C.E. Lemieux Jr.'s Blog

The Blemished Rose

The Blemished Rose was published on February 8, 2016 as an ebook on Kindle.  The paperback was published March 6th.  Elina’s story is a little different from the other novels I’ve published.  In fact, there are two stories within the novel.  One story takes the form of a fairy-tale, and the other follows Elina through the darkness of her journey.  The Blemished Rose is a story I’ve had in the works for quite a long time.  The original story began several years ago, and it has developed over time.  It keeps with the themes of life, love, and loss, but focuses on redemption.

With the publication of The Blemished Rose, I’ve made the decision to pause for a while.  There are six novels out there and that should keep anyone interested busy for the time being.  Publishing takes a certain amount of time and effort.  I find myself looking at numbers and not really enjoying the process.  I’ve told you that I’m terrible at marketing and self-promotion.  That leaves reviews to sell the books and reviews are hard to come by.  That being said, I do have other projects that I’ve started and will continue to write as I feel the calling, so I won’t rule out publishing in the future. But for the foreseeable future, The Blemished Rose will be the last published novel.

Additionally, this blog and the websites will also go away.  I’ll maintain a presence on Facebook, but it isn’t cost effective to continue to pay for the website and hosting.  I’ll be dumping Twitter as well (I never really enjoyed that anyway).  Until I feel the desire to publish again, I’ll be working on writing that one story every reader is looking for; the one they can’t stop taking about.  And I’ll be reading.  Thanks to all who have been supportive and encouraging.  Thank you for taking the time to offer reviews and opinions.  Thank you for reading my work.  Don”t forget to keep leaving your reviews for the published books and keep on reading.

Some Kind Of Life

-Prologue-

Life.  Death.  No matter who we are; no matter where we’re from; no matter our ethnicity or backgrounds; we share those two things in common.  Despite all our differences, we all have a beginning and an end.  That should be just enough common ground to get something started.  At least it would be if either one of them mattered.

I’d grown to become rather callus to both of these common denominators.  I guess it’s sad really.  I suppose in some way, I’d allowed myself to see life as somewhat mechanical.  We’re born; we eat, we live, we spread, and we die.  I even found it difficult to feel empathy towards others much more deeply moved by either event.

I’m a geek; a nerd; strictly driven by reality and facts, not nearly as controlled by emotion as my gender is stereo-typically considered to be.  I look at the numbers, and I see a sum.  Evolution explains my path, both past and present.  Not only could I accept that, I practically worshiped it.  It’s not much different you know, being compelled by science as opposed to religion.  Either one can consume.

My parents were products of the sixties; free thinkers, carefree and children of mother earth.  As far as I could tell, if they had any ounce of religious conviction, it had probably burned away between the teeth of a roach clip somewhere during their youth.  They taught me to think for myself or at least that’s what I believed.  Who knows?  Somewhere under all that free thinking, there always seemed to be some alternate agenda, a current dragging me along; influencing my thoughts much as the traditional beliefs against which they had railed.

Anyway, in my few young years on Mother Earth, I’d grown to see life as a function; just like watching bacteria grow in a petri dish.  Life ends, and we turn to dust, feeding the planet upon which we had fed.  It wasn’t much to get worked up about and if we all shared the same fate, what was the point in trying to prolong the experiment.

I saw these people all around me looking for everything from the fountain of youth to a cure for cancer, and I couldn’t for the life of me understand what was so darn important about adding another day.  It all ends people!

Callus, huh?  I didn’t see it that way.  To me it was merely a matter of facing the facts of reality.  Of course, that was before…before I met Cole.

http://www.amazon.com/Some-Kind-Life-Lemieux-Jr/dp/1492964840/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1451366918&sr=8-1&keywords=c.e.+lemieux+jr

Life As A Boot

There ain’t many places

as cozy as that box;

wrapped up in the paper,

the lid over the top.

But I got kinda lonely,

in that box on the shelf,

an’ I started a wishin’

I weren’t all by myself.

Then all of a sudden,

just outta the blue,

they pulled me from the dark,

and I discovered, “We’re two!”

Well, me and my partner,

we were put on display,

‘til in comes this cowboy,

to try us on, one day.

Lookin’ up at that cuss,

I was filled with such dread.

He was scrubby and rough.

Heck, he almost looked dead.

When he slipped in his foot,

there was just this one thought,

“Lord, I hope he put on

them new socks that he bought.”

We lived through that fittin’

and he took us on home,

slipped us under his bunk,

an’ left us there all alone.

Then Friday night comes –

he walks into the room –

he was all duded up,

like a flower in bloom.

“We’re goin’ out tonight.”

He says after a bit.

“There’s a dance tonight,

and I ain’t gonna sit.”

“We’ll dance with them fillies

‘til the cows start to roam,

an’ if we’re real lucky,

we might take one of ‘em home.”

Well sure enough,

he set out to shake a rug.

He screamed like a banshee,

and he squirmed like a bug.

He near wore our soles out

scootin’ ‘round there that night.

We fared okay, I guess,

but come mornin’ he was a sight.

When we wasn’t out dancin’

where he’d shake tail like a skunk,

he’d put us in that box,

and slip us back under his bunk.

Them was good times,

those nights out on the town.

We was lookin’ purty,

on the feet of that clown.

He’d scuff us all up,

with his two-steppin’ and swing.

Then polish and shine

the next day—first thing.

He’d wear us to rodeos,

or when sparkin’ a gal;

at church on most Sundays,

or out hangin’ with Sal.

He’d say, when he’d show us off

to the boys at the bar,

“Why, you can’t buy no better.

Look near here or far.”

But time passes quick like,

and before we could even tell,

we’d gone from “just for show”

to “I’ll wear ‘em down to hell!”

We moved from the box

to the corner of the room.

I got to feelin’ less like a boot,

and more like a broom.

It kinda hurt my pride.

I was too classy for this.

I was meant for show,

An’ a world of sweet bliss.

Then my ol’ pard,

who’d been mighty quiet ‘til then,

up and said somethin’

that made my heels start to spin.

“We’re boots for gosh sakes!

We’re made for work –

for ridin’ n’ ropin’

and for kicking up dirt.”

“We protect from critters,

varmints, and snakes.

We’re tough an’ durable.

We do whatever it takes.”

“Ever hear’d him say,

‘Tough as an ol’ boot’?

There’s a reason for that;

we weren’t made to scoot.”

“What we were made for –

well, we’re doin’ it now.

We was purty for a while,

but we gotta return to the cow.”

“That’s where we came from,

and that’s where we’ll go –

thru toil an’ sweat,

out in the sun an’ the snow.”

“We had fun for a spell.

We showed off our stuff.

Now it’s time we look past

all the shine n’ the fluff.”

“We work for a livin’.

We grind our toes in the sand.

We run down our heels,

and we walk across the land.”

“We’re just old boots,

an’ someday we’ll be old leather.

We’ll dry out and rot,

but we’ll be doin’ it together.”

“As time goes by

we’ll flake, peal, and crumble,

but through it all,

we’d do best not to grumble.”

Well, he put me in my place,

that ol’ pard of mine,

and for once in my life

I didn’t care for a shine.

I’m just an ol’ boot,

tough as my leather.

I’ll do my job proud,

but I won’t last forever.

–C.E. Lemieux, Jr.

Loving Deacon

PROLOGUE

Forgive me, if I begin with a bit of philosophy.  Being a simple hick, I’ve no doubt fallen short of being declared a scholar.  Yet, I do have certain ideas about life.  I’ve spent my fair share of time in ponder and perplexity, wrangling with life’s purpose and its meaning.  Even an old farm hand can gain a certain amount of respect for reflection.  The truth is, if a man spends enough time on this earth, he is sure enough going to burn off a few brain cells trying to figure out what in the world the Good Lord had in mind when He put him here.

Of course, there are those who believe life serves no purpose really, other than to perpetuate the species; to further evolve.  “For what?”  I ask.  If a man’s soul ends with his last breath, then what is the purpose; why bother with the journey?  What darned good is served by our existence?  Where is the need for peace and harmony?  Why not simply battle until the last man and be done with it?  Why waste time with progress, learning, pursuit, or honor?  There is no depth to these concepts without purpose.

If there is no beyond; if a man is merely another animal spreading his seed; if he simply returns to the dust at the end of his days; then the world and the universe would be better without him.  Following this school of thought, we would have to determine that without man’s progress there would be no need to argue over global warming; there would be no pollution, no plunder for the earth’s riches, and no damage to nature.  The battle for the fittest would continue and there would be no interference.  So why don’t we just drop the big bomb and let the earth carry on with its routine?

I’ll tell you why, because deep down inside, even the most skeptical individual seeks purpose.  He knows without it, nothing makes sense.  He doesn’t want to admit a need for it, but it’s there.  He’d never say a word to indicate he has thought about it, for the fact it would betray his false security in his ideas, but he has.  If he didn’t, he would have no drive to continue.  Why struggle?  Why endure?  Why face another day?  Because you must, if you are to find purpose.

So, what makes my opinion so special?  Nothing really, and I’d never attempt to impose it on any other individual.  I’m just a man; average in intelligence, education, and experience.  Yet, does that lessen the importance of what I have to offer or dismiss my personal authority to hold such an opinion?  Are the opinions and thoughts of the distinguished, scholarly, or politically motivated individuals the only ones which matter?  You decide.

My particular quest has led me to question just how one measures the importance of a man’s life.  Is one man really all that significant in the first place?  If there had been no Jefferson to write the Declaration of Independence, would someone else have written it?  Would it have accomplished the same purpose?  If Edison hadn’t invented the light bulb, would we all still be in the dark?  No, I don’t think we would be.  Surely such things would still have taken place: the discovery was there waiting for the discoverer.

Most of my life I wondered why I was here.  Did I have a mission?  Was I to serve some kind of purpose, or did I simply exist?  I’m a religious man, a believer if you will.  So, it wasn’t the questioning of the hereafter, which caused me to twist and turn.  It was the here and now–this life in the flesh, so to speak.  Having never been what some might consider a high achiever, I simply questioned my significance.  What is it that determines the overall success of a man’s journey?  Upon what scale might he place himself in an effort to establish his value?  Must he leave an indelible mark on humanity or history to prove his purpose?

It’s an easy thing to get lost in, when you think about it.  Look around us.  Look above us.  While stars and planets, with life spans which are nearly impossible to comprehend, spin in the paths they have followed for centuries upon centuries, the significance of a single human lifespan dwindles in comparison.  As a drop of water is to the ocean, or a grain of sand to the beaches of the earth, that one, lone individual, and his significance, seems to vanish in the overall vastness of existence; the expanses of the universe never knowing or seeing that he is or was.

In that respect, it is almost preposterous for us to believe the footprint of a man left in the dust of the moon, or the symbolism of his flagpole planted upon its shoulders, should offer creation reason to be bothered about his presence there; to take notice of it, or to recognize any significance in it.  And yet, in the eyes of humanity, it was an incredible achievement.

When viewed under a galactic microscope; when distilled and purified to a level of man’s understanding; that single, solitary life can reverberate upon the human cosmos, casting its ripples as a stone in a pond, affecting those nearest it first, and most significantly, and distributing an unknowing influence upon still others further beyond his perceptions.  We are as dominoes standing still and upright, forming a pattern upon a table, and each of us are affected by the movements of another.  Even those outside of his immediate presence may be touched, in some way, by the thoughts of a Washington, a Lincoln, or a King.  A Columbus, a Lewis, or a Clark may blaze our paths; the footsteps of an Armstrong may herald our own.  A father, a mother, or a neighbor may enhance our minds and perspectives, and we may become a person we would otherwise have never known.

Some men are famous because of what we perceived they have done.  However, none of them would have become famous if it were not for the context within which they found themselves.  For example, if there had been no dispute between the Colonies and Great Britain, would Washington’s leadership ever have been needed?  Therefore, perhaps it is not the splash of the frog in the pond that is the big event, but rather the ripples it sends out.

It is the search for such significance, for a purpose of being which often motivates a man, and just as often eludes him.  And in that search, contentment, I’ve learned, is most often claimed by those who come to recognize that their presence here served a purpose; a purpose which may be beyond their perspective, beyond the peripheral vision of life, and that the swell of their being moved upon human consciousness; sculpting the shores of existence, moving the sands of time; and refreshing the waters of life, driving from it the stagnation which occurs upon a motionless expanse.

This is the story of such a search.  It is the story of a man, who knew not where his purpose for existence could be found, and so he found purpose by worshiping another soul, in living for his family, and through the work which sustained their existence.  All worthy efforts, but a man who must depend upon others for his significance, is nothing alone.  And that is what I felt I had become, nothing and alone.  Yet, based upon my beliefs, it was impossible for me to be either.  So, what was I?  Where did I fit in the scheme of things?  What purpose did my life serve?

Please don’t misinterpret my confusion.  I’ve had a wonderful life.  The Lord has blessed me, and life has presented me with a beautiful opportunity: the opportunity to love and be loved.  I simply did not understand that this is enough.  I looked for more.  I felt I should have offered more.  And because I was unsuccessful at doing so, I believed I had failed.  But even at my age, I had much to learn.

Such are the fires of life, and they can be fierce.  They may scorch and burn; yet, they are necessary for the softening of our metal–that we may be molded, and for the strengthening of our temper–that we may stand the test of time.  I’ve faced the fires.  I am better because of them, and in spite of them, yet the scorching sting upon my heart still lingers, and will until my dying day.  This is my tale, a simple one to be sure; unknown to the world at large, but it exists nonetheless, as do so many others.

“When I consider thy heavens, the work of thy fingers, the moon and the stars which thou has ordained; what is man that thou art mindful of him? And the son of man, that thou visitest him?  For thou hast made him a little lower than the angels, and hast crowned him with glory and honour.”—Psalms 8:3-5

Copywrite 2011 CE Lemieux, Jr.

Loving Deacon on Amazon

Oh, Spring – Are you really here?

So, how’s the year treating you?  I know in my neck of the woods we’re ready for spring.  The winter hasn’t been all that harsh; certainly not as harsh as it has been in the northeast portion of the country, but it starts to wear on a person after a while.  Of course, we’d take those truckloads of moisture they’ve been hauling off up in the northeast any day.

The world has been frozen in grays and browns for months, and we are looking forward to the signs of green popping up through the ground.  Unfortunately, our area is prone to the tease of spring.  We get these little indications that the season is changing, the trees start budding out, and then spring runs a little further down the road leaving the buds covered in frost.  Today the tease seems to be forgotten as the birds chirp outside the window and the temperature grows to a pleasant eighty degrees.

For me, the coming of spring means baseball season is right around the corner.  Hopefully, my Rangers will have a better season.  Last year was a true disappointment after the accomplishments of the two previous seasons.  It also means it’s time to get the fishing gear ready.  That too was a disappointment last year.  We spent way too few days around a lake.  I definitely have to fix that this year.

Winter hasn’t been totally unproductive though.  I published The Ladder Climber in October and I’ve worked on several other novels over the months.  I think another novel is on the horizon and life has added a few more experiences to deepen my knowledge and creativity.  My middle son got married and our family grew a little larger.  The Bulldog teams had strong basketball seasons.

The seasons change, just as life changes.  We struggle through the winters and long for days in the sun.  Toward the end of summer when the heat becomes unbearable, we’ll wish for cooler days.  I suppose if I had a choice, I’d spend most of my days in either spring or fall.  Those are the seasons which are my favorites.  I like the mild weather, the rebirth of spring and the nostalgia of fall.  Of course, one of the great things about spring is that it seems it is a time for new beginnings.  It is the time when the world seems to come alive once again.  It reminds us that there is sunshine on the other side of the gray.  But if we always lived in the spring, there would be no gray of winter to offer contrast, and no appreciation for the pleasant change.

Isn’t it amazing how the our lives seem to mimic the seasons?  Just as the spring tease, sometimes life makes us think we are moving out of the gray only to have another setback.  We toil along trying to find our way back into the sunshine.  Then when the gray sky finally gives way to the blue, it makes us appreciate the sun all the more.

We still have the chance for the spring tease.  Even though we’ve made it past that first day, it doesn’t always show up when it is scheduled and doesn’t always stay.  Right now it is looking good.  All I can say is at least opening day usually makes it on time.

While we wait to be sure that spring has made it to the meeting, let’s think about green blades of grass beneath our feet, laughter and giggles echoing around the neighborhood, the fragrance of flowers blooming, and the popping sound of the ball meeting the pocket of a leather glove.  When those days fool us into believing the winter is over, and we have reason to ask, “Oh, Spring – Are you really here?” Keep looking for the blues skies, imagine the sun warm against your skin and remember, it’s here or at least it’s near.

Winners Don’t Always Win…

I recently had the incredible privilege of watching a group of young athletes pour out every ounce of courage and determination they possessed upon the basketball court.  We watched our girls battle in the area tournament, where they felt the pain of loss wipe out their hopes for a trip to the state tournament.  Of course they were disappointed at their loss, but happy for the boys who were going on to the Oklahoma Class B State Tournament.

The trip for the boys was a tough, long battle.  Ranked number four going in, the defending state champions, who had previously trounced over their opponents, had to work every second of nearly every game to earn their place at state.  Those young men had seriously worked their tails off to get there.  They battled through games that some people, including myself, weren’t sure they were going to win.  Winning by a few hard fought points in most cases, they worked their way through the District, Regionals, and Area tournaments to make it to the three day state bracket.

The fight wasn’t over there.  They had to battle their way through the first two games of the tournament, knocking off the number two and number three ranked teams, to make it to that cherished place in the final game and face the number one ranked team in the state.  Again, hard earned points separated them from their opponents.  I’m sure they left a trail of disappointment behind them with the teams they beat.  Sometimes it is even harder to take the loss by a few points than it is to be blown out.  A blow out can easily be explained by realizing they played a stronger team.  Losing by a few points always leaves doubts and thoughts of what could have been pooling in the mind.

In a championship game that went back and forth, leaving hope hanging in the air, they struggled.  Just as in the previous games, they played a team with a deeper, more experienced bench.  With time outs, breaks between quarters, halftime, and a couple of substitutes (I was proud to see my son out there) as their only relief, five determined young men pounded up and down the court.  They absolutely left everything they had on the court.  They were worn and exhausted, but driven by adrenaline and hope.

Their coach too put all he could into the game.  He gave them his best advice, his best words, and as much encouragement as he could.  He sacrificed timeouts just to give them a breather.  He showed respect for their courage and their drive.  Their fans cheered and screamed and wrung their hands.  The anticipation hung throughout the game.  It’s a small team, from a small town, so they had the whole town behind them.

But in the end, they didn’t win.  They accepted the silver, with an ache for the gold.  They did their best to take pictures with family and friends even though their hearts wanted to slink away and cry out the pain.  Just as they had won their way there, they lost by a few mere points and that’s heartbreaking.  Some of them were seniors and they saw their dream slip away.  Others still have other seasons ahead of them, but wonder if they’ll have the opportunity to be there again.

They learned a very hard lesson, one they may not appreciate for a long time and may never look fondly upon: Winners Don’t Always Win.  They, of course, are winners.  They proved it all along the way.  They won because they put their hearts and their efforts on the line.  They won because they gave it their all.   They won because they left a trail of successful challenges behind them.  They won because they have the respect of their coaches for the effort.  They won because they will always be winners to the family and friends who love and support them.  They won because they inspired a sense of pride for a small town, and they served as examples for all the little athletes who look up to them.  They won because they were there.

But my friends, winners don’t always win every challenge.  What makes them winners is the character and determination they have to make it through to the other side, even if it hurts.  The ache of loss is always there ready to raise its ugly head in moments of reminiscence.  There will be “what if’s” that follow them whenever they think back on that season or that game.  But when they look back with honesty, and they feel how hard the pain of that loss hit them, they’ll realize that they wouldn’t feel that way if they hadn’t wanted it so badly.  If you can walk away without the pain, you simply didn’t want it enough.  But if the pain nearly tears you apart, if your heart aches every time you think about it, you know your heart was in the right place and you know you gave it your all.

No, winners don’t always win, but real winners always rise to the top, even if they lose.

Thanks for the season, guys!

The Ladder Climber

Well, it’s out!  The Ladder Climber has finally hit the digital shelves.  Both the Kindle and Paperback versions are live and sales have started to pick up already.  Thanks so much for the support.

I have wanted to publish this book for a long time.  Though it is much different from anything else I have published, I loved this story.  It follows Nick Gordon who is on his way up the ladder of success.  Out of the blue, his life takes a turn and the normally ‘in control guy’ finds himself off track.  He struggles to get his edge back and find to his purpose.  Along the way, he gets tangled in a web between three very different women.  Jaime Williams is the aggressive manager of a neighboring district.  Sarah Thomas is his very able assistant.  Bailey is his wife.  Which woman can help him get his life back on track?

The story has more romance than my other novels and it isn’t quite as innocent.  Still, I believe it has a good message and I hope it will appeal to those who enjoy an emotional journey.  In The Ladder Climber, I’ve tried to incorporate some of my world and the setting uses some of my favorite places.  I guess there is a certain amount of “me” in the book.  As usual, I’ve tried to rely on my personal experiences for the core of the story.  I hope my readers will enjoy it.

I’m still hoping to publish Some Kind of Life close behind this novel (either November or December) and The Blemished Rose will follow.  Some Kind of Life is a recent story and The Blemished Rose is a novel I’ve had in the works for a while.  The Blemished Rose still has some revisions to go.  It is a darker story, which starts and ends with a fairytale; the bulk of the novel falling in-between.    Some Kind of Life is more of a Young Adult novel and I believe is more uplifting.

I don’t want to beat the drum too often, and I try not to over promote to my readers.  I don’t post daily, and most often I don’t post weekly.  I’ve seen so many authors who push, push, push their books until it becomes annoying.  I really want my books to sell because of word of mouth.  To me it says so much more when readers are talking about the book than when the author is talking about the book.  In this light, I hope you will take the time to offer your reviews of The Ladder Climber and any of my other books on Amazon.  I can’t emphasize enough how important reviews are to the success of the book.  Even some bad reviews are better than no reviews.  I’ve received so many messages of support and my readers have been good to let me know what they think of my books, but it would help me tremendously if they tell others by leaving reviews.  This has been one of my biggest struggles.  Reviews are often the reason some people try reading a new author.  My books are known to local readers, but the possibility of getting new readers depends on the reviews.  Additionally, any “shares” of Facebook posts you offer to your friends are greatly appreciated.  Shares multiply the reach and help expose the books to others who may not have seen them otherwise.

As with all of my books, The Ladder Climber is available on Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and several other online retailers.  If you go to you can see some of the other locations it is available and compare pricing.

Thanks for your support and for following along.  Happy reading!

Dream Big — Live Bigger

While texting my wife a few days ago I whimsically texted, “There’s a difference between a wish and a dream.”  After making that statement, I began to think about what I said.  I looked up the definitions of both words to determine if my statement was indeed true.  Here’s what Merriam-Webster had to say about it:

Wish (noun): an act of thinking about something that you want and hoping that you will get it or that it will happen in some magical way.

Dream (noun): a strongly desired goal or purpose; a visionary creation of the imagination.

As I look at those definitions, I do see a difference between the two.  Often when we use the word “wish” we don’t really expect it to happen.  We walk by a wishing well and drop in a coin.  We wish upon a falling star.  As children we fight over the ends of a wishbone.  Then we toss up an improbable desire like, “I wish I had a million dollars.”  Yet, do we really expect it to come true?  As I see it a wish is a stated desire without the hope or commitment behind it to bring it to fruition.  It is something we might say, but not necessarily believe in.

A dream, on the other hand, is something we can see, imagine, or feel within ourselves and we can work towards bringing into the world of reality.  It is a deep seated desire, goal, or purpose for which we are hoping for or actively working to attain.  A dream has hope, commitment, and in many cases even a plan behind it.  In other words, if your dream is to be a veterinarian, then you are actively pursuing that dream.  If your dream is to be an author, you are actively writing.

Without that commitment, we are only wishing.  If we aren’t working for that dream to come true, then we don’t really believe in it, do we?

As I ruminated upon this thought, I came to the realization that I too often wish rather than dream.  I toss out that desire and really never expect it to become reality.  I’ve always thought of myself as a bit of a dreamer and ideas spin around in my head all of the time.  I suppose one could call that dreaming, but in order to make any of those ideas ‘my dream’ I need to actually put some effort out to make them come true.

In Whispers in the Wind, Abby’s class moto is: “Dreams are only dreams until you make them come true.”  What that motto means is that a dream (a strong desired goal or purpose) is only a dream (a visionary creation of the imagination) until you commit and work towards making it into reality.  In essence, it is a wish without a commitment.

I’ve realized the dream of being a writer because I actually pursued that dream.  I’ve written and published three novels.  I have several more novels in the process, but am I actively seeking to be the kind of author I want to be?  I have a bigger dream.  I want to write a novel that is so emotional, so impactful, that it sweeps its readers up beyond anything they’ve ever read before.  Am I working hard enough to achieve my goal of writing that one novel which impacts readers so much that they can’t help talking about it?

I have a desire to be a full-time writer.  I can’t think of anything more exciting than to spend my days weaving words into a tapestry of visions or bringing to life a fictional character with which readers can fall in love.  Painting worlds which come alive on pages of words and creating visions in the minds of readers is incredible.  Being able to use words to evoke emotions and pull at someone’s heartstrings when they least expect it is an awesome feeling.

These thoughts bring me to a crossroad.  I can wish I was a full-time writer, or I can dream of being a full-time writer.  I can hope it magically happens, or I can work at making it happen.  I can work every day to make my writing better and to discover that story which so deeply affects others, or I can sit back and wait for it to fall into my lap.  Sometimes it just happens, but even if it does just happen, I have to be ready for it or I may miss it.

So, what about you?  Do you dream or just wish?  Are you working to make your greatest dreams become reality or are you tossing pennies into a wishing well and moving on.  It’s okay to wish upon a star, but are you going to let that wish disappear or are you going to turn it into a dream?  Let’s all dream big and live bigger.

The Bittersweet Novelist

These days, novels about vampires, werewolves, and zombies are all the rage.  Books are filled with crime, suspense, fantasy, science fiction, and the list of genres go on.  The writing world insists on genre and defining your work.  Everyone wants things to fit perfectly into a box.  Finding a niche is never easy and most new authors end up writing for sales or popularity.

As a writer, I know that what I write doesn’t necessarily fit well with the most popular genres.  I write bittersweet novels, novels which blend the wonder and woe of life into stories meant to touch the heart.  Life is full of those little moments which give us pause and provide the clarity to determine what’s really important.  Life throws us curves and often when things are clicking along under skies of rainbows and unicorns we find ourselves suddenly facing the storm.  How we weather those storms builds our character and helps to bring things into focus.

Loss is something we all experience.  Throughout life we will face loss.  We will win some battles and lose others.  We will lose our youth.  We will lose others with whom we are connected.  As humans with finite lives, we will face loss in more ways than we can count.  But left behind in those losses are memories, moments, minutiae, and mementos which we will hold onto for the rest of our lives.

Life’s losses and disappointments often leave us with longing… longing for a love which has been lost… longing for a time which has past … longing for the sunshine when the skies are dark.  Longing pulls at the heart and reminds us that we feel and are alive.  Sometimes hurt serves as a reminder that we still breathe, that our nerves still tingle, and that our hearts still beat.

Life is about learning new things and leaving other things behind.  Living is a growth process and as we see in the world, life often comes from death and decay.  Organic matter which provides the nourishment needed in nature comes from what has been left behind by what has lived before.  Plants feed off the passing of other plants and we feed off the lives of those who have come before us.

Above all, life is about love.  Love fills the gaps loss leaves behind.  Love binds the wounded hole in our hearts.  Love transforms longing into contentment.  Love reminds us of the beauty of those moments, the happiness in those memories, and the treasure in those mementos.  Love endures beyond the loss and within the longing.  Love allows us to rise above that which would otherwise pull us down.  Love transforms the bitter taste of cocoa into the sweetness of chocolate.

Life is bittersweet.  It gives us sunshine and brings us rain.  Life has its ups and it has its downs.  Life leads us and it pushes us.  Life fills us with hope and leaves our hearts empty.  Life isn’t a destination; it’s a journey.

Blending loss, longing, life, and love into stories which touch the heart helps me recognize what is important.  It allows me to experience the emotions which remind me I am alive.  The simple mix of bittersweet reveals the silver lining which lies beyond the surface and causes the reflections in life’s mirrors which allow us to see that which matters most.

And so, though it may never allow me to sell as many books as the author who writes about vampires, I will write those bittersweet tales which blend teardrops and laughter – sadness and smiles – melancholy and triumph – shadows and sunshine.  I will seek to touch that place in your heart which wants to be reminded of loss, longing, life, and love.

Yeah, I’m on Twitter

I say that almost reluctantly. I know it’s hip, cool, or whatever word is used these days, but it’s awkward. Twitter is great for those people who have things pop in their heads and they just like to spout it off, but I’m more of a pipe-smoker. I have to think about something before I say it and therefore a simple tweet becomes a struggle. I type it, think about it, erase it, type, think, erase… after going through this a few times, I just drop it.

Twitter has become a popular form of social media, particularly among young people. Just as the youthful crowd was the first to move from MySpace to Facebook, often with the goal of escaping the prying eyes and gathering of parents and grandparents, they have migrated to this form of social media where they can tweet off any thought which comes to mind. With a language of its own, Twitter can sometimes be daunting to new users.

I ventured to this place under the direction of John Locke, who was the first independent author to ever sell over one million downloads. Following his “How to” instructions, I set up a Twitter account to build a following and hoping, along with apparently hundreds of thousands of other independent authors, to find readers for my books.

After being on Twitter for more than two years, it just hasn’t panned out that way and I find myself visiting the Twitter-world less and less often. Admittedly, my lack of success with Twitter Marketing largely has to do with my failure to implement the strategies which were suggested and are followed by most of the independent authors who use it. With over sixteen-hundred followers (small beans compared to most tweeters), you would think there would be at least a few who might be tempted to buy my books, but the problem with marketing on Twitter is that you have to buy into the whole idea of self-promotion for it to work.

Another problem with Twitter is that it is easy to find and follow people just like you, but not always so easy to build a diversified base. So, I’ve fallen into this Twitter Abyss, where ninety percent of the people who follow me are the very authors in which I find myself in competition with for readership, which wouldn’t be bad if the only goal was to find people with whom I could relate or when building a support network. However, when the goal is to find readers or market your work, this isn’t exactly the type of following one might desire

My Twitter feed is full of “Buy My Book” tweets from other independent authors who are all there for the same reason. I get so inundated by these endless pleas and painful reminders I am just a small fish in a giant pond; it just doesn’t capture me. Don’t get me wrong, it can be entertaining from time to time, but I can’t spend hours on it or even drop what I’m doing to check the feed.

Call me a dreamer, call me naive, paint me old fashioned, or simply call me stupid, but I can’t buy into the endless, non-stop, ticker-type stream of self-promotion. I don’t want people to buy my book because I bothered them until they did. In this world of videos and news stories gone viral, I want to be known for writing something which creates such an emotional impact it develops a groundswell of grassroots support. Obviously, I haven’t achieved that, but I can still hope. I want success upon its own merits. If the work isn’t good enough to gather that kind of support, then it simply isn’t good enough.

I still believe in readers. I believe in ‘real’ readers, book lovers, who get so caught up in a story, or are so moved with passion, that they can’t help but tell others about the experience. People like me who talk about how a story impacted them or are blown away that the author was able to paint such vivid pictures in their mind or develop characters who actually come alive.

I know they are out there, waiting for just the right story. I read it in the reviews of books I like. The same stories which touch me touch them. So, how do I find them? The only way I know how. I keep striving to write that special story which captures their hearts and loosens their tongues in a way that they just can’t contain how they feel about it. It may take several tries. There may be six, eight, ten, twelve books or more published before I find the right one. I’m not afraid of being a one hit wonder; it would be a pleasure.  Not that I’m naive enough to put myself in the same category, but if I could write a book which were to be talked about like To Kill A Mockingbird or Catcher In The Rye (which I actually never cared for), I’d be happy. Sure, Harper Lee only wrote one book, but everyone knows that one title. J.D. Salinger may only be known for one book, written in 1951, but it still sells an average of 250,000 copies per year.

Hey, I don’t want to sound like Negative Nelly here. There are some great things about Twitter, Facebook, and any of those other social media platforms. I’ve reconnected with friends from high school and college. I’ve met some really wonderful people. I have developed what I consider to be close friendships with people I’ve never even met. I’ve come across interesting topics and conversation. Through those interactions, I’ve learned so much more than I would have on my own. I’ve been exposed to other independent authors and come to realize there is incredible talent out there. I can’t even remember the last time I bought a book from a mainstream author.

So, yeah, I’m on Twitter, and you are more than welcome to follow me (@celemieux), though rather than endless tweets about my books you are more likely to find quotes I like, retweets from other authors I support, or humorous stabs at my kids. I slip in a reminder about my books once in a while, but it won’t be an endless feed of self-promotion.  It may even be a little boring compared to what you can find on Twitter. But I’ll engage if you engage, and I’ll keep looking for those illusive readers. I’ll stick with my naive and old fashioned ideas about what makes a book popular. To me it starts with the work and ends with the reader. If the reader finds value, it will get their vote, and if they do not find value, it is time to try again.

By the way, “Buy My Book, There’s Something About Henry. It’s on Amazon.”