Nerves and reality 

So I decided that I need to step back for a day or so from my projects in progress.  I do this so I can get perspective on the story.  So I returned to another project,  a game world idea for D20 rpg.  I set up the pen name for the project a while back.  As it happens,  this project got sidelined due to life getting busy,  and the fact that I was writing on my phone.  This made the project in question so much harder.  The other stories were not as layout oriented in the writing.  So I am now able to use my laptop,  and I really have no reason why I should not put it into my current projects. 

So I transferred what was done and realized that I have barely scratched the surface of what needs to be done with this.  So I started to do it and the networking to be seen… And now I am sitting here laughing at my impetuous nature.  The other projects will likely be ready for the editor in two months or less.  This one is not likely to be available for at least six.  I am being a wee bit optimistic about it.  So I will be busy writing if I want to release everything this year. 

Music soothes the mad poet… 

*image found on Google and only used for inspiration. 

            Recently I read a blog done about music and the effect it had on the life of the blogs writer.  It got me thinking.  So often life for me has revolved around the music.  The sounds of life have always been a rich and full part of who I am. I remember my Dad’s deep baritone singing “Amazing Grace” to me as a child. I remember going to see my great grandfather at his radio station and being enamored by it all.  I loved the poetry in the songs,  how it felt like your soul was understood by the person singing. 

          Grandma Ethel,  my Mom’s mom,  used to sit and listen to stories from her youth and she would share those with me.  Radio shows from another era.  She taught me to enjoy classical music,  how to close my eyes and visualize the music. 

         Music for my mom was such a rigid thing.  If it was not country,  she would not listen to it. And as a child,  in her house I was not supposed to listen to anything else either.  But daddy had records of all manner of song.  Stray cats,  and soft rock like it.  She would eventually learn to bend,  she grew to enjoy some bubble gum rock along with the country.  

                      I still remember the first time I heard real rock. My soon to be step brother had a cassette tape of Dr Feelgood.  I was eleven.  It felt wild and I was hooked.  I still enjoy country,  but I am eclectic in my music tastes. 

                Mind you I am skipping over bits of music and memory. I am trying not to ramble here.  The next influence was my first day of high school.  I was six weeks late because I had a child at fourteen.  I was scared to death of what high school would be. My elder step brother was dating this chick,  and man I looked up to her.  She was confident and sexy and badass. All of the things I knew I would never be.  Well she met me at the cafeteria doors holding a boom box.  It was blasting so loudly that the windows in the building were rattling.  Pink Floyd;  Another Brick in the wall part 3…Aka We Don’t Need No Education.  I can’t tell you how much better I felt about high school.  It was not that school was actually any better.  In truth it was a nightmare.  I just suddenly felt braver,  more secure.  

       Looking back,  every person who was ever a intimate in my life has a song.  My playlist is often a minefield of memories.  Some of which I have not even explained to my boyfriend of over twenty one years. Not because of anything other than the fact that I am done with the one who was once attached to the memory. 

        I may have been a singer and put my love of music to use,  except for the fact that I am unfortunately tone deaf.  I was not gifted with the beautiful singing voice that I would have loved.  It has not stopped me, i sang to my daughter.  I refused to deny her that bond,  both with me and with music. She still will ask for her lullabies when she is feeling bad. 

I sang four main ones to her.  “Hush little baby “,”the greatest love of all “(slightly mangled as i forget one verse), “rockabye baby ” (altered so mama catches as the original bothered me)  and the last is called the puzzle song. 

Lyrics for the puzzle song: *note I learned this is a chorus class in school and have no freaking clue who wrote it. 

I gave my love a cherry that had no stone,  I gave my love a chicken that had no bone,   I gave my love a ring that had no end,   And I gave my love a baby with no cry-in. 

How can there be a cherry with no stone?  How can there be a chicken with no bone?   How can there be a ring with no end?  And how can there be a baby with no cry-in? 

A cherry when it is blooming,  it has no stone,  A chicken when it is peeping it has no bone,  a ring when it is rolling it has no end and a baby when it is sleeping has no cry-in. 

What songs have made a difference in your life?  I would love to hear about them. 

Radio nerves. 

Zombiepalooza Radio Live

So I got the chance to sit down and talk to Jackie Chin from Zombiepalooza.  And I didn’t blow it.  I was definitely nervous but I had a lot of fun!  If you have not checked her out,  then you really should. 

Group programs that take the social out of social media 

Yes,  I am slow sometimes in responding on Twitter or the like.  Doesn’t mean that I am less likely to do so.  The problem with apps like crowdfire and similar is that it takes away from the socializing.  You are sending out blanket messages and showing that all of your concern is the numbers.  People are not numbers…. And they never should be. You can miss some amazing interaction and the amazing ideas behind the individual by using those apps.  As a writer,  I love stories.  Each person is made up of a unique set of stories that came from their unique life.  Why would anyone deny themselves the opportunity to hear them?  Of course you will find the occasional troll. But if you are willing to allow them,  even trolls can teach you about people.  Social media outlets are for being social…. Quit automating that. 

Awareness

I read something last week that has been bouncing around in my head. As I was not planning to write about it,  I did not save the blog link,  or I would refer to it.  I enjoy reading and on any given day read a dozen different blogs. Most do not stick around taking up head space.  This one did.  The gist of the blog was that though it had been a bad year,  perhaps it was not as awful as it seemed.  It spoke about how we are exposing ourselves to news in a constant barrage.  The blog likened it to an assault on the senses. Now it is that idea that has been bouncing.

Is the level of available information a bad thing?  As a writer I enjoy being able to research anything whenever I want. However,  I have had days where opening social media was oppressive. Simply because of the horrible things man does to each other. I remember that my grandma did not watch the news and did not read the paper. She was able to be blissfully ignorant unless she chose otherwise. She was one of the most intelligent people I have ever known. Now we assault ourselves with the news and wonder why we are depressed. I can’t help but think that there must be a better way.

 

Writing, and being a writer

So….writing is at least for me the easy part. It is the part I enjoy. I have so many stories,  poems and ideas floating around my head.  Problem is the business aspects.  Oh,  editing?  Yeah I can do that. I am even able to do the publishing,  thanks to Amazon. I am not good at promoting what I have written.

I have been wary of submitting what I write.  Part of the reason is because I am not inclined toward the rejection letters.  While I know that the rejection letters are a part of writing,  my poetry has always been a opening to my heart. My soul laid bare… So I was not willing to face the unending rejection. Which now seems like ego to me. My writing is good,  but all writing can improve. Is having pride in one’s own words not a good thing?  The other reason for my hesitant nature towards submitting is simple.  I really hate the idea of someone else having the rights to my work.  However I have seen some that claim rights to the work they publish. Not many,  and I refuse to submit to any who do.

Well I have noticed that writer’s are often a solitary lot,  I joined a few groups on social media.  I was hoping to interact and gain tips on how to promote what I write.  Maybe a few to make the words better. You know,  be social with others who are into the same thing… And I found the darndest thing.  Most of the social media groups for writers?  Well it is everyone promoting their own books.  No sharing,  no discussion. So I have been going on,  because the writing itself is really not a choice.  I will be writing until I am no longer able…. Still the publishing thing… Well I do that so I can share with others a glimpse into my soul.

So I was in a bad place tonight because of yet another rejection. I posted it on social media.  I really was hearing the same thing I always hear when I fail to accomplish something.  My mother. So I  posted for a change. I had a friend,  also a writer(Kim Bailey Deal) suggest that I needed beta readers… Ok that was a new concept.  She also introduced me to a group of writers who actually discuss writing. I hope that this will lead me to improving my craft,  and maybe to some good new friends.

 

 

Dear Mama

Dear Mama,

I love you. All that I have ever wanted was to feel like you were proud of me.  I tried to be who you wanted.  I found that didn’t work. Then I tried being myself.  I found that I was happier,  but you still were not proud of me.  Mama I am fourty one,  and I have succeeded.  I am published.  I am usually a happy soul.  Yet when I fall,  and I do occasionally fall.  It is your voice in my ear,  telling me you expected it all along.  When I get rejected for my poetry, (as rejections are normal for the writer to recieve) that everyone else would tell me I wrote so well?  I hear you telling me that you didn’t want to hear it because of how depressing it was.

Mama,  I have published five volumes of poetry,  three children’s books,  and a novella.  You know that family have hardly even acted like it mattered?  I am doing what I told you I wanted to do at nine.  I am a writer. So I may never be a  novelist,  children’s books still need written. I have never asked for much.  Just a hey,  that is awesome.  Or even… Uh sharing it on social media that you have a daughter who is printed.  So I put space between us.  I admit that I was tired of feeling like you just didn’t care. I deserve to be someone who is cared about. I’m sorry that I was never the daughter you wanted,  but Mama,  I have always just been me.

Love always,

Your daughter.