R.L. Geer-Robbins's Blog, page 19

Musings since becoming a published author….

I have not been asked for an autograph-

People still don’t recognize me on the streets yet. Since I have one dazzling photo on all my social media channels, in my book, and on my website, I am confused about this. After all my promotions, witty social media posts, and begging, shouldn’t people know who I am yet? Shouldn’t the phone ring off the hook with requests to come to New York City do interviews? Where is my invitation to the secret society of famous writers? Did it get lost in the mail?

I went to parent-teacher conferences this week with my son, who kindly told his English teacher that I was an author. The smile on my face could have warmed the sun. Surely, she would ask me to come in and talk to her class. Maybe she would want to meet for a coffee, and I could tell her about my journey. Maybe she would ask what my book was about and buy a copy.

Nope.

She smiled and said ‘That’s nice.’

Ego hit! I need to work with my son on his sales pitch.

Writers can be vicious-

Writers are extremely opinionated. I am not saying this meanly. I am opinionated. Just ask my husband. I have a opinion on his breathing, eating, sleeping, and general coming and goings. Thank goodness he appreciates my thoughts and ALWAYS considers them before doing the complete opposite.

Writers though- we are a mixed bag of M&M’s, Skittles, and Reese’s pieces. I am not sure we all agree on one thing, except we all want to quit our jobs to write full-time.

I watched from the laptop peanut gallery a huge disagreement about whether a writer should be able to write what they want or not. Barring threatening someone, it really shouldn’t matter. If you don’t like someone’s moral compass- then don’t interact with them.

Man was I wrong.

This situation blew over as well as a small child peeing in a public pool. Everyone came out to the playground to let the writer know what could and could not talk about. Subjects included religion and politics, sexual preferences to pronouns. From race to physical disability. From first responders to nurses and teachers.

The sad part was that the original post was about candy bars. This particular person liked 3-Musketeers and hated Snickers. And he said it just like that. Well, others had opinions and that snowballed to name calling, threats, and the post being taken down.

All while I was eating popcorn and taking notes on what NEVER to say. I personally like KitKat’s, but I am keeping that to myself.

Hustling is an art form-

Self-published authors are hustlers. I have always wanted to be a hustler.

Out there doing my thing and making it big in the world and affording all the finer things in life.

Like gas and groceries.

But some of my fellow authors blow it out of the water. They put in the work, tears, sweat, and hours CEOs can’t even imagine. Movies, reels, social media posts, advertising, writing, editing, meeting new people, etc… self-published authors are constantly moving and grooving. And most of them still work a full-time job AND have a family.

Mind-blowing!

In order to keep up, I am constantly challenged to try something original and innovative. But with that, I have hit many speed bumps and pit holes. Finding your voice as a writer and as a public figure is two different venues. The balancing act of being yourself and relatable vs. being socially aware of what you can and cannot say is challenging. I have made many mistakes trying to be funny, thoughtful, and original. Some of my attempts have bitten me in the arse.

Big time.

I have learned what is funny in my head doesn’t always come out the same way.

In light of that, I recently had a board meeting with my multiple personalities, and we discussed what kind of person I wanted to be. Who was Rose? Was she a snarky, mean girl who said whatever she wanted whenever she wanted to say it? Was she a shadow in the dark? Lurking around, but never seen or heard? Was she a ray of sunshine that only posted annoying positive memes with cute sayings?

None of them really fit me. My personality is like a rough draft of my upcoming novel. It’s good. It has potential. I need to fine-tune it now. I am not changing the whole storyline, just tightening up some loose ends.

You have to write more to sell more-

I know that a majority of authors have that one great story in their heads. They put pen to paper and spend 2-10 years working on their masterpieces. The struggle to edit, proofread, design covers, and format is enough to send anyone to insanity.

And then it’s out there for the world to read and judge.

And they are happy. They have reached their pinnacle in the writer’s world.

But that is not the case for most of us. Writing is our passion. We have a thousand stories to tell and don’t want to be ‘one-and-done.’ I used to say that I was okay if only one person read my book.

That is a lie.

I am a writer. I want the masses to read my books. I want my name to come up in conversation and someone mentions that one of my books made them stay up all night reading. I have many books on my bookshelves that have stolen a good night’s rest from me. I want to do the same.

Denying it would be like Scarlett Johansson saying she would have been fine if no one showed up to see her movie on opening day.

Doesn’t make sense to me.

Then why as writers are we supposed to be so humble that we deny our goals? And it is not just authors, but any profession. I have learned that I am willing to say the forbidden words. I want the damn gold medal and I am determined to work my ass off to get it.

Come on say it with me!

We want to quit our jobs to write full time!

Say it again louder!

We want to quit our jobs!

Okay. Settle down. We got things to do. Get back to work!

Anyhoo, in case you missed it, I am an inspiring author. I will include the link to my first book if you want a copy or need a last-minute gift for a random friend or co-worker.

The Writer and the Librarian- Raven Society Book 1 (Amazon)

Barnes and Noble

Or sign up for monthly newsletter where I talk about my next book- The Myth and the Monster and we explore forgotten myths and legends.

Submit a form.

The post Musings since becoming a published author…. appeared first on R.L. Geer-Robbins / Author.

We all know that one person who causes grey hair and wrinkles.

Friends,

It was one of those weeks that you wake up on Monday and know it’s a 50-50 shot whether it will be a good week or not.

In this case, the jury is still debating.

Everyone has that one co-worker, friend, or loved one who is on the ‘ify’ side of being either a friend or an enemy. I have one such person in my life. A person that, by default, I must play nicely with because social norms demand it. A person that, in any other realm, I would absolutely avoid.

But as with most things ‘adulting,’ I cannot. Unfortunately.

This is the person who, if you come into work and say ‘I got a new puppy!’, would respond with, ‘You should have gotten a cat. I have a cat, and my life is perfect.’

When you tell them about the new motorcycle you just bought, they will tell you that it would have been better if you had bought a Mercedes because a Mercedes is a luxury vehicle.

If you mention that you are in the market for a new home, they will tell you how to find a realtor, what part of the state to live in, how much you should pay for a home, and THEN they will ask ‘are you sure you can afford one?’

This is the person that is 12 years younger than you- but because society has decided that every opinion is worthwhile- they feel entitled to share theirs.

Over and over again.

Now, in defense of this poor young fool, I am no walk in the park. My temper flies from rainbows and unicorns to full-out mass destruction in 5.5 seconds. I am the silent assassin that will spend the first 30 days in an unfamiliar work environment quietly observing everyone so that I can learn what their weaknesses, strengths, and habits are.

And when they piss me off, I go in with a low blow and a big smile.

I know this about myself, and I warn people beforehand. And everyone says they appreciate that part of my nature. Until I use my superpowers for evil. Then, not so much. In my defense, I use my abilities sparingly. That is another superpower. Only pull out the big guns when necessary.

But back to this week. Now, I know that most people don’t want to admit this- but we ALL talk crap about people. Let it be co-workers, family, friends, or the 2 am frequent flyers at Walmart; we have all shared a story or two. Most adults learn by their mid-thirties that if you talk about someone else, the crap will get around.

There are no such things as secrets.

Ever.

On this particularly sunny Tuesday afternoon, my fearless co-workers decided to try their hand at shit-talking. Since I have not been a peach lately, I can TOTALLY get it. I sat in my office, YouTube playing and pretending to work while casually listening in. Amused.

Until it gets personal.

Now. I could have let this go. I could have been the better person. But like my mama taught me- if you are willing to say something behind a person’s back- be willing to say it to their face.

So I got up and skipped to the co-worker’s office with a smile and a cup of coffee. “I heard my name numerous times,” I said, sliding into the conversation. “What are we talking about?”

I perched my ass on the desk and smiled broadly at them both.

Their response? “We are talking about your bowl of jelly beans.”

Seriously? That’s the sword you want to fall on? You were discussing my candy jar for 30 minutes. They then proceeded with a 15-minute conversation where they praised my choice of jelly beans, my plants in the window, and my kids’ paintings that I had hanging up.

What had they been talking about?

Not that.

You would think that being caught red-handed they would have come up with something more imaginative or original. But nope. With beet-red faces and stuttering they lied. To my face.

Rude!

Then it got better. My co-worker and I might have been able to move past this and continue our make-believe game of getting along, but all hell broke loose.

My eight hours are up. I pack my bag and head out the door to go home. The co-worker’s spouse has been in their office for the past two hours, hanging out so I walk right on by and say nothing. The co-worker calls me into their office, in front of their spouse, and tells me they want to talk about what happened. And tells me to close the door.

In what universe is that a wise idea? And in front of your spouse? Really? Was she going to be a referee? To discuss a work issue between co-workers about something that happened at work.

I was so utterly confused that I didn’t know what to say.

So I said ‘over my dead body,’ and walked out.

I took the rest of the week off. Not because I needed it. Because I wanted to work on my book and this was the most convenient excuse. Even now, five days of freedom later, I don’t want to go back. Not because I don’t like my job- just because I am in retirement mode.

Even after 20+ years in a single career and a certificate that says ‘retired,’ in this world, retiring is impossible until you are 82 years old. It’s a sad concept. I will literally work until I die to afford milk, Oreos, and coffee. And the utilities. Can’t forget about the utilities.

Could I quit and stay at home and work on my novel, promotions, and secondary business with my husband? No. Because I just bought an expensive motorcycle for an outrageous price and need to make the payments.

So now I have the perfect motorcycle and no time to ride it because I have to work to afford it.

I have an excellent job with a questionable co-worker who constantly makes me question if the human race can survive another 50 years.

My favorite coffee mug broke three weeks ago and I am still mourning the loss.

And I have to go back to work on Monday.

I hope next week is better. My goal is to work the whole week.

It’s a 50-50 gamble.

Barnes and Noble

Or sign up for the monthly newsletter where I talk about my next book- The Myth and the Monster and we explore forgotten myths and legends.

Submit a form.

The post We all know that one person who causes grey hair and wrinkles. appeared first on R.L. Geer-Robbins / Author.

We all know that one person who causes grey hair and wrinkles.

Friends,

It was one of those weeks that you wake up on Monday and know it’s a 50-50 shot whether it will be a good week or not.

In this case, the jury is still debating.

Everyone has that one co-worker, friend, or loved one who is on the ‘ify’ side of being either a friend or an enemy. I have one such person in my life. A person that, by default, I must play nicely with because social norms demand it. A person that, in any other realm, I would absolutely avoid.

But as with most things ‘adulting,’ I cannot. Unfortunately.

This is the person who, if you come into work and say ‘I got a new puppy!’, would respond with, ‘You should have gotten a cat. I have a cat, and my life is perfect.’

When you tell them about the new motorcycle you just bought, they will tell you that it would have been better if you had bought a Mercedes because a Mercedes is a luxury vehicle.

If you mention that you are in the market for a new home, they will tell you how to find a realtor, what part of the state to live in, how much you should pay for a home, and THEN they will ask ‘are you sure you can afford one?’

This is the person that is 12 years younger than you- but because society has decided that every opinion is worthwhile- they feel entitled to share theirs.

Over and over again.

Now, in defense of this poor young fool, I am no walk in the park. My temper flies from rainbows and unicorns to full-out mass destruction in 5.5 seconds. I am the silent assassin that will spend the first 30 days in an unfamiliar work environment quietly observing everyone so that I can learn what their weaknesses, strengths, and habits are.

And when they piss me off, I go in with a low blow and a big smile.

I know this about myself, and I warn people beforehand. And everyone says they appreciate that part of my nature. Until I use my superpowers for evil. Then, not so much. In my defense, I use my abilities sparingly. That is another superpower. Only pull out the big guns when necessary.

But back to this week. Now, I know that most people don’t want to admit this- but we ALL talk crap about people. Let it be co-workers, family, friends, or the 2 am frequent flyers at Walmart; we have all shared a story or two. Most adults learn by their mid-thirties that if you talk about someone else, the crap will get around.

There are no such things as secrets.

Ever.

On this particularly sunny Tuesday afternoon, my fearless co-workers decided to try their hand at shit-talking. Since I have not been a peach lately, I can TOTALLY get it. I sat in my office, YouTube playing and pretending to work while casually listening in. Amused.

Until it gets personal.

Now. I could have let this go. I could have been the better person. But like my mama taught me- if you are willing to say something behind a person’s back- be willing to say it to their face.

So I got up and skipped to the co-worker’s office with a smile and a cup of coffee. “I heard my name numerous times,” I said, sliding into the conversation. “What are we talking about?”

I perched my ass on the desk and smiled broadly at them both.

Their response? “We are talking about your bowl of jelly beans.”

Seriously? That’s the sword you want to fall on? You were discussing my candy jar for 30 minutes. They then proceeded with a 15-minute conversation where they praised my choice of jelly beans, my plants in the window, and my kids’ paintings that I had hanging up.

What had they been talking about?

Not that.

You would think that being caught red-handed they would have come up with something more imaginative or original. But nope. With beet-red faces and stuttering they lied. To my face.

Rude!

Then it got better. My co-worker and I might have been able to move past this and continue our make-believe game of getting along, but all hell broke loose.

My eight hours are up. I pack my bag and head out the door to go home. The co-worker’s spouse has been in their office for the past two hours, hanging out so I walk right on by and say nothing. The co-worker calls me into their office, in front of their spouse, and tells me they want to talk about what happened. And tells me to close the door.

In what universe is that a wise idea? And in front of your spouse? Really? Was she going to be a referee? To discuss a work issue between co-workers about something that happened at work.

I was so utterly confused that I didn’t know what to say.

So I said ‘over my dead body,’ and walked out.

I took the rest of the week off. Not because I needed it. Because I wanted to work on my book and this was the most convenient excuse. Even now, five days of freedom later, I don’t want to go back. Not because I don’t like my job- just because I am in retirement mode.

Even after 20+ years in a single career and a certificate that says ‘retired,’ in this world, retiring is impossible until you are 82 years old. It’s a sad concept. I will literally work until I die to afford milk, Oreos, and coffee. And the utilities. Can’t forget about the utilities.

Could I quit and stay at home and work on my novel, promotions, and secondary business with my husband? No. Because I just bought an expensive motorcycle for an outrageous price and need to make the payments.

So now I have the perfect motorcycle and no time to ride it because I have to work to afford it.

I have an excellent job with a questionable co-worker who constantly makes me question if the human race can survive another 50 years.

My favorite coffee mug broke three weeks ago and I am still mourning the loss.

And I have to go back to work on Monday.

I hope next week is better. My goal is to work the whole week.

It’s a 50-50 gamble.

Barnes and Noble

Or sign up for the monthly newsletter where I talk about my next book- The Myth and the Monster and we explore forgotten myths and legends.

Submit a form.

The post We all know that one person who causes grey hair and wrinkles. appeared first on R.L. Geer-Robbins / Author.

When a resiliency course goes wrong.

Friends,

This week I was blessed with the opportunity to spend two days in a resiliency course designed to help give me tools to combat internal stress, external stressors, and physical limitations that affect my home and work life. Sixteen hours of breathing, hunting for the good stuff, and practical applications that will improve my personal and professional relationships with those I love and am forced to deal with daily.

Because I was a Master Resiliency trainer and had hundreds of hours of training, teaching, coaching, and mentoring in this program, I am confident this was what should have happened. It is a worthwhile program, one that I would be happy to announce to the world that has a solid foundation in science and thorough research.

Until my recent experience, that is.

On Tuesday morning, I showed up to the class bright-eyed, bushy tail, fortified with a large coffee and a brand-new pen and notebook to take notes. I was anxious to see how the program had developed and improved since I taught my last class four years ago.

I walked in- the projector was working, and the slides were already posted. Each seat had a lovely notebook full of practical applications, and there were even doughnuts! I sat and mentally prepared myself to be in receiving mode while enjoying an apple fritter.

Getting paid to become a better person. What could be better?

Sixteen hours later, I walked out of that class in a ball of pent-up anger, disgust, and disappointment. A program that I had spent years perfecting my delivery, teaching points and continuing education had been downgraded to a counseling session for my instructors.

Within the first 32 minutes, I sat through a poorly thought-out sales pitch on how resilience has reformed, retrained, and renewed the personal life of the instructors and how they applied their knowledge to raising their children and spouses. They bragged about the additional training they attended throughout the country to improve their teaching abilities and understanding of how mental and physical resilience has impacted corporate America, law enforcement, and the armed forces.

The introduction was a battle of wits, a verbal ping-pong of stories. Each instructor attempted to one-up the other on how horrible their lives had been before the course and who had better implemented its material.

And that was the enjoyable part. The rest was a series of misfortunate events that included no scientific data to prove concepts because ‘that is boring.’ None of the practical exercises were completed ‘because it was time-consuming.’ Rather than explaining the complex theories with a detailed outline, personal anecdotes were used instead. And this may have worked if one was prepared to go off script. But both seemed to want to ‘wing it’ and ‘read the room.’

I watched videos of white river trips, scaling ice glaciers in Alaska, and family camping vacations to prove that one must be physically fit to be resilient. Because everyone knows you can’t be mentally tough until you face blizzard conditions in Alaska. Right?

I listened to a 30-minute story about a teenager traveling, without permission, to the mall at night and how her parents were upset because they had to pick her up. After all, she didn’t have an emergency backup plan. We just glossed over the fact that the parents didn’t know their kid was out of the house. However, it was a teaching moment for them because now they have a preparedness kit under their beds. What?!?

Those were not all the stories; I am unwilling to share most of them because they were so wildly inappropriate for the class and the material that I almost walked out three times.

How did a worthy class designed to help law enforcement and the military deal with personal and organizational stressors become a whitewash of hugs and ‘it’s everyone else, not you?’

During the instructional period, I was informed that my thinking was wrong. My parenting skills are lacking. I don’t get enough sleep. And I definitely should not have eaten the doughnuts they provided.

And all that in between the heart-wrenching stories about extraordinary losses, medical concerns, addictions, and financial woes that the two instructors have overcome. It was a Netflix-worthy program that left me feeling like my issues were not worthy enough to upset me or cause stress.

Disappointment is an understatement of how I felt walking out of that room. Despite the constructive criticism, which revealed clear, concise areas for improvement and how it was designed to function, the students were instructed to ‘stay in their lane.’

The un-trained pusdo-professional was the leader of all things resilience, and we should only be so lucky to be at her level.

I am now distracted from the program’s intent in favor of what I see as a self-serving 16 hours of ‘all-about-me-time.’ I feel disappointed that it doesn’t matter because we checked the block on mandatory training.

It has taken me two days to gather my thoughts and reexamine my own personal bias. And here is what I have come up with:

Resiliency is a personal journey that is different for each individual. What works for me may not work for the next person. However, people can use the tools in the toolbox to help fix and maintain their physical and mental health. Resiliency trainers are there to provide the tools- not the fix!

Teachers, trainers, and leaders…. when dealing with such a complex theory as resiliency, we must be willing to put in the additional time and effort to ensure that we provide an evidence-based program that serves a multicultural and generational audience. Programs have been designed to be followed because research and data show that information should be presented in specific ways and through certain events.

Don’t go off-script! Save the glorification of self for your biography or the Oprah show.

Does anyone know of a good resiliency course? I find myself in need of one.

Anyhoo, in case you missed it, I am an inspiring author. I will include the link to my first book if you want a copy or need a last-minute gift for Saint Paddy’s Day. I mention Irish folklore in it, so it fits the holiday.

The Writer and the Librarian- Raven Society Book 1

Amazon

Barnes and Noble

Or sign up for monthly newsletter where I talk about my next book- The Myth and the Monster and we explore forgotten myths and legends.

Submit a form.

The post When a resiliency course goes wrong. appeared first on R.L. Geer-Robbins / Author.

Broken coffee cup! Who can I blame? Prince Harry and Matthew McConaughey of course.

Friends,

I was reeling last night with several topics I wanted to write about.

The healthcare system.Prince Harry and his book ‘Spare.’A house that is full of snakes.How trying to come up with promotions is giving me gray hair.Politicians.How I should write a calendar for social media and blogs- that way, I know what I am writing about.Ideas for my book.

Why the random thoughts? Because somehow, my favorite coffee cup broke this past weekend. May it rest in peace.

To tell you the truth, I know how it broke. It’s all the vacuum cleaner’s fault. The cord took my coffee cup out, spilling a delicious cup of coffee everywhere. This triggered a house-wide cleaning frenzy. A house that I had just thoroughly cleaned two days prior. And yet somehow, three people and two dogs managed to destroy it to the point that it looked like a battlefield after a paint war game played in the rain.

The amount of time it took to restore balance is why I have seven topics I want to write about. I had nothing but time to think. And who did I end up blaming for my frustration?

Actors.

And Prince Harry.

I know! That is so far off the beaten track, but it has really been bugging me. I read a story where Salesforce laid off people to cut back costs. Sad. Almost unavoidable in the current climate in this country. Everyone is laying off their employees. Every mega-million-dollar company that prospered during the shutdown is completely broke.

However, Matthew McConaughey reportedly gets $10 million a year from Salesforce to be their…. drumroll please… spokesperson.

Are you shitting me?

Am I mad at Matthew McConaughey? Not really. He is working within the system. It’s the American dream! It’s why people flee to this country- to make it big. And he figured out how to do it. You go, dude! Support you and your family!

Who do I blame? The board of directors. While eating coffee and expensive pastries, a group of suit-wearing professionals decided that a talented actor would promote their business instead of utilizing the profit margin to keep the company running.

Let me ask you this question- did you know that Matthew McConaughey was the spokesperson for Salesforce? Do you even know what Salesforce is?

Neither did I.

How does this relate to Prince Harry and his book ‘Spare’? Because I need to be mad at someone, and today I have decided it will be the person who annoyingly published their best-selling book the SAME month that I did.

I didn’t know that he was doing that. I don’t pay attention to ex-royals.

But now I am!

Now I know everyone wants the tea on the royal who stepped down from his duties to follow the American Dream. Who wants to read a fantasy about a middle-aged writer who travels to the Otherworld to save the world when you can hear from the horse’s mouth about how horrible England is? As an American, I feel it’s ingrained into our system to make fun of the country we broke away from. Of course, he was going to be a New York Best Seller. However, I am pretty sure he didn’t sit for hours behind a computer editing his book over cold coffee and stale potato chips.

What I do know is that ex-Prince Harry has officially bought into the fantasy that America is selling. And he did it so well that he is now featured on every talk show, cartoon, commercial, and has his own Netflix series.

Random thought: I wonder what that immigration application looks like. Does he have a green card? I thought you had to wait a while before you could work in this country. Is he exempt? Does he pay federal taxes to us, or does he pay British taxes?

Here’s the deal: I’m not really mad at either of them. Ironically, they have made the news for playing the system so well that they are walking away with millions of dollars doing the very thing everyone wants them to do- play a part.

I support them. They are doing it. I wish I were…. but not everyone can have the perfect dream. Not everyone can climb to the top because then there would be no top. Does that make sense? We can’t shit talk the people who have. And I want to be perfectly clear- I am not shit talking about them or their families.

Nope. This just drives me to keep being me and working just a little bit harder to be nearer to the top.

However, if you happen to know Matthew McConaughey or Prince Harry…can you ask them if they would be willing to purchase a copy of my book for me? It’s on sale. And if they have time, maybe a selfie with it. Just don’t tell them about this blog.

#AmericanDream #Grateful

Anyhoo, in case you missed it, I am an inspiring author. I will include the link to my first book if you want a copy or need a last-minute gift for Saint Paddy’s Day. I mention Irish folklore in it, so it fits the holiday.

The Writer and the Librarian.

Amazon

Barnes and Noble

Or sign up for monthly newsletter where I talk about my next book- The Myth and the Monster and we explore forgotten myths and legends.

Submit a form.

The post Broken coffee cup! Who can I blame? Prince Harry and Matthew McConaughey of course. appeared first on R.L. Geer-Robbins / Author.

Taking the day off from work to relax is too much pressure.

Friends,

I am waiting for the bomb to drop. Why? Because it has been a wonderful week. I reached the top 100 on Amazon for Mythology and Folk Tales. My second book is moving along at a wonderful pace. I did fabulous on sales. Work was actually pleasant to be at. I swept the floors TWICE this week. And I had to take myself to urgent care the other night- and it only took an hour!

My husband, on the other hand, had a week from hell.

But this isn’t about him- this is about me.

I don’t remember when I had a good week. Or maybe I had good weeks, and I didn’t know that I was having good weeks because it was pre-bipolar meds. But doesn’t it seem like the world is off kilter when you have had a great week and the people around you haven’t? Like you are cheating somehow?

Now I am waiting. Something terrible is waiting around the corner to jump out at me and yell, ‘sike.’

Here is the real issue. It was such a good week that I feel like I need to do more. My motivation is at an all-time high, and I am ready to run. Not physically run; that takes too much effort. But proceed to the next project. I just don’t know what that is yet. I guess I could work harder on finishing my second novel. I wanted it published by September. Maybe I should move that up?

Or join a gym? Or a writing club? Maybe even go to the grocery store BEFORE I run out of milk.

The world is my oyster. I took today off. No reason other than because I could. I have plans to go to a coffee house and write. I have always wanted to go to a coffee house and write. Sit at one of those ridiculously small tables with my laptop, drink overpriced coffee, and people-watch. Customers would walk in and wonder, ‘What is she doing? She must be famous if she sits in a coffee house on a Friday afternoon and writes.’

But then again, I have a pile of laundry that needs to be done.

Of course, I could work on social media for my husband’s company which is doing way better than my book sales right now- but we are not talking about that. Honestly, he is not even an ideal partner. An excellent husband- but I haven’t gotten one paycheck from him for all my hours of work. I might have to give my two-week notice.

I have a whole day off. So many things I could do because I am ensuring that the people in my home go off to their respective places so I can be alone. I should make something delicious for dinner. Maybe make cookies? I need to clean the bathrooms.

But it’s my day off. Maybe a pedicure? It’s been months since I had one. I am almost embarrassed to go.

On the other hand, I need to clean the garage I just cleaned three weeks ago, and it already looks like a tornado slammed through it.

I should make a list of everything I need to get done. The list is like work, though. And if I wanted work, I wouldn’t have taken the day off.

I am beginning to sweat. This is too much pressure.

Oh crap. I think the bomb just fell.

Anyhoo, in case you missed it, I am an inspiring author. I will include the link to my first book if you want a copy or need a last-minute gift for Saint Paddy’s Day. I mention Irish folklore in it, so it fits the holiday.

The Writer and the Librarian.

Amazon

Barnes and Noble

Or sign up for my monthly newsletter where I talk about my next book- The Myth and the Monster and we explore forgotten myths and legends.

Submit a form.

The post Taking the day off from work to relax is too much pressure. appeared first on R.L. Geer-Robbins / Author.

I think that I was almost arrested at Wal-Mart.

Friends,

This month has been a whirlwind of normal activities that take up all your time. For instance, I have taken the time to visit the grocery store instead of ordering my weekly needs. That incarnation of hell is going to be the death of me. I hate the grocery store. My anxiety is always on high alert due to all the options and the mazes of doom that lead me to items that are not on my list.

Let’s not even mention the pressure of self-checkouts. There are people who will die on their swords in order to avoid using them. However, until recently, I had never jumped on the bandwagon. If 18 or 78-year-old Joe wants to check my receipt on the way out, it only takes 30 seconds. Besides, do they ever REALLY check the cart?

Expect for the other day. My son and I reluctantly entered the Temple of Doom to buy six items. Nothing really significant – milk, bread, something for dinner, and toothpaste. Items that didn’t even require a basket. There were three cashiers, all occupied with lines of at least ten customers, four open self-checkout lanes, and at least 300 people in Wal-Mart.

The math was not mathing, but I was not in a rush and patiently waited 30 minutes for my ‘go-time’ at the self-checkout.

It’s my turn! I put down the trashy magazine and walked up to the screen to scan the six items I had gathered. The screams of angry children, hassled parents, and impatient grandparents filled the air as they waited for me to find the barcode on the store-brand wheat bread. My son kept looking behind him like we were about to confront a war party of angry, pitchfork-wielding townsfolk protecting their last cow.

Wal-Mart doesn’t pay me enough to deal with all that pressure.

And then came the sirens.

Out of the cover of darkness, 32-year-old Mike from gardening, who had been tasked with overseeing the self-checkout lanes showed up with a snarl and anger dripping off him. Without saying a word, he takes everything out of my bag and steps into my personal space to look at the computer screen.

He then tells me that something in my bag was not scanned and REPLAYS a video of me scanning all six items—the same six items in my bag.

THEN he watched the video again!

What is going on Detetive Gadget?

Now here is where I start having a problem. Not necessarily the rudeness or the fact that he was manhandling my pot roast but that I had to watch myself on a video two times. Not a flattering representation of what I imagined I left the house looking like. My messy bun, which I thought looked like an homage to summer, turned out to look like a frizzy rat’s nest. My favorite sweatshirt that I thought brought out the green in my eyes had a coffee stain. My attempt to contour my face and highlight my cheekbones actually was lopsided and I only had mascara on one eye.

Great- now I know I look like a medicated, over-weight, middle-aged woman who watched too many ticky toks on how to apply makeup.

Thank you Mike!

But that wasn’t the end of it. As 40 people embraced my humiliation and eagerly awaited confirmation that I would be carted off to Wal-Mart jail, I was released to head home – my pride and self-respect firmly discarded. And then I was STOPPED at the front door! Two bags, six items, receipt in hand……and I had to prove that I didn’t swipe one of the bikes or paddle boards on display and stuff it in my plastic bags.

Can the day get any better?

Why am I telling you this? Because after that fateful day, I decided to try to put down the Oreos and lose a little bit of weight. I bought new makeup and started to watch YouTube videos on makeup application (because everyone knows that YouTube influencers are more qualified), and I bought myself a new green sweatshirt that highlights my eyes.

The result? I have gained six pounds. I bought the wrong shade of foundation. And my sweatshirt is apparently for ‘slim’ overweight and middle-aged women.

I now have a fear of returning to the grocery store more than ever. And my family loves to call me at least once a day to let me know that magically we have run out of one life-defining item that MUST be purchased ASAP. Like a case of Monsters. Or grape jelly.

I am over it. I want to stay home, wear sweats, and write my book. My future career as a ticky tok influencer is down the drain, but no one reads a book because the author is cute.

At least I have that working for me.

Anyhoo, in case you missed it, I am an inspiring author. I will include the link to my first book if you want a copy or need a last-minute gift for Saint Paddy’s Day. I mention Irish folklore in it, so it fits the holiday.

Th e Writ er and th e Libraria n.

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The post I think that I was almost arrested at Wal-Mart. appeared first on R.L. Geer-Robbins / Author.

The day before Valentine’s Day… AND Monday. It’s going to be a 4-pot coffee kind of day!

Friends,

It is another Monday.

The a-hole keeps coming back every week.

But it is not an a-hole this week. It is the a-hole that arrives before Valentine’s Day. Yes, that holiday where flowers, chocolates, and fancy dinners are dangled in front of your face a mere month and a half after you promised to be healthier.

Good thing I stopped promising that idiotic new year’s resolution. My resolution this year was that I was committed to dusting my hanging picture frames at least once a month. As of February 1, I failed to meet that requirement. Winner!

I have a confession. I do not celebrate holidays. Not even the big ones. Christmas is too messy with all its decorations, ripped wrapping paper, and dead pine needles. Thanksgiving is a repetitive holiday- the same day with the same meal every 365 days. 4th of July? Insects swarm around and land on tempting watermelon all the time. So rude.

I like St. Paddies day- but I haven’t lived where there wasn’t three feet of snow, and the last major ice storm was flying in like the Wicked Witch of the West. Maybe this year will be different. But I don’t feel like I am hitting the mark on why we should celebrate the day when I drink green dye in a warm beer mug.

But the dreaded Valentine’s Day?

It is the one that I despise the most.

And not because I haven’t had anyone to celebrate with. I do. I just don’t like the pressure of having to be romantic and sexy for 24 hours. Do you know how long 24 hours are? I do. After 20+ years in the military and having many 24-hour duty days, I am well aware of how long the day is when you are forced to do one thing.

Miserable.

But I am now happily medicated. Today is officially week three on the bipolar meds that my doctor prescribed. I thought it would open my mind and heart to being more willing to celebrate the day of love.

Nope. It’s Monday, and I don’t want to go to work. I want to stay home, write my upcoming book, and figure out why I haven’t sold ONE darn copy in over a week. I wonder if my memes aren’t as funny as I think they are. Maybe I should do a Valentine’s special? That actually isn’t a terrible idea. Too bad I didn’t think of it last week so I could have time to advertise.

Oh, the joys of being a part-time author.

Back to Valentine’s Day. I need to run to get a card. My husband doesn’t like chocolate and rarely drinks coffee. I know! No need to say anything. I am just as confused. How do you not drink coffee?! Take me to the bookstore and buy me a coffee, and I will be pleased for the rest of the day. My husband? No idea.

I never know if I am supposed to do anything for the kids. Easter requires baskets, stale marshmallows, and colored eggs that end up dying the counter and being forgotten in the fridge.

What does Valentine’s require?

Can I send them money? They appreciate it at Christmas time.

I know there is a blog to be written about the holiday’s history, and that is what I will do later today. Nothing like blood, gore, and madness to say ‘I love you.’

But friends, I am 24 hours away from making this day memorable… I need ideas! I need recommendations. I need help.

What are you doing?

And can you invite me too?

The post The day before Valentine’s Day… AND Monday. It’s going to be a 4-pot coffee kind of day! appeared first on R.L. Geer-Robbins / Author.

Selling a book is like trying to give a cat a bath… it will leave you traumatized and marked for life.

Friends,

There is no money in writing a novel. Maybe there is- I just haven’t discovered it yet.

So, I did what any other middle-aged woman would have done- I embarked on a mission to discover how to generate sales, hype up excitement, and create a following.

This is what I have learned:

Websites

I have had a website for over two years. My official writing career started right after I got out of the military when I wrote my first blog. First, I used the Wix website, which was good- but not stellar. Looking back, that was more because I didn’t know what I was doing than the website program. Then I switched to WordPress because that was where all the ‘serious’ bloggers were. Two years have passed, and I am 60% happy with what I created.

Some of the bloggers I follow have over 1,000 followers. They are the influencers of the written word. Within 15 minutes of them posting, they had 53 likes, 22 comments, and it had been shared at least six times. I post a blog, and it feels like I am fighting a horde of raging cows to get a single click.

The issue? You have to subscribe to WordPress to like a blog post. Now, I could pay to have my own domain and share my causal musings of medicated, overweight, and struggling writer life- but I am currently making -$22.34 an hour with my book, so that is on the back burner for the time being.

newsletters

I have created one. I even sent out my first one at the end of January to all of my 13 subscribers. It took three days to create, and two of the links didn’t work- but I made one.

Newsletters are like trying out a brand-new recipe. It may or may not work the first time around. I think I added too much salt and not enough pepper to my first one. Maybe I didn’t let it cook enough to really entice people to want to read it. What really got me was that you need to market your newsletter. I am still trying to market my book, so that has thrown me for a loop.

Let’s add that to the weekly list of crap to do. Perfect! I have plenty of time… the floors don’t REALLY need to be mopped, right?

contests

This one is difficult. Yes, I want the shiny gold medal on my book that says ‘Winner’ or ‘Readers Favorite.’ But did you know that you have to pay to enter? I think I mentioned that I was already losing $567.98 an hour as a writer. Can I pass my debt on to my kids when I die? Because right now, it looks like they are inheriting an unused mop and a dusty vacuum when I pass on.

Have I entered a contest? I did, back during the first week of my book being on Amazon, when the world was my oyster. Back then, I had high hopes of being invited to New York City to talk to a huge publishing company that wanted my book. Now? I hope to generate enough sales to cover filling up my gas tank to get to my ‘real’ job.

Social Media

It’s not about having followers. You need to engage your followers. You need to create funny memes, hype videos, YouTube videos, short stories, give a peek into your upcoming book, AND comment on your followers’ posts. It’s a full-time job. And may God help you if you miss ‘Self-Promotion Wednesday’! You have another week to wait before you can post the link to your book, website, and newsletter.

And then, just to add to the stress- Facebook LOVES to let you know when your engagement is down. This week alone, my engagement dropped 22% because work actually made me work, and my family needed some attention.

And can we talk about ‘#’? The dreaded hashtags! What in the world do they do? Why do I have a two-sentence social media posting but 36 hashtags? Do the hashtags lead somewhere? Is there a mythical world that only hashtag users know about? Maybe it will transport me to Hogwarts, where I will learn a new spell to increase book sales. I just don’t know!

Conclusion

You need to do it all. That is the joy of owning a small business, even if it is publishing a book. A book is a small business. Hours upon hours are going to be spent creating the finest ‘storefront.’ However, there will still be days that no one comes in to buy your homemade dog blankets or all-natural jams. I know this for a fact because I spent Sunday afternoon in my favorite small town wandering the boutique shops- and didn’t buy anything but a cup of coffee and a pastry that my dogs ended up eating for me.

Am I giving up? No…. but I thought about it this morning at 3:00 am when I woke up from a panic attack. I dreamt that I had died, and all my unsold books were buried with me in a coffin that could fit a full-grown elephant. Pleasant thoughts!

I am not ready to throw in the towel just yet. I am sure that at some point in the future, I will look back on this post and laugh at myself. You know- when I am flying first class to a far-off destination on a mid-winter vacation to celebrate my 50th book sale. Only 38 more copies to go!!!! Totally doable.

Anyhoo, if you are still reading this… I have a book for sale. I think it’s pretty good- I sold seven copies in the last two weeks. I will include the link if you want a copy or need a last-minute gift for a co-worker’s birthday. It even is handy to swat at your significant other when they decide to argue with you about accidentally forgetting about your anniversary because you were making memes.

The Writer and the Librarian-

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The post Selling a book is like trying to give a cat a bath… it will leave you traumatized and marked for life. appeared first on R.L. Geer-Robbins / Author.

My crazy has helped to create me. A writer’s journey to bipolar.

Friends,

I have a confession. Not really a confession but something that has recently happened to me after years of struggle.

I was diagnosed with bipolar 2.

Before you send prayers and hugs…I am fine. Years of thinking I was crazy have finally paid off- it’s not all in my head. Well. It is in my head. But there is nothing wrong with it. I am not broken; just not firing correctly.

What a relief!

Being a writer, I was concerned that taking medication could affect my imagination and ability to think outside the box. That is a dangerous place to be if you just published your first book and are working on your second. I need my imagination and random thoughts! The voices that helped me write book one, will they be able to help me write book 2?

So, accepting the meds that would help me temper my temper and combat the crazy was a struggle.

I started the meds this week. I am only on day 5, but there have been a few noticeable changes.

My head is quiet.

Usually, throughout the day, I jump all over the place. I have 15 tabs open on my computer, and I am struggling to finish one project. I need to stay relevant on social media. I need to create original content. I want to make sure I support my fellow authors, friends, and family. I have to write the next blog and move forward with my business.

I also need to be productive at my full-time job.

But I need to write book 2. Book 2 is evading me. The characters are all over the place. I need to build a timeline and a vision board. But the floors need to be cleaned. I haven’t folded the clothes that I washed last weekend yet. I haven’t planned dinner for the week. I have to go to the grocery store. I hate the grocery store!

Yet those thoughts are not so loud now. I can’t explain internal silence coherently. It’s almost like moving in slow motion. I am not used to it yet. Before, 24 hours felt like 12 hours to me. Now it feels like a total 24 hours. Does that even make sense?

Which got me thinking. One of the hardest things about this world is that it is an oxymoron. In society, it is okay to have a mental disorder, but it is not okay to behave like you have a mental disorder. Be crazy, but please don’t be crazy in public. Speak your mind, but don’t offend anyone. Be true to yourself, but don’t go against mainstream thinking. Be eccentric, but don’t be too loud.

I think that the one thing that makes this next journey worth it for me is that I finally feel not so alone. I didn’t want to share my crazy with anyone, so I locked it up and put it on a shelf high in my mental closet. I didn’t want to be judged or looked at differently.

But now, the pressure to be a perfectionist is not so heavy.

I am sure that there will still be challenging days or weeks. But maybe they won’t be so extreme anymore. I am looking forward to letting go of anger and sadness and enjoying the present. I am also looking forward to knowing that I am okay.

My crazy doesn’t define me; it has helped mold me into my own version of Mary Poppins-practically perfect in every way.

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