Practicing a little vocabulary expansion, one cock at a time

What is it about writer’s blocks that can get us down? Is it because we have so much going on in our day-to-day activities? Maybe I’d rather sit on the couch watching New Girl or the ladies from the OC than actually make my brain function by creating properly formed sentences. Whatever it is, it’s a serious force to be reckoned with.

This fiery beast weaseled its way into my creative mind and curdled all thoughts for months, it wouldn’t hurt that there was a whole lot going on, but even so works got put on hold.

Could there be a better way to get out of this little ‘hurdle’ than to push the limits on something. A while back I wrote a short story for a very near and dear friend of mine. That story that was originally only meant to be seen by few has been seen by many. It’s currently getting published in an arena I never thought it would, but it is. It cracked the door of possibility, for a genre that was I was never really concerned about venturing in before as a writer.

Like a girl who broke the seal after the first drink at a bar, that bitch got broken fast.

To knock out this little writer’s block I dusted off the laptop--forgot it in the back of my car on numerous occasions, and started outlining. The first story for my friend was carefully constructed and thought out to fit her perfectly. But I have my own fantasy too dammit! A phrase that was repressed during this little block; writing lost its edge and after an anonymous email from a reader that was filled with encouragement, thanks and of course the endless request for more. It was never intended to write anything more for that series, only because it was a gift for a friend. If anything I could write a fresh stand-alone story. The guilty conscience kicked in. I started writing a follow-up story. This one surely could break through the writer’s block.

For an entire weekend, I holed myself up and re-mapped an outline. I am one of those annoying writers who makes an outline for everything. Even for a grocery list. Creates characters and outlines their lives, the city, the sub-plot…it’s repetitious but it’s how I work to keep a constant flow that is somewhat seamless and real.

By the end of the weekend the outline was completed as well as fifty pages already in the bag. It was strange and like an out of body experience, my hands were possessed and a plot came together. For the following week, work was secondary until I finished that story. It seemed all too important, much too necessary. By that Friday I sent an email to my editor and gave him the heads up. A new story was coming, get ready. Sunday rolled around and as the edits went out, I sighed with relief just before cracking the bottle of prosecco open. The writer’s block was officially kicked to the curb. The first draft of a novel I started was half-way written and could get picked up for an early summer push date should it get through editing on time. It could happen. Confidence fully restored….

Until the edits came back for the short. After reading through the first sections, I agreed with the changes and made the necessary revisions. When I got to a chapter where the two leads come together and get it on … ooh … there was a misstep. They were so not gettin’ it on. Reading through the edits and my own writing, I sat back from the computer and laughed so hard until I cried.

Placing her palm against his neck, Hadley looked into Marcus’ eyes as he started to lose control. It was When he his cock hit her hard, did they fluttered shut. Wailing out to him, “Marcus!”., she came so hard she nearly fainted.

My poor, poor editor for this short. He is used and abused but knows I love him so. There was a dirty, nasty little coupling of words. One of them, I love more than the F word itself, but cannot ever write it in professional works. It’s like saying ‘bitch’ aloud or outside of a bedroom. It.Will.Never.Happen. Never say never, it really can (and does) happen but not in that context. I immediately emailed him, and what did I get in return: ‘I could tell you were laboring….”

Yikes! Laboring is right…so you push ‘cock’ into my vocabulary to stir up the pot? Go figure, because it worked. Somewhere in that laughing haze and going over the first draft, something inside snapped. So I re-read, re-grouped and re-sexed that story the hell back into shape. It’s completed and getting published chapter by chapter. The editor … approves. Halle-fucking-lujah. Something learned from all of this was even during a dry spell or a ‘writer’s block’, getting back into the full swing of things takes time. You can’t rush yourself, otherwise you appear rushed and frenzied.

My writing, is none of the above. It’s skilled and planned. This story, and God love him--my Editor, reminded me that I may move or type fast, but writing and actual stories take time to mature.

So it’s back to San Antonio we go. I’m over this writer’s block and fully set to finish the ‘Summons’ novel, and get it out the door. I have been talking to more than enough people, so the support is there to get it off of the ground and up and running. Who knew that in order to break through this annoying hurdle, was an itsy bitsy word that is no stranger from my mouth. All it took was a little cock.

A splash of ass and bit of sass

With spring right around the corner, you can almost smell it in the air. That shift in pressure, the soil softening…the trees budding for new growth. To say that fall and winter were dull, would be an understatement. There have been get togethers, wine nights, shopping excursions, dates and detoxes, trips to unknown cities and a little bit of writing in between. That time fell together into a slight blur, but a miniature and very powerful message behind everything got forgotten.

A little bit of sass and a fresh dab of lip gloss needed to be taken out on the town. In more ways than one. No, that’s not just in terms of men. I’d like to think that, at this point, I’m living a free life and whatever happens--happens. Not just men at all. Hibernation mode fully kicked in this year; something that generally creeps up and finds a wonderful perch somewhere from October through January. Rather than ice skating around a park in the city, I sat bar-side sipping martinis with friends in town. Shopping in the city for flowers was turned to a local merchant around the corner from work. The all too familiar outgoing and go-to mentality was lessened and quieted.

Admitting this need to get out and blame only being cooped up would be a false statement. After trying to get over someone, we all do this. Vent to our friends, delete every message and every number. Cry our eyes out, avoid food because it took too much effort to eat, and then go out. We take an extra hour to get ready, blasting club hits while drinking bubbly champagne. Slap on the all too high heels that make us wobble, but make our legs look damn good. We go out, to get out. To get out and get back to feeling like our confident selves. Or maybe that’s just me.

Several friends were away for a weekend, or busy with their families. I figured, there was a rut and I needed to get out of it. So I dipped into the closet and looked at the oh-so-typical dresses to wear, and stumbled on something I forgot was even hanging in the sea of fabric. A knitted dress that had been purchased to wear--if and when I needed a splash of sass. Always thinking proactively.

That night called for more than a splash of sass; it required a wealthy vodka drink and a whole lot of tanned skin to get the job done. A job that is highly laughable now, but was needed to snap a smile in place and bring the ever present laugh back into my throat.

What started at one bar and a simple drink, turned into a full night out of networking and letting loose. At the first bar, a bartender and I talked about his girlfriend and my manly woes. Out of nowhere, or maybe it was the liquid haze, I bit the bullet and went to another place and that’s when it all happened. Put me next to someone, we will talk. It’s a given. Every wallflower must sing at some point in their lifetime. Fortunately, I am not a wallflower and just sing. In this case, talk to a group of people who are within a given industry that I am pursuing.

Random happening or magnetic pull? Nobody will ever know, nor do I want to analyze it. Turned out that one of the many groups I ended up talking with, in between sipping sparkling champagne, was indeed part of a marketing firm. For a local magazine. I had been sitting at the bar and overheard publishing and honed in. Awful, terrible; but in all seriousness who does not eaves drop? I turned and introduced myself casually, not mentioning anything about writing. I was merely someone meeting a group at a bar. After an hour of talking, we ended up chatting about writing, publishing, marketing; the works. By bar close, one of the men I had been talking to walked me out to my car several blocks away. He was sweet and nice, it was late.

As I drove home and the next morning, and even now I still shake my head at things. All it took was a snappy dress and a shift in my mind to get back to me and where does that lead? To writing. Here I thought that night was going to be a confidence booster over fully letting go of a guy, but it was so much more than that. It was a confidence booster in following exactly what everyone including a psychic has been saying for months and I have been shying away for unknown reasons.

We can run and hide from things for a short while, but in the end—everything always comes back to us. For this, it took an unexpected night out to restore that missed feeling. So with that, I am working on getting back into the swing of this blog that is way out of touch. It is a place where I can free-write the whatever (s) of a day or week. I’m wrapping a short story for a website and finalizing a publishing deal that isn’t much, but it is something.

I have started writing and publishing on the ups and downs of relationships, the single life of a thirty-something. God knows I’ve experienced enough of this, but will keep experiencing it because it’s life. Who knew all it took was stepping out and flashing a little ass to admit things are okay where they are and go with it. Documenting it all along the way.

So it's another round, only this one should be leading in a fun direction; and to that I say...I am ready, are you?

Cheers

Steamy sex and nano what?

November is quickly approaching and with that string of thirty days, comes a project that seems impossible yet completely capable. Nanowrimo.

November is the National Writing Month and what better than to have someone create a sort of push of sorts to see if one can pen out an entire first draft to a novel in that time period. Anyone who knows, this can be done, but is slightly difficult due to the many phases for writing. You’re dealing with: outlines, research, editing and simply finding the time to sit your ass down and actually write.

I am partaking in this madness for a couple of reasons. The first one being that I am currently half-way through a project that is taking longer than expected and is going for publication so most of my time is focused on that right now. Writing sexy kisses is not easy, no matter what someone tells you. The second project (intended for Nano) is a follow-up story that has been requested on numerous accounts and is itching to get penned out. Work has been unusually slow, and nightlife—well that is a whole other animal that won’t get tackled right now. Lately it feels like I’m racing in along the autobahn and there’s no offramps. It’s crazy, time is flying by, important dates are getting passed…and yet there’s always time for sitting down and getting a few things straight.

So far from what I gather, you have to get a synopsis up and running on the nano website and submit mini submissions throughout the entire month. This is something I have yet to do and thankfully there are 5 days left to complete. Eventually each submission get clumped together and wham, you’ve got (figuring the base amount of words) a completed by day thirty. All you need to do is get it to your beta or editor and you’re good to go. Easy, right?

Easy. Being busy is what gets me motivated, gets me all excited about finishing a project. Something I have faith and belief in. Did I mention what I have faith in? Oh, it involves kissing and a few naughty scenes. That-if done correctly, are not so naughty and more swoon-worthy. Which is exactly what I’m going for. I’m not a balls-to-the wall type of woman. No thank and you. I firmly take hold of the girly parts of me and like all things romantic. Flowers, holding a door open…making an apology in the pouring down rain.

Which brings up Nano. While I’m aiming to finish the ‘Summons’ novel by mid-December, it doesn’t qualify for this project. It’s a manuscript that is currently in progress and halfway done. Nor would I want to be rushed on this story because the characters and plots are flowing beautifully right now. I wanted something that could keep the momentum of writing up-regardless of either project.

That something which makes sleeping feel like a distant thought, and coffee a burning liquid pulsing through my veins as opposed to a glorious liquid that fuels the morning. So I’m writing for the free publication site and keeping the nerves pulsing for an entire month.

Officially embracing my inner ‘geek’ badge for this project, something that is few and far between but still…embraced.

Why do I think that the month is going to drag or I’m going to be reverting back to old tendencies and pulling men rather than waiting for substance? Because of the damn dirty side of things.

I’m sexy and I know it…or at least with heels and lipstick I can be

It’s October, and the detox is officially over with a capital O. For the past several weeks I have been going back in forth between spending more time away from my house and out with friends or just clearing the mind and trying not to sulk. Or to be completely frank--wasting the night away sipping one too many cocktails and forgetting my own personality. Because it was about regrouping and finding something out of your comfort zone (s). And that personality, is me, but she was hurting and needed to get drunk and scream. And eat lots of gelato that is now making crunches so much fun.

It’s over, and god only knows I never thought these words would ever come out of my mouth. EVER. Everything is good, every day is filled and that is a sweet deal. Granted, this little period of getting back to ‘who you are’ felt like a refresher course for Calculus 405 in college, but still. It was needed for everything to be washed out of my confused mind. Which is the always present and never now ending theme.

And yet, here it is. The simple truths that are blinded behind everything and everyone around. They’re over, forgotten and forgiven.

Maybe it’s the fresh color on the hair, the tanned skin, or the red stilettos that seem to be attached to me right now because they scream ‘outrageousness is here.’ Whatever it is, it’s fully embraced and it’s about god damned time.

…or it could possibly be the writing that is amping everything up and building the excitement about potential freelancing. About penning someone else’s story which makes me not think and allows me to just go with the flow each and every single day. The chance of being able to quit a job that I do not enjoy and do something that feels right in my bones and makes my skin sing. I’m leaning toward the writing setting everything on fire. There’s no shame.

The other morning I went out for the day. Put on a cute dress, slapped on the purple heels and just went with it. Every day for the past few months, I’d been eyeing that dress, rolling my eyes at the shoes wondering why in the world it had not been worn in ages. Funk be bygones.

It’s understandable, and it happens. And you know what, you have to get over it. If you sit around and mope about it, time is still getting wasted and a chance at god only knows what could be slipping off in the distance. That dress was like a fire alarm going off inside of my head. This woman, she had partially joined the witness protection program. Though, not really because I’m not socially inverted and actually do go out, but things had been slipping off of the radar that are as much a part of me, as well anything else.

It was time. Time to clean out the wardrobe of clothes that hid a body that needed to shape up just a tad, dye the locks but steer from an emo-clad color and go with something a little on the sultry side. To wear the purple heels.

I feel like it’s been a serious complex of personal issues lately, and it has been because of reasons that will go unannounced on this forum. That’s for Dr. Drew to address and I’m still waiting for an available appointment. It is very hard to see all of the people around you and not judge yourself for your 'shortcomings' or acknowledging your accomplishments. Even so, breathing is easier today. It’s better than it was a year ago. It’s definitely easier than sixty five days ago and because of it, my heart is bigger and I’m saying adios to certain thoughts. Expectations that had quietly become my own. I’m saying goodbye to the lost hours and shouting a big hello to all of the time that lay in front.

So this is my last post on dating. On feeling down and out because honestly, a Kleenex and crappy made for TV movies can help this one. Crying with a box of sour patch kids in my lap and a crystal light stain on my lips. And taking a peripheral vision and turning it into tunnel vision and forgetting about the world that exists all around. A world that I am part of and am no longer missing out on.

Amen, to that.

Do you think romance is dead....

It’s officially begun, the road of staying the course and putting everything on the line in a professional manner. The race to get published is on. Last week, a very good friend of mine forwarded a link to a writing competition. She had come across an article about a woman who had always been interested in writing and decided to enter a specific publisher’s contest in all hopes of potentially winning the Grand Prize. To get her work published.

When she saw the article, I am more than touched that she automatically thought of me. But, let’s take that one back for a second. Who in the hell else is writing a romance piece? Still completely gracious, always, to have someone looking out for our interests.

The contest is simple. You and the likes of several other writers are competing with a total of three chapters assuming that you get through the first round. It's not always unusual to see this type of competition from a publisher, but the fact that she saw the article at just the right time, is how the universe works sometimes. The publisher has opened it's arms to up and coming writers alike for what is being called 'New Voices.' I previously mentioned completing a short story for a girlfriend, that story sparked something inside of me that has been dormant for far too long. It sparked a love affair with the written word, with the endless ideas that go crazy in my muddled brain; it sparked a way to keep envisioning the way things could be within my hopelessly romantic heart. I am a new voice, and this voice is itching to be heard.

I entered the competition.

What better time than now to really push myself and follow a gut instinct? I know how I get the minute I have made a life decision. Determination fuels me, I become driven by an unknown force and ultimately have never failed. I’m not saying that roadblocks have not been a very uncomfortable friend all along the way, but certainly the minute I start to focus on one particular accomplishment or multiple projects-they move seamlessly and success typically follows.

This is not a bragging room, but was a reminder that we really can do whatever we want. There are no limitations, everything is within our grasps. Everything. Reading through the other submissions, it’s clear that the competition will be go either way but I’m honestly not bothered. It took a huge amount of courage to post on a publisher’s website, reach out to friends, family, and unknown people through social mediums to ask for support.

To support not just myself, but all of the writers. At the end of the day, this is not about winning a competition. It’s about understanding that you can do anything you set your mind to, regardless of the situation. I’m excited to see where the first chapter goes, and if it even takes off. Of course, I’m going to be stalking the mess out of the Mills & Boon website tracking the progress, but also sending out words of encouragement to all of the other writers.

Because that is what I would want. To be supported on one of the passions that we all share. To write, to share a story that was not meant to be published for monetary reasons. It was only meant to be written for others to take into their homes and enjoy.

So with that, if there is free time to spare and someone is craving a bunch of starts to stories—or rather the start to a certain one in particular….Please follow the link to the Mills & Boon site by clicking on the title 'Summoning Mr. Right' and rock the vote.

Summoning Mr. Right

Synopsis

With seventy-five cents to her name and no way to pay the bill should her date bail, Emmerson Nichols has hit rock bottom. With a wasted degree and a slew of temp jobs she finds luck in filling her bank account but not in her life.

Despite his booming career, Derek Westcott can’t warm the city officials with his broad shoulders and sexy grin. Not by a longshot. When fate plays with a woman trying to find herself and a man trying to hold his business together, who will win?

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.

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.

Getting down...and getting busy

I am writing.

I am writing a lot.

A very, no that's not right. One of my closest girlfriends is pregnant. This is probably one of the most exciting times ever right now, the lady is like a sister. We have gone through hell and back, laughs and belly laughs. (Okay, to be honest, the hell and back is so overrated. There was no hell, we laugh too much and life is too short) Booty shakes and last calls at the bar. And yet here she is, getting down and getting her mama on. I love this. Her husband is loving this. Her back is loving this even more.

A little bit about the Mrs. She is an RN, the minute she got credentialed she was assigned an overnight position in a major hospital. Night shift. I don't know if others are familiar, but working in a hospital is basically like working in a restaurant. Long hours of being on your feet all day. Throw in patients and you've got a handfull.

She has been placed on part time disability, which if you ask me. When a woman is pregnant, getting that has got to be a godsend. She and I were talking the other day and our conversations went from typical to really dirty. So very typical of talking one on one with your closest girls. She is basically a stay at home right now, she watches her bed to see if ripples move.

If she could drink, she would.

So in our conversation of her talking of boredom she mentioned my writing. And a thought popped up. A thought that turned into a request. That turned into a publication.

Shit.

I'm writing a story for a friend right now. I've pitched this story and it's getting published.

Taking a big sigh of relief. It's a non-paid publication, but who cares at the end of the day.

What's important is that my friend gets a story to fill her day, rather than having her check a made bed 100 times over, she can read a story. Where this story goes, I don't really know. I started the outline over the holiday weekend, holed myself up in my flat and cranked out about 56 pages. Even after going to a wedding!

So here I sit, trying to whip out another thirty pages in the third chapter to get edited this weekend. Trying to finish this story up in the next few weeks so that she can have it.

Because she's bored. Because she's fabulously pregnant. Because she is my friend and I love her like family.

So for the past week that is where I have been, in a place stuck I don't even know where. It's 90 degrees outside and I think I'll take my notes out to the lake tomorrow and have a go with it. We'll see if thirty pages gets cranked out.

The story...is about a football coach...and a teacher... She is an avid Seahawks fan. Seattle-ite even 2,000 miles away

I have to admit-this makes me cringe but it is what she wants so it's what she's going to get. Though secretly, I totally did not write in that team. I'll post a link up as soon as it's finished, edited and ready for business.

So that's where this not so blondie has been lately. Writing, working a lot, sitting out in the sun more and writing even more. Coffee is in there too, and Starbucks in town already makes my americano the minute I step in the door.

The shame.

Stay Close to Your Phone and Closer to Your Email

There are certain events that you come across; some are ordinary while others are extraordinary. This one takes the cake of unexpected events as to when a slight twist of fate enters your regular day to day routines. It is also another reason of reassuring appreciation within of how crazy and eclectic life can be at times.

Months ago while still living atop a foggy cliff side in San Francisco, I had finished a manuscript. Had it edited by a bunch of interns/students you name it, went through revisions. Re-edited. Re-revised. If you have ever completed a project of this nature you know the process is brutal and still amazingly gratifying.

Before the summer hit I started sending out queries to agencies all over the US and UK in all hopes that someone would be interested in picking the piece up and be willing to represent it. I got lucky with a couple of bites at first but they weren’t very solid offers. It has been months and with all of the moving and shaking that has taken place I completely forgot that the manuscript was completed let alone queried. It has been under lockdown collecting electronic dust.

The other day I was contacted by an agency based out of New York that informed me that they received my query and supporting pages. It’s currently being passed around and going to be taken under consideration. Could this really happen? After all of that [forgotten] time, can it be?

I want to put all of my hopes into saying yes but know from previous experiences that it is a dog eat dog world in the publishing industry and am staying calm until I get the final word..and a binding document. Which could take more months depending on how long the pitch is deliberated for.

The conversation made me think about how easily I put that manuscript on the backburner and forgot about it. How quickly I brushed it aside to do something different like move and start exploring a new city. So I spent an entire day wandering around, cleaning and deciding on what the next step was.

Regardless of the decision, I am moving forward with this project but keeping it to myself (and obviously here) for the time being to figure things out and keep track of certain ideas. It makes absolutely no sense to have it completed and not out of my computer. If the agency accepts the pitch then I will obviously move forward with their options but if they don’t I have started to look into other avenues of independent publishing.

To go about this is terrifying and exhilarating as I have never been down this road before but why not give it an attempt to see where it can go. There is nothing to lose. While it will mean more to me than anyone else who reads it, to have the opportunity for an outside reader to understand the emotions and feelings portrayed and how it could help or inspire them. How can I say no?

It’s simple. There is no NO for this answer. There is only try.

And so this is my mission for the coming weeks that is being thrown into the mix of missions already in place. To find a way to publish this manuscript as a possible alternative, to see if I can do this because I know deep down it can be done.

Talk about living in the moment!