Thursday, August 18, 2011

When to pitch something or keep adding to the plate

On this new and fierce journey to follow a dream of writing, of publishing works already completed and new works that are in the process and coming along; I have been faced with a question that is jamming like an eighties Clash hit.

Should I stay or should I go?

For the past month I have been busting ass, trying to talk to different people. Find an outlet, whether it be through writers’ sites, social mediums (Twitter/Facebook/Google+, etc); I’ve been introduced and talking to multiple people within the literary field, fellow writers who are published, some that are posting on free sites, some that are just writing and they’ve all said the same thing.

Get a site.

Ugh, I must digress. But this is coming from someone who is new to all of this. I am the most non-tech-savvy person you could possibly meet. I don’t do codes, I don’t do graphics. Don’t is a very repetitive theme. I like things simple, easy, that won’t make me cry at the end of the night—even if it is over something fabulous like a fake advert for Louboutin stilettos. Come December, I will own a pair and not even bat an eyelash at the $800 cost.

Over the past few months I have been terrible about blogging, but part of me believes that is a good thing. I have not needed to vent as much, I am happy, in a good place, have been busy with people around. Who in the hell wants to read about my random daily business of going to the markets-even if I happened to trip? Even so, I write for me, as a place to just let go and free-write. But it is one more thing that I must keep track of.

Which would be the case of a website. To promote. Promote a book that I am in the process of researching to print and put out electronically independently. With this book, comes a glitch. Marketing would be involved.

I am torn on this, mainly because I know I should technically set up a site if I am dead serious (which I am) on moving forward into a publishing capacity, however this is where I have to stop and think.

Do I want to merge this blog with the website? Do I want to completely cut this avenue out, and mainly post updates on the website? Though frankly speaking, I honestly do not need to have my personal thoughts broadcasted on a website for which I am trying to promote, and not have a big vulgur sign screaming out….

{courtesy of google}

On the other hand, the website could have a link to this blog, or to a section for a ‘faux blog’ where I could write much like here, because I’m not here to prove anything to anybody. This is what it is, and I am sticking to it. I am not conforming or following anyone. The purpose of these entries are as an outlet, it is not always warm and fuzzy, it is not always crazy and eclectic—thank god, but I would like to think that should someone read something, or if I were to look back as reference--it is a place that offers something or even solace to any person who is dealing with similar moments in their life.

Like turning thirty and having a nervous breakdown. Like dating 1,560 men and waking up to an empty bed looking like hell--or feeling like hell while dealing with having an affair with a married man unknowingly(a post for a new day). Or simply just getting by in life without wanting to run to your car and scream and cry or laugh and dance along the sandy beach overlooking the sunset.

I’m not too sure about this one or where I fully stand right now, and thankfully have time to consider what could survive knowing my erratic schedule; and work with someone who knows all of the technicals for creating a website (sweet jesus, this penny pincher is going to have to cough up the dough for site design). But for now, all options are being kept open.

Because I am not sure I am ready to give this up, as little as it is. As basic and simple as it is. As comforting of an outlet it has become, I want to hold onto it for now.

Monday, August 15, 2011

Where is this now?

As the cool fall winds tease the evening air, it makes stop and think about where the time has gone over the past several months. Where I have been, and what all has been keeping the days full of events or empty with the sun.

Hours of work in an office that behooves me in every form, outings with friends that has comforted and protected-even if it comes in the form of SPF for them and baby oil for me, dates of misfortune that makes me understand the reality of wants and needs. I am pushing something that may not be. All of this is simply filling time, stealing it and gesturing for more. Whether it be for laughter, love and wholeness.

I have noticed that my time during the week is shortened and I’ve become void to ideas and hopes. Through the work comes a stress, which leads and fuels the fire to staying true and persistent for what I want to do. Sitting behind a desk taking orders, being a job lackey feels more degrading than working a fast food lane. At least there, someone is grateful rather than unappreciative and demanding. What is so fundamentally a part of my life, is calling in different tones. It reminds me to never lose focus and to keep trying to get it just right, to find a way of being stable in your niche. Your claim to economic happiness. Money is money, and it is crucial-but to remain true to me, my heart and soul-I’m willing to make a sacrifice. But what is it? Or do I already know.

The people that have become the closest, see and read through me. They know where I want to go and push me to make those futile steps further into the right direction. Even if my mind is forgetful, they are not. With family it is entirely different. There is always a judgment against actions, a prejudice against you. Not with these friends that are my family, there is no rudeness or cold behavior-only encouragement. And for that I've latched on and have been soaking it up building a confidence to step out of the typical norm, step away from what is expected-to do what is just right within. To follow dreams and make them into a reality, even if it means saying ‘fuck it’ to everything else.

Forcing something that may not be is a realization that is now acceptance. I do not want to go further alone in this life without the deep rumble of someone next to me, to feel that warmth curled into the sheets. To be a couple. This is the hardest part. For months I've been going back and forth, playing games that I am way too old to be playing, trying on new men for size and its emotionally draining. I know it’s part of the process by I am beat, and with that beaten. By the end, I'm left bereft, tired and don't want to give up the fight for hopeless and endless love-but the light is extinguished for now. I love the independence that I have, but want to be dependent of someone for a change. I'm hurt--but not broken, sad--but still happy. It is only a roadblock and will come into my life when the timing is right, or so I'm told. I am staying positive but am no longer searching, because it’s in the search that I lose sight of who this woman is. I lose sight of what is all around me.

For days I thought the quiet would be soothing, but it was in the chaos, the rubble of laughter that I am listening to, that I am relaxed. It makes it clear that when I'm trying to achieve certain things, I'm focused and the chaos is still. I am missing pieces, missing other things that may be passing by. For a change, I'm reverting and doing something so out of character. I'm not caring anymore. Letting go of the wishes, the prayers, the 'let me please' thoughts. To just go in the direction of those winds.

For right now, I just want to be. Be, wherever this draft is taking me, be happy for the people around, be available and optimistic for tomorrow.

Sunday, August 7, 2011

I {heart} NY

There is something about the written word that frees my soul. It is a part of my life, the days, the hours; it allows me to feel full and complete—within your creativity. When I started writing the short story for a friend, that love, that sort of intoxicating feeling you get after being introduced to something that interests you…consumed me.

I have finished the story. Thank god. It took a couple of months to pen out the 100+ pages, but I am proud of that story. My friend loves it, and it was something that I needed to do. It was a wakeup call for something that has been missing for months.

Writing comes naturally, it’s a love, but to take so much time and invest it into characters and a plot and actually post it out for thousands to read opened up my eyes and opened the doors to opportunities.

It has opened the doors to fresh ideas, new people that I honestly never thought I would talk to, people that have become daily contacts with conversations I look forward to. All because of a few words that were penned out.

The story Reading the Defense is in total six chapters, after the fifth chapter I clammed up and didn’t get writer’s block…but did get a sort of ‘conclusion block.’ I had become emotionally invested in the characters that had been created, emotionally invested in the people who it has been reaching out to since the end of May. I knew that in writing the ending I would have to really step up my game and put everything into it. But I had stalled, for nearly a month. I received emails from people wondering what was going on.

Would I finish the story?

When would the final piece get posted?

Stress consumed me, over a short story. A very good friend that I am eternally thankful for, has a house in New York. On the Pennsylvania border, in the woods. It is secluded and on a private lake, where coverage for your phone and email is non-existent. The land is rich with history—literate history. Playwrights once lived on the lands, current writers live there, artists have homes, etc. It is a prime area for the creative mind.

She and her husband knew I was writing and trying to wrap up the story, knowing this they invited me to come out for a weekend getaway. To get lost in words. I hesitated at first, because I am obligated to my job. Obligated to my work ethics and morals.
Forget my work ethics and morals. I slept on it and decided to listen to my soul.

Listen to the words that were taunting me. Dreams that were begging for me to pursue.

I went to New York. I spent three long days taking in the raging sun, dipped into the lake, watched everyone play bags and drank a few too many drinks. And wrote.

Wrote the conclusion.

Amidst the wooded bliss, I was able to listen to the ideas freely and pen the final pieces down. It was like I was possessed for those few days.

It was the exact place I needed to be, and the fact that friends saw and knew that warms my heart. I got home and transcribed my notes, rushed it out to my editor and…posted it. Online first and then converted it over to send to my friend.

The response has been overwhelming. To some people it may be nothing; to me it is the world in gaining enough confidence and networking the most out of something to make a go of this story. Of future stories. There have been requests for an epilogue from several readers, because they too are invested in the characters.

It has been a tumultuous couple of months getting this story locked down, it has come miles from the first section when I didn’t have an editor to the last chapter where the writing expanded and my editor made less marks and praised the work.
I am proud of the little story that could, and am going to keep writing for the site that is hosting it for now. Until I find another site for another genre,until I get fully published, though I must say, writing Women’s Fiction/Chick Lit…is fun.

If not a little racy at times, but still fun nonetheless.

A part of me thinks that I would still be twittling my thumbs trying to sort out the conclusion had I not gone to New York. Had I not been sitting amongst the high trees and gentle breeze, sweating and drinking. I’d like to think that I owe New York for that, that I was in a state of mind that can only be visited when there for this one story. And for this story, it was perfect.

For a better look as to what this post is about, follow the link to Reading the Defense. As a general note, the piece is romance/erotic in parts.