Saturday, September 28, 2013

As I await word on my manuscript, I am preparing myself for the life of a professional writer.  One of the luxuries of writing my first novel was that there were no stakes.  I got lost in my characters, their stories, and their drama and I wasn't concerned about much else.   It wasn't until I work-shopped my first piece and I got positive feedback that I realized other people may like it too.  Tapping into that joy I felt, the fun it seemed to bring others, and the pure happiness that writing gave me helped me finally admit I wanted to pursue writing as a profession.

But let's face it, the joy of writing for yourself is quite different from writing for business.  If When I am fortunate enough to go into contract with a publisher, I am going to be expected to write - with editors, suppliers, and an audience - all waiting for my product... under deadline.

My hippie brain is the leader of deadline opposition.  What can be more damaging to creativity than the pressure of a looming deadline?  Art takes time.  Examining butterfly wings.  Watching sunsets.  Peering at people through a clean section of a foggy window pane.  You know, allowing time to see your creepy artist process through.  However, the other part of my brain - that stiff 9-5er that goes to work everyday, realizes that deadlines are discipline.  They are reigning it all in and holding yourself accountable.  They are proof that you want to be taken seriously.  Proof that you can control your gift.  That your muse isn't just running around showing up when and where she feels like it ripping up your pages and making you stare at a blank screen.

That is the discipline I am practicing with the short story I am publishing on October 31.  I want to prove to myself that I am ready.  Ready for the deadlines, the vulnerability and to be held accountable.  It's one thing to believe you can be something, it's quite another to prove that you can be.  I mean it's possible right?  You wouldn't have writers like Stephen King or James Patterson or John Grisham producing quality book after book if writers weren't able to make inspiration a part of their profession.  But who knows - maybe they miss deadlines all the time.

Love and Light,

Saturday, September 21, 2013


I scare really easily. too easily.
To this day a picture of Rod Serling smoking a cigarette scares the crap out of me just because of the memory of Twilight Zone marathons I was forced to endure as a child (Thanks, Mom).
As a victim of my own overactive imagination, real life situations often pale in comparison to things that I conjure up in my head   An article about a sinkhole making headlines in the news?  I will stare into space for ten minutes after I read the article and wonder if the gaping sink hole has the potential to spread to me (...300 miles from where it originated, and engulf everyone unfortunate enough to be in its path, unexpectedly pulling me from where I sit at my computer, leaving only enough time to scream, "WHY?!?" as my weakening fingers lose their grip on the edge of the Earth).
A plane flying too low as a thunderstorm approaches?  I stare up at the sky just a little too long wondering what if a flash of lighting strikes the plane teleporting it and all its' passengers to another dimension leaving me to convince those that didn't witness it that the passengers of the plane are still out there (victims of citizens of a parallel universe intent on learning human patterns and studying Earth to prepare for a planet-wide colonization).

You would think with such a creepy imagination and a clear penchant for torturing myself the horror genre would be a natural fit.
Too bad I have always been too freaked out to try.
In honor of Halloween this year, I am stepping outside my comfortable box and publishing my first horror short story.  On October 31, I am debuting the short story, Chesapeake House, on Kindle.  It is the story of a traveling young couple whose stop at a deserted rest area leaves them fighting to survive an apparent zombie pandemic.

Horror writer, Harry Shannon, is quoted as saying, "...reading and writing horror is about eating my own shadow so it won't eat me."  This leaves me to believe that maybe people who write horror are the biggest fraidy cats of all, just made a little less scared by being in the driver's seat of the inevitable dysfunction.  I'm hoping getting knee-deep in my own worst nightmares will do something to smolder my raging imagination.  Or at least bring it down to a simmer.  If not, I'll just keep reminding myself...

Love and Light,

Thursday, September 5, 2013

Writers are an interesting breed. 
We are voyeurs.  We find inspiration in the most mundane things.  From watching a tear stained child skip the edges of the floor tiles in a department store to passing an abandoned rest area towering beneath the trees under the glow of the moonlight. 
We watch. 
We imagine. 
Then we retreat to our caves to write it all down. 

I have a story for you guys. 
Debuting on Kindle this October.
The inspiration enveloped me like a sink hole and I happily plummeted into a cushy, word-filled descent. 
Can't wait to emerge and share!
Thanks for hanging with me, folks...

Love and Light,
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