Of Lil Blue Pills & Depression

Wanna here a story?
Well, here it goes.

About three months ago, I went to the doctor because I was having some *issues.* Under normal circumstances, I'm a baby about getting hurt or sick.

If I've stubbed my toe, I swear my nose is broken. 

If I get a paper cut, I've contracted the bubonic plague. 

I'm the kind of person who believes someone is going to poison my coffee. Any minor issues are life threatening. Add to that the sudden and shocking death of my father just shy of two years ago and I'm a mess.  Every little thing from an ache to a sneeze means I've got the big C (*whispers cancer*). I know it's dramatic. I know it's out of control. But there's this fear that plagues me that I or (worse) someone I love is going to die suddenly... again. Thusly, when I started noticing some funny things going on with my person, I decided I should head to the doctor immediately. 

After a nice little visit with the doctor and a few tests, she discovered all was well and I was experiencing the normal you're getting older and your body's gonna start falling apart right about now-ish stuff. She decided to prescribe me some lady medicine.

"I believe it'll be the perfect fit for you," she said. "And in no time at all you should be feeling much better."

To which I said, "Sign me up!"

With stars in my eyes and a bounce in my step, I headed to the local drug store that very afternoon and, upon arriving home, I took that first lil blue pill. 

The next morning, I woke up feeling a little off but nothing too bad. I chalked it up to my body getting use to the new meds. I was hopeful and determined to stay positive. 

A few days later, I was feeling decent if not  a little weepy but again I thought, "This has all got to be normal. Right?" 

But that's when I heard the first whisper:

"Nobody likes you, Angela," it said. "You're a joke and a loser and nobody cares about you."

To which I immediately said, "That is so not true. My husband and my kids and my family love me. And I've got friends. And they like me too. Plus, I'm a writer and I write things and people seem to like it."

"Is that so?" the whisper said.

"Yes," I said.

And, I know you'll think I'm being dramatic, but that's when the whisper started laughing at me. I won't get into specifics. The memories it brought up. The points it made. It would whisper names of friends and family, reasons why they didn't like me. It would point out how poorly I wrote or how dumb my ideas were. How I was in my thirties and had pimples and a hairy chin and how there were others who were so much more talented and smarter and brighter and better.

If I'm honest, these are all things I've always struggled with, but I've been able to manage these feelings. Anytime they'd cropped up, I'd look at my family and my close friends and think they love me and God made me and you know what thoughts you can go to hell. However, this was a constant bombardment, morning, noon, and night. Nonstop the whisper kept reminding me of all the reasons I was a failure. It started to change me, a little bit everyday. First, I stopped emailing and texting my friends. Then, I started making up reasons I should stay home. Then, every time I'd start to write or tweet or blog I'd realize how bad I was at it and I'd quit. Eventually, I stopped looking in the mirror because I couldn't stand to look at myself. 

And then, just this week, on Tuesday night, I was doing dishes and that's when a new thought hit me:

"Your husband and kids would be better off without you," the whisper said.

This whisper scared me more than all the others. This whisper stopped me cold. Because this attack was brand new. And the worst part was, for the tiniest of moments, I believed it was the truth.

That's when I knew something was terribly, horribly wrong. When I talked to my husband, he looked me straight in the eyes and told me how wrong I was to believe these thoughts and how much he and the kids loved me and then he just held me and I cried and cried and cried. 

Tuesday night, I took the last lil blue pill and I will never take another one again. Monday morning, bright and early, I'm going back to that doctor and I'm telling her how terrible the pills were and that I'd rather run around thinking I've got cancer than hate myself the way I've hated myself the last few months.

In the past, I've struggled with feelings of doubt or sadness, but never in my life have I ever thought that my kids would be better off without their mother. And shame on me! Because I know I'm far worse off without my dad and I'm a grown woman. I've lost loved ones to depression and I know the key is to talk, even when it's depressing, even when you feel no one will care, even when you're embarrassed and feeling stupid and like a failure. 

As little by little, I wake from this dream of sadness, I'm more grateful than ever for my family and friends. For those who are willing to listen to me and love me even when I'm at my worst. And I'm grateful for this lil blog and its faithful readers who I've come to think of as some of my dearest friends.

Thank you. 

A to Z Book Survey

Today, I've decided I must return to my bloggy roots. Plus, who doesn't want to spend their morning filling out an old school survey whilst listening to some good music, ignoring responsibility, and talking about their love of books? FOOLS. That's who!

This song goes out to Jamie of The Perpetual Page Turner 

for hosting the following wonderment

& Miss Bonnie of Sweet Tidbits 

for being one of my favorite book pushers & friends.

 

Author(s) You've Read The Most Books From:

Julie Garwood

I don't even have to check this on GoodReads.

I feel no shame, my friends.

She is my first love. 

Always & Forever.

Best Sequel Ever:

Have I ever mentioned my inability to pick favorites & bests?
Like. I can't. I won't. I'm a brat.
Furthermore, I'm more of a standalone kinda gal.
HOWEVER
I can share a few sequels I read recently-ish
that I thought were mighty fine:
Catching Fire by Suzanne Collins
Scarlet by Marissa Meyer
Thumped by Megan McCafferty
The Son of Neptune by Rick Riordan
Where She Went by Gayle Forman

Currently Reading:

I'm starting this one today
because Carrie told me to read it
and she NEVER steers me wrong.
No. Pressure.

Drink of Choice While Reading:

Depends on the book.
Some times I like a nice spot of tea.
Others times I can't get through a book without a stiff drink.

E-reader or Physical Book?
Hands down physical books.
I've tried getting into e-readers.
My poor sweet Nook (Pearl) is forever alone.
I'm stubborn.
I'm resistant to change.
And I'm old school.

Fictional Character You Probably Would Have 
Actually Dated In High School:
Oh. Dear. LAWD!
Just one?!
Can I have two pleeeeease?

Roger from Amy & Roger's Epic Detour
Wes from The Truth About Forever

I *might* have an occasional dream about these boys.

Glad You Gave This Book A Chance:

Hidden Gem Book:

Important Moment In Your Reading Life:
Wanna hear a story?
Here it goes.

When I was a kid they thought I was dyslectic or plan stupid, probably both. I was a terrible reader. Reading & writing were painful for me. It made me feel dumb, weak, useless. But my Grandma never gave up on me. She spent hours reading to me. I found out in fourth grade I wasn't dyslectic or stupid just had a tracking problem. Fancy that. I still had a bad attitude about reading until one summer when I was visiting my Grandmother. Before I left she handed me a book to keep me company on my journey home. I fell in love and I've been reading nonstop ever since. If not for my Grandma and her persistence and belief in me I know my passion for reading and my desire to write never would have come to fruition. See,

I still have the tracking problem.

Reading & writing are still a wee bit of a struggle for me.

Yet, my passion is stronger & keeps me pushing forward.

And I'm not gonna let my wonky eyes get in the way.

The end.

Just Finished:

Also known as: Crazy Town.

Kind of Books You Won't Read:
There aren't many books I won't read.
But there is one genera I'm completely uninterested in
& that's self-help books.
I'd read the Yellow Pages before I'd picked up a self-help book.

Longest Book You've Read:

GoodReads says the longest book I've read is
the Cancer Sourcebook.
Which is totes depressing.
But I'll keep it real,
because I did read that darn book from cover to cover.
All 1,133 pages.

Major Book Hangover Because Of:
My most recent book hangover occurred after finishing
all of Sarah Addison Allen's books.

Don't think.
Just read.
Trust me.

Number Of Bookcases You Own:
Three.
No four.
Maybe five.
I don't know.
I guess I could count,
but I'z lazy.

One Book You Have Read Multiple Times:
Every Julie Garwood book.
Duh.
Also, I love to reread Dorothy Garlock & Sarah Dessen.
OH & pretty much every book I've ever read & LOVED.
I'm a rereader by nature.

Preferred Place To Read:
Anywhere that's quiet,
which is such a mom answer
but it's the truth.

Quote That Inspires You/Gives You All The Feels From A Book You've Read:
I've got three that work together & I think they speak for themselves.

"You’re always you, and that don’t change, and you’re always changing, 

and there’s nothing you can do about it.” 

- Neil Gaiman, The Graveyard Book

“I’m sick of not having the courage to be an absolute nobody.” 

- J.D. Salinger, Franny & Zooey

“Don’t be afraid of death; be afraid of an unlived life. 

You don’t have to live forever, you just have to live.” 

- Natalie Babbitt, Tuck Everlasting

Reading Regret:
It's not really a reading regret
but a bookish regret.
When we were first married,
my husband & I lived in a smallish apartment
& I felt bad about all the space my books took up
sooooo
*whispers I got rid of them*
all 500 plus.
It's like the greatest sadness of my life.

Series You Started And Need To Finish:
Pretty much all the series.
The easier question would be which series have I finished.
And the answer would be:
not many.

Three Of Your All-Time Favorite Books:
*winks*

 So Yesterday by Scott Westerfeld

 Twisted by Laurie Halse Anderson

Elsewhere by Gabrielle Zevin

Unapologetic Fangirl For:
YOU
Yep.
Y-O-U

Very Excited For This Release More Than All The Others:
I don't rightly know.
I'm pretty simple.
I'm always on the lookout for a good book.
Don't care who wrote it
or what genera it is
or if it's popular.
Book. Good.
Me. Read.

Worst Bookish Habit:
As I've said before,
one of my super powers is renting all the library books,
not reading them,
& returning them a decade later.
Just. Part. Of. My. Charm.

X Marks The Spot: 

Start At The Top Left Of Your Shelf & Pick the 27th Book

In all fairness,
this book is sandwiched between
Percy Jackson & an anthology of Buffy stories.

Your Latest Book Purchase:

Arrived on my doorstep yesterday!

ZZZ-Snatcher Book:

Last Book That Kept You Up Way Too Late
Again.
Keeping it real.
The Superior Spiderman Comics!

And can I just say: MIND-BLOWN!

Annnnnnd I'm spent!
Sooooo.
What's your ABCs?!
Sharing is caring, my friends.
Don't think just DO IT!
I mean, the survey... not it.
*awkward*

Life Journaling: Derailment

Sometimes, you spend your whole week getting ready for a last minute trip to So. Cal. for a funeral and end up at home doing a three day juice fast instead. The hows and whys of your life's derailment are a big steamy pile of what the hell just happened.

You remember spending a mad forty-eight hours packing and ironing and running all the errands. You are not sure you ate, however you know beer was involved. Clearly, you remember packing up the car and shoving all four kids into it. You remember getting on the road and hitting up a gas station. But after that, things get dicey.

The battery light went off on the dashboard. The car died and was jump started, leading to a sweaty drive across town with the A/C off. Things get even more hazy as there was a tense discussion about what to do next. There is a vague memory of holding a flashlight so your husband could tighten a blot on your newly bought alternator and at one point you remember standing in an auto shop holding a dirty battery whilst wearing mix-matched socks and crazy eyes.

Then, there was thunder and lightening and a flash flood warning that reached across three States. Suddenly, you wake up. You are living out of a suitcase, but you are home. You are hungry and a bit confused and you decide the best thing to do is not eat for a few days.

Because that's what makes sense. Am I right?

As last weekend unraveled right before my eyes, I realized how similar it was to the last year of my life as a writer. As I have struggled to take myself seriously and find the diligence and fortitude needed to keep myself moving forward, I realized I have two options on this road to publication:

A. I can beat myself up over being derailed.

OR

B. I can accept it and move on.

For so long, I have been beating myself up. Unhappy with my pacing and focusing on the derailments, I have stalled. Life happens. It just does. There are many detours that will come along. But that does not mean we cannot continue forward, it just means we must be even more determined than before.

As this month of hard work and many a sleepless nights comes to an end, I am determined to keep my eyes focused forward, not on some obscure end result, but on the task at hand. One baby step at a time.

The task at hand, my friends, is to query. However, this time I realize the real challenge is going to be learning from the rejections, moving forward, and trying again.

Because in the indelible words of The Shins:

Life Journaling: Confidence

Confidence is a fickle friend. An overconfident person can be blinded by their brilliance. Unaware of their limitations, they are often lead astray by their ignorance of their own short comings. However, a lack of confidence can be more damaging, leaving a person stuck in an emo funk of nobody likes me, everybody hates me, I guess I'll go eat worms.

I'm honest enough to admit I'm one of the least confident people you'll meet. Now, this doesn't make me antisocial. Hell, I'll talk to a wall if it's interested in having a conversation. Please understand, I'm a somewhat health, socially functional member of society (for the most part).

What I am saying is when it comes to my life as a professional anything, I've got a case of the emos and I've got it bad. I downplay not only my strengths as a writer, but also as a individual. I assume I'm annoying and burdensome to others and tend to shy away from asking for help or offering help. All too often, I allow people to walk all over me taking without giving a single thing in return as they flush me down the toilet without a backward glance.

It ain't pretty. Frankly, I'm over it. The more I ponder the situation, the more I realize believing I'm the only person stuck in this never-ending cycle of self-loathing is cocky and ignorant. This belief that I am NOT alone and there are others out there dealing with this same lack of confidence only strengths my desire to get over myself.

To that end, I've been attempting to:

1. Acknowledge my negative attitude toward myself and create a positive one. 
This hasn't been done on my own, but with the help of the lovely Angie Richmond (aka life coach of amazeballzness). What appears to be a simple task has rocked my whole existence. For example:

Negative: I'm a burden to others and I shouldn't bother them. 
Positive: These are my friends and they genuinely want to help me.
Furthermore, by asking for their help, I am showing them I trust them.

Simple yet powerful.

2. Cultivate the healthy relationships in my life, while weeding out the diseased ones. 
This is easier said than done and it's taken me a long time to say no to unhealthy relationship. However, it's a MUST. These relationships are not only ones in the "real" world, but online as well. I don't want friends who puff me up with inflated praise. Yet, people who are only interested in using me for their own ends have got to go.

3. Stop over-saturating myself with the opinions of the professionals.
It is one thing to take the advice of well meaning and helpful professionals [and it's important, PLEASE don't get me wrong. Listen to the professionals!]. It is another thing to let it hold you hostage in a never-ending cycle of OH MY GAWD I'M DOING EVERYTHING WRONG. I have got to stop panicking every time I see a tweet from an agent talking about things they find annoying in their slush piles. Furthermore, I have to start trusting in my own opinion and the opinions of those around me.

4. I NEED to give credit to the opinions of those closest to me.
At some point, while looking up how to get publish online, someone will say to you: So you've written a novel and your best friend and your partner and your dog LOVE IT and think it's fan-freaking-tastic. That's great. It's not. Get back to work.

And I get it. Believe me, I do. However, I think it discredits the positive and constructive advice of those closest to you. Listen, my husband is my BIGGEST critic. He will tell me when something stinks and when he thinks something is good. Oh, the arguments we've had. To discredit his belief that my manuscript is good and publishable makes absolutely no sense. I should trust in him, first and foremost.

Which leads to the hardest of hards:

5. I MUST trust in myself and my ability.
Because this is what it ALL comes down to. At some point, I have to be comfortable with the thought that I believe I am a good enough writer to get published and that doesn't make me an egomaniac or insane or delusional. It makes me confident in my ability and confidence does not mean stuck up or proud or blind.

I do NOT believe I've written the next Pride and Prejudice. I do NOT believe I will be awarded a Noble Bell prize in Literature. However, I do believe I wrote a good book with an interesting plot and a lovely protagonist. I believe a lot of hard work and dedication will not only make it better but get it published.

In conclusion:

Writing is personal. It's challenging. The road to publication is filled with sinkholes and detours. At the end of the day, the one thing a writer needs to believe is that all this, the hair pulling and sleepless nights and aching wrists and self-doubt and panic, is worth it.

I'm confident it is.

Life Journaling: A Story About My Dad

I remember the day my step-mom called me and explained my dad needed to have a procedure done. They'd found a mass in his bladder. The doctor knew it was cancer without a single test. I went with them to the hospital. I held his hand. I hugged him. I told him he would get better or else I'd kick his ass.

We held onto hope. 

That was the last week of February 2012. Or was it the first week of March? I don't remember. It's a blur. On his birthday, March 12th, we got the news, it was cancer and it had likely spread. But we didn't know how badly. They'd have to rebuild his bladder. I told my mom. I told my brother and sisters. I told them our daddy had cancer, but his chances were good.

We held onto hope. 

He wasn't eating. My siblings and I got him a basket. We filled it with nuts and chocolate and dried fruit and juices and books on baseball. He had a catheter. He carried a bag of pee around with him. He was so thin. When I hugged him I thought he might break. He tried to eat, tried to laugh, tried to be normal.

We held onto hope.

I got the call. He'd gone to the ER. The pain was unbearable. His heart was palpitating. I rushed to the hospital. I sat with him. Alone. Me in a chair in the corner trying to stay out of the way of the nurses. Him in a bed, half asleep. Sometimes he'd wake up and looked at me. He'd say: I love you, Bonehead. And I'd say: I love you too, Daddy.

We held onto hope.

They moved my dad to the intensive care unit. The man in the room next door died that day. He looked so alone. The tests started. MRIs. X-rays.  Blood work. Fasting. Heart meds. Pain meds. The whites of my dad's eyes turned yellow. We had our favorite nurses. Our least favorite doctors. We took over the ICU. We hung pictures drawn by my kids and colored in coloring books. My nineteen year old sister wanted to sleep on the floor at night, she didn't want our father to wake up alone.

We held onto hope.

He had a good day. His eyes cleared and he promised he'd do everything he could to get better and we'd all go on a trip to see the Grand Canyon. He smiled and chuckled. He watched baseball and teased us.

We held onto hope.

We got the results. The cancer had spread. It was in his gallbladder, his lymph nodes, his lungs, his brain, and so many other places I can't remember them all. We called our extended family. We told them things had taken a turn.

We still held onto hope.

Tuesday evening. I went to visit my father after settling the kids. I had a few new pictures they'd drawn for their Poppa. The room had become familiar. Beeps. Flashing lights. Tubes. IV lines. But the man in the bed, he was different. He struggled to breathe. His skin like paper, eyes bulging.  I said, "Hey, Daddy. Bet you've missed me." He looked at me as if I were a stranger. I knew-- knew in my very soul...

There was no hope. 

He crashed that evening, alone in his room. They shoved a tube down his throat. Pumped him with meds. His eyes wouldn't close. His feet were ice cold. A machine breathed for him. Medications kept his heart pumping. We gathered around his bed. We had to decided what to do. I held my baby sister close to me and watched my fifteen year old brother clutch our dad's hand. My grandmother kissed my father's head, said she was the first woman to kiss him and by God she'd be his last. We prayed. We sang songs. We decided to let him go.

....

On March 28, 2012, my father died of cancer. It happened suddenly. One moment, he was running marathons and laughing louder than any other living soul and the next he was laying in a hospital bed dead. Before my very eyes, I watched my father take his last breath.

Why am I tell you this? Why have I decided to share this with *strangers* online?

I don't know.

Sometimes, I feel like the cancer that killed my father wormed its way inside me, craving out a little piece of me. Maybe if I let it go, release it into the wild, I can start to breathe again. Maybe I can let go of the guilt. The guilt of him not knowing about all of this. The guilt of living when he's not. The guilt involved with life having continued and it not being unbearable without him.

I naively thought there'd be a day when all this would be a distant memory and I'd have to force myself to remember. But the truth is, I will never forget. The real challenge is living with the memory and allowing myself to move forward without the guilt or the regret or the fear or the envy I have of those who get to share all this with their fathers when I don't.

And as I sit here and cry and type these words, it is my humblest prayer, that these mixed up, morose memories will find a place where they can rest and allow me to move forward. Because that's what my Dad would have wanted, but more importantly, it's what I want too.

When In Doubt Call In The Professionals!

If you've known me for any length of time you might have noticed one of my life mottoes is:

LEAP BEFORE YOU LOOK! 

While there are benefits to this type of thinking, there are also a multitude of drawbacks, including but not limited to flailing, screaming, hair pulling, foaming at the mouth, and, in general, chaos.

Now, I'm not knocking chaos. As the mother of four, my wheelhouse is insanity. However, when one is in search of their dreams, Crazy Town might be a good starting point, but remaining there ain't the best plan.

If I'm honest, Crazy Town is my home address. I like it here. It's comfy. Over the last year and a half-ish, I've entrenched myself in doubt, fear, hair pulling, mouth foaming, and loooots of screaming. I'm realizing I need to reign in a wee bit of the chaos. I need a lil rhyme and reason. Thus, it's time I've said:

ENOUGH IS ENOUGH!

LET'S GET SOME REASON UP IN HERE.

But how?

*crickets*

I've felt helpless, lost, and stalled for a while now (hell, if I'm honest, for most of my *adult* life), yet the desire to DO SOMETHING has been strong. Even stronger is my desire to write and work toward publication. I long to make my dream a reality. The simple truth is:

I canNOT do it alone. 

I did NOT write my novel alone.

It has NOT been made stronger alone. 

And I WILL NOT get it published alone. 

These are facts.
Not me being emo or silly or jaded.

So, I've called in a professional (God help her!) and procured meself:

THE LIFE COACH OF AMAZEBALLZ!!!

Who be said life coach?

Angie Richmond

This is me basking in the awesome that is Angie, by the by.

Some of you are well versed in the awesomeness that is Angie. Other's might find her name familiar as I have often sang her praises here on the blog. For those who have not met Angie, I shall give you this warning: you ARE a breath away from falling in love. #truth

Over the next month, my plan is to soak up all the goodness I can from Angie and I do so promise to share my journey here on the blog. We started last Thursday and already I have SO MUCH to report! 

From why I chose to work with a life coach to what I've learned about myself along the way, I pinkie promise to keep these posts honest giving the good, the bad, and the not so GRRREEEEAT! 

I KNOW Angie can't fix me. I KNOW Angie can't get my novel published. BUT what I do know is that if I am WILLING to work hard and learn from her EVERYTHING I can over the next month then I WILL be all that closer to achieving my goal. 

How sweeeeet the sound!
Ya dig!

------------------------------------------------

All About Angie Richmond:

A self proclaimed creative, I divide my time between writing, blogging, reading and creating art. My formal education in psychology combined with my desire to help others find the career they love, has led me to explore a career in coaching. I love hockey, adore all things British and can be found singing and dancing in my kitchen while making dinner. I live with my incredibly talented, drum-playing husband, Brandon in Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada. (taken from website) 

Website Facebook Twitter Email

JuNoWriMo Update #2: Of Broke Blinds & Sore Wrists

Whelp. Week one and two of JuNoWriMo were night and day, my friends. If you'll take a trip down memory lane with me, week one looked a wee bit liiiiiike:

Week two, on the other hand, went a little somethang somethang like:

The moral of the story:

I don't know much, but I know I love you and that may be alllll there is to know... *AWKward*

Any-who. What I do know is week three is in full swing and I haven't written since Friday. Funny thing is, I'm okay. Truly. Truly. No freaking out. No stress. No OMG I AM NEVER GONNA DO IT!! EVERYONE ELSE IS SO AMAZING AND I'M A COMPLETE FAILURE!! WHY?!?!?!

Instead, I'm just straight up happy with my progress and excited to write all the things. Forward movement, my friends. That's the real goal.

JuNoWriMo progress to date: 

• Words written during week #1: 1267
• Words written during week  #2: 14966
• Total word count: 16233
• Words left to write: 33767
• To reach the goal, I must write 2597 words a day. 

Annnd on that note:

Happy Writing, y'all!

See ya on the flippy-flop.

JuNoWriMo Update #1: Lost Words & Board Games

Plain and simple, the first nine days of JuNoWriMo kicked my butt. I knew they would. I shall make no excuses. We all have busy lives. We all struggle to juggle writing and family and jobs and laundry and eating and peeing and all the thing-ings.

And we all face setbacks: corrupt files, lost words, unfixable plot holes, depression, doubt, lack of passion, lack of confidence, lack of knowing what the heck we are even doing.

However, the last nine days were not a total loss. In fact, I believe I got more out of them than if I'd written all the words  (okay. so. writing all the words would have been AWESOME. but. we are looking for the positive, people. thus. HUMOR ME!).

Over the last nine days, I was once again reminded how gracious and fabulous this writing community is. We are a team-- holding each other up when need be, cracking the whip when we are lazy and distracted, giving advice and encouragement and support without a second thought. We are not competing, but traversing the stormy and unpredictable writerly road together, dolling out high-fives and hugs to all who travel along side us.

This reminder is why I will not allow myself to give up, but instead remember I'm apart of something bigger, something brighter, something good.

I'm apart of a community who dares to believe in the impossible, who dreams of things both lovely and frightening. A community that is opinionated and motivated and emo and ranty and caring and naive and seasoned and goofy-- a mixed bag of nuts willing to seek out their dreams even though rejection is nigh. A group of people who include all regardless of their popularity or connections, but based on their love of writing and their willingness to participate. 

How can I resist such a community and their call to WRITE ALL THE WORDS!!? Thus, I shall continue on this insane road and attempt to write 50,000 words this month. Will I be able to pull it off? Only time will tell, but I've got a good feeling it won't matter if I do or don't, because I've already gained so much.

Sappy naive post over and out!

*high-five*

My JuNoWriMo Progress:

• Words written: 1267
• Words lost in the great don't know how to save on a Mac debacle of '13: 1267
• Words left to write: 48733 (cause lost or not, those words count, my friends!) 
• To reach the goal, I must write 2321 words a day.
• LET'S DO THIS! 

JuNoWriMo FTW!

After years of resisting NaNoWriMo (because who in their right mind attempts to write a book in a month?!), I've decided to give into peer pressure (cause I'm cool like that, you know, I'm smooth like that) and join JuNoWriMo, the summer time equivalent to NaNo.

adorbs robot is adorbs

Why am I giving in now? Whelp, it's gonna be a billion degrees outside and the kids will be stuck indoors for most of the summer, sooooo, I think the real question is: Why the heck NOT?!

All the lame jokes and rambling aside, there are some actual reasons I've decided to join in the madness.  What be they? Why thank you for asking! Let me splain:

1. The community is amazing. Writers supporting writers is something you just can't beat. 

2. The goal, while frightening, is reasonable once you do the math. 50,000 words in 30 days works out to roughly 1667 words a day. 

3. Did I mention I *heart* the community aspect? Well, I do. 

4. I *heart* book reading challenges. They encourage me, while at the same time push me toward my ultimate reading goal. So, why not try a writing one? 

5. I need to do SOMETHING. This is the SOMETHING I am choosing to do. 

In summation: 

I know the next month is going to be a roller coaster of emotions. It's gonna get ugly. Ain't no doubt. 

But I'm betting whether I reach the goal or not, the next month is gonna be filled with more good times and high-fives than tears.

And who doesn't love a good high-five? 

The end.

WAIT!

What's that?

You're a writer too?!

A writer who's got an idea brewing in the brain-brain 

dying to be put down on paper

but your nervous & a little terrified 

& you've got a million excuses as to why you haven't started it?

Whelp. 

Why not give JuNoWriMo a look-see?

Clickity click here to get all the deets on how to sign up.

And follow JuNo's fearless leaders,

A.E. Howard & Becca Campbell on the Tweeter. 

Come.

Join us on the dark side.

We've got cookies. 

When All Else Flails Write A Blog Post?

Over the last five years (give or take), blogging has become therapeutic. When I struggled with being the mother of a newborn and three young children, I turned to the internet to fangirl and forget. When my love for books overwhelmed me, I turned to book blogging as a way of releasing all that pent up excitement. When I decided to come out of the writing closet, I started this wee blog to shared my hopes and dreams. And when my father passed away, I turned to blogging to express my grief and sorrow.

From silly to serious, brief to rambling, insane to boring, word vomiting online has provided a home for the things trapped within my brain-brain.

Is it narcissistic? Probably.

It most definitely walks a fine line between over sharing on the internet and being apart of a larger online community.

There are times when this whole blogging thing springs forth like a never ending fount of awesome. With each post, I feel more brilliant and closer to achieving the ultimate awesome. Every comment. Every blog hit. Every retweet. Pure magic.

In my heyday of blogging, (yes, there was a heyday of sorts, it was a short lived blasty blast) writing blog posts came as easy as breathing. Write 'em. Post 'em. Move on to the next big thing.

But for the most part (even mid-heyday), I've struggled with blogging, constantly doubting myself. What can I say that isn't already said? How can I be interesting? Should I ham it up, try for the laughs? Go for sappy and sickeningly sweet? Ranty and edgy? What if they don't like me? Am I too big of a dork? Shouldn't I be more professional? Is my poor grammar showing? blah. blah. blah. blah.

After five years and nearly five hundred posts (if you combined all my online endeavors), I still get nervous when I'm about to hit publish. I still feel a lump in my throat. A moment of doubt and embarrassment akin to the feeling of walking around with toilet paper stuck to the back of your pants (been there done that in high school, no less).

Looking back, my best bloggy moments have been when I didn't worry about being liked or if what I said would be popular or interesting or noteworthy or professional. When I didn't feel the glare of would be agents or publishers or professionals. When I stopped thinking about the end result and was simply me. When I've hung out with good friends and shared a few good laughs.

Blogging is like writing a novel. It's painful. It's personal. It's embarrassing. It's over thinking every step. It's living in your own little world. And it's best done along side others.

There are a multitude of motivations people have for blogging, from popularity to business to geeking out. I've seen the good, the bad, and the flat out disgusting. I've had friends come and go, some moved on to bigger and better things, others have simply disappeared.

After five years, a handful of bloggy endeavors, and a multitude of twitter handles, I can say with certainty I still don't know what I'm doing. But I know, I'm hooked.

THE PLAN

Last weekend, I decided it was time to get off me arse and get back on the try-to-get-published horse. 

Yup. That, my friends, is an accurate depiction of my first journey down the road to publication. As in, it ended before it even began. Now, I could wax poetic about all the reasons for the start-stall-fail journey I landed in, but I'm not one for agonizing over the past. I'm a clean slate kinda gal. Live and learn, my friends. Or more like flounce about like a loon until ya get it right, but whatevs.

 Blah blah blah.You're bored. I'm bored. Let's get to the point of all this rambling.

I HAVE COME UP WITH THE PLAN!! 

I know. You are wowed by my ingenious (some might even say diabolical) brain-brain. Bask in the wonderment of the brain-brain, ya'll. BASK I SAY!

Oh. I know. I know.

 Any-who. Back to THE PLAN.

I've decided on a three pronged approach. Let me 'splain.

Prong #1: Brush off the good ole MS & grow a pair.

The shameful truth is I haven't touched my lovely manuscript since October. October, y'all! When I realized it had been seven months since I'd even taken a peek, I was floored. 

However, I sorta see this as an opportunity to reread my lil story with a fresh pair of eyes. Furthermore, I have been bashfully seeking out the help of some old and new friends. Two of my BIGGEST failings as a writer are a. not asking my fellow writers/book-lovers for help due to fear and b. not being vocal about what I'm working on. 

In the last week, I've had the opportunity to reach out to some amazing people, both friends and strangers. Their guidance and knowledge is a blessing. I could NEVER thank them properly. From encouragement to pro-tips to critiques, this week has been both overwhelming and awesome.

Prong #2: Learn how to write a query.

For me writing a query is beyond intimidating. Writing the novel? Editing said novel? I sorta get that. Sorta. Please understand, I'm not saying I'm good at it, just that I can wrap my brain-brain around it. 

The query? Not so much. I sent out eight queries in October. Of the eight, I received one partial request, six rejections, and one non-response. Honestly? I know they aren't the best statistic, but that partial not only shocked me, but felt goooood. Let me have my n00b moment, people! 

I know the query needs to be reworked.  Most importantly, I know I need to man-up(*puts on big girl pants*), ask for help (*gulps*), and get to work(*stares at computer screen*). 

Easier said than done, no doubt. Hand holding is going to be key to surviving this. Funny, how ya have to ask for the hand holding, isn't it? *winks*

Prong #3: Look into self-publishing.

This is a new venture for me, because frankly, I've always focused on traditional publishing. Why? Maybe the better question is, why start thinking about it now? This could open up a huge can of worms, so I will keep this as short and sweet as possible.

My reason for wanting to publish traditionally is simple: it's what you do, right? I mean, you write a book, you search for an agent, you get a publishing house to back you, and you're an author. Since I was a kid that's been my secret goal in life. It's not about money or fame or any of that other stuff. If I'm honest, part of it is about proving I'm good enough to get published, that there is someone out there willing to take a chance on lil ole me. Not sure what that says about me, but it is what it is.

Over the last year, I've had the opportunity to meet some amazing authors, the vast majority self-published, who are creating and producing high quality products that wow me. From start to finish, the buck stops at their doorstep, cover art, deadlines, you name it. My respect for them grows with each passing day. 

Financially, I have always believed self-publishing was beyond my reach. Honestly? It still is.Yet, I've decided to put the money thing aside and really give self-publishing a look-see as an option equal to traditional publishing. I mean, why not?

Because after all this musing and plotting and planning, one simple truth has revealed itself to me.

See, I don't want to be a published author for money or fame. No really. I wouldn't turn down the money, but I'm just looking for enough to buy socks. And even though it would be nice to prove myself, truthfully, who gives a damn? The real goal is to connect with someone through my stories. Just like all my favorite authors have reached out to me, I long to connect with someone, to have them fall in love with my characters-- to cry and laugh and maybe, just maybe, be a better person for it.

So, if that's the goal. 

If that's where I'm heading.

 Who cares HOW it happens? 

Just that it happens.

Right?

Whoza Married Fairy Now?!

HEAR YE! HEAR YE!

Come one, come all to the event of the century!

For the lovely fairy queenie, Anna Meade of Yearing for Wonderland

has met her fairy king and is getting married!!!

The excitement and tension has been building for months complete with

teaser tweets of the dress, 

surveys of adorable hairdos,

a Pinterest board filled to the brim with wonderment,
and running zombies(?).

Annnnnnd like all good minions
 it is time for her faithful legion
to throw her a bridal shower!
What's a bunch of writers suppose to do?
Well, write. Duh.

A few brave souls (*hugs Laura, Miranda, & Rebekah*)
have offered to host the Dark Fairy Queen Writerly Bridal Shower!
You can find all the rules & deets by click-ity-clicking here.
The following is my very humble offering.
I must admit, I did not use the Pinterest board for inspiration,
but I did use Anna and channeled alllll the whimsy I could muster.

---------------------------------------------------------

Title: A Moment Under The Moon*

Author: Ang Writes

E-book: Yes
Word Count: 699 (BOOM!)
website: http://www.angwrites.com/
Tweeter handle: @ang_writes

Toast: Michael & Anna, I wish you a lifetime together filled with laughter to get you through the sorrow, cookies for every rainy day, and love, the world's most powerful of magics. Congrats!

 A Moment Under The Moon

Briana’s frantic gaze scanned the forest. Her toes curled into the grass as she breathed in the crisp air.

Her head swung toward the house behind her. When her fiance, Daniel, turned onto the unpaved road leading toward his childhood home, she’d believed he’d driven into a fairy tale. Lilacs lined the lane. Tree limbs stretched out toward her in greeting. Briana had stuck her face out the window. The sun beat down on it. Her laughter soared toward the sky. Daniel’s hand slipped into hers and she’d sighed.

Now, by the light of the moon, the fairy tale shifted into a nightmare. The trees grasped at her, their intent sinister. The sweet scent of lilacs overwhelmed her, causing her stomach to churn.

From deep within the forest a voice called to her—chilled her soul. She’d awoken to a whisper in her ear, cajoling her to get out of bed, to forget her shoes, her sanity, and run head long into the night. It beckoned to her, promised her mysterious things.

Her feet itched, while her addled thoughts rebelled. Try as she might, the desire to move became irresistible. Her mud-caked foot took a hesitant step toward the forest. Just one more step and she’d be swallowed whole. She shuddered and her foot lifted.

“Briana! Stop!”

Briana froze. She turned in place and watched Daniel running full-tilt toward her. He halted in front of her and yanked her to his side. He examined the forest, his face made of stone. The roughness of his grip and the intensity of his expression shocked Briana.

“What’s gotten into you, Daniel? You’re hurting me.”

“What’s gotten into me? I think the better question is, why are your feet bare?” he asked eyes on the forest.

“They are?” she asked looking down at her feet. “Huh. They are.”

“And why have you fled the house? Have you decided to leave me stranded at the altar?”

“What if I had?” she asked. The full force of his dark chocolate eyes landed on her, melting her insides.

“You think it would be that easy to jilt me, Miss. Kelly?”

A smile tugged at the corner of her lips and she shrugged.

“Marry me,” he said.

“I already said yes.”

“No. Now.”

“What? How? We don’t have a preacher or witnesses.”

“The stars will be our witnesses, the moon our preacher.”

“What about a ring?”

Daniel leaned down and plucked a daffodil from the ground, looping it into a circle.

“Any other reasons?” he asked.

“Look at me. My hair is a mess. My feet are caked in mud. And I’m pretty sure there is drool on my chin.”

Daniel brushed a strand of her hair behind her ear. A thrill raced along Briana’s spine.

“You’re beautiful, Briana Kelly, more radiant than the moon and the stars, softer and finer than a petal. I have never loved a person the way I love you. Have never wanted someone the way I want you. I long to spend my life with you, have babies with you, grow old with you, and in death, lay beside you. Please, marry me, here and now, be mine.”

Briana blinked back tears. Daniel took her left hand in his, pulling her closer to him.

“Say you’ll be mine,” he said.

“I’m yours. And you are mine.”

“For all time,” he said and kissed her as he slipped the flower onto her finger.

A screech filled the night, a whipping of the wind that slammed into Briana’s back.

“What was that?” she asked against his lips.

“An old friend.”

Briana pulled away from him, her gaze questioning.

“Come on, Mrs. McConnell. Let’s get you inside before you catch a cold.”

He lifted her into his arms and pulled her tight against his chest. Her arms wrapped around his neck.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“You wouldn’t believe me.”

“Try me.”

“One day.”

“But not today.”

“No. Not today.”

Daniel turned toward the house. Briana glanced down at the ring on her finger, now silvery in the moonlight, no longer made of steams and leaves, but pure gold.

“Daniel, the ring! But how?”

“One day I’ll explain, my fairy queen. One day.”

---------------------------------------------------------
*Title credit goes to The Fiction Vixen, Rosalind Smith-Nazilli. Without her help, this fic would have been dubbed: Yup. 

Make sure to follow the linky-loo 

below to find more queenly stories.

Go forth, my friends, and read!

BOOM!

The Difference A Year Makes (not so much)

Other potential titles for this post include (yet are not limited to):

Things Ang Sorta Does But Not Really
Whaaaaaat? A Year Went By?
Bloggyversary (sorta): Holla!

Waaaaaaait for it:

this is my new favorite thing in life

That's right, ladies and gents, just shy of 14 months ago I closed up shop on a wee blog I'd been running for three years (give or take), quit my two year stint as a bookworm, said goodbye to the cuters (*bows head in a moment of silence, pours a shot of Jack on the ground*), and started out on a new endeavor, one in which I threw off my super secret ways and attempted to be less... well, super secret.

I was pumped, a ball of nerves ready to take on the world one story at a time.

And then life was all:

 And I was all:

And this lil bloggy took a backseat.

Honestly, rightly so. I regret nothing. In the last year, whilst I've been emo in the corner on the world wide web, I've been focusing on being here not just for my family and friends, but for me.

However, as I crawl out of the corner, dust myself off, and blinking step into the sun I realize just how much I've missed alllll the kool kids in my puter and this wee little blog.

Despite the silence over the last year, I *heart* blogging and I *heart* YOU. To those who've just signed on (*fist-bumps*) and those who've stuck by me throughout the last year or years (*extra big squeezy hugs*)  I'd like to say:

Thank you for stopping by, reading my silliness, 

commenting, emailing, tweeting, emoting, lurking, and allll the thing-ings. 

Your kindness and thoughtfulness over the last 14 months 

is not only appreciated but detrimental

and I am ever so grateful. 

*huggers*

In summation:

HAPPY (sorta) BLOGGYVERSARY TO ME!!!

p.s. Mayhaps next year I shall remember on time. On second thought, that would break with tradition, so I'm thinking naw.

Five Sentence Fiction -- WORDS

Five Sentence Fiction is hosted by Lillie Ferrin.
Here's the stone skinny:

Five Sentence Fiction is about packing a powerful punch in a tiny fist. Each week I will post a one word inspiration, then anyone wishing to participate will write a five sentence story based on the prompt word. The word does not have to appear in your five sentences, just use it for direction.

Easy. Peasy. Lemon. Squeezy. Am I right?

You can find Lillie on Twitter here & follow all the Five Sentence Fiction happenings here.

This week's word is: WORDS.

And the following is my humble offerings.
---------------------------------------------------

 Stay

The sound of her voice trickled into his ear-- soft, pleading, broken.

He struggled against the fog that stole her from him and pain greeted him, sharp, cruel pain that poked and prodded him.

“Please stay,” he finally heard.

He became aware of the feel of her hand in his, the rough crisp sheets beneath him, the persistent beeping of a machine, the sharp smell of ammonia and sickness.

Stay, he chanted pushing past panic and fear as he attempted to squeeze her hand, just stay.
---------------------------------------------------

Annnnnnnnd scene!
*dramatic bow*

Make sure to check out this week's participants here.
And don't forget to write your own fic.

Go forth & do good, my friends.

Peace out!

Clueless & Relieved

There are times when all a person can do is admit they don't know jack. As in, I am clueless. I am overwhelmed. I have the fail.

It's cathartic. It's freeing. It's a flipping relief.

Here's the deal:

Me and the writing, we get along. I'm not saying I'm good at it. Truth be told, I'm this side of barely decent. What I am saying is for me writing is like breathing. It's a joy. A joy that makes me want to gouge out my eyes and stab baby pandas, but a joy nonetheless.

What I don't understand is all the other madness: betaing, editing, querying, agenting, publishing, self-publishing, ebooking, promoting, other-thingings.

I've read the tweets. I've watched the vlogs. I've followed the agents. I've stalked the writers. I've taken the classes. I've studied the blog posts. I've sent out the queries. Annnnnd oh so much more. Yet, I'm still a huge fail at understanding what I should be doing.

One professional will tell you write all the time and query all the peeps, while the next professional will tell you don't start trying till you've written at least five books. One agent will hand out helpful advice on Twitter like candy, while sacrasim will drip from the fingertips of another leaving acid burns on all who come in contact with them. Some agents will tell you to write what you know, what comes natural, while at the same time ordering genres and gimmicks on social media as if they were at a McDonald's.

It's a madness that makes my head even more swirly twirly than normal. A chaos that's pulled me into its undertow. I've been so focused on what I don't understand and on screwing up, I've been hesitant, dare I say, afraid to move forward. I've been so worried about fitting in and if people will like me, that I've been scared to say what I think and write what I love.

That's right. I said scared. And it's the truth. Fear gnaws at my insides. My short comings mock me. My hands shake. My brain screams. My heart quickens (and not in the smexy romance novel kinda way).

Yet, as I write this, things fall into place. Once again, I remember it's not about all the things (the agents and publishing). It's about writing. It's about sharing. It's about taking part in the great debate. It's about telling a story that will touch a life the way all my favorite books have touched mine. It's not about being fearless, but being brave in the face of fear. It's about growth and passion, dreams and reality. It's accepting my limitations and pushing myself further. It's about living. And I'm not living if I'm worry about all this crap.

Thusly.

My name's Angela. I'm a writer. I suck at grammar. I use made-up word. I'm afraid and I'm clueless. And I'm okay with that.

Ang Needs Your Help!

Morning, afternoon, & evening to y'all.

I'm in a bit of a fix & I need YOUR help!

So last week I told y'all about The Inklingettes

 (a group of super fly hawty hawts who have let me muck up their groove thang)

& their brain child of awesomeness

Love Bites: The Anti-Valentine Day Blog Hop!

It was a blast & many a fan-tab-ulous tales were told.

I kid you not, 

I *heart* them all and had more fun than a pig in a... pig pen.

You should check them out like yesterday.
(stories here. read. NOW.)

Where was I?
Oh yes.
So in the spirit of good times, sprinkles, sparkles, & cookies
I wrote my own little ditty & posted it.
I must be frank,
I didn't view the hop as a contest & never even looked at the prizes.
Imagine my surprise when I found out yesterday I won
The Emotional Impact Choice!

And not only did I get this nifty little nod but I won a freaking prize!
Annnnnnd not just any prize but a custom painting
that is awaiting a quote from my flipping fic!!
*flabbergast*

After much blushing,
 (okay more like turning beet red and blotchy but blushing sounds far cuter)
hyperventilating,
feeling unworthy,
and shaking,
I reread my little fic & tried to pick out a quote.
But then I thought,
what's the fun in that?!
This is a community thing,
so why not ask my fellow Inlingettes & Blog Hoppers
& my dear bloggy friends
to help me pick a quote from my story for the painting.

Here's what I need you to do:
1. Please, go here & read my wee story.
2. Pick out your favorite quote & leave it on this post in the comments.

I'll pick the one that tickles my fancy
(plus gets a nod of approval from the mister & bestie)
and post a pic of the finished product once I've received it (!!!).

But wait.
Here's a wee bit of inspiration--
the painting (!!!).
The artist is Lee Clements.
Her website is here.
Please check it out.
Beauty abounds there.
And on that note, I present to you my new painting (!!!):

painting by Lee Clements of Artful Lee Designed

Now, enough of my insane rambling.
Ready. Steady.
GO!