I have a new best friend...

Figuratively speaking, that is.  (Not to worry, Monica, you’re safe in all the ways that matter!)

If you follow me on Facebook, you may have seen my post a few days ago about how I stumbled upon my lost digital voice recorder.  I love this piece of technology for so many reasons, the foremost being that it's handy.  I frequently have ideas pop into my brain without warning and it’s important for me to get them down before they’re lost forever.

You see, my stories are written one line at a time.  I know, I know, how else would I write them?  But entire plots have been formed around one single sentence; a sentence that usually comes to me at the most inopportune time. While driving, or at the doctor's office, or as I'm drifting off to sleep.  You know, those times when paper and pencil aren't handy and I'm miles away from my PC.  (Not literally in the case of sleeping but mentally).

And before you ask, yes, I do have a smartphone with all its fancy voice memo and notepad features.  But by the time I unlock the phone, find the app I need and activate it, I've either gotten a ticket for distracted driving or the thought has evaporated into the beyond.  (To be clear, I've never actually gotten a ticket for distracted driving but the possibility's there if I use my phone).

The cool thing about this recorder is that it's voice-activated.  So when that line which everyone and their brother will be quoting next month hits me, I can preserve it before it's replaced with "I need to pick up ten bags of kitty litter."  No fumbling to unlock anything or blinding myself (and the hubs) with the harsh light of the phone in the middle of the night.  Just a few whispered words and I'm back in dreamland, the beginnings of a new story waiting for me on the nightstand to be spun into gold the next day.

Yes, Diva and I are inseparable now.  Stop laughing.  It's a good name.  Derived from DVR (Digital Voice Recorder).  It sounds much sexier than Olympus (her brand).  I predict we have a long future ahead of us.

Now if only I could find some batteries.

Happy New Year!!

It's going to be a great one - I feel it in my bones.  Actually, what I feel is miserable and achy due to a cold front that's headed our way but that's beside the point.  I've vowed to do my upmost to make this an outstanding year.

Yeah, I know, I can't control life, not even my corner of it.  The only lives I control are those of the characters in my books.  And man, do I have some awesome plot twists in store for them!  But I also have plans for me - for my life.  Plans I can implement no matter what the universe throws at me.

You see, over the years I've learned something.  Well, I've learned lots of things but this particular lesson applies to this post.  I've learned to let go of the outcome.  That's the thing so many of us get hung up on.  I always have.  I thought that by following certain steps, plotting things out in just the right fashion, I had power over the end result.

(**giggle - choke - snort**  Excuse me for a moment while I wipe away my tears of laughter.)

It's been a hard, hard lesson to learn - even harder to accept - but I HAVE NO CONTROL OVER THE RESULTS OF MY ACTIONS.

There.  I put it in print so it must be true.  Actually, it is.  I have no say in how things are going to end up.  Basically because I'm not an island of one.  There are other people involved in my processes, whether directly or indirectly.  And illnesses, falling outs, relocations, new employment, bankruptcy, marriage, death, the stock market, gas prices, the rain in Spain, just plain indifference - all of these things affect my end game.  But that doesn't mean I shouldn't try my damndest to make whatever I've working on at that moment be exactly what I want it to be.  Because for all the times my objective is circumvented there will be many more times it's not.  And those are the moments when I shine.

So Happy New Year to all of you.  I hope 2017 brings you everything you wish for and more importantly, everything you work for.

Now where did I put my to-do list?

A new realization for an (almost) new year...

Let me get this out there.  I'm a self-aware person.  Too self-aware for my own good most days.  I have no issue owning my personality 'quirks'.  I'm abrupt (some people call it rude), I'm particular in how I do things (i.e. controlling), I'm not overly social (translation - stuck-up and bitchy.  Other people's definition, not mine).  There are more but I won't bore you with the list.  Because I'm here to talk about the biggest, most self-destruction short-coming of mine no one knows about.

For most of my life - all of my adult life - I've been scared.  Scared to succeed.  Oh, I have the desire to be more than I am, have more than I have.  I know it's possible.  Even probable.  I'm not content to be a cog in a wheel. No offense intended to the cogs out there.  Without you, the gears wouldn't turn.  But I'm kinda like that spring which flies off in all directions.  I've never been satisfied staying in one place.

So why, figuratively speaking, have I?  Making the same decisions and mistakes I've always made?  Because I'm afraid that if I become a different version of myself, a better version of myself, that I won't know who I am.  That instead of making who I am better, I'll lose myself.  Sounds crazy, right?  It does.  I know it does.  But I haven't found a way to reconcile that feeling with my brain.

For as long as I can remember, I've wanted something more.  Honestly believed that there is something more out there for me, for my life.  I've ventured outside of the norm more times than I can count.  Moving cross country, making this, trying that.  Opening at-home businesses only to have them fizzle out before they have a chance to get off the ground.  I tell myself it's because I don't know how to make them work, and that might be accurate to a point, but I know, deep in my heart, it's because I'm afraid.  I've lived almost fifty years with this person I am and I don't know how to live with someone else.

I sound like a freakin' idiot, I know.  I can see (and feel) the roadblocks as I throw them up.  And I do it anyway.  What's that definition of insanity?  Doing the same thing over and over, expecting a different result?  I should have that tattooed on my forehead.  And maybe I'm insane for sharing this publicly.  You know, we live in a society where we're not supposed to let our insecurities show.  God forbid we come across as less than perfect.

Honestly, I'm sharing this because I don't believe I'm alone in how I feel.  Plus, putting it in writing is my way to claim ownership.  And I need to own this one because it's the first time I've ever admitted it.  I sabotage myself.  I torpedo my potential success.  I drain the battery, flatten the tires, siphon the gas from the engine.  I prevent myself from moving forward.  Me.  Only me.

There.  I said it out loud.  I claim it.  It's mine, all mine.  Great.  Now how do I get rid of it?  Ah ha!  That's the real issue.  How do I get past being scared and embrace the unknown?  Relish the possibilities?  Enjoy the fruits of my labors?

I'm not sure yet.  But as the title of this post suggests, it's a new realization.  I'm going to need some time to figure this out.  But not too much.  I'm not getting any younger, after all.  No time to be wasting.  I'm not going to wait until January 1 to make changes.  I'm starting now. 

Welcome to the new (and soon-to-be improved) me.

Yesterday was a turning point for me. As I sat in a room filled with accomplished authors, I realized I have no idea what I'm doing when it comes to building my career. Oh, I have the author part down. I know how to write a book and publish it. Nine of them, in fact. What I don't know is the rest of it. How to effectively market myself and my stories. How to advance from someone who has a few books on Amazon to someone who makes a living from their job. And I do view this as my job. I work at it every day, including weekends, in some form or another. But it's become apparent to me that I'm not working effectively, I'm not seeing results, and that has to change.

I've been a published author for three years and I can honestly say that I see no difference career-wise since I began. In fact, in a way, it's worse now because when I published my first book, no one had ever heard of me. Three years later and it's virtually the same. Please don't get me wrong. I'm not crying 'poor me' or looking for validation. Every author out there who has become a recognizable name has earned it by busting their butt and working hard. And I'm not opposed to hard work. Not at all. I can put in the hours but it seems that all I've done with my time is spin my wheels.

I'm not sure what the answer is. I know that what works for one author doesn't work for the next. I've tried many different things that other people have suggested, most with no success, but I'm willing to learn and try and fail (although I only see it as failure if I don't try). I'm currently implementing suggestions that I've received from those who are further along than I am but past that, I have no idea what to do next.

I'm a person who doesn't do well with generalizations. For instance, to hear "you have to build the subscriber list for your newsletter" means nothing to me. I know I have to build it; what I don't know is how to build it effectively. I have a pop-up on my website, I have the sign-up form linked to my author page, I post about it now and again but I know there is more I can be doing. **Side note, I messaged an author last night who has an awesome subscriber list and she made some great suggestions. Thank you, Kathleen.** I'm the sort of person who needs to know the exact steps I should be taking to accomplish a goal and that's where things get sticky. Again, what works for one may not work for me. Also, I don't want other authors to think I'm 'cheating' off of their hard work. I'm okay with 'doing it' on my own - as long as I know what I should be 'doing'.

It's not enough to say "I've written a book and I want a career" and just expect it to happen. There's a broad distance between the two. I've wasted three years expecting that distance to diminish based upon the promotion work I've been doing and, if anything, it's broadened. But I'm not giving up. I've put in way too much time and energy to chuck it all. Plus, I love writing and I want to be financially able to keep it up for a very, very long time. I just have to find a way to become more business-minded and that's where I suck.

So, the point of this post? Catharsis, for one thing. The longer I hold stuff like this inside, the more I doubt I'll ever accomplish anything. Camaraderie, for another. I know I'm not the only author who feels this way so maybe by sharing this, someone else will recognize them-self in this post and make changes in their own course of action. Lastly, I'm always open to suggestions. I'm not as self-confident as I may appear. I need help - lots and lots of help. Because without a map, I can't get there from here.

Don't worry, I don't want what you have. It's yours. You've earned it. What I want is what I've earned. What I need is help knowing how to earn it.

Anyone have a GPS?

I hate release day...

Oh, I know.  Saying that out loud is taboo.  Release day should be full of joy and celebration.  All my hard work culminated in that one moment when the link is finally live.  Got your one-click finger ready?

Yeah...no.  Release day is depressing.  It's the one day when my expectations aren't met, when my neuroses move in for the long winter, when every single doubt and insecurity I have about myself explodes to the surface and lays like a thin film over my soul.

I tell myself not to feel this way.  I should feel happy, proud, accomplished.  And some small part of me does.  The bigger part of me wonders why no one else is as excited as I am.

Social media has ruined me.  Before becoming an author, I didn't post, tweet, snap, whatever.  I had a small Google+ account where I posted pictures of flowers and my furbabies.  I didn't interact, I didn't share, I was happy in my own quiet world.

Then I discovered I needed to market myself.  Market my brand.  I feel I do a pretty good job.  Not as great as some, better than others.  (There I go with the comparisons again.)  I share, I support, I do what I can to contribute to the author community.  So why after nine releases do I feel like I'm alone in the lifeboat in the literary sea?

I hate myself for feeling this way.  I can't allow my self-worth to be based upon what anyone thinks of me, whether or not they approve or cheer me on or like my posts.  I can't.  I know that.  But for the girl who was never included, who was never invited to parties or proms, who spent the majority of her time alone, not seeing the fanfare hurts.

Okay, enough self-pity.  I have more books to write.  And more release days to dread look forward to.  So I'll take a deep breath, smile, and congratulate myself for a job well done.  Because mine is the only opinion that counts, right?

Right...

It's that time of year again...

In a few weeks, I'll celebrate another birthday (and celebrate I will! I love my birthday! It's the only day of the year dedicated entirely to me), but it's not the number that bothers me; it's the time lost. The time I let slip away.

What I don't like, and what's been bumming me out for about a week now, is the fact that another year has gone by and I haven't accomplished the things I set out to do this time last year. Oh sure, I was sidelined by health problems, surgery, and recovery, but in my mind those are excuses. I had all of this 'free' time on my hands and I did nothing with it. Another lie I tell myself.

I am very good (or very bad) about not seeing the baby steps, the progress I've made as I step, skip, and, sometimes, crawl along the path of life. I'm hard on myself. Harder than anyone else in the world (and beyond) could ever be. Why am I this way? Damned if I know. But as the years tick by, I'm learning to like myself more, love myself more, appreciate who I am, the qualities I like and the qualities I don't. Because it is a combination of these that make me the person I am. And I know that, even if, at times, I forget.

I'm reading, as I do about this time every year, one of Sarah Ban Breathnach's books. I love her books. They speak to me like no others. This year, it's Something More. Because that's my constant state of being lately. Always wanting Something More. Not more stuff. More of something I can't put my finger on, an ambiguous feeling that there's more to me, more to my soul. That I haven't reached my full potential. That I'm not living authentically.

Time's running out. Oh, there's no dark cloud in my future, at least none that I know about, but life isn't forever. I hope I have double what I've already lived. I'd be good with that. But that doesn't give me back the time that's gone. It's behind me, unattainable, unchangeable. All I have is what's in front of me - this second, this minute, this hour, this day. I'd be a fool not to make the most of it.

As much as I hate going through my dark times, beating myself up, calling myself names, feeling absolutely useless and pathetic, I like when I reach the other side and see the light again. My creative juices start flowing, no longer stuck in amber. I look forward to what I do next, am excited to see what I create. I smile. At my fur babies, at my husband, at nature, at myself. I like me again.

Though I don't understand why, maybe I need to slog through my emotional sludge once in a while to gain a clearer perspective. To recharge my spirit. To appreciate who I am and embrace what I have to offer. Or maybe that's all a bunch of crap. Either way, I'm back. The weight I've been carrying has dissipated, floating up into the ether.

So maybe, today is my birthday, the day of my re-birth, as a happier, wiser person, eager to excavate (another of Sarah's terms) the gems hidden in my soul, ready to dust them off and share them with the world.

Yup, sounds like a pretty good plan to me!

I think most of us spend our lives defining ourselves...

At least I do. And I don't like my definition.

If you follow me on Facebook or read my blog, you probably know I had back surgery last October. Spine-straightening surgery, to be specific. I was diagnosed with scoliosis when I was fourteen-years old and thankfully, for most of my life, I had few problems due to the condition. An occasional tight muscle or back spasm, but nothing to keep me from living my life. That changed in March of 2015. Suddenly, I was in pain all of the time. I'd take a day to rest, thinking I'd over-stressed my back, but the pain was still there. I saw a chiropractor and while the adjustments helped for a few weeks, eventually the pain grew worse. He referred me to an orthopaedic surgeon who took one look at my X-ray and referred me to a spine specialist. My scoliosis had curved and twisted to the point that I could no longer stand upright or walk without a limp. And the pain was non-stop and debilitating. My life, as I knew it, came to a screeching halt!

Even the simplest of tasks were beyond me. Washing dishes, doing laundry, taking care of my dogs. I was off of work more than I was on. And the pain was affecting my memory and my personality. I was miserable. So when the surgeon told me there was hope, in the form of a back fusion, I jumped at the chance. Well, not literally, since I had enough trouble standing, but I was all for it. Sign me up! Even after learning the risks involved with surgery and that my back would never be 100% (the surgeon estimated 70%), I was actually excited to go under the knife!

Fast-forward to today, six-and-a-half months post surgery. I'm doing so much better than I was this time last year. God's honest truth.

But...

I'm not as good as I'd like to be. Most days, I'd say my back was at 85%. 15% higher than what the surgeon predicted. Not too shabby. Except for the new pain I'm in. Every day. Every night. Pain that allows me to live my life in short bursts at a time. I'm trying to chalk it up to the healing process. That each day is a bit better than the last. In some ways, it is. In others, well... let's just say if this is as good as it gets, I have some adjusting to do. And that's okay. It'll have to be. At least I can function.

What does all of this have to do with my definition of myself? I know you're wondering. Well, it's like this. I don't want to be the person with 'back problems'. And that's the label I've stuck on my forehead. I hear myself saying it aloud, using the phrase to explain why I'm not able to attend a function, or why I'm limping, or why I feel like crap. Oh, it's not an excuse. My back issues are the precise explanation for all of those things. But I don't want them to be. I don't want to feel like an old woman, tottering around, one hand on my back, moaning and groaning. I'm not that person!! (Only, I am. At least for right now. But I don't like it!) I do not want to be defined by my incapacity. Because it's becoming much to easy to live up to that definition.

So, I'm changing my definition. No longer am I going to be the person with back issues. Especially if I'm the only one saying it. Yes, I have to adjust my life to my new back. No, I can no longer accomplish some activities the way I did two years ago. Yes, I am so happy I had the surgery. No, I am not going to settle for this self-restriction I've attached to my being.

I am healing. I am different than I was. My body is different than it was. I am a new person. I am not going to settle!

I am redefining my life. <3