for writers that just aren't benefiting from the advice of the red-hot authors. It doesn't mean you're a bad writer. If you're a bad writer, there might be plenty of other reasons for that, but until you try other methods and absolutely can't fix glaring flaws, you might actually be a pretty damn good one. I'll always stand by the assurance that even bad writers shouldn't quit. If there is more enjoyment to be had than angst over the quality, why stop?  There are bad writers that do make it big. It pisses people off, but isn't it strangely encouraging? Something you enjoy can be worth pursuing.

Back to hot things. Even with my doubts where I had left off, I found the hot spot. I'm not going to lie. Even after it's where it ends up, I'll always find something that prevents 100% contentment. If you're looking for that 100%, chances are you'll never find it and you'll never test it. I will come to terms with everything being tied up and all nitpicks can fuel future projects. Still, baby's all grown up and there's a time to release it to the world.

I've got plenty of wars to contend with: personal wars, fictional wars, Storage Wars, Star Wars... That derailed the train of thought a bit, but we all choose our battles. When I was younger, every damn thing was a battle. Never got shit done playing Crusader of the Never-Changing Minds. An effort in futility. What I absolutely can do is revisit those lingering projects after they sit in time-out and concentrate my efforts where they're hot. I could have worked on my current book. I could have drawn for the third book of my other series. It wasn't their time today. Today, I hot-rocked a short story.

To tie this one up, don't be afraid to set something aside. Generous deadlines give you freedom to find those magic moments. Test them. A lot. Go in without expectations. If you can't hit gold, move to something else. If you do, woo hoo! Let the moment take you!

Have to say, I'm pretty psyched about the anthology. I've never experienced being published with other authors. It has the potential of combining our fan bases and exposing our readers to new favorites. The prospect of reaching more people, finding a new audience, is another thrilling unknown. I'll be more than happen to share the experience. More details as the publishing date nears in October. I want to clear it with the organizer before jumping the gun on anything. Raven is a super organized one and I'm sure she'll dress up the promotion fantastically.

Rebel, Rebel, Be Aware of Your Choices

There was a conservative rule I heard many years ago to never start a story with a curse word. You'll lose too many conservative readers that way. So I filed it away in the back of my mind with that whispering voice saying 'watch me.'

It's not that I intended to piss people off. It just seemed like both a challenge and immediate honesty. In my adult stories, adults gets mad and cuss. Some people do that. If my character is a cold-blooded assassin, it would seem silly to give them conservative scruples about language.

I waited until the story fit. In UnNamed, it fit like a glove. The sample is up and it's glaringly obvious. This guy is pissed, begrudgingly returning to follow some confusing urge to finish what he started. It's not the entirety of his character and he certainly doesn't drop f-bombs like one of the teenagers around where I live who only have the bravery to string them together when their mom isn't around to smack them upside the head.

There are many ways I'll deceive and lie to weave a story. I'm forthright about the content however. I won't hook you into my story with promises of purity then decide to jump out of a box with dildos. Mostly because I haven't had a story to tell like that, but that 'adult' label is there for a reason.

You can go against the grain with rules, but keep your story self-aware at the very least. In my experience, the biggest story killers including false virtue signaling that is never called out (some who swears over and over they are honest but lie constantly; no one calls them out on it and they don't ever develop as a character to either embrace it or change their ways) and Mary Sues. Mary Sues are those characters that no matter what happens, they are as good as safe with no actual consequences. The male equivalent being Glenn in The Walking Dead series. In order to remedy that backlash, he was killed off almost comically.

It's not that I don't see a writer's appeal in killing off characters. It's often annoying because of how lazy it seems. It's sometimes used to kill off ever having to delve into a complicated plot or just to say "see? I'm not too attached to them. They're dead now." Again, if there is some hope that those plot reveals lie with other characters, it is bearable. A writer deciding to tie up a great plot with a stupid death and a newspaper article is just poor planning.

Whatever moral scruples people have with my stories, I am aware of the importance of telling the story. I don't want the narration to become muddled with the apologies of a writer that is uncomfortable with their own story. For me, writing was about removing the annoyances I had with my own reading experiences and writing those things that I wished a story would be. I didn't want hard agendas, political commentary, and personal religious beliefs buried in my fiction.

As I said, there are many ways a storyteller will lie and deceive to make it interesting. Being aware of what I'm doing doesn't impede my decisions. I would love to have a bestsellers someday, but it will be a sweeter victory if I didn't have to sacrifice the integrity of my story just to get there.

I'm not really out to change minds. I just don't think I should invalidate my own preferences to make someone else feel comfortable. When I silence myself, I may be destroying the opportunity to reach those people who needed what I was too afraid to share. Seems like a missed opportunity.

Many of my most commercially successful friends write in genres most of you have never heard of or quickly ran from. The reception from their fans is heart-warming, grateful someone wrote what others were afraid too. It's not going to make them mainstream, but their enthusiasm and feedback is the stuff worth envying.

Choose Your Own Adventure: When Square One Starts on Page 42

Gathering writing advice and experiences is one of my favorite ways to take a break from the actual act of writing novels. At first, I might have lamented a bit about the order I've approached things. The general consensus tends to look like this:

• Join forums, groups, etc.
• Gather readers and writers to build an audience
• Collect interested people for an email newsletter
• When established, consider how you want to publish: traditional, self-publishing, hybrid
• Hire... people? Cover artists, editors, or take advantage of what an agent/publisher offers to deflect those costs.
• Publish
• ...
• Profit!

I pretty much did no research outside of the process of finalizing my books, so... basically, kinda sorta just the last three.

Joining groups and speaking with other writers and readers came next for me. A lot of head-scratchers popped up there. The insistence that readers are guaranteed everything from trigger warning to outright spoilers because not all adults like adult content? Monumental egos, genre confusion-- I was not quite feeling this.

Because of that, I gathered very few people and slowed down on marketing because, screw that noise, I just want to write. Don't get me wrong. I love to bounce around ideas-- help people who have run into similar issues, read quietly while I learn from discussion...  However, the only drama I'm about is what I put in books. There are also a slew of supportive and sincere writers, but then you get those passive aggressive types that choose to demoralize people, as if there's some pride in trying to shut down or cull the weakest from the herd.

Good luck miscategorizing me there. You're wasting your trolling attempts there.

I don't consider myself terribly empathetic, but the idea of bullying people out of having an opinion or a platform is cowardly. I'm not sure I ever want it on my conscience that I could have made someone give up. I'm a firm believer that everyone has a story to tell. It doesn't matter if they ever do, but it's there. No, I don't think anyone is owed a little safe space to never be challenged, but if you're in a support group, maybe just shut the fuck up with the narcissistic pessimism and peddle that shit elsewhere. Common sense.

The marketing is time-consuming. This is where I see the real appeal in attempting traditional. Just like I don't want to waste gobs of time on butting heads, I have stories to write rather than stopping to slowly gather readers. I know it seems backwards, that I could get a better understanding of my audience if I build it first then get back to my stories. However, I'm not sure I want to be branded in just yet. I DO want to flirt with other genres. So the sales aren't stellar, but I absolutely love the freedom of not being bombarded by demands. 

I know it seems counter-intuitive to success, but for my goals, I would rather pack on a nice variety for many audiences then whittling down the focus to the more successful ones than throw all my eggs in one basket on some mad dash to fame and fortune. I don't just want quantity, but quality and I am better prepared to understand the needs of my stories than anyone.

I'm at peace with Page 42. Some stories are best read out of order. Either way, I am enjoying setting the terms of my journey and I hope to roll out the carpet my way. I am incredibly grateful to all of the family, friends, fans and inspiring writers who reinforce my reasons. Yes, my stories would be written and released without any feedback at all. There is no pull stronger than my stubborn muse. It certainly sweetens the pot though, critics and all.

I'm not going anywhere, if I can possibly help it.

Writer's Doubt

Alas, there is a different contender in a writer's struggle to get things done: writer's doubt. Just like writer's block, there are healthy bouts and crippling ones so let's explore this a bit.

Writer's block can have a lot of reasons. Poor planning, distractions, pressing obligations, lack of confidence among other things. Sometimes it will tug at you for a few hours, sometimes months and even years can slip by with wistful agony or the sudden surprise that it has really been that long. Writers can lose their mojo and wonder what steps they can take to find it again. They'll get a lot of condescending 'just write' prompts with no attempt to address what could be the problem. Maybe they're glued to the lack of success with one project, maybe they're intimidated by a lot of ideas at once. Usually, I can offer some sound advice as long as they are willing to look at the underlying issues. I'm not a stranger to blocks and 'just write' does work for me most of the time. In my case, it's just a matter of being willing to get rid of something if it really doesn't work for the story. This can be hard for people. We all want to cherish our words, but sometimes they just aren't right for the story. Crap is okay-- it keeps you mobile and is a lesson for growth. Don't let that cringy part paralyze you' scrap it and don't be afraid to approach it differently.

Writer's doubt can be just as bad. It can operate like a block, rendering you immobile. You look through your draft, appalled at all the things that just aren't working now. You get to a part that challenges your morality or skills and wonder if you should push through it with gusto or work around it. You scold yourself because 'someone else beat you to it', some concept or idea that you were so proud of, only to be devastated that research revealed its similarity to something else. I ran into this issue a lot when I went into a reader group and learned, to my shock, that my chosen genre just didn't have a lot of people who were comfortable or receptive to my approach. Sales were hard won and I lost the confidence to promote when I realized I was straddling two genres that weren't married well in current trends.

If you're not caught up on this, I wrote an epic fantasy. The concept centers around a group of people who survived attacks on their cities and were pressed into a quest for revenge and answers. There are many races of people, from ogres to animal-human hybrids, mythical creatures including elementals. The creatures that were always touted with benevolence (the elementals) are somewhat horrifying creatures in reality and the Gods that created them have slept and ignored the world as it has gone to shit. It was bad enough that they thought they were going to war with a southern kingdom, but they are even less prepared to confront the arrogance of the very creators they had come to rely on. It's rife with lore, including a genetic anomaly where the usual elemental alignment of souls missed the memo and some humans were born Soulless, locked into the need to gain a Purpose and connected to the Void where souls vanish. I won't heap on all of the unique characters here, but I took great care to create a simple logic connecting and conflicting this world. Instead of focusing on that, I got the appalling realization that people's primary focus was whether there was sex in it.

It was a hard pill to swallow and one that spiraled me into doubt. There was so much opposition and disgust concerning sexual themes in epic fantasy that my head was spinning. So many claims emerged that sex distracted from the plot, that it was simply a writer's masturbatory fantasy, and so on, things that I could contest but would still be ignored. I might have had those complaints myself once. Despite Laurell K. Hamilton's commercial success, I found the sex to be tiresome and distracting and it killed the Anita Blake series for me. I didn't mark this as a path I cared to take. As for my masturbatory fantasy? Hardly. Some of the scenes were ones I had to create real distance to make successful. I can't deny that I DID enjoy some scenes and mainly because it was written to reflect the characters' honest reactions. I didn't favor any character as my personal avatar nor did I inject my ego. I wasn't even the narrator.

While I absolutely love discussing my stories, I have to admit, it was beyond exhausting to do so from a defensive crouch.  Instead of focusing on the parts that drew up the bulk of the labor, I was batting away attempts to discredit me for crossing into territory they deemed as erotica or romance. I was at a loss there because I've read both and my content didn't mesh with that audience either. Could my content survive getting thrown in that section? Not likely.

It was disparaging, but I wasn't giving up hope. While I was finishing up my second trilogy in this series, that was where my first bout of doubt had hit me. I ran into a game called Dragon Age and was almost crushed by how similar my approach to fantasy was to this game. There were glaring similarities like the Gods I had created and even a character named Solas to rival my Solis character. It was enough to make me halt my story for a while, but being away from my work proved too hard. I sucked it up and made a list of ways they were different too. It was a longer list so I picked up the torch and carried on.

Doubts have always been present along the way. They always will be. People are going to take issue with the vulgar language or the sexual themes or the darker places my characters go. All the same, I struggle to practice crafting stories that are self-aware. It can be impossible for me to classify my stories and I couldn't confidently give anyone a guarantee without holding their hand through it. I can't give guarantees because I have no intention of sticking to any brand or genre. I like to finish my work, yes, but I will be covering a lot of territory in my aspirations. I can easily tell you if something I write is child appropriate or not. My only real issue lies in trying to rattle off what genre/subgenre I'm in because it had been made clear that writing to honesty and curiosity did not leave me in a neat little safe place for guarantees.

I can vouch only for this. I read my stories more times than I can count. Sure, I had to edit them and make sure they made sense, but I've enjoyed revisiting them because they hold my interest. Not an easy feat. We're supposed to like our own stories-- why else would we write them?-- but I have read them on my best and worst days and doubted myself enough that there's no way in hell I would have made the leap if I believed they were crap. My ego wouldn't have allowed it. There are plenty of stories that hit my wastebasket and these were survivors.

They overcame the most crippling bouts of doubt. lol Which is what this post is supposed to be about, after all. I don't think I am in any position to just rattle things off without some personal anecdotes though.

You're going to have life issues that cripple you from time to time. A lot of artists are drawn to and repelled by creation in equally angst-ridden parts. Don't be terrified if you have to create some real distance with a beloved project. Sometimes years. It's not always procrastination that draws you away-- you just recognize you aren't where you need to be to continue. 

Let's revert again to my experience. My first book was a doozy and I still debate some choices. The original book, which I started over 13 years ago, was rife with embarrassing and cheesy anime-style dialogue. What works for that medium does NOT translate well on paper. I knew it was going to be a painful journey to make it something I wanted to release, but that's just it. There was something rather charming about the story itself that kept me from burying it in a landfill.

One of my favorite doubt-busters stems from that lesson: does the story redeem itself beyond the nitpicks? Is it clear? Is it interesting? Are you focusing too much on the typos and not the plots? I can't stress enough to be a story-teller first. Most of your unforgivable mistakes are not story-killers. Yeah, it can go off the rails big time. Family Guy fans, anyone? If you saw the episode where Peter took over a retelling of the King and I, you are already aware of how badly ideas can go wrong. If it's still comedic in that case, maybe you can roll with it. Annnnnd sometimes it's just crap and will need an overhaul if you just can't scrap it.

One of the areas where I find are challenging is dialogue. Dialogue can be a real pain in the ass and mainly because you're maneuvering more quickly in real time. Real conversation is at a disadvantage because you don't get to pick the perfect comebacks or ruminate on it for several minutes. You do get to consider it more carefully, but that's where it gets tricky. You do need to read it back in real time to feel its authenticity. You want it to be clever, true to character, but overworked dialogue can come off as inauthentic. Thank you, Gilmore Girls, for the lesson on how to avoid making my characters sound like meth-addicted rocket scientists. I can't say it didn't have entertainment value but zero people actually talk like that. You probably want to pat yourself on the back at that clever banter, but it can fail hard when put to the test. Sometimes you want to preserve those awkward imperfect retorts. It's not a commentary on your intelligence when you let your characters be a little dumb and incomprehensible. Let your other characters react to it for easy character development!

Okay, friends, I'm fighting sleep so I'll let this one wrap up. Let's just end it by saying that where doubt exists, you don't need to be rid of it. Like stress, there are healthy amounts of doubt that keep us humble. If you find it to be crippling, it may not even be your lack of action but unreasonable demands on yourself. No matter how much you want something, forcing it isn't going to be a cure-all. Sometimes you really need to put some distance on your work, maybe even enough to forget about it altogether until you're organizing those files one day and stumble on it with all the excitement of Christmas morning. You don't need to be a prolific writer to be legitimate. I fell out of drawing for years, but I came back to it better than ever. I didn't stop being an artist just because my heart wasn't in it. Doubt doesn't invalidate skills just because they aren't used in timely fashion. In those times where I wasn't directly using those skills, I was developing the state of mind needed to make it work. Take the breaks needed. Try to get back in touch with inspiration through other outlets. Sometimes a new hobby or a change of scene is the key. Sometimes you have to court ideas before you can marry them.

Fun with Internet Hypocrisy

"Don't silence me!"

Says the person disabling comments.

It's a trend I see, where you see people venting on a thread and would love to comment... Only to see the OP (original poster) or admin disabled the comments. Aw, boo. This just screams rampant egos when someone won't just delete the post. Was it not the hug box they were expecting? Did they determine everything worthwhile had already been said? Either way, it always denotes a lack of courage.

It's worth a mention or two or a million. I don't crawl all over social media with any high frequency but I see it several times in short spans of time, usually accompanied by the words "I'm not going to be silenced", almost like a warning that they intend to do just that.

I can't say I've never been tempted to do this in the past. I've blocked aggressive types that won't drop something. I am openly disgusted when I catch someone aggressively bullying someone else, especially when they post someone's personal information or opinions in a group in an attempt to alienate them. More often than not, I unfollow biased or predatory groups if I don't leave them altogether. I have never disabled comments. Perhaps because I am diplomatic and only delve into lukewarm controversies-- in any case, I never shut down discussions. I don't expect people to agree with me. As long as people observe respect and understand personal boundaries. I have plenty of recourse to take that doesn't subject everyone to reading with no ability to interact; only the actual offenders will go.

No one should have to deal with harassment but there is a frustrating amount of knee-jerk reactions at the slightest opposition. Toddler-level crap at that. People that don't like hearing no and of course, people that insist on being heard without reciprocation. You could even compare it to Bridezilla type platforming. It's MY platform so hands off!

I have platforms for my thoughts. This blog, for one. However, all of my platforms ARE public and I understand that ideas evoke responses. Whether you hate what I do or fall into some shade between that and loving what I do, my platforms remain open to opinion. I don't peddle my perceptions as fact and I don't mind a reasonable challenge to my experience. I won't disable comments but I will weed out spam and agitators who abuse the privilege.

Everyone falls victim to the 'good intentions' trap. Some of the most heinous bullying can indeed be disguised as knowing what's best for someone else. Sometimes family can be the culprit, just as keenly as strangers. Whether someone actually knows you well or not, there are always parts of us that can surprise even ourselves. You should not feel the need to limit those things because some well-meaning person believes they know how miserably you will fail and wants to save you from yourself. There's a balance there. You don't need to ignore people outright. There's often some good advice tailored to you where you least expect it. There is often temptation to take advice you know won't work so that when it doesn't, you can place the blame there. Don't do that. Make choices for yourself and be accountable for them. Whether it's personal or for all of social media to pick at, direct the course of your interactions with the knowledge that YOU decide ultimately how you will handle things.

I have stopped even bothering to read anything where comments are disabled. All opportunity for growth and even questions are blocked. It's worse than an echo chamber. If you want me to be curious about what you have to say, keep the floor open. If you are overwhelmed and need to bow out, there's no shame in deleting it.

Yes, I used to stay in groups that always put me in a bad mood under the misconception that it was cowardly to back out. Stupid me. Really, anything that is stifling your priorities or curiosity is far more foolish to entertain. Find your people and take control of what makes you grow strong. There are plenty of people who let it get so out of control that they have to bow out of social media altogether. I can't say I blame them, but if you make it a point to weed out the stagnant interactions, you'll be surprised how you can avoid needing to back out of everything just to avoid the mess.

I'm going to leave you with another tip if you do want to boost your friends list but are afraid of the creeps that inevitably come along. I've had a few instances, strong enough to show a pattern, that revealed another trend I don't like. There were quite a few non-American men that swarmed to be added with suspiciously bare profiles. They will almost immediately hit you with a 'hi, how are you?' Keep in mind, these are always men from countries where women's rights aren't a thing but I have no desire to vilify all men from these countries so I won't list them. I've seen this problem crop up for many female authors and artists. I generally do allow an initial 'hi, how are you?' but the minute I am complimented on my looks or assaulted with a bevy of personal questions, I ditch them. Sorry, but it always goes downhill from there. I'm a big girl-- I can handle myself against the possibility of creeps, but if you aren't aware of this, comb through your profile before setting it to public and be sure that you are protecting your information. I do open my personal page to writers I've vetted in groups, but if complete strangers want to follow my work, they can do so via my professional pages. I'd love to add everyone but there are always people that like to ruin it for everyone.

I know there are plenty of people that don't put their work out there because of these fears. They're not prepared for trolls or negativity or criticism. No shame in that. I was there for a long time. Build a thicker skin over time and above all, enjoy what you do. You probably do research for your stories; just take the time to do the same research for what you might encounter on your career path.

Its cool to step away from social media to clear your head or binge on work. Still, don't disable comments. Set your privacy settings, weed out actual trolls, expect adversity, but don't be a lazy egomaniacal douche.

That Thing about Life and Lemons

Because of the subzero morning temps in the area, the boys going back to school Wednesday was a false start and they actually pretty much just said not to even bother coming Thursday or Friday; we'll pick it up next week.

So my plans to start working again were put on hold too. More entertaining the boys for a few days.

This is why it's so important to operate flexibly, to not set frustrating time limits on goals. Things like this happen and we make do. In this case, I'll do what I can and not sweat what I'd rather be doing. We're a walking school district and we're some of the unlucky ones that have to walk so it's a blessing too. I might get a bit of work squeezed in here and there at least.

I've resubmitted my book UnNamed for Kindle Scout, waiting on confirmation.  There were a few hiccups with closing down the campaign on Publishizer but I can't stress enough how wonderful their team is when it comes to customer service. I never had to wait longer than 24 hours for a reply and many of them were merely hours later. They were always courteous and helpful. I would recommend that anyone who is great at self-marketing and already has a reader following to give that a try. It wasn't for me, but it's certainly the right platform for someone with the right preparation.

In my case, I do struggle to juggle real world obligation with the many, many hours that creative development demands. My health issues make it hard to maintain energy or focus, namely because this is a colder winter than we've had in years and I don't acclimate quickly. I will-- it just takes some time to build up. I've dealt with it long enough to know what I'm looking at. All the same, I'm still optimistic that I can charge back in. I can't time it, but I can taste it. I don't hesitate when the gate opens.

No biggie-- it's life. I'm never far from my work so it's always ready. My laptop is always on, my peripherals are always in reach. I am always prepared to take advantage of every muse, bug, and itch. And I do.

Shoebox Spaghetti

I see a lot of head-scratching topics on the internet. That wasn't a confession unless I'm trying to be Captain Obvious. I'm pretty sure the confusing title behind this post was probably a bug planted on me from some random encounter with a TED talk video, but I've seen it spring up like a weed in many other annoying places.

This one had to do with 'how men and women think.' If your eyes rolled, we're best friends now. 

The concept behind this one is that men's brains are like shoeboxes-- they take out the one thing they need and everything else is out of reach while they focus on their singular task. The way it's presented, it's no less absurd than the old presumption that men can only think with their dicks. Supposedly it's the reason why 'men get confused in complicated conversations involving anything but the one thing they're focused on.'

Okay, so women's brains are more like spaghetti. Apparently this is why we seem to think about everything at once and the end of one thought immediately leads into something that may seem completely unrelated. This just seems to poke at another old myth that women are scatterbrained and hysterical. I can't say I hate that the diagnosis led to the prescription of orgasms, but it kinda seemed like doctors were just looking for ways to diddle their patients.

There are always shades of truth in these studies, but then they are also laden with these ridiculous assumptions that everyone is living in some perfect bubble. It's creepy, like the idea of wearing name tags everywhere or the weird way that people shut down when you toss a label on what you are. I'm not sure why a feminist would get excited just because they meet another feminist. When one feminist's idea could mean they secretly wish for female genocide so we can all play in a male-free heaven together, you start to see the problem. As Michael Che would say, there are LEVELS to this shit!

You can already see where the problem is. I used an extreme example, most likely false and misrepresenting EVERY feminist; exactly like these studies are doing. I DO have 'spaghetti brain' sometimes but it's not the shrill housewife trope where some woman is shrieking about missed birthdays and anniversaries. I often don't know what damn day it is. If I wanted to be inaccurate, I'd say that grief and trauma made me closer to the male side of this concept.  While I do have a ton of projects going at once, I focus exclusively on one at a time. When I say that, it's easy to gain the assumption that something has to 'go wrong' for people to cross the gender gap.

Using softer language, it doesn't become more accurate. Rather than saying 'all men do this' definitively, they'll turn to 'some men tend to...' However, as the points continue, you'll often notice there's a switch into general inclusion of all of that group. They'll cover their ass then use persuasive language and bad jokes to strengthen the argument. Man shoebox, woman spaghetti, unless you're EVERYBODY where life, environment and a variety of factors means there's no actual truth to it, just a series of commentary on two-parent white households prior to the 1980s.

Yeah, the whole comparison reeks of a family model that isn't even that relatable anymore. If we laughed at the comparisons to something that felt familiar, it's because you're either old enough to have actually seen it or you saw it on reruns on cable TV. The more I analyze the ideas presented, the more it seems odd that it could even gain ground. Every example I've seen assumes that the man and woman are a couple and he's hitting things with other things while she's throwing her entire collection of unboxed shoes at him for doing everything wrong.

Okay, maybe not as bad as my scenario, but I'm a writer and you know I'm gonna put a similar spin on it. I'm sure that the original intention was just to try to put some lighthearted understanding on the differences between men and women. I can't deny that there are plenty of differences without having to make up new ones.

For one, men and women do think differently overall. However, it has very little to do with how every one of them will react to a situation. There's a lot more precision than studies ever really touch and, yes, it's even hard to explain. In any scenario presented, there's really no way to tell if said men/women would go with fight or flight. At one point, it probably would have been accurate to say 'men fight, women flight' but was that ever really the case or just the expectation? When we're being watched, who we are tends to differ from when we are left to our own devices. We all have different moralities and circumstances. I can't tell you how many times I was sure I couldn't do something and did it anyway. I never thought of myself as someone who could mobilize when terrified. Even though I more often face challenges than run from them, there is still always the possibility that I will meet my match or change my tune. I have seen different tendencies in men, but I can't say for sure it's because of how we're groomed or some biological urge. Men and women alike can tend towards one or the other. People have tried to say that men are more sexual or violent, but I have seen plenty of cases where women have exceeded anything I've seen in men. There are definitely different tendencies, but I can't say that any reaction or state of being was ever the domain of a single gender. What I labor not to do is assign them before the individual has time to represent themselves.

Men and women certainly tend towards certain interests. That's undeniable. I've written before that the fantasy genre attracts a lot of subgenres for all of the intricacies of difference in audiences. Men do tend towards sci-fi and old-school fantasy and shy away from romance. Women do tend towards romance and female heroes, urban or progressive types of fantasy. This is what the market tells us, but again, there are plenty of people that bridge those gaps. However, women are often more adventurous readers. Women are more likely to embrace male-dominated ideas while men, if they are enjoying women's ideas, simply aren't as vocal about it. Most of the men I have talked to cite the reason as wanting inclusion, that they just don't relate to the 'feelings and female characters'. There are women who do the same thing so I wouldn't be so quick to hate this sentiment. 

I didn't quite get it myself-- I go for full escape. I'm not looking to relate or be one of the characters, but instead an observer and an outsider. I've been hopping in and out of the copilot seat of male superheroes, purple dragons and LSD-popping plumbers my whole life. More often than not, I choose the character with the best butt these days, male or female. The butt animations on gaming are mesmerizing...

It can be pretty confusing to figure people out, but it's futility to imagine you'll ever be able to find some magic formula to figure everyone out. Every time, you just have to do everything the hard way. You're already making snap judgments based on looks, smells, the senses. Life would be pretty boring if we never went deeper. If every time I locked onto a stranger I would just dismiss them before even talking because shoebox-republican-SUV tells me all I need to know, I'd be cheating myself out of every opportunity to prove that even the socially-inept like me can overcome excuses and just wing it. Social anxiety, a lot of us got it, but don't let it be a crutch for snap judgments. And ffs, stop getting your 'facts' off of Buzzfeed. Or at least don't tell yourself there's a single shred of truth there.

Personally, I think we're all shoebox spaghetti. We all set out to open neat little boxes. Sometimes we find uncooked noodles, sometimes it's that predictable tangle of saucy spaghetti and sometimes it's a screaming pile of maggots. We all can get caught up in overthinking and we all have the ability to focus when we find it worthwhile (and life gives us the opportunity). There's a lot of potential in just not believing in all the shit the world tells you that you should be. I can't say I've never been caught in the trap of what I was 'supposed to do.' I'm often the opposite of that and trying to correct it was a mistake. Worse yet, sometimes I did fit the generalization and would waste time trying to change that, be a true 'rebel'. Embrace what you are, whatever it is.

Boxes are for cats. Spaghetti is for everyone.

'Spring' Cleaning

I'm part bear. I wish it was polar bear but alas, it's one of the sluggish in the winter sorts. All the same, I got the bug to 'start fresh', one of those checks my ass can't cash. I was a rather grumpy bear by the end of the day. I got up at 6:30 AM and noticed there was a two hour delay at my nephews' school. Rather than go back to bed, I got up and cleaned the fish tank. It pretty much set a course for the rest of the day. 

Made a healthy breakfast. I'm a wizard with eggs so it's never a sacrifice for my taste buds. Coffee came with it because the magic is never satisfied without it. Then of course, I decided every bed needed clean laundry. When it was finally time to take them to school just after 9:30, I hadn't sat down at all because I decided to chop and prep every vegetable in sight. Coming home with a frozen face and the unusual sensation that I could still feel my eyebrows, I launched into boiling lentils and prepping soups, all while hand-scrubbing the kitchen floor and the greasy dust that likes to coat neglected kitchen surfaces. I fancied taking a nap but it was noon before I looked at a clock again and there were still two loads of laundry on queue. Pipe dream...

So I got to sit down for maybe an hour solid before it was time to take another cold walk to get the kids. Dad had offered me a ride but no way-- I'd been lazy two weeks straight so I needed to break out of that. Got back and made one of the boys hot cocoa before wandering up to the store. I finally sat down but got up again since Dad made dinner for everyone. I hadn't touched any of my creative work, but there was some satisfaction that I had tackled prepping every lunch for the week and having a clean house. There's more to do tomorrow, but I had the realization that this was exactly why I was glad to get out of retail jobs in the first place. 

I pulled the back of my knee. I've done it before but usually during the vigors of circuit training, not housework. At this point, I became a grumpy bear and ended up hibernating... For all of two hours. 

The boys have another two hour delay in the morning and most likely will on Friday too. Tomorrow, I'm going back to creative work because, as satisfying as a clean house is, all I can think about is more sleep and making progress on my work. I still want to run the vacuum and a couple of menial things. These winter breaks just seem to end up giving me a lot of false starts and resets that take some time to balance out. 

 I'm not a spring cleaner. When the weather gets nice, I want to frolick in the sunshine, not choke on clouds of lazy winter neglect. The fish tank needs cleaned every two weeks at least and every other tank cleaning usually yields another day where I remember why I don't work retail anymore. At least with housework, I don't get shit for my pacing or breaks. As if I'm able to do either with any sanity, but mentally it's just different when it's your choice.

Creatively, I had done quite a bit of file sorting over the break. That won't turn into a mess until I start my next massive editing or design phase. So a month tops. January and February will most likely herald a third book and the combined trilogy released as a text only paperback. I'm being flexible here since I'm part bear. Everything in me wants to sleep until spring. Everything else wins and I end up trying anyway.

It might seem like my mother's death was some kind of positive. I can assure you it wasn't. Something rattled loose and I've used it positively, but it also has me teetering on the edge. Stopping for anything unsettles me. I often overwork myself because I don't want to wallow or mire myself in destructive loops. That's not something to admire. I am certainly proud of what I achieve but there is plenty of misplaced guilt there too. If anything taught me how to handle pain, it was fibromyalgia and  that was touch and go on my will to live too. 

I am happy that I can be productive. I am thrilled that I have something to share. I am humbled that so many creative minds tend to come from layers of pain. 

It's terrifying, it's wonderful, it's life.

Until it's over, I intend to extract every ounce of meaning from that.

Sometimes you just have to begrudgingly treat each day like a fresh start.

A Letter to my Mother

Dear Mom (because all letters start that way),

I was sitting outside in the punishing cold and the night seemed still. I held my breath as I noticed the cars on the highway had stopped going by and yet I still heard my hair crackling on the collar of the coat that you wore. I thought of you and the illusion broke.

I realized that all we have now is the past, but it didn't make me unbearably sad. There are a lot of moments now where I look at all the bad and good that transpired between us and it doesn't feel profound or as if I need to find some deeper meaning in it. It's just a moment where you're kind of there but not really.

I remember all the shapes you taught me. That bird baths are sometimes as telling as stop signs. That big scary trees are still just trees and I can overcome anything with a favorite toy and a good book. That puzzles are never the same twice.

I remember the pain of not coming first. Of being thirsty for attention and being careful of what I wish for. I was never one to dwell on pain, less so when it became a constant.

Above all are the moments where I got to glory in my selfishness. When you smiled as I launched into my latest writing or drawing ventures, where I vandalized magazines in purple pen and poked fun at game shows. Even when I pushed, you pulled and those were the moments when I never flew alone.

Allow me to be a little more selfish. Whenever I put out something new, I'm putting you here with me. I'm doing this all for myself, no matter what, but I refuse to be lonely. It was never about escape, always about moving closer to what I am.

Now, I am defining shapes. I am finding all of the signs because I know how to find them. In the still hours of a cold morning, sometimes I find you.

Oh, the stories I can tell...

Love Always,

Krista

Short Story Excerpt: Girl Plus WTF

I figured I'd start the new year with my first blogged story excerpt. Probably not going to be a long one, but let's see where it goes...

**************

Struggling on the edges of sleep, she labored to open eyes sealed shut by the day old lash tint she forgot to remove.

'She' was a good start. Definitely a girl, but the rest of the details of her life eluded her. She had gone to sleep in her own bed, vaguely recalling that she'd caught a whiff of those sheets and added 'bed laundry' to her to-do list the next day.

This definitely wasn't her own bed. For one, the sheets smelled like honeysuckle and she didn't own any such dressing gown as the one encasing her outstretched arm. Or any such dress-like fashion at all for that matter.

Ryleigh (her name, doing good so far) pushed her arms forward, freezing in place as she felt some foreign appendages behind her stretching in the opposite direction.

She shouldn't have any such muscle memory for how to move whatever was back there at all, yet it folded like an arm at her willing it do so and she smacked herself in the cheek with a bevy of silky white feathers.

A very inhuman squawk escaped her lips. In a sudden frenzy of flapping wings, she simultaneously dislodged herself from the bed and managed to tangle herself in the previously unseen canopy above her. Ryleigh tumbled to the floor, screaming bloody murder from the colorful swirl of limb-trapping fabrics.

The sound of a door and the scuffling of feet cut through her humiliation, the gentle peals of laughter at her expense only adding to the assault on her pride.

"My lady, still yourself. You're only making it worse" came the patronizing voice of the intruding female.

Ryleigh complied but rebellion still exploded from her being and on a stream of colorful vocabulary.

Number one, let's do away with this 'my lady' nonsense.

"Vile woman, what have you done to me?" Ryleigh sputtered, disentangling herself from the offending pile of sinfully soft silks.

Vile woman? Really? Now she was doing it too.

"Not a thing, my lady. I just came to wake you but it seems you're an early bird."

Oh, ha ha. Early bird, get it? Yuk yuk and har de har. At least the woman wasn't self-satisfied with that little pun. It was probably more infuriating that the uniformed woman's face was so serene and serious instead. And oh yeah, the 'my lady' thing.

"Ryleigh. Not 'my lady'."

"Fair enough, and I'm Lyta, not 'vile woman.'"

Ryleigh didn't want to like this woman but couldn't help a smile at the quick wit.

"What kind of horror show are you running here, Lyta?" Ryleigh emphasized the name with a venomous punch. "You get your jollies sewing wings onto people's backs?"

Ryleigh might have suspected the stoic woman was simply a victim of too much Botox if not for the sudden lift of eyebrows at the accusation.

"I'm not sure how hard you hit your head on that tumble but those are the same ones you fell asleep with. Indeed, the same ones you were born with. I assure you there's no trick involved."

"Silly rabbit, Trix are for kids."

Humor was her best defense but she might have spoken another language for all of the recognition this Lyta gave for the comeback.

Ryleigh's eyes swept around the room again. No televisions or computers or any of the commonplace things she might find in her home. Still not uncommon in a prison though. In its place were many not-so-commonplace things that told her this was probably a place without cereal featuring cartoon rabbits.

Her eyes found Lyta once more, noting that despite Lyta's assurance that her wings were commonplace, Lyta had no wings of her own. She did, however, sport a wicked set of pointy ears. Ryleigh's hand drifted to her own ears, relieved to feel their familiar roundness was still intact.

Ryleigh narrowed her eyes as the woman's words rekindled in instant replay.

"And when exactly was I born?"

Lyta's expression became bored and a frustrated sigh escaped her lips.

"Apparently yesterday," Lyta mumbled before her eyes softened with sympathy. "I realize you've suffered quite the ordeal. Your parents died just days ago and you've barely moved since. You not only take the title of Lady of Aldivan but you've been summoned to the King's Council on the eve of war."

Ryleigh blinked incredulously. She was pretty sure last night she had talked to her parents on the phone, although she had been somewhat incapacitated, bloated from polishing off a bag of Cheetos. She had a Level 60 battlemage on Skyrim. Unless Cincinnati was about to start a war with Canada, she was also pretty sure that nothing Lyta was saying made one bit of sense.

Ryleigh got to her feet, not without taking out what could have been a lamp on the table behind her with one unaccounted-for wing. She cringed as the shattering sound of glass punctuated her nonexistent grace.

"Whatever drugs you're on, I need some."

Lyta's rueful smile told her that this incomprehensible babble was no joke.

"My name's still Ryleigh, right?"

Lyta nodded and Ryleigh expelled a pent-up breath.

It was a start.

*************

Ready for the next one? Click HERE.

Happy New Year!

I've always found the idea of resolutions to be fraught with far more disappointment than encouragement. Life doesn't let you plan for death and loss or the sweeping thrill of sudden joy either. It just doesn't, so those timed goals can feel like an impediment. 

You know me-- always with my ambitious lists. One thing I don't do is put a definite time limit on them. I don't say with any promise that any year will be great. Although I often start a new goal on a Monday (which is often my favorite day of the week because of that), I don't beat myself up when Wednesday night makes me realize my weekly goals might have been over-ambitious. 

Things get done. In their own time. Sometimes it's a lot less than you wanted, sometimes it's a lot more than you hoped. I don't wake up demanding a promise of a good day. There are things I have to actively do or avoid or just face in getting through each one. At the end of each day, I like to look back on it and tally my victories and defeats and do better.

I definitely don't plan for breaks. It's the one thing I absolutely suck at. It's not that I don't know how to relax, it's just that there is actually so much that I fully want to do. Sometimes I go weeks before I realize I'm probably an insufferable cunt because I haven't touched a video game in forever. I don't necessarily regret it but it then becomes an immediate priority. Yes, on my list of priorities, dreams and family often come first, but nothing is locked in place. At any time, video games might take the top spot because I need to inspire my work or just need to enjoy the fruits of someone else's labors.

You probably beat yourself up when you think about how selfish that sounds in your own life. Socially, we've been geared to pump out a top five list that sounds agreeable. It's one thing to do that for the pageantry of conversation, but one of the reasons Americans are so laden with mental illness--  we feel so guilty when our actions don't fall into this impossible ideal that we neglect what had been groomed into us as a luxury rather than an actual need.

Don't know about you, but becoming a ball of stress never did me any good and it certainly didn't make me useful to those around me.

So go into the New Year with that in mind. If you must make resolutions, make them flexible. If you want to lose weight, great. Don't put a number on it. Make sound and workable lifestyle choices that take into account that you are human. Overwork and injury make you less than productive if not useless. If you want to finish that book, go for it. If you barely make it to the end of 2018 with a legible draft, you still did far more than the person who didn't start at all. Take into account the hurdles you faced and figure out what you need to do to press on.

Try not to make your goals a slow walk to the guillotine. You might face some crippling adversity or you might catch a lucky break. Humble yourself to all of it. If you base your next goals off of your very best week, you're probably going to slam into a wall. Rock bottom sucks but I like to think of an old lesson I learned as a child. You don't build your house on sand, you build it on a rock. Rock is your foundation. You don't stop there or try to dig through it, you build up. Think of what will keep your next house stronger.

I know life is tough. You won't hear me reflect on all that's gone wrong in my life because those were footnotes. I will deal with chronic pain and mental glitches my whole life and I've learn to stop fighting against them, but to work them to whatever advantage I can suck out of them. I have become an intuitive and deep person through those bumpy spots. I've become the sort of person that people know they can talk to because I have no desire to abuse the vulnerabilities of others. I protect others as preciously as I've protected myself but I don't hold anyone back either. I know it sounds like I'm tooting my own horn but you should know that once you can tear through the fog, there's a bright side somewhere. Yeah, sometimes there's a lot of fog and some pretty terrifying and impossible pain. There are parts where I was sure I should give up. The longer I endured, the sweeter the air on the other side. Even when it left me boneless and weak, I was glad just for the ragged breaths I could pull into my lungs.

Maybe I'm just shit at telling time but I don't weigh my success by the rotations of the earth. It can be staggering to reach beyond yourself, stretching beyond your home, your town, your country, the earth and out into the universe. You wouldn't take on all of that at once, so don't treat time like a thing of convenience either. You are an amazing creature of so many possibilities, just reach each day, even if it's just the length of your own arm and grab for something. Treat each day like a new start, the beginning of your potential. 

I had a humble start. Touching base with my handful of dear friends through messages, doing the work/play labors of love... That's the short version. I made some Perler bead crafts, finished the last of the simple color basing for my third book, read some of my friend Liz's story and wrote a few hundred words for UnSung. Woke up at 1:30 PM, braved the cold to walk to the store and run into my favorite Kroger employee and friend Landon. Got home, made hazelnut coffee then made some Omaha Steaks with my family, courtesy of the holiday gift from my aunt. It was a humble day, but the absolute perfect start if I could ask for one. If this day could really set the tone for what I want from the 'year', that would be everything I could ask for.

What I want to leave you with is this: reword your day. If your day sucked, rewrite it in a positive light. Sometimes your car breaks down, you get the worst news of your life and there really is no silver lining. This is where artists often work some magic. There are lessons there, ones that seem impossible to paint with any light, but trust me, it's possible. It's also been my number one survival tool. Sometimes it take a week, a few months, a year before I am able to see value, but that's the art of life. Losing my mom was soul-crushing, displacing, but there was something there, waiting to push me ahead. I wish I could name it but laboring to do so wove its magic. It's not because my mom wanted it or because I was moving on in her honor. Those things felt so trite where possibility was concerned. Perhaps it was more like the pieces of her and the pieces of me reordered to make a new picture possible. Somehow all the pieces, no matter how fucked up, they still manage to fit. I could have let them be wasted or collect dust, but I didn't.

That's what matters. If you're going to collect anything in life, put it to use. If it's not useful to you, find it a home. Sometimes the answers are deceptively simple, only the journey to arrive there coloring them with true meaning. Do quotes ever mean the exact same thing to any of us? Yet something resonates there, doesn't it?