I don’t know that I write what people actually want to read. Not a lot of people have actually read my books. I have about 2000 readers of my newsletter, which has gone down by a couple people each month. I have about 25 regular readers of this blog.
I don’t know how to write what people actually want to read. I write from my mind and from my heart, and hope there is an audience that likes my quirky, honest, and optimistic writing. I hope they like my closed-door romantic fantasy and my cozy Christmas romances with a bit of fantasy. I hope my lack of readership is just failed promotional attempts that I can get over and learn to do right.
I write because I think there’s room for my stories.
I don’t believe in the mystical version of karma, where there are cosmic circumstances to the things we do, mostly because I do not see the good rewarded. Bad things happen to good people, and that seems to go against the tenets of karma. But I believe in natural consequences, where actions cause other things to happen.
If someone takes out a beaver dam, the lake goes away as a result of meadowification (I’ve seen that word somewhere.) If one does an illegal act, they are much more likely to get arrested. Natural consequences are not perfect, because there are guilty parties who are never punished, but at least they always have to watch their backs. (Donald Trump, for example. Do you think he’s a happy man? He faces at least some of the consequences of his actions.)
Are consequences always equal to the magnitude of the action? Not always; we talk about people not getting what they deserve. Natural consequences lack a sense of justice that karma gives us. There is no divine retribution possible with natural consequences. But I think it fits the data of daily life better.
I originally thought of this in terms of what I would tell students coming into college. I did not participate in groups when I was in college, and I think it was a grave oversight on my part. I told myself I wasn’t a joiner, when in actuality I was depressed much of the time and afraid of getting rejected. I think that if I had picked a group that fit my interests (and at the University of Illinois there were several such groups even for nerds like me), I would have had less depression and would have gotten over thinking I would always be rejected. The awkwardness finally went away when I found a group that became family to me. We weren’t a university-sanctioned group, just a bunch of people who hung around.
In a more general sense, I have always sought out experiences, so I would say I was a participant in life. My bucket list included things like being in a dunking booth, marching in a parade, and participating in a talent show (all checked off). But, again, I wasn’t a joiner. My leisure activities, including writing, have been a solitary venture.
My psychiatrist suggested I find a group to join in my leisure time because of the importance of being around other people. So I am joining Nodaway Chorale, even though my voice isn’t as strong as it used to be. I used to enjoy singing, and think maybe I can enjoy it again.
So, participate in life. Find yourself a group activity you enjoy. Take opportunities to experience life. What are you doing to participate in life?
Birthdays at my age are not terribly exciting. I have lived another year with no major ups or downs, and there wasn’t even a theme to the year. It just was.
There were some bumps in the road — my husband’s open heart surgery, an office move — but both were dealt with as they came with little fuss. At this age, I have survived enough that turmoil is just something else to be dealt with. I would like to suffer through some positive change to be honest. Maybe the lottery or a publishing contract.
I got a fancy new sleep mask for my birthday. Nothing says “over 60” quite like a sleep mask. Dinner will be lamb at A&G, the local steakhouse. So no exciting plans.
Here’s hoping my next year has some pleasant surprises.
I have been keeping busy on the writing front, if not actually writing. This is a “me” post, which I put in every now and then to remind people there’s a real person behind this account.
I have been working toward publishing two books, one my annual Christmas romance (Kringle Once More) and the other the latest in the Hidden in Plain Sight series (Avatar of the Maker, cover art by my niece Rachel Bond below). Preparing to publish a novel requires several steps after the final draft, including:
Formatting (in Atticus)
Getting cover art
Laying out the cover
Writing cover text
Getting copyright cleared at the US Copyright Office
Putting cover and text together on KDP (Kindle Direct Publishing)
Setting up the business part on KDP
Releasing the novel when it’s time
I am currently well through this list for both novels with time to spare, except for one problem: The Copyright Office. They have been sitting on the paperwork for Kringle Once More since June 21, and I am supposed to publish it on October 1 (in time for the Christmas season. I’m only partially kidding). It should not take three months to approve. I just turned in the materials for Avatar of the Maker, which is to be published January 1, 2027. Or maybe not. I’m giving plenty of time according to prior copyright approvals I’ve sought.
I would love to have a publication party, but my people don’t go to such things. I have tried to have one online, and my friends don’t get the fuss. I don’t have enough readers who get the fuss either. I am one of those many writers who are not succeeding, but I keep writing because I have faith in something. Myself? Fate? A guardian angel? If I don’t write and publish, I will never succeed, after all.
Anhedonia is a psychological term meaning the absence (relative or absolute) of enjoyment of one’s life. It’s a sign of depression, a sign that one’s mood is below zero.
I have been suffering from anhedonia these past few weeks. Since the end of summer, I have had the summer doldrums. I have not been enjoying writing, and have not written for weeks, not even this blog. I did not feel my usual anticipation for the beginning of classes. Things I normally look forward to were things to get through.
Normally, I greet even little things in life as pleasurable. Dinner? A minor celebration. Writing? A flow activity. A doctor’s appointment? Something to be curious about (honestly). The past few weeks have been “Oh, yeah, I have classes to get through, and then I have the weekend to get through.”
I made an appointment with my psychiatrist, because I have a history of depression. (As I have bipolar disorder, this is perhaps putting it lightly.) The irony is, as soon as I made the appointment, I have started enjoying life again. I am looking forward to my trip to Kansas City this weekend. I am anticipating my 63rd birthday. I haven’t felt down about my classes. What gives?
I am working on publishing a book or two — Kringle Once More in October; Avatar of the Maker in January. My cover author (my niece Rachel) finished the cover for Avatar today. And I am working on the publication pieces and enjoying it. Maybe my anhedonia is over. What am I going to talk to my shrink about?
What’s the best thing you’ve ever found randomly on the street?
I am attracted to random pebbles. Not a rock hound; I usually don’t know what I am looking at. It’s just a pretty stone, and I don’t even know whether it will look shiny after being tumbled in a rock tumbler or if it will just crumble.
Then there was the day I found a chunk of turquoise.
When I found it on the sidewalk in with a bunch of other, less descript gravel, I thought it was discarded gum until I looked at it more closely. It was a blue-green. I poked it gingerly with a pencil, and it did not engulf the point of the pencil as it would have if it were gum. Not bubble gum, then. I picked it up and noted the black veins running through it, and realized that it was an unpolished piece of turquoise.
I have no idea why it was lying on the sidewalk. Perhaps someone had found it in a pile of pretty stones at a tourist trap and bought it for their pocket. It certainly wasn’t from a piece of jewelry given its unpolished state.
It was mine now.
But not for long. I don’t know where it ended up, but I lost it soon after receiving it. Perhaps it was like the One Ring, with a will of its own, looking for a new master. I don’t know, but I hope it’s happy with its new owner.
I haven’t written in a while. I have lost track of how long it’s been since I wrote last. I haven’t felt like writing lately, especially as it’s the beginning of the semester and I’m getting used to the swing of the year.
My writer’s block is phenomenally bad right now. I have two books I could be writing on, yet I don’t feel inspired about writing. On the other hand, I am looking to publish two novels this fall/winter — Kringle Once More will appear on Amazon Kindle October 1st (just in time for the extended Christmas season) and Avatar of the Maker will follow that on January 1, 2027. The former book is ready and waiting for the magic date, and the latter is waiting for its cover to be made for me to set it up on Amazon.
I don’t know how I feel about my writing at this time. I am, as I said, suffering from writers’ block. I am also suffering from a low-level confidence crisis. Should I even be writing? What can I contribute to a world where anyone can publish a book? Does the world need my novel? (As NaNoWriMo used to declare).
I need writing to be fun again. I need to feel something for my characters again. And I don’t know where to find that.
I’ve been AWOL for the past couple of weeks. I’ve been helping my husband deal with the aftermath of his surgery, and he’s doing excellently. He’s back to driving, and going back to work part-time next Wednesday.
Meanwhile, I’m going back to work next Wednesday, too. I have meetings, followed by the first day of classes. I’m about as ready as I’m going to be, which is not much. But I’m getting my hearing aids today, so at least I’ll be able to hear.
I haven’t been writing. I haven’t felt like writing. I don’t know what it is, other than my book is not grabbing me the way it should. None of my ideas are grabbing me. I think it’s a low-creativity moment.
