Delilah S. Dawson's Blog, page 26

moments of mercy

Have you ever had a moment of mercy?

For the record, it doesn't involve *playing* Mercy and crushing your opponent's fingers in a death grip, although that can be pretty fun.

To me, moments of mercy are those times that transcend the current situation to transport you to another state. Moments out of time. Moments of zen. Moments when no matter how bad or weird things are, the world seems to stop, sometimes just for a second, and you realize how very amazing consciousness can be.

It's not nearly as fancy as it sounds, though.

I had one today while curled up in bed with my family, watching the last episode of Avatar: The Last Airbender. My son in the crook of my left arm, my daughter in the crook of my right arm, my husband's freshly shorn head under my palm, and my new kitten all but strangling me. For just a moment, I stopped watching the show and thought, This is the most amazing thing ever, and This is the entire point of living, and I am perfectly happy right now. In that moment, nothing else mattered.

I had a moment of mercy the year after I was married. I couldn't find a job, I was far from family and friends in a new city where I felt constantly lost, and I had no earthly idea what to do with myself. I wanted to paint but couldn't find inspiration. I spent all day staring at the first sentence of The Book I Was Meant to Write, which never went beyond a single sucky paragraph. But I was staring out the window one day, deep in depression, having a crisis of self, when a cardinal landed on the branch outside and started to sing. He was just a few inches away, bright as flame and happy as anything, singing his heart out. And something twisted inside me like a key in a lock.

And then I picked up my brush and started painting.

That was all it took. That flash of happiness, of insight, of magic. Things got better after that. I did a series of paintings. I found a great job. But I never finished that book, and it intimidated me so much that I didn't try writing again for ten years... after another moment of mercy.

I believe it's moments like these, when everything perfectly aligns, that help put us on the right course and remind us of what's important. These are the moments that last in our minds and hearts-- not the car accident or the unpaid bill or the ugly conversation. Years later, it's the moments of mercy that show the points along our paths, the stars in our constellations. I can name so many over the years.

Once, I stood by a lake at night, surrounded by a hawk, a snake, and a deer, and I made a pact with myself, one that I haven't broken.

Once, I lay in the pitch-black dark, and I saw an idea that would become my first book.

Once, I threw myself into a patch of clover in a rainstorm and cried like my heart was breaking.

Once, I stood before a crowd of people and told them my deepest, darkest secret, and they cheered.

Once, I rode my horse through a forest on a Sunday morning and saw God in a sunbeam.

These are the moments when everything stops, when you can change the world.

I say grab the world, invite it to play Mercy, and don't stop squeezing until you've got it on its knees.

*

Two Things You Don't Want to Miss!

1. 
YOU COULD WIN A KINDLE FIRE! A BOX OF BOOKS! SIGNED SPECIAL THINGIES!
Click the picture of me looking kind of cray-cray to do that.

(Or, in case I've botched that, CLICK HERE.)


2. 
I HAVE A NOVELLA OUT IN 12 DAYS

An exciting, 34,000-word romp in Criminy's Clockwork Caravan!
Romance! Butterflies! A mysterious mechanist! A London scholar with a dark past! Blud creatures attacking! It's like WICKED AS THEY COME, but you don't have to get to page 186 before they do it!
You can buy it HERE ON AMAZON or HERE ON BARNES AND NOBLE.
IT'S ONLY 99 CENTS.
And if you don't have an e-reader, you can read it on your computer, laptop, phone, or tablet.
*
Now, back to my regular squealing about the new kitten.

Cliffy Clifferton

I woke up thinking, "You know, I don't have enough sh*t to do."


My family clearly isn't ready for a dog. I only like small dogs. Krog only likes large dogs. No one likes medium dogs. And I just got to where I don't have to handle hot poo on a daily basis. 
But a kitten, on the other hand...

I mean, they're small, cute, and do their dukes in boxes.
What could go wrong?

He's a really good jumper. And he's got the snuggleattackz thing down, which saves me a lot of training effort.

On the other hand, we have gotten some accidental mouthfuls of butt when trying to snuzzle him for too long.
Naming him was a big deal.
Names on the table, as suggested by:
Me:Norman (from ParaNorman)Keith (from that dream about the cat named Keith)Criminy (FOR REASONS)Grim (full name: Grimlock, for my fav Transformer)
the biscuit:WhiskersMr. WhiskersMr. WhiskybootlecutiepiekittenBiscuit (because we drove past The Flying Biscuit)Firehouse (because we drove past Firehouse Subs)
t.rex:KikiRexZeddy
We ended up calling him Cliff. Why?1. Everybody likes the Transformer, Cliffjumper. And the cat can jump.2. I love the idea of giving cats ridiculous people names.3. Now I can call him Cliffy Clifferton, Esq.
*Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm about to be reminded of how annoying kittens are when they attack your feet while you're asleep.

The Defiant Wedgies

THE DEFIANT WEDGIES. It may sound like a fantastic band name, but that's what I've decided to call these shoes that I painted.

See, I saw this pin on Pinterest and thought, OMG I HAVE TO DO THAT LIKE YESTERDAY ZOMG, because when I get excited, my self-image and grammar go totally out the window. My next step was to go to Ross Dress for Less and purchase a pair of Respect wedge shoes for $17. Then I went to Blick Art Studio and bought a paint pen. Then I waited a week, because for this sort of project, you have to be in a certain headspace. A zen place. Much like the murals I used to paint and extremely unlike the books I now write, you only get one chance to get it right, and mistakes must be cleverly incorporated into the design.

I started with the heels. Sugar skulls, of course.

 For inspiration, I had tabs open to Pinterest boards on henna, tattoos, and sugar skulls. Like the original pin, I did little dashes along the stitching. Having a frame can make it easier for the design to happen organically.



That's both heels on the finished shoes.

After the skulls, I followed my whims. First came a henna-style tiger, then a bludbunny. Then I used tattooed-sailor-style lettering to write a quote from one of my favorite songs, All I Ever Wanted by The Airborne Toxic Event.

LOVE IS DEFYING.


Next I skipped around to the other shoe, knowing I wanted to do another quote. But you can't fit much on a shoe, not with those big, fat letters. I settled on the word UNTRANSLATABLE, from Walt Whitman's Song of Myself, which figures heavily into Wicked as She Wants, the second book in the Blud series and the victim currently on my copyediting table.


Oops. I ran out of room. That's why ABLE is on the other side of the shoe.

Once the letters were done, I moved to the toes. A key, because I'm into keys. And a lock... to go with the key.


After that, it was all filling in with things I like. A peacock feather. An anchor. Stars. Flowers. Wiggly plants and paisley and grass and a mermaid. And tons and tons of dots. With these sorts of designs, the filler doesn't have to be perfect, and it doesn't have to make sense. When you walk by, people aren't going to be noticing your errors or wigglyness. Just keep filling it in until the overall idea is about 50/50 white and black.


So go forth and paint some shoes! It only cost $20 and 2 hours.

As soon as the day is 100% guaranteed to be sunny, you can bet I'll be rockin' these puppies for some exciting adventures... behind the table of a cafe, writing.

What can I say? I live on the wild side.

*
Note: It might seem strange that I'm following up a post on my experience with suicide by showing you some shoes that I painted. But art is always part of my journey, in the dark parts and in the light parts. Plus, maybe you'll notice some of the recurring themes from both posts. Words. Love. The ocean. Birds flying free. They may look like a pair of silly shoes, but they represent certain parts of me that go a lot deeper than paint on faux leather.

Suicide Prevention Week - from someone who's happy to have failed

Many people will tell you that I'm not a very serious person.

I hit my deadlines, I produce a lot of work, and I'm very professional. But on the whole (heh heh-- on the hole!), I can be very childish and silly. As in, wears ridiculous hats and owns every season of Family Guy, Futurama, and Robot Chicken silly.

But I'm going to be very serious now, because suicide is a serious topic. And because I used to be very, very serious. And very, very depressed.

I had some troubled times as a teen, which I've alluded to in past blog posts. I won't get into specifics, but let's just say that beneath the artistic Valedictorian exterior, there was a lot of pain. I started reading books that focused on heartbreak and hopelessness-- like The Yellow Wallpaper and The Awakening. I watched The Piano. I spent a lot of time sitting in my car, alone, crying and listening to depressing music and writing poetry.

And then I went to France when I was seventeen, the summer before my Senior year. It was an exchange trip, and I was to stay a month with a family in Toulouse. They were wonderful, warm, giving people, and they treated me like their fourth daughter. I had this weird mixture of homesickness and longing and hope and  hopelessness that all came to a head during a trip to the beach. My French family was settled under an umbrella, each person happily doing their own thing, and I looked out at the ocean and realized that I was the only one who wasn't happy, who wasn't capable of happiness.

I couldn't take it anymore, whatever it was.

So I walked out into the ocean. And kept walking. Then started swimming. Then kept swimming.

At 34, it's hard for me to remember what that version of me was thinking, was feeling. I remember noting that this was what Edna Pontellier did in The Awakening, that it was a soft, sweet, poetic way to leave a world that brought me mostly misery and anxiety. I swam farther and farther from shore, and my smooth strokes turned to tired dog paddling. And then I just gave up and sank.

I remember how peaceful it was underwater for just a moment, dark and bubbly and calm. And then I couldn't hold my breath any longer, and without my mind's buy-in or my heart's agreement, my body began to fight back. The world went from poignant serenity to thrashing terror, waves pounding, salt burning my eyes and nose and throat and lungs.

In a heartbeat, the world twisted. I wanted to live, even if it hurt like hell.

I was so far from shore; even now, I can see it, how far and hazy it was. The people playing in the shallow water were mere smudges, and no one knew where I was. I was exhausted, half-filled with water, my limbs numb. But I kept churning, my nose barely out of the water, inch by inch, until I was at that point where the waves stop trying to punish you and start trying to call you home. They washed me back onshore when I had nothing left, and I sprawled on the sand sobbing, surrounded by vacationers who had no idea that I'd just undergone the first major turning point of my life.

I dragged myself to the family umbrella, where Maman asked me how I was.

"Magnifique," was all I could say.

I was magnificent.

I was alive.

And I started to notice things. Small things. The air on my drying skin. The sun on my dark hair. The vibrant shade of red in the umbrella. The scent of suntan lotion rising from everyone's skin. I realized I was starving, had never been so starving, and that whatever I ate next would be the most wonderful thing I'd ever eaten. One day, I would watch Fight Club and hear Tyler Durden talk about how tomorrow would be the most beautiful day of Raymond K. Hessel's life. And I would laugh, because I knew that feeling exactly.

That day, I asked the family to stop by a stationery store, and I bought a journal and a package of Sharpies. And I started a book called I LOVE in which I wrote I LOVE and described something small that made life worth living. I love the feel of grass under bare feet. I love the perfection of slipping under cool sheets. I love the taste of the fried haddock and rice I ate that night, sitting at a table on a boardwalk in Biarritz while the family asked me why I was so happy all of a sudden, almost like a different person.

I'd like to say that from that day on, everything was easy. But that was the summer before I was stalked and raped, my next major turning point as a person. But because I'd survived that day, I was able to survive being attacked. I knew I wanted to live and would do anything to stay alive. And I knew, after that, that things would get better, if I just kept living. So I started my second I LOVE journal, which is pictured up above.

My point is this: suicide is serious, and no matter how normal or successful or beautiful or smart or happy someone seems on the outside, that doesn't mean they haven't considered it. Or tried it.

I used to be ashamed. I used to try to forget that it happened, but I know now that it's part of what made me who I am. I'm an artist and a writer, and depression has always been a looming threat in my life, something that sneaks in no matter how well I guard myself. But I've never returned to that dark place, never considered wanting to end it all.

Whatever it is.

So maybe that's why I don't take anything seriously. I live in the moment, choosing to focus on the sweetness of the cupcake or the beauty of the music or the leaves crunching under my favorite boots. I don't look to the past and mull over what I might have had or what might have happened differently. I don't worry about the future. I just live, right now, in the best way that I can.

If you're depressed, if you're suicidal-- you're not alone. Please go here and find help. Tell someone. It doesn't have to be your mom or your dad or your significant other. It can be a volunteer on a phone hotline, or a stranger on tumblr. Find help, even if it's just to talk about it, to say it out loud and know that someone you've never met desperately wants you to live and thinks that you matter. It's nothing to be ashamed of. Asking for help, reaching out to another human being, is one of the bravest things on earth.

I once thought there was nothing worth living for, and I have never, never been so wrong.

You're not alone.

*

good news: CARNIEPUNK!

Here's the announcement from Publishers Marketplace yesterday: 

CARNIEPUNK, an anthology which combines the carnival setting and the world of urban fantasy, a place of deception, where monsters wait silently in the dark, featuring short stories by authors Rachel Caine, Jennifer Estep, Seanan McGuire, Rob Thurman, Delilah S. Dawson, Kelly Gay, Kevin Hearne, Mark Henry, Hillary Jacques, Jackie Kessler, Kelly Meding, Allison Pang, Nicole Peeler and Jaye Wells, to Adam Wilson at Pocket, for publication in August 2013, by Suzie Townsend at New Leaf Literary & Media.

 * 
I'm so excited to be in my first anthology, especially one based on one of my favorite concepts. My story is THE THREE LIVES OF LYDIA, a Sangish take on Lydia the Tattooed Lady that follows a troubled girl from our world to Criminy's Clockwork Caravan. I'll put up links when it's on Amazon and Goodreads.

I can't wait to see the cover and read what the other authors have created!

Win a wicked KINDLE FIRE and other big prizes!

MONDO SUPER-HOT, EXTRA-WICKED GIVEAWAY!
We're coming up on the six month book-launch-aversary of my first book, WICKED AS THEY COME. To celebrate, I'm giving away:

* A brand new Kindle Fire ($159 value)

* A big box o' books from my publisher, Pocket

* A character in a future book or novella named after you (or a name of your choice)

* A signed copy of Wicked as They Come with a couple of secrets written inside and samples of all three Wicked as They Come perfume oils from Villainess Soaps

* 5 copies of my first Blud e-novella, THE MYSTERIOUS MADAM MORPHO

There are several ways to enter, each with a determined point value, which will be handled by Rafflecopter, since we all know math isn't my strong suit. Please be aware that since I'm trying to maximize book sales before the end of the month, for the purposes of this giveaway, only NEW book or e-book sales between today and 9/30/12 will count toward the hefty 25-point task. I really, truly appreciate everyone who's already bought it, so I would hope that those of you on fire to win the Kindle might consider buying a copy as a birthday, Halloween, unbirthday, or upcoming holiday gift for the Criminy-deficient person in your life. Or you could always sell your old copy at a used bookstore or Ebay. I won't tell.

ALSO! If you buy a NEW book? I'd be happy to send a signed and bludbunnied bookplate and/or bookmark to go with it. When you email your proof of purchase to criminystain@gmail.com, remember to include your name, mailing address, and if you'd rather have a bookplate or bookmark, and I'll get it right out to you with my thanks!

I've hopefully spelled out all the terms and conditions on Rafflecopter, including international entries. If you have any questions, please leave them in the comments, which I'll try to monitor. And let me say, one more time, that when you leave a rating and review as part of one of the tasks, please be honest. I don't read the negative reviews, but I believe people have a right to their opinions, and you do *not* have to be all gushy-sweet to win. Although I will hugattack you and love you forever, if that's how you really feel.

To everyone who enjoyed Wicked as They Come and/or reads this blog, THANK YOU. I can't tell you how honored I am that you keep coming back. I hope you win!


*NO PURCHASE NECESSARY TO WIN. TWEETING ONCE COULD GET YOU A KINDLE FIRE!*
MAY THE WICKEDLY KINDLED ODDS BE EVER IN YOUR FAVOR!

a Rafflecopter giveaway

proposed giveaway: WHATCHA WANT?

I'm getting ready to put together the BIGGEST GIVEAWAY EVAR.

So my question for you is this: what would you like to win?

* A Nook Color? A Kindle Fire?

* An ARC of WICKED AS SHE WANTS, whenever it drops? (I only received 5 last time, so it's a big deal.)

* A character named after you or the name of your choosing?

* A box o' books, whether chosen by me or by Pocket?

* The Wicked as They Come perfumes and soaps from Villainess?

* Another unique copy of Wicked as They Come filled with four-leaf clovers, mischievous bludbunnies, and secrets?

Something else?

Please tell me what sort of yummy prizes would convince you to buy a copy if you haven't already, buy another for a friend, or write a review on Amazon.

I'll be here, twirling my mustache and waiting to shower you with awesome.

*

at a crossroads

Why the lax bloggery?

I'm at a crossroads.

Work on Blud 3? Start something new? Edit something half-done? Go back to reading Chuck Wendig's BLACKBIRDS and try to learn something new about what the heck I'm supposed to be doing with all these messy-sloppy letters?

Honestly, y'all, I keep ending up on Twitter, desperately throwing myself into interesting conversations of 140 characters or less. Because it's easy. But that's not always the best way to choose one's route.

Here's what I can tell you, though.

On October 5 and 6, I'll be a guest at the Crossroads Writers Conference in Macon, GA. They have some big fishies, y'all, and I'm looking forward to rising above the messy surgery of my own demons and deadlines and talking about inspiration, excitement, craft, and possibilities. If you're a writer in the southeast, I hope you'll consider coming out to join the conversation.

Plus, who can miss Macon? I was there for the 8th grade Beta Club dance, and it was transformative.

If by transformative you mean that I stood awkwardly in a corner in a sailor dress with a bad haircut and wished desperately that someone would ask me to slow dance to Every Rose Has Its Thorn.

Ahem.

Let's all rise above. I'm choosing a direction-- right now.

No more Twitter. Time to edit!

And time to hide the pictures of me at 13.

*

Dragon*Con pic dump!

Dragon*Con pic dump ahoy!
Day 1 costume with my pal Becky. I was a steampunk Ravenclaw. And I got to have all sorts of fun with it...

Like having a wand battle with fellow panelist Narcissa Malfoy, aka author Leanna Renee Hieber.


Day 2 costume. NERFPUNK. Kinda. See the red, black, and silver drill?
Here's the rest of the Nerfpunk crew. Aren't they amazing? The idea is that instead of painting a Nerf gun to look steampunk, you make a steampunk costume to match your Nerf gun. I don't have the mad talent to do that, so I found a gun/drill that was red, silver, and black and matched it to pieces I already had. The real Nerfpunks were terribly kind to let me tag along anyway.

One of my fav costumes at the con. Dude as Snape as the boggart as Snape in Neville's Gran's vulture hat. Flawless.

Day 2 bustle. Built by my friend Stephanie, this is the ruffle bustle with the enclosed secret bag. I carried all my stuff on my butt!


Day 3 steampunk Little Red Riding Hood costume. Chilling with my pal Derek, who's in charge of the Horror and Dark Fantasy track. I had two panels with his people, and they were both AMAZING.

Finally got to meet Beth of Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab. Love meeting people I have known/admired from afar for years and being all, OMG, YOU EXIST.

Met a real, live bludbunny!

Got to see Mandy from GeekMom!

Maybe you can't tell, but that's the cast of The Vampire Diaries behind me. I was within 10 feet of Ian Somerhalder!

My pal Lindze is a professional make-up artist and cosplayer. She's amazing!!

I covered the Vamplets for Cool Mom Picks a long time ago, so it was super sweet to come around a corner in the vendor room and meet their creators! Roari the baby yeti is my favorite.
*So there you have it. Dragon*Con was so OMGSQUEEDYING awesome. 
I'll definitely be back next year!