Angela B. Macala-Guajardo's Blog, page 11

Hello, Reality. We Meet Again.

Maybe it’s a product of being a creative entity, or maybe it’s from growing up so naive and sheltered, or maybe it’s just who I am. Whatever the case, reality and I meet and part like two orbiting objects that occasionally cross paths. I can’t think of the perfect analogy for it. All I know is that there’s surprise every time we cross paths, that the existence of this other reality is undeniable when this happens, and that we part ways shortly after and go on about our lives until our orbits meet again. The overlap is so brief that it’s easy to forget the other exists, yet those moments forever alter my course each time, changing the shape of the orbit, the direction, the speed, etc.

My original optimism about finding a job by the end of January appears to be anything but realistic. Two weeks of effort and so far two rejection emails. There’s a third I’ll wait on for one more week before it’s safe to assume they didn’t have time to respond to me individually. Everywhere I go they warn me of the high volume of applications coming in, so I’m fortunate when I’m not left hanging.

This time last year, one rejection letter would’ve had me bawling my eyes out and left me thoroughly convinced I’d never find a job. Yep, I was that pathetic, I humbly admit. I was so hung up on how my life was unfolding so far from where I wanted it to that something as trivial as a rejection letter became a catastrophic I’m-a-failure pity party. Since those darker days I’ve vowed to myself to never get like that again.

Even with my positive attitude, job hunting is still a psychological challenge, but of a different sort. New mantra, huh? Let’s see how much I mean that…

I just shrugged and said, “Oh, well” when I got the emails. There’s really nothing I can do but keep looking elsewhere while I give my writing an honest to goodness, everything-I’ve-got shot. The only thing that I bang my head against my desk over is the catch-22 aspect of the job hunt. I’m applying for entry-level positions. Entry. Level. However, on every stinkin’ qualification requirement list–and on the first line, mind you–is something about the potential employer looking for 1-5 years experience. Now, the previous job experience isn’t required. There aren’t internships for every last job out there, so they have to be somewhat lenient.

Take Connecticut for example: there are a shortage of nurses, plenty of recent college grads to fill those roles, yet they won’t hire anyone without having been a nurse for at least umpteen years of experience. So here you have all these perfectly hirable people ready to fill in jobs that sorely need to be filled, yet no one willing to hire them. Hopefully HR in these situations will one day concede their ridiculousness–at least that’s what this scenario looks like from my, I’m going to assume, biased perspective–and start hiring. I’m sure there are so many factors going into this stalemate but, instead of ignoring recent grads, why don’t employers communicate with colleges and universities so they’ll be eager to hire them, instead of having a whole bunch of people earn degrees, put themselves into tens of thousands of dollars into loan debt, and end up with no job to repay them because they don’t have previous experience? Am I making any sense?

I apologize for the frustration leaking its way into this post. I would just love for someone to explain how this catch-22 became the norm. I made the decision to go to college, along with take out all the loans I did. I don’t want the government to hand out money and make my loan debt disappear. It’s not their place to handle those two decisions I made. It’s my responsibility. I don’t lose any sleep over my college loan debt, though. I’m doing everything I can. The government is just going to have to wait for me to give them back their money. That is unless I can pull a platinum coin out of the ground, tell them it’s worth exactly the sum of my debt, then put in their hand and tell them to be on their merry way with a pat on their back, and then they can go to their magic box, a.k.a. the treasury, deposit it, and we can call things square.

Yeah, didn’t think so. How do you like your trillion-dollar coin idea now?

Okay, enough of that. Back to focusing on what I can control and just letting go of what I can’t. I will continue my job hunting until I finally strike success, and same goes for my writing. I will continue to practice positive thinking and make it a lifestyle. I’ve come a long way in just the past several months.

With all that’s been going on, I’ve still been doing plenty of thinking, thinking about the link between success and faith in a greater power (can’t stand the phrase “higher power” because it resonates too much with Roman Catholic thinking that humans are lowly unworthy beings when we’re not; the “greater” word choice serves as a reminder that we’re but a small part of something grand). I must confess that I’d become a believer if my writing succeeds. You still won’t catch me in a church or thumping people with bibles, but I can guarantee you I’d try even harder to do what’s right and share my path to success. Just these few personal changes I’ve made and so much about my life has changed for the better already. My pure skeptic side insists that it’s all convenient coincidences, no magic or mysticism behind it, that all my hard work and perseverance is what’s pulling me through hard times, and nothing more. My more curious and open side can’t help but notice the pattern behind all these “coincidences.” The next and final test is to put all my faith in my writing and see what happens after my first book is launched internationally.

So what happens if the book is a flop? Does that mean there’s nothing out there and all that happened were simply coincidences? With such a small chunk of data, the results would be inconclusive.

Anyway, I think I’m finally ready to accept success into my life. I feel no resistance; just fear of the unknown. But that’s okay, expected. My bitterness and cynicism have almost vanished. I’m a happier person. My days aren’t dominated by depression anymore. I’m almost entire back to the happy-go-lucky person I used to be years ago. And that’s refreshing to know.

Here’s a picture of sunrise out of Gloucester, MA. Sunrises and sunsets are one of the most beautiful sights in the world, and you don’t even have to travel to see them.

I Am

Two simple words. One strong declaration. I am many things but above all I am a writer, I am an observer, and I am a woman.

I Am a Writer

We all go through that identity crisis phase in high school, that point in life where you transition from dependent to autonomous. The adults formerly known as the center of your universe become these annoying nags who struggle and scramble to see you as an individual and adult. At the same time you try to figure out who you are and where you fit in with a world you’re just beginning to open your eyes to. Never knew there was a round two of that “delightfully” lost feeling. And this time you’re looking for guidance from anyone who has a brain, parents too.

It’s been challenging to keep a grip on the fact that I’m a writer. Thankfully I have supportive friends and family because wherever I go, there are people who think it’s neat that I write but at the same time ask me what my day job is. There’s a stigma that writing isn’t a career, unless you’re the lucky few. Sure, I get told to go into journalism and the likes but these people don’t understand that not only does it take writing skills, it takes a certain personality as well, one I learned during grad school that I don’t have. I constantly remind myself that such advice given is only from their intention to help, not from the intention to annoy me. They don’t know what I know, nor what there is to know in the writing field. Heck, I’m far from well into the know, in a way, as I’ve discovered while job hunting on LinkedIn. There are so many fascinating jobs I never knew existed, like cruise critic (yep, I’d go on cruises for my job if I got that one).

My degrees didn’t help my morale either. Theatre for a Bachelor’s? Unless you go to NYC or Hollywood and audition your heart out, yada yada, forget it. What was I thinking? Then writing for my Master’s? Grad school isn’t the magic solution to getting published. Do I possess one iota of economical sense?

During my darker phase over the last two years, I mentally kicked myself for my decisions. Nowadays I’m thankful and honestly believe they were worth my time, especially my second degree. I could ramble on and on why they were great choices that have contributed to my life’s journey, but that would not only be boring, it would also veer away from the subject at hand: defining who I am.

Both degrees are a testament to my desire/need to follow my heart, my passion. Such a decision is hard for so many people to understand. The majority of the people I’ve encountered don’t. I’m told to just find what I can to pay the bills and to pursue my “hobbies” during my spare time. I think I just need to accept that not everyone is going to understand, that no amount of persuading or stand up for my position will help anyone see things my way. This stress and frustration has made me wonder 1) what am I doing wrong? And 2) Am I wrong to prioritize my writing; are all these people telling/asking the same thing right? This quandary has put me through quite the identity crisis. There’s nothing like not knowing where you fit in with the rest of world when how you want to fit in is constantly discouraged.

1) I’m actually doing nothing wrong now that I’m giving writing my all, and now that I comfortably and happily identify myself as a writer. 2) It’s been all about attitude. The identity crisis has subconsciously made other question what/who I am, so they question my decision to pursue writing. Their attitude towards me reflects my attitude towards myself. The only except are the people who don’t care how they make money so long as they make as much of it as they can. Such people have my respect because they fill in the jobs that need to get done that not everyone is equipped to sustain.

I’m a writer. Just because everyone is taught to read and write, it doesn’t mean everyone can do my job. I devote all my energies to writing like Michael Jordan to basketball. I’m not a prodigy, but my prowess reflects the amount of effort I put into it.

I Am an Observer

I’m your quiet intellectual type that loves to sit in the back of a room and watch everything. My mother told me many a time that, when I was a baby, I always wanted to be in the same room as everyone else just to see what was going on. I’m still like that. I’ve no desire to be the center of attention, nor do I care to talk unless I have something intelligent that’s worth saying. I like to listen. However, there are exceptional moments where I wish you luck at getting a word in. I can talk your ears off when the subject is something I’m passionate about. Other than that, I’m constantly observing the “what” and trying to figure out the “why.” And after long stretches of observation mode, I need quiet time to digest everything I’ve taken in, or simply no-think time like gaming or practicing martial arts.

I Am a Woman

This is actually difficult and so full of blank spots. I’ve been single most of my life-mostly by choice, and partly because I’m boyfriend-challenged, I swear.

I don’t follow the stereotypical trends of what society defines as decisively female. I’m an athlete. I can’t stand the idea of sitting there and looking pretty while all the guys run around having all the fun. I don’t watch football, but I think I’d have an absolute blast if I were the one playing. I don’t wear makeup , jewelry, or heels. I consider myself too tall for heels, and since I grew up playing so much soccer, I never got into the habit of wearing makeup or jewelry since I’d just sweat off the former and have to remove the latter for every practice and game. I don’t read girly magazines. I have no interest in trying to squeeze into other people’s impossible standards of beauty. It’s so disgusting to look at these emaciated women (and men, to my dismay) with beautifully photoshopped skin tones staring at me with vacant or seductive expressions. And I don’t freak out over getting covered in dirt and sweat and such. Sure, I freak out when I see a spider but I’ll leave it alone if it doesn’t look it it’s gonna creepy crawl closer, but place one slender leg in the no-cawl zone, like my room, it gets the splat treatment.

I grew up with people making all sorts of “kind” assumptions and judgements about me, but who hasn’t?  I’ve learned to let these people not matter, but I definitely have my days where I wish the whole world would just accept and like me for me. Then reality sets in, I relocate my center, and stop wasting energy and move on.

I’ve had one boyfriend my entire life of 27 years so far. We aren’t together simply because he wasn’t what I was looking for in a life partner, but he was the first person to treat me that well, make me feel beautiful and like a woman. I want to try dating again. I just have to get out of my own way. I purposely chose not to date during undergrad because I didn’t want to be distracted while trying to get good grades. I didn’t discover boys until high school, but at that point I wasn’t ready for anything beyond hugging. And now, at present, I’m so used to being single that I talk myself out of trying dating every time I feel lonely. I come up with excuses, like time and money, and that my life doesn’t condone a stable relationship, that I’m not good girlfriend material yet, and all sorts of yada yada crap. What made me stop and question all my poor excuses is the people around me. All these people going through rough times and dealing with personal problems all have a spouse to lean on for support and get through the rough times. And here I am with… two cats, family, and friends. They’re wonderful and all, but they don’t fill that boyfriend role. No matter how hard I pretend I’m fine going the “crazy old cat lady route”, I’ve yet to convince myself of it.

My guild leader from WoW suckered me into creating a profile on match.com. *forehead on desk* Open mind, open heart. Open mind, open heart. Don’t defeat it before you try!

Just Keep Trying

Just Keep Trying.

Just Keep Trying

I’m trying so hard to better my life right now. I’m making lots of good decisions as of late, but I’m not looking for anyone to pat me on the back for it. What I’m hoping is that maybe something I do will help you, give you an idea that’ll bump you out of your own rut. Everyone who reads my blog is struggling with happiness and inner peace/balance. Here’s a little piece of classical music that reflects my determination to persevere:

Trailerhead: Triumph (Destiny of the Chosen)

To start off, I’ve come to the realization that I do have a new mantra: “Just keep trying.” I’m living by it at the moment and hope to make a permanent habit of doing so. I believe it’s a good one. No unrealistic expectations like my “hard work pays off” one. My dad gave me a great example of this mantra in action the other day. He told me these medical researchers had found some illness in human genes, so they started testing chemicals to treat and cure it. They tested 600,000 chemicals before they found the right one. 600,000 failures before one success. Just one. That’s nuts.

Also in the realm of trial-and-error, is one of my author friends who will now be my new ePublisher. Life threw him that proverbial curve ball, so he took a risk and dedicated all his energies to his writing. After tons of research, lots of testing with all things marketing, and writing five books and several short stories, he finally found success with his book Last of the Sages. That’s a monumental amount of effort right there, effort that inspires me to keep trying with my own writing, effort that’s made me realize how little I’ve tried to succeed. Even with a Master’s degree, it’s still embarrassing. Still, I believe every successful author starts delusions of grandeur, has them decisively crushed, then discovers whether or not s/he has what it takes to keep trying. This separates those whose heart is truly in it from those who think writing is an easy way to make a few bucks.

I am finally free of a terrible ePublisher who’s been dragging me down. We’ll see if I ever get the few bucks in royalties he owes me. Yes, there’d be legal matters to attend to if he keeps shirking, but at this point I’m not going to lose any sleep over less than twenty bucks. My eBook is off shelves, so he can’t keep mooching off me anymore. Now I’m free to move forward with two publishers who’ve proven themselves competent and trustworthy. I’m excited and nervous. Just have to redo cover art and redo the title again. “Anticipation” isn’t cutting it. Yay, something to bang my head against my desk for. Titles are tough. Almost as annoying as writing synopses. Oh! I have to redo that, too. As evil as they, they’re crucial to drawing readers in.

Job hunting has begun in earnest. I’ve got ten jobs through LinkedIn lined up. O cover letters, how I loathe thee as much as synopses! But they are a necessary evil, a quick pitch to clue HR in as to why on earth you’d want a job with them. Got some neat jobs in the writing field I’m looking forward to be interviewed for. There was one job in Italy I would’ve loved, but I’m not fluent in Italian, so I was quite under-qualified. Oh, well. The one surrounding going on cruises to critique and market them sounded better anyway.

 

I’m halfway through critiquing the 19-year-old’s manuscript. I gave it to him as a Christmas present, even though I was worried about coming off too harsh and blunt. Turns out I wasn’t. My comments and questions gave him tons of ideas for a sorely-needed revision. It feels good to help him, even when his storytelling skills have me smacking my forehead. If I were in his place, I’d hope someone like me would come along and help, which is why I’m gladly throwing him a lifeline. The only hard part is that his story makes it clear that he’s been raised by conservative Roman Catholics, however I detach myself from my religious preferences when I critique his book. There are people out there who’ll love his Narnian parallels, so there’s no point in watering down the religious overtones in his story.

I’m a good 100 pages and 30k words into book three of my “Aigis” trilogy. I haven’t shared a single page yet with anyone. I will once I complete drafting part one.

This entry is a bit thin on substance. Right now I feel the need to keep you all on the same page before I get back to my internal journey, along with all stuff writerly. So much is going on, so many changes, so many pauses to take a deep breath and remind myself that everything will turn out okay. I’m still going back and forth between sleeping well or poorly. Right now I’m reading Richard Carlson’s Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff and It’s All Small Stuff  to help give me ideas on how to keep my stress level low and optimize my personal efficiency.

Sometimes Your Gut Instinct Purposely Guides You to Make Mistakes

Sometimes Your Gut Instinct Purposely Guides You to Make Mistakes.

Sometimes Your Gut Instinct Purposely Guides You to Make Mistakes

This is probably one of the strangest posts I’ll ever write.

Deep in thinking mode, but rather a tangential one: my gut instinct. It’s something we all have. We either listen to it or we don’t, then kick ourselves with the weight of hindsight behind it when we don’t.

I have a gut instinct that’s never led me astray. The problem right now is that it feels scrambled. It’s probably not, but it’s smothered by so much doubt and confusion that it’s like trying to figure out where in the couch your cell phone is hiding. It’s there, trying to guide you to it with its insistent ringing, but panic is tricking your ears into thinking it could be under any cushion, maybe under the couch, or somewhere behind it. Heck, maybe the dog is lying on it on the floor, since he’s been kicked off the couch for the moment.

Anyway. I’m hesitant to admit the following because I’m afraid of ridicule, being misunderstood, and that people might think I’m trying to portray myself as extra special, or something stupid like that. But when I tried to compose my entry Friday morning, it didn’t go over well. I knew I was forcing it, so I saved the whole three sentences and went on with my day. The draft will have to wait ’til next week.

What I’m hesitant to admit is that I’ve got very good gut instinct. It’s like my version of that “higher power” billions of people keep rambling on about. My mind just can’t wrap around some sort of supreme cosmic power nudging all of us insignificant mortals around. It just doesn’t make sense. What makes sense to me is humans helping humans, be they alive or dead, but I don’t want to get into the supernatural. There’s too much bias, preconceived notions, and scammers to keep things straight. I just wish to focus on gut instinct, something we all, without a doubt, have. We all just listen to it to one degree or another. I just don’t know how exactly gut instinct works. It just does. It’s not a magical power; it’s a tool for our survival and betterment.

Examples of my gut/intuition:

-It was correct of me to get into Theatre in undergrad, even though writing is my calling. It led me to important people in my life. I also sensed when my time in the degree program was up. To this day I still wonder if I should’ve switched majors that year or not. I think it was one of those life junctions that had so many pros and cons that it didn’t really matter which choice I made. I’d get to where I wanted to (and did) go.

-I knew asking my dad to help me fix my brakes would get me a job working for him.

-I knew for certain I wouldn’t be marrying my now ex-boyfriend the Christmas he and I sat for professional pictures together. At the time I’d been trying to convince myself that I didn’t have it in me to go through all that dating and whatnot all over again with another guy.

-I knew spending months and months job hunting with the rest of America was a waste of time for me, even with insistence from every direction to do it. Turns out, I was right, but for reasons I hadn’t foreseen.

-I also knew when it was time to start job hunting again. Now I’m in the process of job hunting correctly. I believe I will find a job by the end of January (now you get to wait and see if I turn out to be right).

-I knew my lab results would come back negative for cancer, even before I went in for the blood work and biopsy. Something out there wants me alive.

-Once I found out about the trip, I knew I’d be the one to co-pilot my best childhood friend to San Antonio.

-Somehow, shortly before the season ended, I knew my freshman year of high school soccer would be my best year there. Unfortunately, I was correct.

-I applied to one grad school in Canada a few years ago. I knew before I sent out a $150 international application fee that they’d reject me (example of me not listening). I applied to one other grad school and ignored the advice from one of my undergrad teachers to apply to at least half dozen schools because I knew I’d get accepted to WCSU.

-I knew going back to college for a third time was a mistake. I also knew, before I even forked over the $75 application fee, that I’d never start taking classes there, even when one kind person after another insisted I was a great match for Branford Hall, that I’d do great and whatnot. What scrambled my brain was how sound the choice to get into the medical field was, yet it didn’t feel like the right… place for me. As I rush through the whole application process, up rears this problem: my current college loan debt balance has been mysteriously put into default, even though they were put in forbearance, which is supposed to protect you from default. Trying to return to college was the right thing. It brought attention to what’s now turned into a lovely series of hoops I have to jump through to restore my credit, but at least this problem will be promptly taken care of, instead of pouncing as a nasty shock later on.

Why Mistakes are Important:

This could get all philosophical, but I’m gonna try to keep this simple. I believe our gut instinct purposely leads us to mistake sometimes. People might argue that a mistake isn’t a mistake if it was supposed to happen. I beg to differ. Doing the right thing doesn’t make you stop and think nearly as much as the moment you’ve realized you’ve made a mistake. Mistakes exist to make you stop and think. People stop and dissect success only after they’ve made one or more mistakes.

Right now my gut seems to be bumping me towards people that help re-instill trust and faith in myself. I keep focusing on just having a big enough damn paycheck so I can finally friggin’ move out on my own and be financially independent. I don’t care about being rich. I hate money and all the greed and corruption surrounding it. I just want to be financially sound and independent, and enjoy what I do that brings in the income. But in order to accomplish that, I seem to need to come across the right people that’ll help get me there.

I struggle because I’m tired of failing, tired of feeling lost and not knowing where my niche is, tired of not knowing how to recommence moving forward. When my gut told me that school wasn’t where I was supposed to go, I panicked. It was such a sound choice. But at the same time I went to an employment agency to get help with job hunting because I wouldn’t have been able to keep my current job once school started. Once again, trying to go back to school helped out. It steered me towards people that showed me I was doing the whole job hunting thing wrong. Now I have the knowhow to land myself I job I’d look forward to waking up doing every day while I continue with my writing during my free time. I’ll never give up on my writing. And besides my writing, I finally have hope for myself. I finally feel like my life will get better soon. I am scared to the point where I’m not sleeping well, but it’s only temporary. Things will turn out fine if I keep trying.

Right now I’m trying to terminate the contract binding me to a lackluster ePublisher. He was the right person for a while because he gave me hope to keep trying with my writing. But when said ePublisher doesn’t believe any of the books he’s presenting to the world will sell–even mine–it’s time to jump ship legally. Even with his negative attitude, he isn’t eager to let me go. This perplexes me to no end.

Book three is coming along slowly but surely, and on top of that I’ve gotten back into WoW. Tough, scary times call for the company of good friends.

Pursuing Your Dream After You’ve Lost Sight of It for a While

Pursuing Your Dream After You’ve Lost Sight of It for a While.

Pursuing Your Dream After You’ve Lost Sight of It for a While

I’ve been doing so much thinking this year. I need to do a lot of thinking before I get back to just doing and having faith in myself. This year has proven time after time that life has a tendency to bump me towards people who help guide my thinking in the right direction. Just little things–maybe even just one sentence or phrase from a whole conversation–sticks with me for a reason that is only made clear after digesting it and mulling it over.

For example, I’ve been brooding about what the heck seven years of college have added up to for me, besides one expensive piece of paper I’m struggling to figure out what to do with. I’d started college with the notion that, once you went through college, you’d jump right into a career and that’s what you did for the rest of your life. I’ve met many a people who’ve graduated with one degree, yet found a career in a completely unrelated field. That was good and all, but I had this notion I’d just follow my heart and everything would turn out alright.

I originally declared myself an art major. I drew nonstop growing up. I was decent at it. Competitively decent, maybe, but nothing breathtaking. At one point during undergrad, I had a choice between an acting class or a speech class for one of my Gen. Eds. The thought of getting onstage scared the heck out of me, but there was no way I was gonna make myself talk in front of a classroom. It would be insufferably boring. I ended up thoroughly enjoying the acting class, so much that I acted/sang in The Hobbit: A Musical.

Even after all that enjoyment, I went on to declare English as my major when I matriculated from my local community college to CCSU. My writing tugged at me, even though the thought of taking all those dull literature classes made my eyes glaze over just thinking about them. That’s not an exaggeration (my apologies to those who love literature). Anyway, that turned out to be a profoundly fateful day. After maybe two hours of being an English major, I switched to Theatre, with a Creative Writing minor. Long story short: life had paired me up with people who would help me on my personal journey. And no boring lit classes to boot!

At some foggy point during undergrad, my heart pulled me fully away from acting and to my writing. But I wasn’t done with my degree. What was I to do?

I finished what I started, despite how painful and awkward it was at times, especially since I’d learned to tell the difference between good acting and bad acting, and I didn’t fall under the good acting category. Still, I managed to make myself useful with behind-the-scenes work, then got tricked into being in an actual production when one of my movement classes turned out to be a play called Replika. I made myself suck it up and do it, but refrained from signing any of the dressing room walls on the first performance night. It felt wrong when I’d known for a while that I was a writer; not an actor.

I took a year off before applying to one grad school and getting accepted. Here was life guiding me towards people I needed to meet once again.

I’d been querying literary agents on and off during undergrad. To no great surprise, I got rejected by all of them. I’d learned during undergrad that my writing skills needed work. I didn’t learn how much work exactly until grad school. I’d entered thinking I must’ve been seen as some awesome fantasy writer because of my essay and writing sample that was part of the application process. Another long story short: I think I cried during my first residency. My peers  tore apart my writing sample, and then it happened again during one of my online classes. How could they all call my story and writing crap? How dare they? And the professor, too!? At some point I had to concede that so many people saying the same thing had to have truth to it. I set aside my ego and pride, and learned that all of them were right. I began to grow as a writer and storyteller.

Now, in my defense, I read almost nothing but fantasy. This genre is full of great storytellers, but not necessarily great writers. I could write a whole blog post about the strengths and weaknesses of my beloved genre, but not right now. What I’m getting at is that the role models I had left me lagging so far behind all the other talent in my MFA program that it was embarrassing. I pushed myself to catch up to the point where I’d burn my eyes out at least twice a semester and couldn’t look at a computer screen for at least 24 hours when that happened. I squinted and winced through brief emails to my writing mentors, explaining my plight and asking for extensions on due dates as necessary. Yeah… don’t do that.

I entered grad school with the delusion that it’d secure me either a literary agent (which I was well aware that it didn’t secure you a spot on bookshelves), but if not that, a clear path to bookshelves. God, I can be so naive at times. But anyway, I’m still in the process of carving my own path to bookshelves via independent publishers. Yes, I got published back in April 2012, but I did it all wrong, so I’m redoing it right now. Please bear with me and be patient.

So, this post has been adding up to two questions I’ve had to ask myself recently. 1) So what’s my day job while I pursue where my heart lies? And 2) What exactly is my dream as a fantasy novelist?

1) I’ve been trying to avoid answering that question for years. I’ve wanted to badly to have writing as my day job, even though roughly 4% of writers can live exclusively off their writing. That’s it. That’s reality. As far as the day job part, I still don’t know. I’m going to school for one more year in hopes of securing a job as a PMA. It’s such a strange decision to make when all I want to do is follow my heart. But the reality is, I need to do something intelligent so I can live independently, fully support myself, and take pride in myself to the point where I’ll actually consider dating. So back to school with the hope that third time’s’ a charm proves true this time around.

2) The obvious part is that I want writing to be my main career. I want to go around doing book tours and helping young adults discover their love of reading. All movies, TV shows, plays, music, etc. starts as something written down. How can you not love reading if you love the movie that was read from a script? Am I making any sense? On top of that, maybe more kids will discover they love to write as well. They’ll have something to do that’ll keep ‘em out of trouble. They’ll have purpose, goals to focus on. Who knows? The less obvious part is that I want to be liked. Widely liked. It sounds so narcissistic to say, so I apologize. And there’s a third part that’s even more selfish to admit, but helps me segue into the final leg of this post. Please, please, please don’t make fun of me for this. The third reason is that I want a solid, valid reason to meet Vin Diesel. I’d like to write scripts for him, create characters whose journeys he’d like to go through. Stuff like that. Nothing more. No romantic delusions. Hugs from him? Heck yeah! Anything else? I’m pretty sure he’s got a girlfriend. I’d rather respect their space and leave him be.

Admitting all that to myself helped me get back to pursuing my writerly dreams. Made it all feel less pointless. Ironically, Vin’s been helping along the way. I’ve had dreams with him in it–no, nothing smutty, you moron. He would be there but we’d never directly interact, hardly talk, or he’d even pointedly ignore me. I talked animatedly with his sister in one dream (I have no clue if he has a sister) and I’ve interacted a little with other members of his family that I have no clue exist or not. It was all very strange, and very frustrating upon waking. It took me forever to figure out what the heck he symbolizes: the epitome of what I perceive as success. Widely popular, widely loved, doing what he loves for a living, and living his dream.

I understand that not all of you are rap fans but give this piece a shot. Listen to the lyrics. They capture the passion fueling my desire to succeed as a fantasy novelist.

Lose Yourself by Eminem

Broken Spirit Mending

I used to be so positive and confident. I believed in myself, had faith in myself beyond logic.  I ran on my own steam, never looking for support or confirmation from others. And people looked at me and believed it would be only a matter of time before I’d get there, too, that I’d make it to bookshelves and live the fantasy writer’s life.

My mantra used to be “hard work pays off.” I honestly believed that if I worked hard enough, I’d succeed at my life’s passion. Success doesn’t happen overnight, nor does anyone hand it to you because you want it or ask nicely. I was never deluded in that way. I’ve gone through seven years of college and earned two degrees. And while being a college student, I worked as a waitress, line cook, hostess, and food runner for Red Robin, high school Track & Field coach, a barrista for Barnes & Noble (no, not Starbucks, but yes we sell their coffee), scooped ice cream at Friendly’s, unloaded trucks at Kohl’s, cashiered and made pizzas at Big Y, and taught 42 students a semester while working through a full graduate workload during my second and final year of grad school. Yeah, that was nuts. But I managed to get enough sleep and still find time to play WoW when I wasn’t grading papers or working on my almost 400-page thesis.

So… what happened?

I felt so crushed when I learned that the very mantra that kept me smiling and moving forward was insufficient, wrong. Hard work doesn’t always pay off. Back in May of 2011, I was completed a Master’s degree and felt like I had nothing to show for it. No job, no clue where to go next, no literary agent. Just an expensive piece of paper, two cats, and a boyfriend I really wanted to break up with.

I went down a dark path that was only a sliver away from getting dark as dark gets. I often sat in my tub with the water running so no one would hear me cry. I just existed, instead of lived. I spent many a day wishing I’d just die. I was a failure, a total failure. I’ve done nothing but fail. Still, a tiny part of me begged to not give up, to keep trying. I’d truly fail only when I stopped trying.

I went to counseling, found myself an ePublisher who picked up my book, moved back in with my mom and, after six months of not really bothering to job hunt, starting working for my dad and stepmom. I tried as hard as any depressed person could to pull myself together and keep moving forward. My dad and I finally built the relationship we’ve always wanted and needed, and same went with my stepmother. I also learned that my entire family didn’t look down on me for not having a job; they didn’t care. They just want me to be happy.

Even though my life couldn’t have unfolded any farther from where I wanted it, some good came out of it.

Right now I still struggle to be happy. I know the key is relearning to believe in myself. It’s as simple as that. I’ll succeed if I adjust my attitude back to the way it used to be. In order to succeed, one must fail first. Right now, I seem to be cemented to the failure phase, and with some superglue binding my feet to the cement. I’ve been so desperate to get myself unstuck that I’ve been to a Reiki healer and even went to a psychic for chakra healing. Not really sure if either were worth the money or not, but oh well. All I know is that the root of my unhappiness comes from within, not without. I blame no one but myself. Yes, I embarrassingly admit I played the victim card, but that delusion didn’t last for long.

So what’s happened since?

I’ve gotten my first book published and bought my first car all by myself, a 2009 Prius. I’ve lost the 40 pounds I gained, gotten back into karate, bought Adobe Photoshop, started teaching myself how to use it with the help of YouTube, and now I’m working on drawing–yes drawing–a trailer for my first book. Once I finish the drawing phase, I’ll be visiting my undergrad college to enlist six Theatre kids to voice act for it. Should be fun. On top of that, I’m going back to college in January, hoping third time’s a charm. One thing I’ve had to admit to myself is that I really need a day job while I pursue my writing, my life’s passion. I’ve got a physical copy of the book in the works. I just have to rerelease my ebook without the lousy prologue, and with a better cover art and title. I’ve made friends with a second author who’s living exclusively off his writing (the first being Brandon Mull, and now the second Julius St. Clair). I’m also helping a 19-year-old revise his book (it was published in a sorry state, sadly) so he can rerelease it and hopefully start doing better. I’ve obviously also been working on this blog. I have no clue what will come of it, if anything. It’s far too early to tell.

If anyone could give any pointers on how to re-instill belief in oneself, faith in oneself, that would be great. My cat Sweetpea does a great job of showing me how to be happy and worry free, but I don’t seem to be catching her lesson.

So That’s Why People Enjoy Travel and Travel Writing

I loved traveling when I was little. Beach, family, toy store, you name it. I rode five hours to Maine every summer with a grandpa that didn’t do potty break stops–at least I don’t remember ever stopping. Multiple times a summer my mom took my brother and I to Point Judith, Rhode Island, more specifically Scarborough Beach, and this took 2.5 hours to get there. No potty breaks on those trips, either. I’ve driven quite a few times to Gloucester, Mass to go deep sea fishing, another 2.5-hour excursion. And yes, no potty breaks along the way. I’ve also been to every since state on the east coast thanks to high school band trips, family visits, and Red Sox games. I’ve been to Cancun and Ontario, and look forward to adding many more countries to my travel log one day.

So, why the deviation from my books to travel?

I just drove thirty two hours in two stretches from my hometown in Connecticut to San Antonio, Texas, then took a one-way ticket back home. Talk about a memorable experience. This trip will find its way into my books one day.

My best friend I ever had just got a job in San Antonio. To what I consider my great luck, I was the only one who could get the time off to see him to his new home and job safely. It’s bittersweet in a sense. I must admit I’m going to do some job hunting that’ll require quite the geographical relocation if I get hired.

Our eight-state trek of approximately 2000 miles kicked off at 5:30 AM on Sunday and came to a much-craved close at noon on Tuesday. We have a hunch we passed the pods containing the bulk of his belongings while traversing Pennsylvania, which would be kinda funny. We drove from 5:30 AM to 9PM on Sunday, then from 5PM on Monday to 12PM on Tuesday, with an unexpected 4-hour delay in the middle.

1. Connecticut: nothing overly noteworthy. We’ve been on 84 a billion times. We’re used to aggressive New York City drivers who fit the stigma. Fog was everywhere.

2. New York: More fog. Lots more fog. Every time we thought we were getting out of it, we’d reach a higher elevation and find more fog. I’d been hoping to snap a picture of the rising sun, along with the hilly scenery, but no dice. At one point we got stuck behind two eighteen-wheelers driving side-by-side for about ten minutes. We were part of quite the irritated procession that build up behind said trucks.

3. Pennsylvania: dear god, this state is wide. When we thought we had to be close to halfway through the state, we were, in fact, about an eighth of the way. We booked it due west, passing north of Pittsburg and straight into Ohio. It took well over four hours. We lost the fog, but found rain, along with a dead deer about every five miles. No joke. Their corpses ranged from looking like unappetizing roasts waiting to be hefted into a smoke grill, to impressive splatter patterns that showed you how far and in which erratic direction the unfortunate driver went. This is the first state I’ve ever seen exit numbers in the triple digits. That was intimidating.

4. Ohio: the terrain flattened out and everything grew really remote. The weather started clearing up in this state, but t the same time the sun went down. Go figure. At least we got quite lucky in regards to dodging all sorts of potential delays. The highlight of Ohio was all the car accidents. All but one accident was on the other side of the highway. The one that was on our side was so fresh that traffic hadn’t backed up yet, and the people–unharmed, thankfully–were standing in the breakdown lane, on the phone with the police. The crashed car looked akin to a ball of rolled up spaghetti noodles. Lovely. The biggest accident on the other side of the highway involved an eighteen-wheeler that had managed to plow through a Jersey barrier. Half his truck was on grass. That’s on of those times a truck driver hopes you don’t call one of those “how’s my driving?” 1-800 numbers.

5. Kentucky: this is where we knew we’d officially left the North and entered the South. The scenery was that of Tornado Alley: flat and rolling, yet with plenty of trees outlining every chunk of farmland. Exits were horrendously few and far between, so far that they used mile markers to number them, instead of going in descending order. I don’t know how people tolerate living so remotely, and with highways with no lights. There were, however, an abundance of billboards advertising adult toy stores, so I guess there’s our answer to the former. They also had lots of religious billboards intent on inducing the fear of god in everyone, like”Hell is real”, and another telling drivers to start preparing to meet god. That one made me scratch my head. Wouldn’t you start preparing from the moment you can discern between right and wrong? Just my humble opinion.

6. Tennessee: it came and went in almost total darkness, and I mean with almost zero street lights.

7. Alabama: here’s where all the cop cars were hiding. Thankfully none of them felt like pulling us over. The speed limiting being set at 70 helped.

8. Texas: after seven states of smooth sailing, we literally hit our first and only major delay at 3AM, a tread from an eighteen-wheeler propped up on its narrow side across my lane. By the time my headlights saw it, I had enough time to say, “oh, shit!” before I plowed into and over it. 75mph speed limit and no effing street lights. The gas gauge warned us we were rapidly losing fuel at about a gallon a minute. Thankfully we just happened to be near enough to an exit with a gas station, which happened to be in range of AAA, which towed us to a repair shop a mile down the side road. The manager just happened to make a habit of showing up at 5AM, and he just happened to be the only BMW certified mechanic for 100 miles. Luckier still, the undercarriage was protected by a metal guard, instead of plastic. Luckiest of all, we had no leak; just a broken gas gauge. we got back on the road by 7:30, sparing me the need to reschedule my flight home.

San Antonio turned out to be prettier than anticipated. It’s sprawling, but there aren’t any skyscrapers to cramp the skyline, so it has a welcoming feel. The roads are confusing, though. You have to go backwards to go forwards, and there are so many major roads that run parallel to one another that it’s easy to lose track of where you came from.

The Return Trip

There’s nothing like having the pilot tell you your flight is delayed because his steering isn’t working. Thankfully, in a sense, my flight got rescheduled to the next morning, and I made it home 14 hours later than originally planned. I learned one amusing bit of trivia: the GPS app can track a plane’s movement. I had a good laugh at watching my blue dot sail over Lake Erie.

Hope y’all don’t mind the one-post deviation from all things fantasy writing.