Things have gotten so laughable for me in the last 12 hours. What once might have lead me to days of tears, self-doubt, and loads of self-hatred, I no longer find upsetting. Instead, I have spent the better part of today reveling in the fact that I no longer care about the opinions of fake people.
I love and respect the opinions of my friends, whom I know by name. I do not respect people who care to advise or castigate me from the shadows like Deep Throat.
It's funny that all this hullabaloo has come up. And I actually have My Trolls to thank for this.
See, my rankings and ratings in search engines have skyrocketing in the last 12 hours. The more times individuals visit my page, the higher my ranking in Google. So each time someone has commented "anonymously" or not, Google congratulates me and rewards me with a higher standing.
All the key words that have been used over and over and over again are now likely to be pulled up as results if someone were to search for "liar, slander, malicious, lies." See, once I mentioned Dr. House, MD briefly in a post. As a result, if someone types "dr. house" into Google, they land on my blog.
Weird? Yes. But that is the beauty of algorithms.
***UPDATED*** I have decided, as it is my right as this is my own fucking blog, that I am removing all of the "Anonymous" comments and those many of those comments that my dear, good friends made on behalf of my defense.
I changed some settings around for a bit, so anonymous commenter are not allowed and for a while, I will be moderating my comments section because really, this is not why I chose to write.
So in short, fuck off trolls, get a life, and I'll write. But seriously, what good are you doing by reporting back to my ex?
Anyone who REALLY knows me is aware that I am always open to correction. I may not like having my faults pointed out, but I usually have the humility to accept criticism where and when it is due. A real friendship in my eyes, is one where you can lovingly approach another about a fault/character flaw/bad habit and in true justice and sincerity point out the error of one's ways.
It's like that crappy, whiny song The Fray did several years ago. If you really care about someone who is doing things that are bad for them, you run the risk of losing that friendship. But a deep, abiding friendship between two people can usually help each other walk on a better path of life.
Oh, The Fray, how I hate your whiny Gray's Anatomy theme song. My ears bleed.
I had a dear, long-time friend call me today and voice some concern about the hurt and anger that I still carry around from the loss of my almost marriage. And I do admit it is a HUGE fault of mine that I should work on. I can accept her just criticism of me because she has spoken these words to me out of love and concern for me.
What I CAN NOT STAND FOR THE LIFE OF ME are those who dare offer council to me when they have done absofuckinglutly nothing for my life. These people are called trolls.
And I had a troll post a message to me on my previous post WHY. I raged for a few minutes then realized the absurdity of it all.
So this is what I had to say. After all, these writings are my own fucking diatribes. I'm not forcing a gun to anyone's head to read my drivel. I am not emailing it back to ANY of my exes. And of the people who read this blog, many do not know my ex fiancee. So I can only conclude that the person who sent me this note is someone who I haven't spoken to in 4 years, but makes it their disgusting duty to read up on my life and report back to my ex.
Anonymous,
all I have to say to you is that since you lack the courage to give me
your name (though I have a feeling who this is) I do not owe you any
explanation. In the past 4 years, that is one thousand four hundred
sixty days, you have not called me, nor written, nor text, or even sent
up smoke signals, save for this and two comments on a previous blog.
Quiet
simply, you are a coward and you like to stir the pot. Why do you feel
it is your duty to read what I write and then report it back to my ex?
If he has had an issue with me writing, than it is his duty to ask me
to cease and desist. If I were asked by him to no longer talk about the
demise of our relationship, then I would do so. So far, I haven't
heard anything.
Also, if you actually read my blog, there is no
way that I have ever insinuated that my ex fiancee was the man who was
responsible for raping me.
Lastly, and I'll be done here, the words "COUPLES COUNSELING" were N....E....V....E....R brought up.
Oh,
and one more thing, since this is MY blog and the internet is a public
forum, this conversation is now fodder for my next post. So in a way,
thank you for giving me a reason to write tonight.
And I was so afraid that I was going to have writers block.
And in case this wasn't already apparent, I'll make this clear:
Yes, I still bear the hurt that comes with being left at the alter, four days prior to my wedding.
Yes, I still bear the hurt that comes with losing about forty "friends" in one fell swoop. It's sad that of all those who claimed to be my friend, only two people of that former pool of "friends" bothered to call me. I wrote letters and made calls to all those friends within hours of the end of my engagement and NOT ONE SINGLE FUCKING PERSON had the decency to call or write back.
Am I a lot farther on in my healing than I was four years ago? Yes. Of course I am. It was four fucking years ago. And when I occasionally mention what happened, it's typically in reference to me learning to over come my fears. Things well up in my head, and like a tea pot, I have to let some steam out. But once again, this is my own fucking blog.
So now that I have blown off my steam, lest my readers, friends, or trolls think that I am an unhappy person, here's an awesome, hysterical video. This will help wipe away the blood dripping from your ears, if you happened to listen to the crappy Fray song.
If I'm going to admit it, I've been a lazy blogger as of late. Wish I could offer legit excuses, but I'd be blowing smoke up my own ass. Been watching too much TV, reading too little, and writing even less. Bad, bad, bad girl.
Thank God 2012 is just around the corner. I can make a new set of resolutions that I will maintain for three weeks days before I break them. Well, at least I'll follow up on the lose more weight train. I've got a wedding to be in for April and I wanna look super hot!
Since I "work" with Aunt Becky and The Band, I usually see when she or my other Bandmates have updated their blogs. I, however, doubt that many don't take much interest in mine. And I'm not a big Memer, but I figured this was my lazy bloggers way out of getting some writing done. Plus I get to link back to Mommy Wants Vodka, who started me on this little path.
1. What did you do in 2011 that you’d never done before?
Started freelancing, for reals yo! I've written articles on spider porn, the beautiful nation of Belize, and cycle safety in the UK. I bit the bullet, opened up my can of crazy and started sharing my fears with the Net and all of my 2 readers.
2. Did you keep your New Year’s resolutions, and will you make more for next year?
Nope and nope. Because I will inevitably break said resolutions, feel immensely guilty, which will lead me into a shame spiral. So this year, I resolve not to make resolutions. Dammit! Now I just broke my own resolution. Shame spiral here I come.
3. Did anyone close to you give birth?
Yes. Several people. And while my heart was saddened with jealousy, my uterus was doing a happy dance. 4. Did anyone close to you die?
Yes. My Gonga died over the summer and I miss her so much. Every damn day I forget that she's dead and I get ready to call her three times a day.
5. What would you like to have in 2012 that you lacked in 2011?
Money
6. What countries did you visit?
Ummmmmm I'd need money to do so, which I had none.
7. What date from 2011 will remain etched upon your memory, and why:
The Kiddo's first day of school. September something or other. (As a History major, it's a crying shame I suck remembering dates).
8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?
See # 1. Also? Became an editor at The Band.
9. What was your biggest failure?
I haven't learned how to stop hurting myself as a way to deal with stress.
10. Did you suffer illness or injury?
Dropped 40 lbs of frozen Kumquat puree on my finger. The pain was soooooo intense I almost blacked out and the damn cut kept reopening.
11. What was the best thing you bought?
My new phone. I <3 it so much! I use to scoff at those who raved about the capabilities of their wonder phones. But when I found out that my phone had a flashlight built in, I wanted to marry it right then and there.
12. Whose behavior merited celebration?
I was going to say Antoine "Hide Yo Kids, Hide Yo Wife" Dodson, but upon Googling him I realized that was a 2010 event. (I am always late to the game. Like I just discovered the awesomeness that is Psych and The Big Bang Theory). So I don't know.
13. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed?
Sandusky. Child rapists sicken me.
14. Where did most of your money go?
Gas. When prices reach $4/gallon, I am trading in for a horse.
15. What did you get really, really, really excited about?
Going on a date for the first time in three years. It was a total bomb, but I was proud of myself for getting out there. Plus I have a funny story.
16. What song will always remind you of 2011?
Yea, gonna pass on that. Have no idea. Maybe something from Weezer.
17. Compared to this time last year, are you: i. happier or sadder? Happier ii. thinner or fatter? Thinner. iii. richer or poorer? Based on money: poorer, life experience: richer, and I am all the more happier
18. What do you wish you’d done more of?
Reading
19. What do you wish you’d done less of?
Blowing my nose.
20. How will you be spending Christmas?
It's over at this point, but The Kiddo and I spent the night at my parent's house so they could see him open up the presents Santa brought him.
22. Did you fall in love in 2011?
I fell in love with an English hot toddy. Which makes me sound like an alcoholic, but it was the only thing that calmed my cough. But with a real person--James Roday of Psych, Jim Parsons of The Big Bang Theory. Always been in love with David Boreanaz. So in the realms of being possible, yea. No.
23. How many one-night stands?
I'm not capable of that.
24. What was your favorite TV program?
Bones
25. Do you hate anyone now that you didn’t hate this time last year?
Yes
26. What was the best book you read?
How I Write ~ Stephen King
28. What did you want and get?
I wanted the courage to write and I got it (mostly).
30. What was your favorite film of this year? That sucks. I’m going to make up a new question: Where are your pants?
Not on me. All pants, except yoga, are bullshit.
31. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?
I turned 30, threw a party where I made authentic gyros with the best lamb meatballs. Lamb meatballs sounds redundant, but who wants to say they ate lamb balls?
32. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?
Drunk dialing a long time friend and him not laughing at me the next day.
33. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2011?
Unique.
34. What kept you sane?
A large quantity of coffee and well-timed naps.
35. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?
See #22. Also, I really have a girl crush on Jen Lancaster. She's funny, out-spoken, and a former member of the rat race that became a writer after being fired. I'm trying to do that.
36. What political issue stirred you the most?
Don't get me started. My days of getting hot under the collar about politics were over after I left DC.
37. Who did you miss?
My sanity? Oh wait, the question was who, like a person. My Gonga.
38. Who was the best new person you met?
My many BandMates.
39. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2011:
I must absolutely do what I love, or else I'll run the risk of doing nothing at all.
40. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year:
Hide Yo Wife, Hide Yo Kids
If you care to follow suit and link back here, please do so after the beep:
So today I had a fantabulous flashback that came out of nowhere. Really I don't understand how can my brain jump from fold box flap A into flap B, stack in alternating patterns, to being back in a frightening place, walking alone across a dark windy campus. I was crying, more like sobbing. I remember two friends coming across me trying to ask why I was so upset. I couldn't answer; the words wouldn't come.
But the memory stopped there. I wasn't going to allow myself to wander down those dark paths again.
I don't know what set me off. There wasn't any music playing. I wasn't uncomfortable with my surroundings. So strange.
I'm just proud of myself for becoming aware of what was going on in my head and I was able to short circuit that mess. I don't give myself enough credit for being strong and amazing, but damnitall I am!
And now once again, that it is nearing midnight, I should really contemplate going to bed. I know I'm going to hate myself in the morning for staying up this late, but I had to get these words out. But I had to watch Psych first.
My demons, my insecurities, things I have been told before tell me that I am no good, that I can't write to save my life, that my job to provide for my son is a huge, fucking joke.
I think I could love you, even though you didn't have a good education.
You're not capable.
We doubted that you'd bond with your son.
When are you getting a real job?
You have readers in Kuwait? So what?
I doubt myself, I cringe when I think of writing.
Just do it, dammit!
You know you are better than this, you've come so far and you are still afloat. Remember the tattoo you have? You might not know your plans but God does and so far He has dropped you.
Write the damn book! Stop doubting yourself!
You are worth it, your life is wonderfully interesting, and your wonderful, wild imagination should be a playground for the world.
My darling Frister Kathy is engaged to be married. Her man-to-be is so darling, I want to carry him around in a obscenely expensive purse like a toy poodle, much like (A Nite in)Paris Hilton is seen often doing. Of couse, this can't really happen because he's almost 7 feet tall. And I don't think he'd let me do that. Plus, the most expensive purse I've ever bought cost me $30.
This very joyous event has brought my wants in the department of ideal men to the forefront of my mind. I mean, it's always hanging around in my subconscious, but now the ideals are pounding on the door. Lest you think I am jealous of her, I can tell you that I am not. She was the first person I called when I discovered that I was pregnant. Her excitement almost cased her to drive off the road. We've been through so many ups and downs. One of the low points came when we had a HUGE blowup over the demise of my relationship with her friend; the next time we spoke was a year later and I thought she had come to stab me with a butterfly knife.*
So now that relationships/men/desires/needs, I figured I should hammer out a list. Because the good Lord knows, I need a better winnowing process.
And damnitall, I NEED to write. My brain has been mushy, my mental health checking it's coat at the door on and off, and my vocabulary is stilted, so if I set up another 30 day challeneg like my shrink had me do several months ago, I'll get back in the swing of things.
I (foolishly) signed up for NaNoWrMo, have the entire novel plot line written out, but have written 250 words. My execution of said idea has fallen flat, not because the idea sucks, but because I am completely scared. I know that the idea is great. No one has written a story about this woman, from this approach, EVER. It has the possibility to be something awesome, but it's my doubting voice, the only that mocks me which is holding me back. I keep finding up new excuses to keep me from writing. And I'm finally sick of it.
But, bringing this derailed train of thought back into the station, I'm going to start a running list of qualifications I am desiring in a potential mate. Hell at this point, I'd be happy with dinner and coffee with a warm body, but since I am bound and determined not to go down wrong avenues again, I need to write a map for myself.
*Note: I had mono which enjoyed manifesting itself in hives. When she walked into my dorm room unannounced, I was curled up (naked) under my extra-large-cheap-ass-king-sized-"feather"-comforter. She was wearing her leather jacket and her don't-fuck-with-me face on. There was snow on the ground and I distinctly remember thinking, how am I going to explain it to the Dean when I am seen running across campus in my Hanes Her Way cotton undies? Obviously, she didn't stab me and the 250 student at school were spared the site of me sans clothes.
I am tempted go all John C. Mayer on Aunt Becky's ass. Because I want to be #3 on Google entries about songwriters who are waiting for the world to change while they touch bodies of wonderlands.
I will use ellipses if I damn well want to. . . and there's nothing you can do.
By the way, US Postal Service, why the fuck did you think that an 8x10 one of a kind, limited edition, autographed print of a Land's End model slightly crazed, rhinestone-studded, chainsaw-wielding mother of 3, wife of The_Daver would fit in a 4x3 PO Box slot?
I was doing a little cleaning up across the multiple social sites I am on, deleting old contact, blocking people that have no right to be in my life, I popped into my draft sections of my blog. Some of these things make no sense to me, but obviously at that point I thought it was good.
What the hell was I thinking?
"9:49-You are officially my hero" --Why is a point in time my hero? AM or PM?
"Confidential to M" --Who the hell is M? Was it really confidential if I was writing it on Teh Internet?
"Kicking glass bottle to avoid muggers"--Is this a public service announcement I'm working on?
"I think of elephants AND zebras"
Rat Dropping--Don't even ask. I have no idea.
So I can't think of anything else, so I'll leave you with this hilarious picture. It's the greatest thing I've ever encountered on the Fl beaches.
Back in March, I reached my first milestone, 101 posts. It was a fantastic feeling, waxy buildup on teeth included. And now 6 months down the road, I'm at 2 & 3.
(Actually, I'm behind. These things happened last month but since I'm the only one who keeps track of this, I'll write about it when I damn well want to.)
Milestone #2 The Kiddo started Kindergarten! I couldn't be more proud of him if I wanted to.
Heirloom lunchbox
There were no tears that day. When he greeted me at the end of the day, his exact words were, "I had so much fun, I forgot to miss you!"
I take a lot of pride in the statement. It is proof that I've done a hell of a great job raising this kid. So to all the assholes over the years who said I was going to raise a momma's boy/sissy/weakling, I can say, "Screw you." He's not the biggest kid in the class, but he's not the smallest. He's still deathly afraid of butterflies, but he's the most out-going. His penmanship is awful right now, but he amuses his teacher with his comical facial expressions and Italianesque hand gestures.
He'll be 6 in less than 2 months and he's doing great. So for all those who told me I couldn't raise a healthy child without a father, how do you words taste now?
Milestone #3 Happy Blogaversary to me. I've been here at My Daily Diatribes for over a year now. What started as a bad blind-date with an awkward handful of posts as I sought to find my voice, has turned into a full-blown love affair with the written word. Over the past year I have come to face some of the more comical aspects of life around me, faced some of my fears, bared my soul, sought support, and found strength in becoming me.
Thank you so much for all the wonderful people who have encouraged me along the way.
Thank you to my business partner Amanda Abella, for giving me advice on how to stop whining and start making my writing my job.
Thank you to Jenny Lawson who makes me laugh, cry, and feel better for being quirky, wonderful me.
Thank you, my readers who come back time and time again to catch up on my ramblings and think I am the bees knees. I am STILL surprised that people read this stuff.
So here's something embarrassing about me, my dirty little secret (other than the fact that I am watching Phineas and Ferb while I write this). My life is bordering on Teh Normal right now. And I don't know what to do.
For so long I've lived in a constant state of CHAOS that now I am in a position of near normalcy, I feel totally out of whack. According to my shrink this isn't uncommon. I mean,
I have a ton of talent some which I recently discovered (thank you YouTube tutorials on Kompozer web design!),
I have a growing clientele base,
I've got a great group of people that I can reach at any moment (seeing as some live in the UK, one in Hong Kong, and the rest are scattered across the US it's high percentage that one of us will be online)
My Kiddo is absolutely flourishing in school
I am actually able to let go of a lot of the hatred and doubt that I've struggled with for years
yet I feel like things need to be out of control in order for me to feel secure. I've been so accustomed with being in a constant of turmoil that I feel so out of touch, like I need to create some insanity.
What I realize that I am looking for is a way to sabotage myself. And that is SUCKTASTIC!
I don't want to be THAT girl that is always in over her head. I've been there for years and I want to leave it behind. Yes, this is a new and (for now) unpleasant experience of having to rediscover normalcy, but I have to settle into this new routine.
How weird is that? Feeling uncomfortable that my life is now bordering on Teh Normal.
I am going to make a commitment to myself, right here and now that I will not sabotage myself. I will do what I do best and I will continue on this calmer path.
I've been feeling down on myself for the past few days, in part to reading and re-reading a comment that someone made to me on Teh Book of Face. I had made an off-color but totally hil.ar.ious comment in an effort to cheer up a friend. In reply, a guy I once knew as the biggest clown/screw-up/disgusting slacker came back at me with "Dude, who says shit like that?"
To say I was shocked was to say the least.
A-It's not like I said this in front of a bunch of 2nd graders
B-You use to say stuff like this all the time
C-Why did marriage and a child turn you into a humorless bastard?
But being myself, I agonized over it for days, until now when I finally said to myself today, "Screw it and the horse he rode in on."
That's me, far right, hideous floral skirt from Goodwill
See, one of my biggest struggles in the past oh, I don't know, 12 years is to speak up for myself and not allow the resulting fall back impede on what I was doing/standing up for/participating in/just being me. One particular time that I look back on with a bit of regret mixed with anger and sorrow was when a (male) friend of mine said that my association with a group of girls (a feisty bunch of women who took shit from no one) was unbecoming and a turn-off.
Still reeling from a sexual assault that no one knew about, I was cut to the core. I had found some strength in hanging out with these women, trying to recover the shattered person I had become, and yet here was a person who I (had) respected that conveyed my actions, my interactions, my choice of friends, a part of me was something to be ashamed of. And I listened to him. And I didn't hang out with those girls for almost 6 months. I missed out on 6 months of laughter, late night coffee parties, commiserating over a certain professor with a faux-English accent and Slurpee runs 15 minutes before curfew. All because I was too ashamed of myself, of the person I no longer was, of the secrets I was hiding.
Payback is a bitch
I'm not that person anymore. I've been working too damn hard to get rid of the insecurities that have hounded me. I'm not about to allow myself to be cowed again. I have no right to doubt myself. I am a strong, kick-ass woman, who happens to be a great mother, friend, sister, and daughter.
I have a great sense of humor that some don't get, plenty love, and some who laugh but act ashamed to acknowledge me. To the last group, I say, grow a fucking pair.
I need not feel ashamed of who I am, how I act, how I walk, talk, or think. I'm not harming anyone, causing anyone to do evil, or leading people towards death.
I am me and I am proud. I have a great group of girl friends from my past and a great group of people who Band around me when I'm down on myself.
I am one lucky, blessed, and strong/crazy/fun-loving/intelligent woman. . .and I'll say whatever the hell I want to.
I can't remember if we were Bond Girls or Charlie's Angels
If you are reading this, whoever you are, thank you so much. You will never quite know how much your gift means to me.
Fuck it all, I'm crying my eyes out. I'm not sure who did this for me, all I know is that I got a deposit into my paypal account that said Because of Band Back Together. I am so touched.
Whenever I tell friends or family that I've been doing work for The Band, their first question is, how much am I making, I laugh because even if I or anyone else with this group were drawing a salary (which we aren't) I'd be doing this anyways. I'm not doing much, a little of tweeting, some social media promoting, hell I've pledged to work on 2 pages, but haven't finished them because my inner critic has been telling me that I suck at writing. (I know, I know, baby steps!) But I've been doing what I can to help The Band and now I'm on the receiving end of some help.
Since I'm only partially employed, I can still get a portion of my unemployment check from when I got laid off from my job w/ Social Security. One of the stipulations is that you have to search for work every week and report it. Well, when my Gonga died in June, I spent 3 weeks getting her estate in order. So when I reported that I didn't look for work the week she died, unemployment stopped my check so they could verify her death. That was on June 23. So since I've gotten down to my last $5. I haven't paid my rent in 2 months and I've been praying that this horrid mess will straighten itself out by the end of the week.
I've been fortunate enough to pick up a few small jobs last week, and it looks like I might have a new client who will supply me with steady work, so I think my luck will be turning around. I've worked so hard to make a life for myself and my son and I'm not about to give up.
So whatever angel of mercy sent me that gift, thank you from the bottom of my heart.
Less than 24 hours after Amanda and I have launch Digital Zen Ink, we are seeing huge results! I've gotten traffic from Brazil, Argentina, Venezuela, China, Iran, and other countries in just one day! Her web site views have gone up 75%
I just emailed out our first proposal, so fingers crossed and prayers said, I'm hoping to get a response by the end of the week. If I'm given the green light, I'd be writing 2 articles a week for this website, which would equal $50 a week. Yea, $200 a month!
Now obviously, $50/wk aint gonna cut it for paying Momma's bills, so that's why I've gotta get my hustle on. But if I can get a start on smaller projects, bigger fish are bound to come buy.
So in the meantime, say some prayers (or even donate to my Support My Dreams Fund) that Amanda and I keep up this momentum and bring in the Benjamins!
I had a most irritating conversation the other day in which the other party implied that writing wasn't a real job.
Really?
Because last time I checked, there's this really coveted list (New York Times) that every writer, I mean, person who sits and plays on their computer all day would love to be on. There's this place called the Library of Congress that houses and catalogs hundreds of thousands of bound bands of paper each year. And all over the country there are stores known as book shops. Some near me are small like Book Swap (closest source for overpriced second-hand Harlequin novels and Westerns) or ginormously large like Barnes&Noble (where hipsters can be pretentious while sipping $5 lattes).
Here's the thing. While I am struggling to eke out a living as a writer at this point, I am in no way not not busy. Here's the things I have to do daily as a writer:
Write a blog entry, to stay relevant. If I skip a day, I'll lose readers, meaning less exposure.
Network via Twitter, Facebook
Seek out similar writers blogs and books, send messages, leave comments in hopes they'll come seek me out.
Put together essays that I am working on for my book, re-wording entire paragraphs at times, trashing some essays totally.
Check on developing news.
Research upcoming writers conferences, writing contests.
Research into ANYTHING that could get me more exposure on my blog, FB, or Twitter
Publish an article for the news feed I freelance for. (That part hasn't been going too well at recent. Hopefully I can reorganize some time slots to accommodate that.)
I do all this in one day, in addition to all my jobs as a stay-at-home-mother. I'm busy.
So don't tell me for one minute that writing isn't a job.
Sure, I'm not bringing in a paycheck for all the work I do. For a person who use to slave away 40 hrs a week at a job I dreaded going to, I could look forward to every other Friday because I knew my bank account would have replenished itself. I don't have that incentive to work hard each day because I'll be reaping in my rewards within two weeks. It's not like that. I don't have a promise of a paycheck every two weeks.
I'm writing because I strongly believe that this burning desire placed in me is what God is calling me to do. I've held traditional 9-5 jobs over the years and have been successful at what I've done, but ultimately I wind up burned out, crushed and angry by rules devoid of any reason. I hate working for The Man even though I was rewarded every other week with a paycheck. Now I don't have a paycheck and I couldn't be more elated.
From the age of six, I knew I wanted to write. I use to throw rubber-banded stories on my neighbor’s lawns believing that they would want to read what I had written. Since second grade much of my free time has been spent reading and writing. I do not recall a time when I have not been actively engaged in a creative writing project. I have two dresser drawers full of novellas, screen plays, and outlines, ranging from children’s literature, humorous antidotals and dark mysteries.
I have set before myself a deadline of one year to make this dream a (paying) reality. I know I have the talent it takes to appeal to an audience. I have had well-read authors, radio hosts, people both famous and other not so famous tell me how they have been touched by my writings. Some have cried at my honesty, others have laughed at my humor. I have the audience and through Kindle I have a medium that allows me to by-pass the traditional hassles of publication.
Before the advent of indie publishing, Kindle, and E-reader the typical author might spend a year or two waiting to hear back from a publisher, with four-fifths of writers receiving rejection notes based on the publisher‘s preferences. For example, Richard Hooker author of M*A*S*H , was rejected by 21 publishing houses before his book was published, spawning a movie and television series. John Grisham’s A Time To Kill was rejected 28 times before seeing print.
As media moves in a more digital direction, authors such as myself are having greater opportunities with far greater payouts. Without the traditional overhead, publishing through Amazon enables the author to set the price of their writings and keep 70% of the profit made off the book. New author Amanda Hocking has earned more that $900,000 in one year and Barry Eisler, a New York Times Best Selling Author, recently turned down a $500,000 book deal from a traditional publishing house. After doing the math, Eisler realized that self-publishing would allow him a greater profit than any of his other traditionally printed books had done.
The market, the audience, and the profit are there; I feel strongly that by utilizing my skills and dreams of writing I could turn a profit within a year. In order to devote myself wholeheartedly to this job, I need investors to back me. I got the math figured out with the assistance of a former ad executive and the numbers are good.
For now, I write, I send out query letter to potential investors, I write some more, say a few prayers, and continue writing.
But if you have a spare thousand or 25K, and would be willing to invest in a rising author drop me a line. Or you can be completely altruistic and donate via Paypal.
I can't really express my words of gratitude tonight. I received my first donation today towards keeping my dreams alive and it totally caught me off guard.
See, for the past week I have writing and re-writing (mostly in my head) a post on self-promotion but I keep kept shying away from the topic because I am not good at promoting myself, that is unless I am trying to BS my way through an interview for a job. (I'll have to relay the story of landing a job as a liaison to Australia/New Zealand when I didn't even own a passport.) (I still don't have a passport.)
But taking my cue from my head-shrinker, a college professor, and a wandering musician I have to put myself on the line and be constantly selling myself. I have a gift and a talent that yearns to be put to good use, so I have to tell the world. I really and truly believe that this is what I am supposed to be doing with my life. Now here's the hardest part for me. Self-promotion in the form of begging. But if I look at it as start up money for a new company, I can understand it better.
For ages now, my dearest friend KG, has been telling me, "Damn it! Write a book and people will buy it." At this point I am writing and putting together posts/stories for a cohesive book to publish to Kindle, but I have no guaranteed profit. And since I want to pay my bills while I try to write I have to look for some seed money for my dreams.
Falcon 1_5 was the first to put her money on the line. And now she's top on my honor roll list.
So I'm asking you to join her on the honor roll and make a donation towards funding my dreams. Did you give up Starbucks for Lent? Decide to cut out the bi-weekly run to McDonald's because your waistline is getting larger? Do you have a jar of loose change that needs to be cashed in? Like Martin Luther, did you make a rash promise to God during a moment of duress and feel like you need to 'pay up'? Maybe you could use that extra money on a donation.
I'm not picky. If you want to send $2 or $200, I'll be thrilled either way. Every little bit counts, not only towards my expenses, but to the most important thing I have lacked for so long. . .confidence. It touches me to know that I have the support of a growing community and I feel so blessed to see the effects of my hard work beginning to pay off. (You'd think a day of social networking and writing is easy, but it's not! I can't believe how difficult it is to "get noticed" if you're not already famous.) (Note to future self: If you are ever rich and famous, it is your job to help others 'get noticed' and to use your money to aid many others, like you have been aided.)
I'm not asking for much. I'm going for that whole beatitudes approach, "Ask and ye shall receive."
Maybe I'll be pleasantly surprised to see a handful of donations from some close friends. Maybe one of my international readers in India, Australia, Russia, or France will chip in. Or maybe nothing will come of it. But I don't know until I ask, until I put myself out there.
I've been wrapped up reading some pretty dark material lately which I think has stunted my creative ability and consequently caused a flare up of self-doubt. Any new reader looking over my posts (all 105), will note there is a discrepancy in continuity of content. (Does that sound correct? Because I feel like I am using big, important grown-up person words, but I don't believe I am using them in the correct context. Feel free to correct me). Some days I'm really goofy and creatively effervescent while in other posts my fears of failure and struggles with depression are made painfully obvious.
There's no way for me to hide it or pretend like the shift in tone is not noticeable, so why not talk to the elephant in the room and introduce it.
"Hi. I am chemically imbalanced. I take meds every day to keep those chemicals in sync with the rest of my bodily functions. While most people have their bodies naturally regulate their serotonin levels and other weird chemicals that I can't remember the name of, I don't have those regulations. (I've always been F' those rules!, I'm doing it my way! so it makes sense that my body does the SAME DAMN THING). Some days I am a bit happier, funnier, creative, and more optimistic about life. Other days, I may be woebegone like Charlie Brown, end every sentence with FML, and want to curl into a little ball under the massive piles of blankets and pillows strewn on my bed. Like the old Michelob TV ad from my youth, "Some days are better than others."
(Someone please explain to me how I can remember a commercial from my childhood, but I can't remember most of my history lessons from college)
"I laughingly and affectionately for the most part, tell people that I am crazy. Not 'haha, I'm gonna kill you' crazy, but 'I have a decidedly different approach to life' type of crazy. Like sometimes I will dance in the grocery store to the songs played over the speakers (much to the embarrassment of my siblings while we growing up)."
"In my house you will find a wall that I call my happy wall. It's covered with pictures pulled from magazine, newspapers, the internet, and letters/emails/cards that touch me in some way. A picture of a beautiful flower might hang alongside a picture of crudely drawn comic which is hanging next to a garbage can overflowing with fall leaves. Some days my heart aches so much and my head is so clouded with bad judgment that a kind word from a stock boy loading groceries into my car causes me to cry."
"Nothing in my house matches or follows any sort of design order. In fact, my house is disordered. I am perfectly capable of cleaning and maintaining a house, it's just sometimes my life gets in the way of keeping things in order. Some days the kitchen is completely spot-free and the next day I awake to discover that the dirty dish fair has visited me in the night, there is a beach ball on the kitchen table, a bunch of handpicked wildflowers on the cutting block, and a laundry hamper sitting next to the microwave which is currently filled with books, a wineglass, mate-less socks, and Matchbox Cars, . I don't know how these things happen. If I were still living with my parents, my poor mother would have a nervous breakdown with the mess, but I don't so the chaos reigns until it bothers me. I guess I'd rather write in the dust that settles on the shelves than live every day life dusting."
"So people may not understand me, may not like me, my get frightened by my intensity, may like me (but I don't believe they actually like me, because heaven forbid I have a positive thought about myself that people like me for me, not because I make 'em laugh like Jim Carrey, except for The Cable Guy). Some may not want to stare into the mirror and admit that they might be struggling to maintain some level sanity as I am openly admitting. Maybe others who are reading this are thinking thank God for making me feel like I'm not the only one in the universe."
So now that I've talked about the elephant in the room, it's going to be much easier for me to be honest and open with my writings. Just as I'm not just a mommy-blogger, I'm not going to pretend like I am a well put together person. I am willing to put my struggles out there for others to share in, and maybe learn something deeper about themselves.
I would like to thank my spiritual director Fr. E, my mentor/therapist/shrinky-dink, Allie over at Hyperbole and a Half (Hi, Allie! You don't know me, but your early posts about not wanting a job/writing/being depressed have really inspired me. I wanna be cool like you!), my college professor John Janero (who has written a really awesome book about similar struggles I face) and EJ for giving me that extra push and the right amount of love.
*(I was originally going to title this post "Screws Loose" or "I'm Loosely Screwed" but I didn't want people googleing fetish sites to land on this page. I already had that happen when I made a remark in a previous post about "putting your foot in your mouth" and high heels.)
To all my readers,
THANK YOU so much for the wonderful gift you have given me this year. When I started writing back in August, I never, EVER imagined that I would have people from all over the world stopping by to read my rantings and musings. Each day I log in, I find that new countries have added themselves to the map. (Hello Croatia! Hello Belgium!) I was so hesitant to write for so long because I didn't believe that I had anything worthwhile to contribute. Thank you for giving me that boost of confidence that I've needed for a long time.
It's because of your continual readership that has inspired me to work on a short novel and to begin working again on expanding my college thesis. I haven't touched it in 7 years for I believed that I was too unintelligent to undertake a scholarly piece because I was never able to further my education like many of my college classmates have. I'm not bluffing when I say, without you I couldn't do this.
The Kiddo and I are doing well and look forward to the new year with anticipation. Hopefully it will bring me gainful employment and continued good health for my son. I couldn't be happier.
As always I remain black beans and ricely yours,
The Diatribest
So what's up with you Russian readers? How did you find this link (of which I am VERY glad you did!)? What's your opinion of this blog? Interesting, stupid Capitalist? Crazy Westerner? Very Funny, Charming Writer (I hope!)
I studied a lot of Russian history while I was back in college and I must say that I am thoroughly enchanted/terrified with your country. (Reading about the KGB scared me silly. But then again, I guess you could say that we Americans with waterboarding are just as scary.) The rich vastness is amazing!
I'm very interested in you. Send me a comment, drop a line, introduce yourself. And by all means, pass this link along to your friends. Maybe we could open up some lines of communication.
And since it's been so Arctic cold down here (at least in my wimpy opinion), I'll raise a shot of Vodka in your honor next time I want a nip of something to warm me up.
I love and respect the opinions of my friends, whom I know by name. I do not respect people who care to advise or castigate me from the shadows like Deep Throat.
It's like that crappy, whiny song The Fray did several years ago. If you really care about someone who is doing things that are bad for them, you run the risk of losing that friendship. But a deep, abiding friendship between two people can usually help each other walk on a better path of life.
I had a dear, long-time friend call me today and voice some concern about the hurt and anger that I still carry around from the loss of my almost marriage. And I do admit it is a HUGE fault of mine that I should work on. I can accept her just criticism of me because she has spoken these words to me out of love and concern for me.
What I CAN NOT STAND FOR THE LIFE OF ME are those who dare offer council to me when they have done absofuckinglutly nothing for my life. These people are called trolls.
And I had a troll post a message to me on my previous post WHY. I raged for a few minutes then realized the absurdity of it all.
So this is what I had to say. After all, these writings are my own fucking diatribes. I'm not forcing a gun to anyone's head to read my drivel. I am not emailing it back to ANY of my exes. And of the people who read this blog, many do not know my ex fiancee. So I can only conclude that the person who sent me this note is someone who I haven't spoken to in 4 years, but makes it their disgusting duty to read up on my life and report back to my ex.
- Anonymous,
all I have to say to you is that since you lack the courage to give me
your name (though I have a feeling who this is) I do not owe you any
explanation. In the past 4 years, that is one thousand four hundred
sixty days, you have not called me, nor written, nor text, or even sent
up smoke signals, save for this and two comments on a previous blog.
And in case this wasn't already apparent, I'll make this clear:Quiet simply, you are a coward and you like to stir the pot. Why do you feel it is your duty to read what I write and then report it back to my ex? If he has had an issue with me writing, than it is his duty to ask me to cease and desist. If I were asked by him to no longer talk about the demise of our relationship, then I would do so. So far, I haven't heard anything.
Also, if you actually read my blog, there is no way that I have ever insinuated that my ex fiancee was the man who was responsible for raping me.
Lastly, and I'll be done here, the words "COUPLES COUNSELING" were N....E....V....E....R brought up.
Oh, and one more thing, since this is MY blog and the internet is a public forum, this conversation is now fodder for my next post. So in a way, thank you for giving me a reason to write tonight.
And I was so afraid that I was going to have writers block.