Patient Lee's Blog, page 10

Making a change

In the summer of 2011, I started writing erotica. I started with true, but grossly exaggerated, and moved on to my first piece of fiction within weeks. I wrote a few stories, thinking they were the only ones I had in me, and then my real life took over, and I set the smut aside for a year and a half.

In the summer of 2013, I returned to writing. Skater's Waltz was churning in my brain for about two years. The idea of a woman skating naked was powerful, and I thought about it from a bunch of angles.  I thought of a bachelor party, hiring figure skating strippers. I thought of a skater at an early morning practice, all alone except for the Zamboni driver. Somehow I came up with the idea of a former competitive skater working out on a private, frozen pond, stripping while listening to a Jackyl song, Screwdriver.

That was my Literotica Nude Day 2013 contest entry. I felt good about it. It didn't win, but that was okay. What was important was that I was writing again. And I haven't stopped since.

Now I see stories everywhere I look. Every song gives me an idea. I overhear a sentence, and I see a plot forming as clearly as I saw the chick in Frozen building an ice castle. There's a lot going on in my brain.

My conflict comes from the fact that I'm weaning myself away from Literotica. I've enjoyed the feedback, the discussions, the friendships I've made. But the conflict I've found there has spoiled it for me. Too much posturing, grandstanding, fighting and backstabbing.

I'm just about to publish my first stories to Amazon. If I am giving up the feedback and friendship from Literotica, I need something in its place. I'm making the leap to trying to attain some monetary success from Amazon.

My biggest struggle is that my 20k word stories will never sell on Amazon. Erotica readers like shorties. I'm trying to embrace chopping my "babies" into shorter pieces of a series, but it hurts dammit. Sigh.

I have a plan, and hubby says I have to shut down my computer. I guess that's enough to get me through tonight, huh?

It ain't easy being a smut writer.

Do you know what it feels like to live with anxiety?

Do you know what it's like to live with anxiety? This is an explanation, not a plea for pity.
The month of May is a rough time for me. The rest of the year, I manage my anxiety with 150 mg of Zoloft, and it keeps me from going crazy. The middle of May sneaks up on me every year, and I don't realize it until the third day in a row that I have to take a Xanax. That's when I remember. It's time to up the dosage.
200 mg. I'm two days in, and it happens. The external stressors collaborate. Conspire to hit me from all angles.
My mother just texted me. Hubby's mad because I forgot to go to the Post Office. Kids are tired. Daughter is screaming that I just don't understand. Computer is retarded. Forgot to wash the black pants and white shirt for the band concert in two hours. I wish I hadn't left that comment on facebook. Can't get it to delete. Don't feel like fighting over my opinion on the girl that is suing the university I went to because she didn't pass. Have to ask permission to leave early on Friday. Food allergies on the field trip. Why won't you let me take honors classes, Mom. I know I can do it. Computer is retarded again. Didn't teach 3rd person to Spanish 1 yet. Science fair tomorrow. Field trip tomorrow. Field trip Friday. Field trip Monday. He doesn't know a lick of French, but his IEP accommodations are allowing him to pass. Where is that permission slip? CAN'T FUCKING SLEEP. Get those stories ready, PL. The deadline is looming. Band concert tonight. Late to bed. Kids are still exhausted. May 23. Computer still won't fucking work. Four finals to write. Only 17 days left. Don't miss the Memorial Day boat! Still didn't correct the speaking tests. Or the French 2 projects. So tired. Can't keep my eyes open. Parents call. The bell rings. Third period at the end of the day. Food allergies on the field trip. Email daughter's teacher. And the band teacher. Mom just texted. Never mind the last text. Why did I post that? Am I THAT parent?
It started as a butterfly, fluttering inside while I drove to work, obsessing over yesterday's stresses. And the facebook message. It's that "job interview" feeling, even though I've been working there for 20 years. My heart beats faster than necessary. My breathing is fast and shallow. My hands are cold. I chew the inside of my mouth, but slyly, so no one sees. I put on my mask of calm confidence. I know it fools people. I write in my notebook. It makes me look busy, efficient, in control, bitchy, mean.
I should take a Xanax. I know what this is and where it's going. But I don't. The anxiety is part of the punishment.
Here's where the anxiety takes over.
I scheduled my son's IEP meeting for 2:00 on Friday. It's usually my free period, but this week we have an inservice day. I see the vice principal in the cafeteria. I figured we'd have the afternoon to write final exams, but I ask permission anyway. Here's how that conversation went.
Me: Is there an agenda for Friday's inservice, or will we be working on finals?VP: I don't know yet. (Insert tone of voice that he usually uses when he knows he has been "out of the loop.")Me: I have this meeting at the elementary school. My son's IEP meeting? (I explain the situation.)VP: I have no idea what's going on. (It's Wednesday afternoon. 48 hours in advance.)Me: Can I arrange it so that if there's nothing scheduled, I'll just leave here at 1:50 on Friday?
VP: (Tone of voice changes to one I don't recognize.) No. I'll have to let you know later.Me: O-K.
My RATIONAL mind knows all of the following:1. The VP's "tone" has nothing to do with me. The principal doesn't respect him, and he's pissed off that no one has shared the agenda with him. He's tired of being left out of the loop until the principal dumps the shit jobs on him, and it makes him grouchy. I KNOW this.
2. The VP's mother is dying. He hasn't smiled in two weeks, and I've never seen him so miserable. His "tone" comes from inner turmoil, not my request to go to a meeting. I KNOW this.
BUT
My anxious brain, kicked into overdrive by the mere existence of the month of May, leads me down a different (but not straight) line of thinking. Immediately, I am certain that the VP doesn't know if I can go because there is some sort of meeting on Friday afternoon, and it has to do with me. A parent called to complain, and I'll asked to justify my grades, or my policies, or my tests, or myself. My brain turns, trying to think of all the things I've done wrong. I come up with an impressive list.
·         A huge stack of papers to grade.·         Couldn't check my junk mail yesterday because the Internet was down. Should have done it from home. ·         Forgot to log my conference day into the employee portal (although I did put my request through the learning plan site, and I requested a sub through the other site).·         Bounced a check to the cafeteria last week because I wrote it from the wrong checking account. ·         Played Candy Crush during lunch duty. ·         Didn't remind the VP that I haven't scheduled my observation yet. ·         Wore jeans today, and it wasn't dress-down day.

And then the big one hits. THEY KNOW.
They know my super-secret alter ego. They know what kind of stories I write. In my excitement about our first eBook, somebody must have overheard me whispering about it, and now they know. They know, and they don't want me to know that they know because they don't want to give me time to cover my ass. THAT's why he can't give me permission to leave early. It's obvious.


My heart beats faster. My hands get colder. My mouth goes dry. The butterflies in my belly alight. Again, I think about taking a Xanax, but I deserve to feel this way. It's part of the punishment.
The Zoloft is working. I feel reason, like two hands, trying to push anxiety down where it belongs. Under the surface, like trying to dunk a volleyball under water.
The VP just left the cafeteria, so I go to the other teacher. The one that usually talks to the VP during lunch duty. "What's up with him?" I say.
"Illness. Not his. Somebody in his family."
"His mother," I say.
"Yeah. He's (eyebrows furrowed, searching for the right word) off."
I tell him about our conversation, leaving out the part about the anxiety. I look like I'm in control, so he thinks I have my shit together. People believe what I want them to believe. Control the facial expressions and they buy it.
"Yeah," he says, "he's off. Sometimes he won't even answer a direct question. He just walks away."
"Jeez." I feel sorry for him.
"And he says I'll let you know like a knee-jerk. Instead of saying yes or no, he automatically says, I'll let you know."
Which brings me back to the list of things my rational mind knows.
3. The VP does this to control a small part of his universe. The principal gives him little power, micromanages his every move until he dumps the shitty jobs on him. His wife probably does the same. His mother too. Saying I'll let you know lets him control a little part of my world, which fools him into thinking he's in control of his own. I understand this. I accept it. I feel bad for him for feeling that way.
But my hands are still cold. My heart still beats too fast. The butterflies have started a dance party in my stomach. What if there IS a meeting. What if they do know? What if…?
I should take a Xanax. Settle my symptoms—calm my heart, warm my hands, put the butterflies to sleep. My rational mind knows this too:
4. If I had taken a Xanax as soon as the butterflies were set free, as soon as that "job interview" feeling took hold, my thoughts would not have followed them into a swirling vortex of crazy thoughts. MY BRAIN WOULDN'T HAVE WORKED SO HARD TO FIND SOMETHING TO PIN THESE SYMPTOMS ON. Instead, I would have written this in my book:
Friday, May 15- Ask VP about leaving early (OR reschedule meeting).
Buttheanxietyispartofthepunishment.
And so, I wrote this instead. I feel better now. For now.
THAT is what is what it feels like to live with anxiety. 

Hot Summer Reads- Free on Memorial Day Weekend

Happy Earth Day!

I'm not a huge environmentalist or anything, but I have a soapbox: Save the Monarch Butterfly. I love them, obviously, and it makes me sad that they're declining. The biggest issue is the efficiency of the herbicides farmers are using. They kill the milkweed that the monarchs depend on to lay their eggs and the caterpillars use as their sole source of food.

I am doing my part by planting milkweed this year. I saved the seeds from my plants last summer, and my kids planted them last month. We'll be passing them along to our friends to help out the butterflies to visit us this summer.

Last year I wrote a first-time story called Milkweed and Gossamer about an eighteen year old girl who makes it her mission to plant and give away milkweed. Give it a read for Earth Day, if you like.

Anthology Story

My group of writer friends is working on a collection of smutty stories. My story is a first time lesbian tale that takes place in a campground. A little light summer reading. I'd like to finish it this weekend. I hit the wall of suck yesterday, but I got past it today. Another 2k words, and I'll be done.

Ugh. It's been so long since I've used Dreamweaver.

I hardly remember how to use it. I like playing around with websites and all, but I am way out of practice.

I'm not sure why I'm bothering. I'm not quite ready to make a go of selling my stories, but sometimes it seems easier than writing. Like this weekend. The website. Searching for photos. Trying to put together visual things. It took a massive amount of concentration, which kept my mind off the work issue that's eating away at my brain. Writing wouldn't have done that for me. Not that it's easier or anything. Just requires a different kind of concentration. One that takes up the space that I allocate to worrying.

If only parents could see that their kids weren't perfect. I know mine aren't. Every child will lie. Every child will cheat. Twenty years of teaching experience and twelve years of parenting experience tell me this is true. I'm not making this up.

Come with a Friend

Well, my little tale didn't win, but my good friend's did. The Grimm Reaper by AMoveableBeast. It's a pretty horrific tale about a serial killer that carves fairy tales into his victims' skin. It's pretty gruesome, but the killer gets his in the end, Grimm-style.I'm glad I read this one in the daylight. That was horrifying. Excellent, as AMB's tales always are. The way he winds his words together makes his stories delicious, even when the ingredients are rotten.

TS/CD is a nice category.

Come with a Friend posted on Friday, and I'm pretty pleased with the result. The Transsexuals/Crossdressers category seems pretty nice. The feedback has been good, and I got 119 votes in 48 hours. That's much better than usual for me. The score isn't high enough to hope for a win (4.58), but I think I just might try to do a sequel to this one. Strike while the iron is hot, you know? We'll see how it goes.

April Fool!

I finally submitted my April Fools' contest story, Come with a Friend. Now I wait in limbo for it to appear for all to see.

I'll wait patientlee, I guess.