In the living room this morning:
Me (to husband): I love you!
Husband: I love you too!
Me: I love you more.
Him: I love you lots. Is there more than that?
Me: I love you gazillions!
Him: I can't count that big.
Me: It's bigger than ten.
Him: Oh, that's a lot!
I really wanted the author fair to go better. But the weather was abysmal, and we only had about fifteen people come through. None of them wanted to read Christmas romances or serious fantasy romance, so I didn’t sell a single book. As I have been fretting lately as to whether I should be trying to market my books in the first place, I felt this was my message from the universe telling me to quit.
Then I got this urge to go to Starbucks with my husband afterwards, rather than going home to cry (I really did feel bad). There, I ran into one of the other authors, who had not sold any books either. We commiserated with each other and talked about what we knew was true about being an indie writer — the difficulties in finding venues to sell, the role of luck in getting recognized, and the need to just keep trying.
My husband and I went to Raku for ramen after that and ran into a young woman with whom I had a wild conversation the other day, about lots of subjects including writing as a way to get your feelings in order. She thanked me profusely for getting her back into writing.
So I think messages from the universe are present. As a Friend (Quaker), I have learned to listen for them. I don’t know what to credit them to — “The Universe” seems to have the least baggage attached to it. But I’m listening.
Today is the local author’s fair at the public library, and I am suffering from a severe case of impostor’s syndrome. This is new; normally I enjoy the author’s fair, given that it’s the only time I go out in the public and talk about my books. But this year I feel reluctant to do so.
It’s something I have been fighting for a little while, though. I’ve been wrestling with writing something new, I have been unmotivated, I’ve just been feeling blah about my endeavors.
It’s even more complicated than that, of course. I’m afraid of sinking (further?) into obscurity, and I’m equally afraid of my writing career picking up. I don’t want it to stay the same, either. I’m at an impasse where there’s a boulder on the road in front of me and a washout behind me.
Given all this, I would prefer my career to go forward, because that difficulty would come with a side of satisfaction, which is not as present in the other options. I’m all for climbing over the boulder somehow if I can manage it. There’s much I can’t manage in terms of promotion and the like; I am doing all I can within my time and money means. But I have a presence on Facebook, Threads, Blue Sky, and in this blog, and I send a newsletter to 2800 people. To torture my boulder metaphor further, what I need is a bolt of lightning to pulverize that rock so I can climb over it.
I guess what I want is for the effort to be worth it, because I’ve written 9 novels (plus one that didn’t survive) and I feel foolish writing another. If you have a moment for good wishes, wish for me to find a way over the boulder.
There are so many types of happiness in my life — the satisfaction I feel when I have written a chapter of my book, the relief I feel when I’m done with another semester at work, the contentment of re-reading an old and favorite book. There’s the tiny delight of petting my cat Chloe, who is the quintessential cat, and the amusement of running into a pun.
But what makes me the happiest, the most exuberant, is laughing with my husband. We laugh a lot together. The emotions of laughing range from a sly snicker to a whooping exhilaration, and these moments give me the most happiness. They happen often, making my life one of joy.
If my husband dies before me (something one thinks about once they’ve gotten older), I will miss that joy. I will have to find other sources of happiness. But I don’t think they’ll match the joy of laughing with him.
I have a bit of a reprieve from grading today, and I need it. Three classes plus an internship graded, one to go. And that one is coming in on Thursday, not Friday, so I will grade it on Friday.
Which brings me to the big event this weekend — our local library’s author fair. I sign and sell a few books there every year. It’s my experience to feel like a real author and talk about my books with people. It’s actually a bit difficult for me to talk about my books, because I have that midwestern female tendency not to want to “brag”.
If I ever get that lucky break, I’ll have to get good at talking about my books, because more people will ask. This would be a challenge for me, but a challenge I’d willingly accept.
This is a contractual obligation post so I don’t lose my posting streak. I have a final exam to give this morning at 7:30, so not much time to write. I might write again later today.
Here’s a picture of a kitten.
There are two types of professors out there right now: the ones who don’t have Christmas spirit until all the grades are in, and those whose Christmas spirit hopefully gets them through finals week. During finals week we give and grade exams, and it’s a pretty intense time.
I am one who uses Christmas spirit to get me through the week. Expect me to play Christmas carols in my office, to wear a lighted Christmas bulb necklace, and to be merry and bright (in a muted way, as I’m an introvert).
I have an essay final due on Friday at midnight, and I am going to spend Saturday evening and Sunday grading it and putting my class grades into our automated management system. So it’s a hurry up and wait week for me, and Sunday is going to be brutal. But the house is decked with greens and the carols are on the stereo. I’ll get by.
My life is exactly as I pictured a year ago. Life doesn’t change much when you’re sixty, unless it changes in tragic ways with a death. My life hasn’t changed a lot. I write, I publish, I teach, I hope my medication works. I monitor my health conditions.
It is not an exciting life, but I’m okay with that. My life when younger was exciting, but also chaotic and at moments unsafe. I did not always make good decisions. Which is why I hope my medication works.
I don’t expect to win the Powerball (a big pay-out lottery). I don’t expect to make it onto the bestseller list. I hope nothing bad happens. I expect next year at this time to be much the same.
I haven’t talked about my books in a while, and it’s an exciting season.
Kringle Through the Snow, my latest Kringle Chronicles book, came out on October 1. It is a Christmas romance involving Sierra DuBois, an energetic event manager and Wade Nelson, an affable engineer and nerd. They bond over his selection for the Chamber of Commerce’s first Annual Grinch, and his inclusion into Sierra’s highbrow charity ball. Sierra has a secret that very well may derail the relationship, and she runs away to hide it. They will have to weather some storms if they want to walk in the snow.
The other book coming out on January 1st is Reclaiming the Balance. This is the latest in the Hidden in Plain Sight series, which is either contemporary fantasy or magical realism depending on who you ask. In this story, Janice Wilkens flees Chicago by teleportation with two strangers who know more about her abusive ex-boyfriend than they should. At her refuge, Barn Swallows’ Dance, she finds out about the immortal Archetypes like her ex, and their half-human Nephilim offspring. While plotting for the return of her Nephilim son from her ex, she grows closer to Amarel, an androgynous Nephilim. A journey of transformation beckons both of them as they strive to remedy the collective’s prejudice against Nephilim and rescue Janice’s son.
Both book series have other books published. There are five total books published in the Kringle series: The Kringle Conspiracy, Kringle in the Night, It Takes Two to Kringle, Kringle on Fire, and the current publication. Hidden in Plain Sight series has three published: Gaia’s Hands, Apocalypse, and the upcoming Reclaiming the Balance. There’s also a published short story collection based on the Hidden universe, Stories Within Stories.
There are three upcoming books in the Hidden series: Avatar of the Maker, Carrying Light, and Whose Hearts are Mountains. Those are waiting to be published in the future. There’s also another short story book coming.
There’s also a standalone book waiting to be published, known as Prodigies.
Of course I would like you to pick up one of my books and read them. That’s what they’re there for.
I am an introvert; I tend to spend a lot of time on my own because people leave me overwhelmed at times. But I also seek aloneness because I grew up with bullies saying ugly things about me, and I’m always on the verge of remembering that again, especially with the specter of bipolar hanging over my shoulder.
So it’s a worry in my mind what people say about me. I hope, though, that they say I’m a good person.
Too much of mental illness is seen as being bad. And when I am in the middle of an episode, I can be seen as neglectful, overly emotional, and capricious. Not a good look, although I don’t get manic enough to be truly destructive and frightening. I worry about the consequences of my episodes. And I hope that, despite this, I can be seen as good.
Words Like Me 