Renee Miller's Blog, page 2

Worthless

Yesterday I tweeted about something that happened at work and someone commented about how it was frustrating that so little value is place on the arts that writers/artists have to work day jobs in order to support themselves. Their “passion” has to be a hobby, basically. This is true for most writers and probably true for other kinds of artists (musicians, painters, etc.) and we’ve kind of just accepted it as the way shit is. I have anyway. You know what, though? It is shitty. I don’t know how many times I’ve heard something along the lines of, “I’d love to buy your book, but…” and after the “but” comes some kind of monetary reason that implies said book is too expensive.

Getting anyone to pay more than $5 for an e-book is difficult, if not impossible. Hell, charging more than $3 is sometimes a gamble. I’ve lost count of the number of readers/friends who want a copy of my books but don’t want to pay for them. I don’t mind giving freebies at all. I love that people are interested in reading. However, I do like to get paid, and many of the freebies I’ve given don’t end in a review, so if I’m not being compensated in some way for the work that went into said freebie, what’s the point? I ask myself that question a lot. Get ready for another rambling discussion where I tell you it’s your own damn fault. No, don’t go. I promise, it’ll be good.

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Lately, as my writing time has shrunk to less than half what it used to be, the idea of giving up has reared its ugly head more and more often than it used to, but I don’t. I won’t. Probably. I mean, if I’m not making money, I might as well pack it in, but I’ve devote more than a decade to this, so if I do, then I’ve wasted all those years, and I hate wasting things, so here I am. How do I turn it around for good, though?

Get an agent. Get a big fat contract.

Sure, that’s one option, if you’re lucky enough to find the right agent at the right time for the right book. And I admire anyone who is able to take this route. It’s grueling, thankless, and often full of rejection. Wait a minute, that’s pretty much the entire industry, indie, traditional and otherwise, so never mind. We’re all in this and we’re all dealing with similar shit. Personally, I love indie publishers and this community. True, I’ll never be famous or rich without an agent and a fat contract, but that doesn’t mean that staying with small publishers can’t be profitable. Right?

I’ve talked about this before, and I’ve struggled to answer the many questions I’ve asked myself and other writers. How do you make money writing fiction? How do you make others see your worth?

Well, I know for sure that you’ve gotta hustle. Hustle until you sell a book. Hustle after you sell it. Keep hustling all the time, no matter what, because the second you stop, it all stops. So, there’s one step. After that?

You know, the other day I realized that when my daughters (both pretty darn good writers and that’s not just Mama Bear talking) mentioned pursuing writing as a career, I advised them to get a day job, because it won’t pay the bills for a long time even if they’re the best fucking writer that ever was. How sad is that? It’s true, though.

So why do we do it? If we can’t quit our day jobs or buy that cabin in the woods we dream about, then why bother? If people don’t value the thing we’ve poured our very souls into, then how will we ever be successful at it?

Here’s the thing, kids; we’re to blame for a lot of this undervaluing of books and writers. I know, we don’t want to be, but we are. First, we write for free all the time. We give away books like crazy and we write content for whoever will publish it. Yes, DO give free copies to book bloggers and established reviewers. Those people are the reason your name is on anyone’s lips and most of them do it for nothing except a copy of the book. They spend a ridiculous amount of their personal time reading and writing reviews, because they love books and want to share the stuff they love with others. So, I want to be clear, the freebies I’m talking about are the ones we give random people because we think we have to in order to get the word out, and they offer nothing in return. Stop. If you’re offering a freebie to every Twitter follower (stop with the DM’s by the way. Annoying.), you won’t make money. Stop that. If you’re subbing to publications that won’t even pay a token payment (five or ten bucks isn’t asking a lot, guys), you won’t make money. Stop that too. Put a monetary value on your work and don’t let anyone tell you it’s too much. Be strong, buddy. Treat freebies like kidneys. You only have so many of those, so be picky about who gets one.

Another issue we’ve helped create is the public perception of writers in general. We’re seen as lazy, mentally unstable types who prefer to be locked away somewhere away from society where we can waste hours contemplating the meaning of life or whatever. We’ve encouraged this. Some of us embrace it. It’s romantic and a little glamorous, right? Gives us a little mystique and what not. In reality, we should be showing people that we’re serious, intelligent, perfectly sane people who would love to go out with friends or talk about a pretty impressive range of topics, but we’re too busy juggling work, family and writing to make time for that. We’re too busy querying, getting rejected, marketing, getting rejected, editing, getting rejected, and so on. We’re passionate, hard working and determined and that has more value, in my opinion, than being mysterious.

We’ve let people believe it’s not hard to write. Anyone can string some words together and make sentences and paragraphs and tell a story. Don’t be afraid to tell everyone that the process of writing is hard work. It takes focus and dedication and discipline to churn out something WORTH paying for. Don’t let anyone sweep you under the stereotypical mat that so many of us have been stuck under for years. Show them you’re more than a caricature drawn for their amusement, and you’re definitely not lazy.

I see the idea of stepping up and speaking out has some of you like,

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I think we’re too afraid to offend others or defend our work, because god forbid we alienate potential readers. How many times has someone said something like, “Oh, you published a book? I was going to do that, but I don’t have the time” when they realize you’re an author. Or they’ve said something equally annoying that basically says writing isn’t that hard and anyone can do it. Yes, anyone can write a book, as I said. Anyone can publish a book. However, to write well is hard. Very hard. So, stop worrying about offending them and speak up. Chances are, if they don’t value you before you say your piece, they’re not going to do so no matter what you do or say, so fuck it. Tell them you don’t have the time to write a book either, but you make it, because it’s something you’re serious about and it’s something that’s important to you. Tell them to go ahead and try to write a damn book themselves. See how far they get, because it’s not easy. Most of these people will get a chapter or so in and be all “Damn, this is hard. I don’t want to do it.” And they’ll quit.  Tell them that writing is about more than just telling a story. It’s about more than vomiting words on a page and slapping a cover on it. It’s about characterization, dialogue, setting, atmosphere and tension. It’s about choosing the right words, and the right amount of words, and arranging them in a way that draws the reader so far into what you’ve written, they forget that they’re reading for a while. It’s a craft that takes a long time to perfect. Actually, it’s never perfect, but only truly skilled and dedicated people, only WRITERS can do it well.

In this industry we’re trained to believe we’re not good enough as well, and we willingly go into the brain washing process. Hell, we ask to be part of it. We bathe in the negativity. We beg for the abuse. Why? It’s part of earning our stripes? What?

The process of getting published traditionally involves a shit ton of rejection. I don’t know if there’s another industry that requires people to eat so much humble pie. Maybe acting? I bet auditions suck ass too. Back to writing, though. From the first time we reveal ourselves as writers, we’re told we probably won’t do well. We probably won’t get published. We probably won’t make money. We should write for free to prove we’re good. We should write for free to establish an audience. We should beg to be read by agents. Beg to be read by publishers. Beg to be read by readers. Jump through this hoop and that, and then sacrifice a virgin on the second Saturday after the last full moon of summer, and maybe, just maybe, you’ll get a request for a full manuscript. Then wait six months to be rejected. Thank you very much. If we make it to published author land, we should be grateful for even the most negative review. At least they cared enough to write it, right? I mean, they could’ve just ignored us. Please, for the love of Christ, don’t ignore us.

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We willingly enter into that insanity, because this process has a purpose. It makes sense at first and I think every writer should experience it to some degree, because it’s meant to encourage you to learn and improve. It makes us say, okay, so this isn’t working, what can I change? You improve because if you don’t, the awful rejection continues. So, what happens when you realize that no matter how good you get, no matter how perfect you manage to be, you’ll STILL be rejected? You start to believe you’re not and never will be good enough, so when someone implies writing is easy or your work is overpriced, you think maybe they’re right. Maybe you just suck.

Stop all of that.

A lot of my longer fiction has taken YEARS to get to the point of publication. Some of it still isn’t ready and might never be. I’m sure many of you can say the same. How are years of your life not worth five bucks? How is it not worth ten bucks? I mean, really guys. Sure, what you’ve written isn’t right for that agent or that publisher. It doesn’t mean you’re worthless or your work is crap. Maybe you haven’t put enough time and energy into learning your craft, and you should work on that before querying said project again. Maybe it is good enough, though, and you just haven’t found the right home for it. Start something new, keep plugging away and don’t let the industry gremlins get under your skin or inside your head.

How do we get people to see that books are valuable and what we do is more than just a hobby? Well, I’ve thought about it a lot and I only seem to come up with one answer in the end:

Believe in yourself, kids. It’s the only way other people will do the same.

HOWL is Here!

Happy book birthday to me! HOWL, my latest horror novella, is finally here! Man, this book had some dramatic misadventures on its way to publication. Signed, then publisher closed, then signed again, then not signed, because shit happens. I think it just needed the perfect home, which is definitely with Unnerving. As I try to do with all new books, I’m going to give you a little back story on how it came to be.

First, though, the excitement of new book day has been mixed with some sadness. On Tuesday, we had to say goodbye to a beloved member of this family. [image error]

Bear, the sweetest boy of all the boys, has been with us for thirteen years. He arrived soon after we bought this house. My youngest was just two years old and doesn’t remember a time when Bear wasn’t snoring at the end of her bed. He fought hard for a year, but we had to let him rest and that was the hardest decision I think I’ve ever had to make. Bear was the same happy, loving guy right until his last breath, which kind of made it harder, but I’m glad my kids’ last memory of our boy is a good one.

So, that’s kind of making it weird to be excited. I am excited, but now and then I just cry for random reasons, which freaks the other dogs out. Man, dogs really get up under your skin. Don’t they?

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Okay, let’s talk about HOWL now. Where did I come up with this one? Well, HOWL is one of those stories that just kind of wrote itself. I’m sure the weather (it was winter when I wrote the first draft) played a factor in the setting. I wrote it during a ‘free write’ period, where I just start with a sentence and go from there. That sentence was later deleted, of course. because it was something like “It was a cold winter day and they could taste the snow in the air.” or something just as terrible.

I didn’t know what the monster would be in the first draft. I knew I wanted it to be a wolf-like creature, but I also wanted something “more” so it was a little different than the other wolf stories out there. I actually left the description out until a couple of revisions later, when I watched a documentary about bear attacks, and the person in the documentary said something about feeling hunted. I’m not sure why that triggered the monster that it did, but I immediately had a picture of it in my mind and went from there.

I’m really starting to enjoy writing these monster/creature stories. I have one more “in progress” and plans rolling around my head for another.

And as I said, HOWL had some dramatic moments in its journey to publication, so sad or not, I’m celebrating that it is finally out in the world. I hope everyone enjoys reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

PS: It makes a great beach read.

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Three friends, an empty fuel tank, a desolate dirt road, and a hike through the woods in the middle of a snow storm; what could go wrong?

Only everything.

A mysterious beast stalks Fred and his friends through the snow, forcing them to seek shelter with two strangers in a remote cabin.

 

The Return of The Ropers

This is a weird post. Well, maybe only I think it’s weird. You be the judge.

So, for a long time (at least a year), I’ve slept without dreaming, or I’ve at least not remembered my dreams. The past few weeks, though, I’ve had extremely vivid, very memorable dreams that make absolutely NO SENSE. Those are the best dreams, though, aren’t they?

Anyway, a couple of weeks ago, I had one of the weirdest dreams I’ve had since my recurring Ropers dream. I guess a little backstory is necessary for those of you who don’t know about the Ropers dream.

Does everyone know what Three’s Company is? Well here. https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0075596/

The Ropers were the landlords for a few seasons. Here they are:

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Now, this recurring dream I had started long after Three’s Company was cancelled, but we watched re-runs all the time, so maybe that’s what kept them alive in my memory. I never liked Mr. Roper. He was creepy. Anyway, the dream always started the same. I was visiting Jack, Janet and Chrissy (because we were besties, all right) and then the Ropers arrived, and everyone was terrified. Jack and Janet hid, but the rest of us, every single member of my family and a couple of close friends, were dismembered by the Ropers and stored in their refrigerator and/or freezer (this changed with each dream). The weird part is that despite being cut to pieces, we could still talk to each other, and in the refrigerator, we’d plot our escape before (hopefully) Mrs. Roper served us for dinner.

Jack and Janet work tirelessly to rescue us, even come to sit and talk now and then. I’m not sure why the Ropers don’t dismember them, but they don’t. I remember trying to change the dream. Hiding with Janet and Jack or running away, but I always end up a severed head in a Tupperware container in the Ropers’ ridiculously spacious fridge.

I was terrified of this dream. I often woke up with my heart pounding. I hated it and every time I was in it, I desperately searched for a way out. I had the dream for years. Sometimes I still dream about it, although now it’s different. One time we had cell phones in the refrigerator and I had to use my tongue to call 9-1-1. I know, odd. It’s odd.

My recent dream, though, was somehow more terrifying, probably because I think about it every time I wipe my ass.

What the….?

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Here it is: I’m in a dark, Colosseum-type place. The seats are packed, people are cheering and shouting, and me, my family, and a few people I don’t know are all tied to toilets in the center of a large arena.

Yes, toilets.

We are naked. We are dirty. The man standing in front of us is addressing the crowd first. I don’t remember what he says, but they like it, because the cheers are deafening. Behind him, several men in balaclavas face us. Each has a gun pointed at one of us.

The man tells us we can leave the place, if we do one thing: Wipe our asses properly.

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Yes, this is all we have to do. We’re all crying, a little shocked that our lives depend on ass wiping, but we obey. Everyone else is able to wipe to the man’s satisfaction, except me and another woman. She reaches in front of her, to wipe back to front, and her head explodes as a man shoots her.

Because we all know you do NOT wipe back to front.

Me? Well, for the life of me, I can’t reach around far enough to reach my fucking ass with the toilet paper, so I can’t demonstrate a proper wipe. My kids are encouraging me, the crowd is jeering, I’m freaking out, the man points his gun at me, I try so hard to reach, but I just can’t with my suddenly Tyrannosaurus Rex-sized baby arms, and the man says, I have ten seconds to complete the task, and then I wake up.

Yep. It’s happened twice since that first night and I wake up terrified.

I know how to wipe my ass, guys. Why is it something I’d dream about? I’m sure a therapist-type might have a field day with the meaning behind my ass-wiping anxiety in the dream, but I’m just going to go with “I’m clearly stressed out about something.”

The other recurring dream I’ve had recently involves walking. I just keep walking. In the dream, I’m anxious about where I’m going. I don’t know where, but it’s important I get there immediately, but I can’t, because the fucking road never ends. Getting to my destination, though, is like “my life depends on it” important. Along the road I’m walking on, which is a highway in the middle of nowhere, with fog rolling in and birds flying overhead, I find strange things. I pick them up and keep them, but I’m stressed because I’m running out of room in my pockets for said items. I don’t know why I have to pick them up, but I do.

The weird part is, the items wouldn’t actually fit in a real life pocket. I find a dead raccoon. In my pocket he goes. Squishy guts and all. Then I find a broken knife. In the pocket with the roadkill. I find a dog poop bag, empty, thank God. In the other pocket. Thick fog rolls in sometimes at this point, and I find something I can’t identify or don’t recall what it is. I remember it’s a large, square lump, but that’s all I can remember about it. In the pocket it goes.

Then I find old cigarette butts, a pair of women’s underwear (granny panties, to be exact) and a tire.

Yes, a fucking TIRE. I put it all in my pockets and keep walking. The items change sometimes. I remember once putting a broken beer bottle in my pocket, and it hurt the whole time I walked after that. I picked up a dime too, but I can’t remember if that was every time I had the dream or just once.

I don’t know why this is terrifying, but the whole time, I’m desperate to get to where I’m going and I’m panicking because my pockets are running out of room for all the garbage I find along the way.

So, there you have it.

I’ve had other strange dreams, but I only remember snippets of those. Not even enough to say what they might have been about. These two have recurred a few times, and I wrote down every detail when I woke up, because they were so fucking strange.

What I wonder, though, is not whether I’ve lost my fucking mind, but why do I keep picking up the garbage on the road? Is it a metaphor? A message? Should I stop eating junk food before bed?

While I’m not thrilled when I wake up all scared and shit, I do welcome the return of the fucked up dreams. It means my creative juices (yes, I said juices) are flowing at top speed again. If the rest of my family (animals included) would give me the time and space needed, my writing mojo might just return at full force.

I’ll keep you posted.

Higher Learning & Other News

 

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In just a few days, Higher Learning will be unleashed into this world. (May 6th!!!) As always, let’s take a minute to talk about the inspiration behind this story.

In Tweed, we used to have three schools; a Catholic school for grades Kindergarten through 8, a primary public school for grades Junior Kindergarten to 3 and across the road from that, a middle grade public school for grades 4 through 8. A few years ago, the two public schools were torn down and a new school built for all grades. While it was a much-needed upgrade, it still makes me a little sad. I guess, at least, my girls got to attend the same school I did for their primary grades, right? Or is that sad too? I don’t know.

Anyway, while the new school was a good thing, there were some cranky pants around town that didn’t think it was a good way to spend taxpayer dollars. Most of the cranky pants don’t actually pay taxes or have kids, but we won’t discuss that. “Why not fix up the old schools?” they asked. “It’d be cheaper than building a brand new one.” In reality, it wasn’t cheaper to fix the old schools. It probably would’ve cost a lot more, because they were OLD. The primary school had asbestos issues (I heard), and two schools required more staff, so in the long run, one new school was the most cost-effective way to go.

The bitching and moaning of some parents never left my thoughts, though. They were more upset than they needed to be, in my opinion. I often wondered what they thought was going to happen. Why did it bother them so much that their kids would be going to a modern school with all the bells and whistles that involves? Some of them acted like there was a conspiracy at play.

Later, I had an idea for something involving a siren-type character, but I didn’t want it to be the typical sexy beast lures men to their death kind of story, so I didn’t write it immediately. I let it marinate for a while. As I played around with a few ideas, the school conspiracy thing slipped into my musings and I thought, what if a supernatural being controlled our kids? What if there really was something sinister behind the construction of that school?

Hmmm….

While we didn’t get a new principal or shiny new mystery man, some of the changes the parents in the story deal with, such as not being able to just roam the school freely, were the same.

That’s basically where HIGHER LEARNING originated. Of course, I made some tweaks in each revision. Refined the idea, added this or that. The kids were the key to the horror elements. I mean, you can’t go wrong with creepy kids, right?

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Anyway, you can pre-order your signed copy of HIGHER LEARNING from Unnerving now. There are only 50 copies available, so once they’re gone, that’s it.

And the rest of the year is filling up fast. On May 15th, Aphotic Realm will be releasing its APPALACHIAN HORROR anthology, which includes my story, TRESPASSER, along with tales from several talented authors. Get that too.

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On June 27th, I’ll be releasing HOWL as well, via Unnerving.

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Finally, in September, THE ONE YOU FEED will be released. Oh my God, I’m excited to share this one with the world, and immensely nervous. I’ll write more about that as the release date approaches.

So, that’s it, I guess. Come back next week so we can talk about where the hell I came up with the shit that happens in HOWL.

 

Winter is Over. Someone Tell Mother Nature.

So, Spring is just around the corner (despite the freezing rain outside telling me otherwise), and I am emerging from the cold, dark funk of Winter. What have I accomplished with all of those days indoors, avoiding the outside? I’ve got a lot of things started, but nothing really finished. Sure, a few short stories are done and I’m subbing them, but nothing “book” length that’s ready to go. This has never happened to me before.

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I know, I’ve got books coming out, but I like to think long term. It’s always more satisfying to know you’ve got a few things laying around for the next year, just in case. I do, but then what about the year after that?

Wait, I’ve got two… but those don’t count, because reasons.

Oh, poor me, right? But I really get anxious about these things. I usually finish at least one novel or a couple of novellas over the winter months, and I do have some pretty cool projects at the half-way point, but I’ve been having a hard time focusing on them for long enough periods to make any significant progress.

What’s different? Well, puppies, basically. Just when Quinn was starting to be the best boy ever, we decided to get Teddy. He’s taking a little longer to get to best boy status.

I’m hoping that Spring and all the fresh air and better behaved dogs (Teddy is in that awesome adolescent “I’m gonna be a dick all the damn time” stage, but he’ll come out of it soon, I’m almost certain) will inspire me to buckle down and get to work on these WIP’s, but then, it’s also got me thinking about the numerous drafts I wrote last year and didn’t do anything with…

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What I need is a plan. Something to force me to sit down and just get at it. I used to write very early in the morning before anyone else was awake or late at night, but now the dogs are up at 4am. Every. Fucking. Day. I’d have to get up at 2am to do that, but I’m willing to bet Teddy (who wasn’t intentionally named after Ted Bundy, but man, he’s showing some real similarities) would decide that’s the new wake up time and I’d still be here, not really getting anything done and being really fucking tired. I could stay up later, but there’s no sleeping in, no naps, so that could be bad for everyone. Like, crime scene bad, so maybe not the best solution.

Writers out there, what do you do to focus yourselves? I can’t do the quiet space without any distractions, so I need alternatives.

For now, I’m just going to keep stealing time here and there and I’ll play the waiting game. Eventually, these new family members will behave as the old ones did and won’t require 24-hour supervision.  And eventually, I’ll get my shit together and magic will happen.

Also, there will be no more dogs. Not even really cute, fluffy ones that make my heart melt.

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PS: There are limited copies available, so don’t forget to pre-order my Midnight Snacks chapbook, HIGHER LEARNING from Unnerving before May 6th!

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A new school and a new principal has everyone in Maisie Davis’s small town excited. The thrill fades as their children start acting like studious, obedient robots who would rather kill than miss a single day of class.

Publishing Update: Staying Positive

So, let’s be positive today. Tuesday’s a good day for positive thoughts, right? Sure it is. The week hasn’t had time to truly fuck you over and you’re still drifting on the leftover chill from the weekend, so all hope hasn’t been lost. Great time for optimism.

I read somewhere that a good acceptance rate on submissions is about 10%. That means 1 in every 10 stories you sub gets accepted. I thought I was at or near that line for the most part, but I’d never actually done the math. Well, this morning I did and I was pleasantly surprised. I was also surprised to learn that I haven’t subbed as often as I thought.

I’ve only been tracking submission since mid-2016, so I can’t say what my averages were before that. In 2016, I only recorded 29 submissions. I think it was more like 40, but I can’t be sure. Anyway, I went crazy in 2017, because I wasn’t working as much, and subbed a whopping 82 times. It dipped again last year, because I was working A LOT, and I was only at 33. This year, so far, I’ve subbed to 11 places. I think that’s a good start and maybe I’ll be closer to 100 by December, unless I get depressed and say fuck it and ignore publishing entirely for a month or more like I sometimes do.

Anyway, between then and now, my average acceptance rate is around 15%, although this year I’m at 18% and we’re just starting. (I hope that’s a good sign) So, I’m above this average that someone made. Even if it’s a bullshit figure made up by someone who knows nothing, I’m happy to be above average according to one person.

But the main point of this post is my little announcement. In case you missed my previous announcement, my story HIGHER LEARNING, will be published by Unnerving in May, 2019, as part of its MIDNIGHT SNACKS chapbook series. This is a limited series, which means only so many copies will be available to buy, so pre-order now to reserve yours.

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But wait. There’s more.

I’ve been working on a book for a really long time. Like, way longer than I’ve ever worked on anything else. It’s a long book, about 110,000 words. Originally, the bad boy was over 150,000 words, but I chiseled away at it for about SIX FUCKING YEARS to get it to a more manageable length. It is close to my heart for many reasons, including the many hours I spent weighing every word, evaluating every scene, trying to decide which could stay and which had to go.

I’ve talked about this book here before, because it’s tormented and obsessed me for a long time. It’s a special project. My original intention in writing it was therapy. Yes, therapy. I was following my mentor’s advice to write something close to my heart in order to get in touch with the feelings I usually try to avoid. Only when you understand and stop fearing such things can you make someone else feel them, he said.

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So, I wrote the damn thing. I took all the ugly and disgusting shit we usually try to purge from our memories and I threw it all in there. I hated every minute of the first draft. There were even tears!

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I know, it’s horrible to even think about it. Then on to the rewrite. A few beta reads later, I realized I had something really good, even if it was full of purple prose and an embarrassing amount of overwritten scenes. The beta readers reported, after their critiques and editing suggestions, that it was a story that punched them in the gut, all for different reasons. Some of them were so angry they had to put the book down for a while. Some felt sad or disgusted, and some, at the end, felt hopeful. All the feelings! And they all had to keep reading to the end. Isn’t that what we strive for? Yes, it is.

As the rejections rolled in, the most common feedback I received was that it was “too commercial” for the places I was subbing to. “Too mainstream.”

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I fought it, but finally, I said, “You write horror. Stop trying to make this something else.” One last brutal rewrite, cut another 20K words or so, add a scene here or there, take a few characters in a new direction, and voila! Submit again with the obligatory oath about publishing myself if this doesn’t pan out…

Guess what? You probably already caught on to what’s happening here. “THE ONE YOU FEED” will be published, by Unnerving, at the end of June, 2019. And in case you didn’t notice, I’m so fucking excited about this. This novel is important to me, as you probably guessed. I guess we all have a favorite. Up until now, I’ve hesitated to choose one, but it’s definitely one I’m most proud of for many reasons.

Of course, you guys might hate it and then I’ll be over here like, “Well shit…”

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It’ll still be a favorite, because I learned so much about myself and about writing during its constant edits, but I’ll still be devastated if no one likes it as much as I do.

What’s my point? I’m not bragging. Those numbers aren’t really brag-worthy, after all, and that’s a really long time to have a novel floating around one’s hard drive.

I’m saying chin up. It’s usually better than you think it is, and as long as you’re seeing some success, you’re doing it right. Trust your gut. I knew, I mean, I KNEW this book was different than others. Despite constant rejection, I kept editing. Every time I learned something new, I applied it to this book, while I’ve completely abandoned all hope for others. I never stopped trying to figure out how to make it better. And now, here we are.

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So, keep going. Keep learning. Don’t ever think you know it all, because you never will. Change shit if you need to, take advice and criticism, and keep writing. Eventually, you’ll get there, or you’ll get close, and that’s pretty impressive too.

Tomorrow is Wednesday, so all of this positivity will probably be dried up and I’ll start being terrified of people actually reading this book. I’ll just enjoy the high while it lasts. You should too, because shit could get pretty dark around here…

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Why Horror?

Today, I want to discuss “Why horror?” Why do I write it? Why do I love reading it and watching it? Why would I want to write about things that are fucked up, weird and/or terrifying? I’m a nice girl. Got a nice family and a pretty good life. Why would I want to bother with all that ugly shit?

Well, why do you all want to read it?

I could just say, “I write horror, because I love it.” It’s more than that, though. No matter what genre I write in, the weird, dark edge of the horrific seems to find its way in. Why is that?

For me, it’s not always about scaring the reader. It’s about making them feel something. Anything. It’s also about making me feel something. It’s easy in this digital world of “The Quiet Observer” to look at ugly shit and be all “Meh, doesn’t affect me” and move onto something else. We’re bombarded with news that’s just horrible and people that are the worst of the worse when we go online. I turn away most of the time, to be honest. It gets to be too much so I just block all that stuff. Doing that, though, creates a sort of numbness inside. Horror brings back the sensations and forces me to deal with the reasons why I feel the need to block the negativity. It makes me ask myself why I don’t want to look at it. What am I so afraid of?

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Horror often explores the worst; the worst in people, the worst day ever, the worst-case scenario. It takes those things we’re too afraid to examine, because who wants to invite trouble, and shines a spotlight on them. This lets us experience negative feelings and situations in a safe way. I’ve always been one of those “What would I do if?” kind of people. It’s a game I’ve played my whole life. If someone broke into my house, what would I do? If I was walking my dogs and was confronted with some kind of monster (human or otherwise) would it be better to run or fight? What about my poor dogs? (They’re not fighters, by the way. They’re totally lovers.) If the zombie apocalypse actually happened, what would I do? If aliens invaded, would they even care about Tweed? After much thought, I’ve decided my location ensures that I’ll probably be one of the last people affected by such an event.

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Anyway, I think it’s just part of being human to want to explore these kinds of things, although we’d never want to actually be in those situations. Sort of a self-preservation thing. If we know what not to do, maybe we’d survive an axe murderer or a werewolf, because horror helped us look at it from all sides. It helps diminish some of the fear that comes with the unknown. At the very least, being a horror fan makes you less likely to freak the fuck out over an alien invasion. You’d be more like, “I’ve been preparing my whole life for this,” or “I knew it would happen,” than “OMG, we’re all gonna die!” (Even if you’re pretty sure we’re all gonna die.)

Most importantly, though, I love that horror can be used to force us to confront ourselves. Not the selves we think we are, but the real us we’re afraid we might be. By exploring topics and themes too taboo for everyday conversation, horror shows us who we are and what we’re truly afraid of. For me, I wonder if there’s really some all-powerful being out there. If there is a God, is it making decisions for us or are we just some kind of experiment in whatever designed to amuse it? Why does it let awful things happen to good people? Maybe God isn’t on our side. What if we’ve got it all wrong? We could be like rats stuck in a maze, with some all-powerful deity fucking around to determine when we’ll self-destruct.

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What if there’s nothing out there? Is there life after this? Or is dead just dead?

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I’m also afraid of being different, yet I don’t want to be the same. I want people to “get” me, but I don’t want to be just another cog, if you know what I mean. I want to be different enough to stand out, but not too much. I’m afraid I’m wasting my time, spinning my wheels, going in the wrong direction, moving too slow, too fast, and I’m afraid that it’s all pointless in the end anyway, because

This.

Is.

It.

I’m afraid of the dark, but I’m not real crazy about the light either. I fear that guy walking behind me, but I’m more worried about the one I don’t know is there. I’m afraid that this raging lunatic lurking inside of me isn’t just a side effect of hormones and/or environment. It’s just me. (yikes) I uncomfortable with people who get too close when they talk. I’m uncomfortable looking a stranger in the eyes for too long, and I’m afraid I know too little, but I’m also scared of knowing too much. I’m afraid of looking stupid, but I try not to be too smart. People don’t like smart. I’m afraid of failing, but success is also kind of daunting.

The real me is a pretty big mess.

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When I was a kid, I feared almost everything. I was so shy that the idea of meeting just one new person or going into any new environment was enough to make me physically ill. It wasn’t until I started reading horror, beginning with Stephen King, that the fear became something I didn’t have to be ashamed of. I welcomed it, and it faded away. I guess it’s all part of that worst-case scenario stuff. Once I realized nothing will ever be as bad as what I’d imagined, it didn’t seem so intimidating. I’m still afraid of a lot of things, but writing horror has put them into perspective.

I know a few people who would say this means I’ve become desensitized, or that writing horror and reading/watching it has made me blind or indifferent to violence and other negative, awful things. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. I’m extremely sensitive to the ugly shit out there. I’m too aware of it sometimes. I have to shut it off now and then or I’m pretty sure I’ll just give up on this messed up world.

And then there’s the “otherness” factor. Let’s be honest; we’re all kind of drawn to the “others” in society. The freaks. The psychos. The folks on the fringes who make our skin crawl a little. They make us feel normal, good even. And horror lets us look at that “otherness” and imagine maybe our “otherness” isn’t so bad. That reminds me of another reason horror is so great; writing horror has given me an appreciation for the good in life. Because I’m so aware of the dark stuff, when I see something good or experience something positive, I suck all the warm fuzzies from it that I can, because, sadly, we don’t get to do that as often as we should. I know how bad it could be, because I’m always thinking about all the things that can go wrong, so it’s actually easier to find the bright side of a shitty situation. Stay positive and all that.

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Finally, I write horror because fear is one of the purest, most intense emotions we experience, and that is awesome. Without fear we can’t be courageous. Without fear, we’re not as motivated to change. When you’re comfortable with everything and everyone, you’re just there. Floating around, being all happy and shit, and what gets done? Nothing. That’s what.

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Horror can spark feelings that linger long after you close the book. It tickles the recesses of your mind at the strangest times, without warning, without reason, and it never really goes away. I love that. Why would I want to write anything else?

Let’s Write the Damn Story, Girls

Women in Horror Month is upon us. I think it’s kind of cool that it’s my birthday month as well. It’s also the shortest month…

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But wait. This month isn’t about setting aside twenty-eight (or twenty-nine) measly days to celebrate the accomplishments we’ve made in horror, because we can do that every day. We don’t need no stinking month to tell the world how fabulous we are.

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For me, Women in Horror Month is a reminder of how lucky I am to be a part of this community and it’s a way to thank the ladies who painstakingly cleared the path for the rest of us, because the women who came before us started at the bottom, literally. It’s easy to lose sight of how far we’ve come, so this month, for me, has become an opportunity to reflect and take stock of everything I have achieved and everything I want to achieve.

But if we want to keep chugging along at our current speed, ladies, we need to take ownership of some of the problem that is gender inequality in this industry.

What?! We’re not the problem!

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No, we didn’t create the problem, but we really are our own worst enemies sometimes, and I’ll explain. This isn’t a blaming thing. It’s not a “go easy on the guys thing” either. I just want to give anyone who needs it a little kick in the ass, so here goes.

Part of the reason we still have reluctant readers is because a lot of us still don’t believe our work is as valuable as the guys’. Whether it’s because of bad experiences or assholes we’ve encountered doesn’t matter. We doubt ourselves. We doubt our ability. Hell, we doubt the ability of other women. We seek validation to the point of driving ourselves crazy, when what we should be doing is writing the damn story.

We’re overthinking it. Who will buy our books and love them, despite the fact they’re written by a girl? We’re thinking about what other women will think. We’re thinking about what the guys will think. We’re thinking about what’s right and what’s appropriate for our gender and we’re making sure we don’t stereotype or betray our female colleagues, while still trying to appeal to the testosterone crowd. God, it’s so tedious. I don’t know about the rest of you, but while writing other genres, this destructive thinking never happened to me. Since I’ve embraced horror writing, though, it’s become a vicious cycle I can’t seem to stop repeating now and then. Being constantly reminded that I’m a so-called “underdog” hasn’t helped, of course, but my doubt is also thanks to a mindset I’ve taken on myself that is basically saying “I must show them all!”

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It takes my focus away from the story. Part of me is all “I have to write what men will read to prove I’m just as good as they are.” Another part says if I can’t be a woman writing about things women care about, then I’m a traitor. What’s the point of it all if I betray my girls? I have to force myself to remember the story is the important thing here.

Let the story play out the way it needs to play out or you’ll just sabotage yourself. For example, I have held onto a manuscript for a really long time, mostly because I’m terrified of how readers of each gender will receive it. There. I’ve admitted it. After subbing it in the early days, the feedback was… well, not great. The writing was fantastic,  I was told, the story a punch to the gut, but it was “too much” for mainstream, but it wasn’t enough to label it as literary. My translation of that feedback: it sucks. Get rid of it.

I’ve rewritten this thing a million times, taken out inflammatory bits, added a thing here and there to placate certain readers, but I keep going back to the original, because that is the story that needs to be told, not the one that softens edges in order to protect feelings. It could have been subbed again, possibly published, ages ago, but my self-destructive thinking has kept it on my hard drive for more than five years. I keep coming back to it, though. This year, I finally stopped being a wimp and it’s out on submission again. It may be rejected, which is fine. It’s a huge step for me to send it out again, as it is, sharp edges and all, and that’s enough.

Write the damn story.

We have nothing to prove except that we write well. Not that we write as well as a man. Not that we write well for a girl.  We just write well, because we’ve worked hard to get where we are, and we deserve every opportunity we’re given.

Don’t let gender determine what you write and what you don’t write. Don’t let it determine what you read. Isn’t that what we’re working toward? Isn’t that the whole foundation of equality? We want to be viewed as people. As writers. We don’t want what’s in our pants to play a role in any of it.

So, here’s your kick in the ass:

Stop worrying over whether you’re being true to your gender.

Stop trying to please everyone.

Stop trying to prove something that doesn’t need proving.

Write for the genre.

Write for yourself.

Just. Fucking. Write.

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I’m Not Toxic, You Are

I’m a little late to this discussion, because I was trying to stay out of it. But then I realized staying out of it is part of the problem. It’s never too late to discuss this kind of thing anyway, right? Sure.

Now, let’s talk about that Gillette ad.

Toxic masculinity. What the fuck is that?

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I can hear all the “nopes” already. For those of you who stuck around to read more, thanks. Let’s continue. First, toxic masculinity doesn’t mean being manly or masculine is bad. It doesn’t apply to all men either. Toxic masculinity is what happens when we teach our boys that they have to be tough all the time or that expressing emotion is feminine, which means they’re weak. It’s teaching our boys and our girls that violence means power and that emotional “toughness” is strength. It’s not an attack on men or masculinity. It’s directed at a cultural norm we’ve created that negatively affects both men and women.

“What about toxic femininity?” I’ve heard over and over again. “If one exists, so does the other. Women are bad too, you know.”

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Good point. If toxic masculinity is telling boys they can’t be kind or sensitive, some believe toxic femininity must be telling girls they can’t be strong or aggressive. They must be soft. They must be obedient. They must not threaten what we’ve made our boys into, or violence will ensue, and it will be their fault, not the man’s.

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Toxic femininity is a term used when women are abusive toward others. We usually do this in less obvious ways than using our fists, so it’s not always easily identifiable. Toxic femininity uses society’s misconceptions of what feminine means to control the people in their lives. Passive aggression, emotional manipulation, and threats of self-harm, playing up the role of the victim, when no victimization is occurring, for example, are toxic behaviors. When women use the way that men have been raised, whether that way is right or wrong, to control or exert power over them, we are being toxic. When we view other women (more importantly other women who don’t share our beliefs and/or values) as adversaries, that’s toxic. When we make men feel like ‘less than’ simply because they’re men, that’s toxic.

Yes, toxic behavior doesn’t just apply to one gender. It’s a “human” disorder and last time I checked, most of us can say we’re human.

Some of you still feeling attacked? Maybe you disagree. Maybe you think this is all liberal nonsense aimed at making us all into touchy feeling pussies who hate all straight men and dream of a world run by women, for women.

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Let’s try another approach.

Toxic masculinity is NOT:

Men enjoying traditionally masculine things, like sports, rough housing, barbecuing, etc.
Men expressing an opinion that disagrees with someone else.
Men expressing negative feelings, such as anger or outrage, for legitimate reasons.
Straight men. Just because a man is sexually attracted to women doesn’t mean he is automatically bad or aggressive. He’s just straight.
Men flirting. Flirting is natural and it is harmless, as long as it stops when the subject of your interest makes it clear they’re not interested or uncomfortable.

Toxic femininity is NOT:

Women expressing anger or outrage for legitimate reasons. (We’re ALL entitled to express our feelings, as long as we’re not hurting someone else in doing so.)
Expressing an opinion that disagrees with someone else’s.
Women rejecting the gender roles assigned to us.  (Example: Mother, nurturer, lover, blah, blah)
Women wearing masculine clothes or clothes that “show off” their body.
Women flirting. Flirting is natural and it is harmless, as long as it stops when the subject of your interest makes it clear they’re not interested or uncomfortable.
Women who are gay or anything other than straight or who simply just aren’t interested. (In other words: just because a girl isn’t sexually attracted to men (or a man) doesn’t mean she hates men.)

Personally, I didn’t like Gillette’s ad. I felt like it was using an explosive issue to market a product, so the important message I’m sure was intended got lost. I just rolled my eyes and forgot about it until everyone started losing their shit. Whether the ad should exist or not, though, if you’re threatened or angered by someone asking you to be your best self, you need to do some serious self examination. I don’t care who is doing the asking or why, you should always want to be the best version of you that you can be, whether you’re a man or a woman.

I was surprised by the number of men who got all bent out of shape about the ad. I was shocked at WHO felt attacked. Men who (as far as I know) aren’t toxic, were angry and (sadly) dismissive of the whole concept of toxic masculinity. I was also surprised to see women (who damn well know better) misusing the term and applying it to any behavior/opinion from a male they didn’t like. All of this made me sad and I worry about what it means going forward.

So, once more, using the term toxic masculinity is not an attack on all men. If you’re a decent guy, masculine or not, you shouldn’t feel threatened by it. Toxic behavior is everyone’s burden. It belongs to the parents, both mothers and fathers, who teach their boys that being a man means you have to be physically and emotionally tough, or that emotion is unacceptable because it’s not “manly.” It belongs to those of you teaching boys that it’s okay to dominate ANYONE. It belongs to the men and women in the workplace, who witness sexual harassment, but look away. (Whether it’s a man harassing a woman or a woman harassing a man). We all have a role in changing toxic behaviors and part of that is not making excuses for it or ignoring its existence.

And just because toxic femininity exists doesn’t mean we don’t have a problem with toxic masculinity. Saying “well sure, this is wrong, but look what you guys are doing” doesn’t excuse someone else for being an asshole. If an asshole jumped off a cliff, would you jump off a higher cliff just to spite them?

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So, how does one know if they’re being toxic?

If you think you’re right or “know better” simply because you are a man or a woman and the other person isn’t, that’s toxic.
If you are using physical force to oppress/control/punish someone else, that’s toxic.
If you are using emotional shit (withholding sex and/or affection, making threats, accusations, etc.) to get what you want, also toxic.
If you view another person as “less than” simply because of their gender, sexual orientation, religions, whatever, that’s toxic.
If you manipulate anyone in a way that gives you more power, more control or more whatever it is you are trying to get, and removes power from the other person, again, that’s toxic.
If you are using your vagina to get something, rather than earning it, you are toxic.
If you’re using your dick to get something, rather than earning it, you are toxic.
If you’re a selfish piece of shit who cares more about your needs and your satisfaction than anyone else’s, whether you love them or barely know them, you are toxic.

Basically, instead of focusing on gender stereotypes or dividing behaviors into male or female categories, and saying things like what’s good for the goose, blah, blah, blah, let’s agree that EVERYONE should strive to be decent human beings, period.

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Stop manipulating and trying to control people you’re supposed to care about. Let’s stop hating and/or blaming others for what’s wrong in the world and, instead, let’s work on changing the worst parts of ourselves so that we’re all better. Raise our boys to be strong, sensitive, decent people, and raise our girls to be strong, sensitive, decent people.

And when someone asks you to be better, don’t get mad. Just do it.

 

Got Time?

As I said in my new year post, it’s time for a change. I also said I’d explain, so here I am. Explaining.

I have to do something drastic to force myself out of the hole I’ve somehow fallen into. For more than a month, I’ve been almost at a standstill in terms of writing. I’m still writing regularly, but nothing worth talking about and definitely nothing I’ve actually finished. This is unlike me. I usually complete short stories in a day, although editing goes on indefinitely. Knowing that I’ve got these unfinished things floating around drives me nuts.

The problem is time.

I know, I’ve always said you can find time to write, and that’s true. If you want it enough, you will find time somewhere, and I do. Five minutes here. Twenty minutes there. Sometimes a whole hour. Here’s the thing, though; my brain doesn’t like this piecemeal approach to writing at all. I need time to get into it. I need more than five or twenty minutes. Sometimes I need more than an hour. I have to get my head in the right place first, and then I can write like nobody’s business.

What happened? Where has my time gone?

Well, work, for one. And my job isn’t mentally demanding. It’s not usually long hours or anything like that. However, whether I’ve worked a five-hour shift or a nine-hour one, I have dogs, cleaning, dinner, and whatever else wasn’t done because I was gone to take care of. By the time I’ve dealt with all of that, it’s past six or seven, and I’m tired, because I’m up very early. I also get called in to cover shifts a lot, so a day I think is my own turns into a work day more often than I’d like. I don’t adjust well when my “plan” for the day is disrupted. That’s not happening as much now, because I’ve been an asshole and I say no occasionally. When it does happen, I try to write at the end of the work day, but editing is all I’m good for in the evening. I’ve realized that now. So, fine. I edit. That’s still something. I’d get up earlier, and I do, to write before work, but some shifts start at 5am. I just don’t have it in me to get up much earlier than 4am.

The other issue is dogs. For years we had pets, two dogs and a cat, who were used to my routine and I was used to theirs. When you have senior dogs, you know what they’ll do and when (most of the time) and you can schedule around that. And then Harley and Dill passed away. I had tons of time for about a day. After all, I only had Bear, the sweetest boy ever to take care of.

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Then we got the kittens, Freya and Atlas. Cats aren’t demanding, you might say. Well, kittens ARE. These ones are. We didn’t get the cats that don’t require attention. We got one anxiety-ridden, affection starved mess (that’s Atlas) and one lunatic that searches for trouble (that’s Freya) and if she can’t find it, she’ll make her own.

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They look so peaceful, there, don’t they? It’s a ruse. Don’t buy it.

And soon after, we got Quinn, who is a beautiful and mostly behaved boy.

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He really is a great dog. However, he’s needy. He has to know you love him on an hourly basis. It took a year, but I got us both on a schedule that mostly worked. He became predictable and the cats became less needy.

And then Teddy came along.

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Many times I wonder what we were thinking. I mean, this little guy is BUSY. And he’s not as easy to train as Quinn was. (I should mention Quinn is an exceptional dog. We really got lucky. Teddy is a typical puppy. He’s not bad. He just has a hard time being good.) So, since around Christmas, I haven’t slept much and my days are spent screaming “No! Don’t eat the cat! Give me that bra! Ow! Stop eating my feet! Don’t pee there! Outside!” and so on. Sigh.

But we did that to ourselves. We wanted more animals, because we’re masochists who love a fuzzy face and a wagging tail. Teddy will settle down and all will be okay eventually.

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But I still have a third issue. Demands I’ve put on myself that I just can’t meet anymore. For one, Deviant Dolls. The original intention was that DDP would be a collaborative effort. A group of authors joining together to cross promote each other and other dark fiction authors. In the end, though, the effort turned into a one or two person thing most of the time, sometime three people, and it just hasn’t been effective. I share as much blame as anyone, if we’re tossing that around, but I’d rather not. It is what it is. The bottom line is, I can’t give time I don’t have to something that’s giving me little to nothing in return.

Writing takes time. Editing and marketing and all that other stuff takes more time. Submitting to publishers takes time too. If I do one, I have no time for the others. It’s tough to decide which thing I’m doing each day, because I need to do all of it consistently. I must get my shit together.

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So, what changes have I made?

First, Deviant Dolls as it is today (a collective of authors) will no longer exist. I’ve given this thing at least an hour (often more) every single day for a couple of years. Marketing each member of the group, coming up with new ideas for promotions and blog posts, remembering to tweet this or that, scrolling through social media so I don’t miss a single thing going on in each member’s publishing life, and remembering to engage readers and make shit fun. It’s exhausting, but I enjoyed it, so it wasn’t hard to devote precious time and resources to that instead of my own work. But I can’t keep doing that, even if it breaks my heart to give up. I want to reinvent my idea into something more manageable and effective, so it’s not disappearing entirely. I just have to figure out a better way to achieve what I hoped to achieve back when I started it. For now, Deviant Dolls is on pause.

Second, I cut my work hours. I’m very lucky that I have a partner who also works hard and earns enough for me to stay home. I won’t stay home, though, because I discovered having something of my own is important to me. Yes, writing is something of my own, but I also need a reason to put on pants and be around people. So I’m not quitting. Just cutting back to a few days a week. I will learn to say no. Promise.

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Third, the animals. Teddy won’t be a puppy forever, but I can’t control the time he and his “brothers” need either. I just have to wait that one out. Like children, pets deserve all the love, and if they need attention, it’s on us as their ‘parents’ to give it. We brought them into our home after all. They didn’t just arrive, begging for food and shelter. Maybe, though, instead of getting puppy snuggles when they nap (and stealing a nap for myself), I’ll write instead.

Finally, I’m going back to daily short story writing. Not exclusively, but for the most part, my goal will be to finish at least one short story a week, while working on a single longer project in between. I will also devote at least part of one day every week to submissions and another to promotional stuff (like scheduling tweets, writing book reviews, and blog posts and such). That got me to where I am today, and I don’t know why I stepped away from a process that worked. I guess the ideas got too shiny to resist.

So, those are the changes I’m making. I’ll let you know how it works out or I’ll just spontaneously combust, and that’ll be the end of it.