Like the rest of the country, I am on edge, watching the votes filter in, worried about how close this election is. I’ve bounced from project to project to project in a house that supports that. No one here has batted an eyelash when I piled shelves, toilets, doors, and sinks in weird places. I’m de-1990-ing a couple of bathrooms to wait out the rising pandemic numbers and the vote count.
If we’re going to have to stay home and not be around anyone all winter, we might as well like the house. Or that’s my theory as I dive into things I have been annoyed by, but living with for years.
My computer is not cooperating with my IT know-how. I’m viewing it as a sign from the universe that writing should be delayed for a couple of hours. I decided to give my latest novel a push with NaNoWriMo, and I already had some written, so I think I can meet this goal. 🙂 (NaNoWriMo is National Novel Writing Month. The goal is to write at least 50K words in November.)
For my US readers, hang in there, and don’t be divisive. We all have to still exist together at the end of this process.
October has been an interminable month. It used to be my favorite as I chased down the fall colors, carved pumpkins, and reveled in cardigan and boot weather. I had been dreading the anniversary of my attack and scheduled my book releases and tours to be done before that day hit me.
I tried to block it out with hiking. Mount Rainier, the Smoky Mountains, and other wilderness areas filled my days. I got muddy in caves with my kids. But I’m still me, and the adrenaline still floods me at nightfall, bringing panic attacks and insomnia.
Then, I switched to updating parts of my house. I have steamed wallpaper, patched walls, and left my house in piles of chaotic clutter. It reminds me of being a third of the way through writing a novel. I can see the end in my head, but I’m surrounded by loose threads. And there’s a lot of work to go. Only I can see how it will all work out; I think the rest of the household are humoring me.
I don’t know if you knew, but October is Domestic Violence Awareness month. And I laughed at the bitter irony that I was made indelibly aware of domestic violence in an October. My poems have been darker, like I’ve embraced the month’s black cats, cobwebs, and fishnet stockings and left out the cardigans and pumpkins.
There’s no glitter here. And the lighting doesn’t flatter. But all of the alcohol you can pour is included with a lifetime membership.
We all get our own photo shoots. We’re models you see— of blossoming bruises and chokers stuck to our skin. We skip the lines— at the ER. We take off our clothes— to don backless gowns. We do interviews— with men who forgot their microphones.
Our breaths come in ragged gasps. We have nights we can’t forget and friends who won’t remember us.
I won’t welcome you to our club, but I’ll tell those waiting outside to go to hell when they say you deserved your membership.
Welcome to Day 3 of the Where Angels Can’t Follow blog tour with YA Bound Book Tours. (For my poetry people, that means 2 more days until we’re back to verses and agony in ink. I’ve written about 7 this week so far, so I’m ready.)
Good morning, y’all. My mom likes to start these book birthdays off with issues that will give me mini-heart attacks at 6AM. (She means well and will be spamming all of her friends with my books all day.) “Your pre-orders aren’t being delivered correctly.” Or “people can’t pre-order on iPhones”. With a bit of Amazon consulting, it was sorted by 7AM, but I was almost relieved when Windows told me it had to configure a feature update. (Incidentally, if you have this problem with a pre-order, don’t delete your app and restart your phone over and over. Just delete the book and download it fresh. It will still be in your Kindle library if you delete it from the device.) Since I was helpless due to the Windows gods, I went for a four mile run listening to the catchy, fast songs from Hamilton. It was just the thing for a book birthday.
I get caught up, probably like most artists, in how well a thing is being received. Do I have reviews? Are they good? Did people love my characters? Did I sell enough to keep doing this? In the end, it doesn’t matter. I give my best words and best characters to my readers. I want to give you the same places to crawl into that I have–beautiful worlds with the kinds of people we want to know.
One of my favorite quotes about creating art is advice from Andy Warhol, “Don’t think about making art, just get it done. Let everyone else decide if it’s good or bad, whether they love it or hate it. While they are deciding, make even more art.” I’ve been taking Mr. Warhol’s advice, and I have over a hundred pages of Iron Spirits done now. Here’s to knocking out the next two hundred.
I hope you find characters and lines in each of my books that sneak their way into the channels of your brain and that my books are a refuge when you need it. Happy reading!
Y’all. Where Angels Can’t Follow will be released tomorrow! This has been a long journey for me. And every time I look over the lines, I am excited to share them with you. I can’t wait for you to meet these hilarious characters who walked into my mind and wouldn’t quit telling their stories.
We’re on our second week of the blog tour, and the lineup was arranged with YA Bound Book Tours. I’m really excited about the new content released in some of today’s posts. Here are today’s stops:
And at all of these stops you can register for a giveaway of my complete works–Iron Shards, Hell and High Water, and Where Angels Can’t Follow. (The copies of Where Angels Can’t Follow are ARCs as it hasn’t been released yet.)
The anniversary of my attack is looming, a great maw snapping at the smiles and sunshine in my life. I’ve had an uptick in panic attacks, super hearing, and insomnia. I’m operating on caffeine and stubbornness today. It’s enough. This poem was inspired by me asking my significant other if he thinks I’ve gotten worse. Because for some demented reason, I have to know the truth; I have to pry it out like a rotten tooth.
“You’re getting worse.” I wrap my arms around myself as far as they’ll go, protecting my core like your words are hits. But they don’t keep coming.
I wait for the conditional get-better-now, stop-panicking receding footsteps. But there was no or else. No if-then.
You pulled me closer as I apologized for more things I can’t help. I might as well apologize for the rain, too. And you stop my torrent like a shut-off valve in the sky.
Good morning! We’re wrappingup the first week of the Where Angels Can’t Follow blog tour. (There’s one more week of blog stops to go, for those of you wondering when I would get back to poetry, writing blogs, and finishing Iron Spirits.) I can’t believe we’re only four days away from the release! I am excited to share the world, the characters, and their hilarity. One of my writing idols, Joss Whedon, once offered this advice for writing, “Make it dark, make it grim, make it tough, but then, for the love of God, tell a joke.” And that was my goal.
Today’s stop on the blog tour is Jazzy Book Reviews. You can find an excerpt of Where Angels Can’t Follow here, if you haven’t gotten to it yet. (At least your wait for the rest won’t be long now!) It’s also one of your last opportunities to enter the Iron Shards giveaway.
I have been featured in a guest post on Jaime’s World today. I wrote a piece on my Top 5 Favorite Movies. I don’t really watch movies much since my attack, and the exceptions usually involve my children. However, 2020 has not been the year for movie releases, so these should still be relevant. Also, my friends swear I am completely uncultured despite their best efforts. *shrugs* You’ve been warned. There’s not much overlap between what I want to watch and the Oscars winners list. Netflix also thinks I want to watch strong females in leading roles. (Make of those two facts what you will.) I hope you find something new and interesting to occupy your social distancing hours.
I know that some of my readers are here because of our mutual love of poetry. And the Where Angels Can’t Follow blog tour is not going to speak to that. So, here’s a new poem I wrote yesterday, which was a hard day for me. I didn’t fall into the hole in my calendar, but I did keep busy with random chores, freezing meals to a ridiculous degree (who needs that much spinach lasagna?!), and finishing the day out with a drink. Odin, the German Shepherd who seems to know when my days are difficult, did not leave my side.
The days we used to celebrate
become holes in the calendar.
Anniversaries that got crossed out–
absent champagne, flowers, and cards.
Birthdays that aren’t
for people that aren’t.
Days when the world stopped
and our lives fell
into a pit disguised as an ordinary day.
It’s a dubious privilege of aging–
learning how to span the shaky debris over those holes.