About Me

Rambling

I sat down and read an entire book in two days.

It’s something that I haven’t done in years, but I like that I still have it in me to pull it off. I usually bounce from activity to activity, fulfilling an obligation here, stealing ten minutes there, trying to make the most of my day. I haven’t spent so much time on one activity in ages.

The funny thing is, as soon as I finished, I launched into an analysis of the author’s psychological problems. I couldn’t resist — the romance was so badly tacked on, it just screamed to be probed and dissected.

At some point, I decided to experience novels beyond what was written on the page. I try to see the authors behind the words, and can get a pretty good idea of what they’re like before I go searching for the bio. Unsurprisingly, the above author turned out to be divorced, and currently lives alone with two cats — which is probably why she failed at portraying romance effectively.

But otherwise, the story was very enjoyable. After all, I finished the book in two days.

That’s also why it can be so hard to share my writing with others, because it feels like I’m exposing huge portions of my insides to anyone who bothers to look. Guess why there’s a reoccurring theme about social outcasts? Obviously it’s because I’ve spent my entire life surrounded by a group of BFFs who love and support me. /sarcasm

As serious as I am about the craft of writing, I’m a flake about marketing. Big time flake. Heck, I worry that developing that part of my brain would hurt my artistic integrity, so it’s easy to shrug it off. My goal isn’t to become an entrepreneur.

Actually, there isn’t any real point to this post. I’m rambling.

Before 2020, I had been planning on some real-world marketing strategies to get my name out there as an author. Obviously when people started wearing gloves and hitting the hand sanitizer hard, I put those plans on the back burner. It still doesn’t feel like the time is right to engage with the real world yet, and I don’t want to fuss over stats on social media.

I don’t mind biding my time.

It’s nice to take a couple of days off for an indulgence, just because I felt like it.

Photo by eberhard grossgasteiger on Pexels.com
About Writing

Readers’ experiences matter too

There’s some famous micro-story that goes something like, “Baby shoes for sale. Never used.”

As a mom, my immediate thought was that the parents forgot about getting the shoes because they were sleep-deprived, and the shoes ended up buried at the bottom of a drawer during the week the baby was the right size to fit into them — I have all sorts of baby items that were never used for that very reason. Heck, I was rather shocked when I realized that most people were so morbidly eager to mentally kill the baby based on so little. Ya sickos.

Writers cannot control what the readers imagine and assume while they read. They can appeal to the mainstream and draw on the experiences that people try to conform themselves to, but there’s always going to be someone who takes away something different.

I recently watched a movie, where some guy was wondering whether or not he was engaged to the right woman. Some other man decided to chip in, and talked about how he had been married for over 20 years, then went on to tell about how long ago he had met the most perfect woman ever and fell madly in love right there and then, but then was separated from her a couple of days later. The first guy was like, “So how did you find your wife again?” and the second guy replied, “I didn’t. That woman isn’t my wife, but I always think about her.” Cue sentimental music.

And I was like, “Wow. You are a horrible person for forcing your wife to live in the shadow of a fantasy for over twenty years, instead of appreciating her.” I definitely didn’t take away the message that I was supposed to.

I read reviews for books, and often see wildly different reactions to the same story. Where some people see virtue, others see emotional blackmail. Where some see strength and empowerment, others see discrimination and marginalization.

For me, that’s part of the magic of writing: everyone experiences the same story differently.

I think that it’s something writers should embrace.

Instead of seeking singular control over everyone.

About Me

Slacker

I’ve been such a slacker lately.

I actually do have a reason for it, which I am keeping personal for the time being. I will say that the echoes between this year and 2011 are rather eerie.

When I decide I’ve had enough of being a hermit, I plan on re-releasing The Black Magus on Smashwords. I’m also undecided about whether I should put The Scion Suit on the back burner for awhile, or push ahead with finishing it. Though come to think of it, I’ve never put a project on hold before, so that probably answers that question. Besides, writing Hartmann should be fun, with him being so cavalier.

Once that’s finished, I’m going to start the sequel for BOTH The Black Magus and Alice and the Warden. A series of cheesy and highly contrived events cause Hackett and Ainmire to cross paths, and they form an everlasting friendship based on their mutual proclivity for younger women. LMAO.

Or something like that.

I never take myself too seriously.

Anyway, I also need to finish transcribing the Miranda and the Convict letters, which I have been procrastinating on horribly. Stuff to do, and all that jazz.

Not to mention, it’s that time of year for baking apple rolls and pumpkin cookies.

art

Elastic

After spending an hour at my sewing machine, trying to figure out how to use my time-saving elastic presser foot, I gave up and decided to sew it by hand.

One of my books has instructions on how to do this properly, but I wasn’t in the mood to go digging through them all to find it, so I went off memory (aka making it up). I’m using silk thread, so it will hopefully be strong enough to take the wear and tear of use.

I know it doesn’t look like it in the photo, but the gingham pattern is enabling me to be very precise and even with my stitching, so the end product will be much neater than if I had done it by machine. Besides, handsewing isn’t as slow as everything thinks it is.

I secretly like that no one blogs about sewing anymore. The “sewists” got on my nerves. I never really understood why modeling a garment so frequently involved pressing yourself against a wall while sticking your butt out like you expected to be mounted at any moment … just kidding, I understood exactly why they did that, and I’m sure they’re still doing it over on instagram.

So

Me: I’m going to use elastic so I can be lazy about drafting the pattern!
Also me: I’m sewing the elastic on by hand.

About Me

Sick Week

The family caught a cold this week. Just a regular, common cold, and I’m still chasing the one-year-old around the living room with a tissue.

I set up an air mattress in the living room and turned it into a camp out, which the kids thought was great. We watched a lot of movies, played a lot of video games, and drank an enormous amount of juice. My husband and I switched off who was in charge, based on who needed a nap the most desperately.

I like my life.

I like throwing a sick party with my children. I like wiping up little noses. I like having a husband I can rely on.

We live in a world where very few people can understand that. There’s a constant push for more more more. I’ve gotten so much criticism for not joining in the rat race, to the point where I don’t bother trying to talk to most others. What I have right now, is good enough to live for no matter what else the world throws at me.

And I don’t want to live in the sort of world where one-year-olds have no one to look after them when they’re sick.

About Me

Update

I’ve decided that I need to stop keeping an eye on trends, considering the increasing number of things that are physically painful to know about. Honestly, the sort of terminology that is popular on the internet makes me want to say, “Uh huh. And did you come up with that before or after you ate Tide pods?”

No one with any intelligence or dignity would apply those sorts of words to themselves as a label. Ever.

Then again, I think that quite frequently when I go to the grocery store and see what people are wearing these days. A main characteristic of modern life is how far are you willing to degrade yourself to fit in. I’ve come to the conclusion that the majority of people don’t have any limits.

And I don’t want to know about it.

I’ve also decided that there are some IRL people that I need to cut out of my life entirely. The situation is getting too fucked up and exploitative, so it needs to end. Not to mention, after a year and a half of no contact, I found myself simultaneously thinking, “Were they always this bad?” and, “I did not miss this!” So I have to work my way through the guilt of being a cold-hearted bitch, simply because I don’t want to be treated unfairly anymore.

In other recent events, there’s nothing quite like watching a building burn down to remember how meaningless and insubstantial materialism is. Everything can be lost in under an hour. Everything. So instead of wasting my time on empty pursuits, I’ve been playing Jingle Bells on the piano while the children dance and sing.

Memories last longer.

About Me

Musing

The other day I was musing over how all of the creative sorts that I used to follow back in the day all dropped off the face of the planet, when it hit me: I dropped off the face of the planet, too. Talk about a blind spot, lol.

Though I didn’t have any adoring fans that I let down. There are people out there who are very good at commanding attention and getting noticed … and I am not one of them. I tend to become shy. So. Very. Shy.

Anyway, my absence from the planet is why I sit here saying, “I’m super passionate about writing,” with so few titles attached to my name.

Those lost years were essential. They added depth to my ideas that I wouldn’t have developed otherwise, and broke me out of the standard tropes. They gave me life experience.

They also left me too scattered for awhile afterwards to finish anything. I had no focus or consistency.

And I don’t like talking about it, so don’t ask.

Thankfully, in this part of my life, I’m a lot more solidly grounded, so I’m much better at writing nearly every day (I say after I took a full month off just because). That’s the part that really matters to me, but dang do I wish I was working faster sometimes.

Like, it would be so sweet if I was finishing TWO novels every year, instead of just one.

Because sometimes I feel like I have too many stories inside of me, waiting for their turn.

About Writing

Musings on MatC

I handwrote the Damon/Miranda letters months ago to feel more in character, and now I’m running into the problem of never being in the mood to transcribe them.

And here I had been fantasizing about posting two a week. Ha. Ha. I’m such a slacker.

I’m going to bluntly tell you right now, I don’t know how to end the letters. I don’t particularly want to write nine years of Miranda and Damon writing each other back and forth, but I would like to include the resolution at the end.

I’m probably going to have to switch over to third-person narration for the finale.

It will be epic and beautiful. Reduce you to tears, and all that jazz. So A-MAY-ZIIING.

My husband pointed out that their story is pretty far outside of the usual romance genre formula — but I’m good at being offbeat and weird.

It’s ‘normal’ that I struggle the most with.

Considering that I’ve never really lived ‘normal.’

Just wait until I start posting the Carol/Hartmann stuff I’ve been writing, lmao.