Category: About Me

About Me

Religion

Autumn

I’m what is called an eclectic Pagan, though I think of myself more as an obsessive cherry-picker.

Religion fascinates me. When I was 21, I made plans to move far away and get a degree in Religious Studies, but it turned out that I was destined for something else. Instead, I now have a large collection of books ranging from the Liber Null to Doreen Virtue.

I’ve dabbled in all sorts of magic, and I have a deck of Tarot cards that I consult regularly. If something doesn’t work, I move on to the next; if it does, I add it to the ‘eclectic’ part of my Pagan practice. All I really care about is finding what resonates with my soul, irregardless of what shape it takes.

I consider the religious beliefs of others to be sacrosanct, and while I will discuss why I do or don’t believe in a particular thing, I respect that everyone has their own path to follow. That’s also part of my beliefs.

All of my stories have an esoteric element to them, and they all happen in the same spiritual universe.

Light Eternal, for example, is pretty heavy on the spiritual stuff. So much so, honestly, that I don’t expect it to gain any sort of attention until after I’ve published a few novels. However, it was exactly what I needed to write at the time, and it’s a good foundation, so I went ahead and put it out there.

I’ve been a bit shy to say all of that right out. I’ve had very mixed reactions to this particular aspect of my personality, but considering that it’s an obvious part of my writing, it would be disingenuous of me to try to hide it.

So there you have it, I love religion. I’m just not picky about which one.

tree

About Me

Inner Voice

Autumn

I have an extraordinarily loud inner voice, and I took it for granted that everyone had some sort of private dialogue with themselves, until I found out differently a few months ago. Read the title of this article, which says all you need to know. I still struggle with the idea, but it also explains why so many people have assumed that if I don’t say my thoughts out loud, my thoughts don’t exist.

I started off extremely shy, and once I was labeled as quiet, no one wanted to hear anything I had to say. However, that didn’t mean that I possessed an empty mind, so I’ve spent most of my life telling myself all of those thoughts that no one else ever bothered to listen to. In many ways, I was my only confidant during my formative years, and I suppose that my chatty brain is the natural consequence of that.

I often have a monologue going on in my brain. It doesn’t matter if I’m sewing or washing dishes, I’m always chattering away with myself in my head. I can even talk to my own fictional characters as if they were real.  It’s one of those things that I don’t tell most people about, since they aren’t very likely to understand — I’m sure that a psychiatrist would have a field day with me.

Ultimately, that’s why I write: the Voice has to go somewhere. That’s also why I feel compelled to self-publish, instead of keeping my stories hidden away on a flash drive somewhere. At the end of the day, I’m still human, and I still want to feel like someone hears me.

 

aaea2391c80f95e1506cecb103602cf6

About Me

Love Triangles

Autumn

Hate ’em.

My first exposure to the idea of two guys chasing after one woman was the TV series Christy. My mom watched it, and some years later when the movie, Choices of the Heart, was released, I was excited to watch it with her. I was partial to the reverend David, and found it disappointing when (SPOILER) Christy married Dr. MacNeill instead. C’mon! I didn’t like him at all!

Later, I realized that most love triangles have a clear winner early on, and the second guy is mostly just emotional gratuity.

In real life, the closest I ever came to unwillingly becoming the subject of attention from multiple guys ended so horrifically that it was a full five years before I associated with any non-family males again, and earned me the branding of “cold hearted bitch.” It was scarring.

As a married thirty-something, love triangles don’t do it for me. All I needed was The One, and I enjoy stories about people finding their One too, so I can reminisce and appreciate how lucky I am with my husband. It’s easy to spoil happily-ever-afters by wondering what would have happened if you had married a different guy.

I don’t pick teams or giggle when my guy scores points over the other one. I don’t eagerly tune in day after day to see which man the main character will choose. Despite the popularity of love triangles, I just don’t like them. I see them as a good way to alienate others and get hurt. Not fun. Not romantic. No thank you.

About Me

Murder, She Wrote

Autumn

I’ve been watching ‘Murder, She Wrote‘ in my downtime, and I’m currently halfway through season 2.

Occasionally I think that the main character, Jessica Fletcher, is too trusting. She hands high-priced items over to the police without ever once suspecting that anything less than honorable will happen to them, and she openly talks about her suspicions and plans to whoever happens to be nearby.

Of course, since it’s a TV show, she always has everything lined up perfectly whenever the bad guy tries to do bad things, and the day always ends with justice prevailing.

It annoys me deeply. Irritates. Vexes. Abrades. Perturbs. Etc.

Perhaps it’s a generation gap, or simply all too telling of many of my own experiences, but the amount of open trust without any negative consequences strikes me as implausible and naive. I want to grab Fletcher by the shoulders and shout, “KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT!” The world is a dark and evil place, and there’s a murderer in your midst. Keep your wits about you, and maybe if you’re lucky you’ll survive into the next episode.

But that’s not the world portrayed in the series. That world is comparatively innocent and unrelatable for me.

That said, I do very much enjoy the episodes about writer culture. Them’s fun.

About Me

Facebook

Autumn

[////]=I quit Facebook completely almost two years ago.

(^ Baby help. I didn’t notice it until several hours after posting.)

I created my account as a teenager because it was the cool thing to do (back when you needed to have a school e-mail address to sign up), then over the years that followed it  mutated into a sense of obligation. That whole, “I need to keep people up-to-date on my life,” thang.

Facebook was never a big source of dopamine addiction for me. I was never viewed as being trendy, so instead I mostly felt the anxiety of not being ‘like’-able enough for anyone. But, you know, I was obligated, even though I grew to hate it.

Then the summer of 2017 happened. As I contemplated posting about personal events, I thought about how stupid it was to feel enslaved to people who were never going to see or talk to me again. And why was I keeping up on their lives anyway? They never cared about me before Facebook came along. You know what? Screw them all.

I haven’t looked at Facebook since.

I also highly recommend quitting social media to everyone. Doing so had a surprisingly beneficial effect on my life, even though I never considered myself much of a user in the first place.

So…

This year I published a book on Kindle. I’m not terribly concerned about making money off of my writing, I just want to connect with readers (you know, the peeps who appreciate the way I think). Since I have four small children, I don’t want to do anything that intrudes on my life too much — motherhood comes first above all else for me, and kids are time-consuming. I confess that the thought of Facebook has crossed my mind as something easy.

But I swore never again, and I meant it.

Not to mention, I’m not going to find readers on Facebook, considering that I, as myself, did not enjoy any sort of popularity on the site. Not the right crowd.

I haven’t the foggiest if I have any chance of finding anyone with my self-imposed restrictions, but hey, I’ve never been known to be conventional. The important part is, I still have time for homeschooling and baking cornbread.

At the end of my own life story, I want to say that I kept myself.

About Me

Real Life

Autumn

It always feels a bit strange when I draw from my real life with my stories. I never include the Big Stuff; truth be told, I have a possessiveness over my experiences that lends itself towards secretiveness. Barriers, and all that.

Hey, if I was perfectly well-adjusted, I wouldn’t be a writer!

Often, I’ll be out and about, see some curtains that I think are beyond gorgeous, and make a mental note to use them the next time I ever need to describe curtains. Is it deep? Not remotely. At the very least, reading my books will give you a good idea of my tastes in fashion and home decor.

You will not, however, get any sort of autobiography about my life.

Barriers, and all that.

White_Mask_Unveiling.jpg

About Me

The Man Who Invented Christmas and Characterization

Autumn

I have a thing for watching corny Christmas movies in December, which is how I came across The Man Who Invented Christmas. It’s about Charles Dickens during the time period in which he wrote A Christmas Carol.

Overall, it really wasn’t my cup of tea. I finished watching it anyway, despite interruptions breaking the movie up into multiple sittings, because I did like how it portrayed Dickens chatting with the fictional character of Scrooge whenever anyone else wasn’t around.

My favorite moment was when Dickens entered his study, stuffed full of fictional characters milling around, and one of them asked, “Who is that?”

Scrooge replied something like, “No one of any import — just the author.”

I’m going off of memory here, so forgive me if I got the line wrong. The spirit is there.

I busted out laughing, because that’s how I write.

My characters are as real to me as, well, real people. I talk to them and listen to the stories they tell me. Writers block happens when they refuse to answer my questions, and getting through it is a matter of finding out how to get them to open up again with better questions. Sometimes, I feel like I’m helplessly scribbling down as much as I can while they chatter away too fast for me to follow. Othertimes, they patiently work with me through the interruptions that come with being the mom. It’s often very sad when the story is done and we say our goodbyes.

I suppose that being crazy isn’t necessary for being a writer, but it certainly helps!

About Me

To photo or not to photo

Autumn

The book I’m currently reading (Mythago Wood by Robert Holdstock) has a great big picture of the author on the back cover. I showed it to my husband and commented, “It would be absolutely mortifying to see a picture of my face displayed like that.”

One of the things that I really like about writing is the anonymity of it. I can hide behind characters, and reveal my innermost thoughts without revealing anything at all. I strive to be, as the author, completely invisible in my novels.

Of course, with setting up an author’s page on Amazon, they ask for a bio and photos.

I wonder, do readers really care what the author looks like?

Personally, I don’t.

Personally, sometimes I wish that I didn’t know what an author looked like.

I’m contemplating whether or not I ought to include that particular bit of info, and hide safely in my anonymity.

About Me

On blogging

Autumn

I actually really like blogging.

As a teenager, I religiously kept a Livejournal for years, posting something every. single. day. In a different life, I would have transferred those skillz over to a less angsty platform, and made a shot toward becoming a professional blogger.

In a different life.

But 2011 found me living out of a car, and once I saw the world from that angle, I never recovered from it.

Just as well, really, because in interim a number of blogger-culture quirks popped up that make my teeth hurt.

I don’t read many blogs now. A few years ago I enjoyed crafting blogs, until I realized that the quality of the actual crafts was dropping precipitously, while those popular bloggers were publishing how-to books that were teaching sloppy techniques. They didn’t care about the crafts; they cared about monetizing.

I’m enough of an arteest to believe that money comes second to artistic integrity. I won’t try to sell something that I was too lazy to put any effort into.

Sometimes I wonder how many other people care. I wonder how many other people are tired of vapid content generators that are concerned more about page views than connecting with readers. I wonder how many people are like me … if anyone.

I like blogging. I’ll probably start putting more energy into it from now on, simply because I’m tired of hiding who I am for fear of being hurt. I just refuse to be anything other than me, especially for a paycheck.

About Me

On holding pencils

Autumn

When I was in kindergarten, I was officially diagnosed with ‘holding my pencil wrong.’ The adults fretted that my handwriting would always be crippled, that I’d never be able to write cursive, that I would always be a weirdo for life.

Being a little kid and all, I tried very hard to learn how to hold pencils the ‘right’ way.

The ‘right’ way made my handwriting worse and hurt my hand. I always subconsciously switched back to my wrong way, because it felt so much more natural. The adults practically melted with anxiety over my future.

Finally, in fifth grade my teacher announced that my handwriting was fine, and that I could keep holding my pencils however I wanted. After all, in her experience, if the correction hadn’t been made by that point, then it would likely never happen. Hallelujah, I was free!

In high school, the other teens said it was freaky how I held my pencil. I had a pronounced callous on my pinky finger from the amount of writing I did. My ceramics teacher predicted that I could be a calligrapher, if I wanted. I was proud of how I held pencils.

I write all of my rough drafts by hand. I have my fountain pen, medium nib, my collection of Japanese inks, and a binder stuffed to the gunwales with paper. My current WIP has reached 100 pages, with about 400 words per page in my handwriting. I don’t suffer much hand-fatigue; I can easily hit the 1,000 word mark without any discomfort. The callous on my finger as all but vanished since I quit using ballpoints. I don’t see why everyone made such a fuss when I was a kid.

I am, however, an irreparable weirdo; but I don’t think that has anything to do with how I hold pencils.