Kristin Bryant's Blog, page 2

You want me to do WHAT??

I love Batman photo-bombing in the back

My book has been out for a couple of months now and I’ve seen some very interesting patterns developing. Here is my list of ten very strange things about having a published book: 
10. Readers finish the book it took me 4 EXCRUCIATING years to get written and published in 3 days. It should take longer, or maybe be more painful than that. I almost feel like saying, “Go back and read it again! You didn’t suffer with me enough yet!”
9. People ask you to sign things that are not bills, checks, receipts or loan documents.
8. People ask about your process. I should probably come up with a better answer than, “I spent a very long time either staring at my blank screen or looking at Facebook until a few disjointed ideas came together.”
7. Only people severely addicted to online shopping visit Amazon.com more than I do. Except I am only looking at my book’s page hoping for either a new review or my standing on Amazon’s best seller list to change.  
6. You get introduced as an author. I should make myself a nametag just to make it more official I think.
5. I’m supposed to have AND update a Twitter account. Twitter makes me feel like an old lady because I’m constantly mad about the lack of punctuation and run-on sentences I see on there dagnabit. Kids these days…
4. You realize the characters and storylines that have driven you nutso for years are now living in other people’s heads and, for better or worse, your work is now part of that person’s literary history.
3. You do a google search on how to write a screenplay. FYI- I don’t know that any good screenplay has started with the author googling “how to write a screenplay”.
2. The day your Facebook fan page gets joined by someone you actually don’t know is a BIG DAY!
1.      1. People start asking for a sequel. What the…? You want me to do what?? I have to do this again???

Where are the dancing elephants?

A radiation machine. Yep, it is as big as it looks.

There wasn’t a parade. There weren’t fireworks. There wasn’t even a hint of dancing elephants anywhere in the vicinity. But it doesn’t matter. Even without a drum line present to witness the occasion, as of 2:00 pm today, I walked out of the cancer ward, done with active treatment for stage 2 triple negative breast cancer. 18 weeks of chemotherapy, 28 radiation doses (with the resulting radiation burns), and one massive surgery completed. Boo yah. 
At some point this afternoon, the universe quietly handed me back the keys to my life. Cancer is no longer in the driver’s seat dictating exactly what I can and cannot do. Can I leave the state now? Yep, I no longer have to be at the hospital every single day for treatment. Can I start thinking about bringing my hairdryer and flat iron out of retirement? Oh, you better believe it.  Could I go a whole day without scrubbing my hands with Purell for the slight chance I am in the vicinity of someone with the sniffles? Absolutely. Catching a cold won’t mean possible hospitalization anymore, it would just mean an excuse to take a hefty dose of Nyquil at night (Nyquil sleep is great sleep). 
The door everyone hides behind while I get treatmentThis is a big deal. It is a wonderful, amazing, scary, crazy big deal. I count myself a million times lucky to have a good prognosis right now. I'm fully aware many people don't come out of this. This feels like a second chance. That kind of thing, if you are smart, changes your life forever for the better. 

So, what’s next? What do you do with yourself after you’ve had your life run by the big C for a whole year and all of the sudden you are master and commander of your own body again? What do you do? I'm not sure yet. All I can tell you it is gonna be big. And it is gonna start with a party. Now if I can just raise enough money for some elephants…

Pill Popping, Text Language and Man Jewelry

All my chemo meds. Yeesh...I got a call from my oncologist’s nurse yesterday. She was questioning my use of Ambien (a sleeping pill) Spanish Inquisition style. I had a 30 day supply that only lasted me 28 days. She was, in so many words, gravely concerned that I had turned into a pill-popping druggy. I launched into a lengthy explanation about how the nights when I was extremely sick from the chemo, I’d take another half-dose at 3 am to get me through to the morning, panicked words spilling from my mouth as I tried to make her understand. . . But then I remembered something. I’m over 30, I’m successful (compared to a homeless person), I am NOT a druggie and I don’t really have to explain myself to her.
At 22 years of age, a conversation like this would have had me all sweaty and scared, like I had been called into the principal’s office. I would have done everything I could to make sure that random nurse knew I wasn’t abusing my medication. 32-year-old me knows who I am and knows that the aforementioned conversation wasn’t worth my time.  And I told her that.This got me thinking.  What is okay when you are twenty-something but not okay when you are thirty-something? What can you deal with when you are 20 but that same thing becomes un-deal-with-able when you cross that momentous line of being 30 years of age? Here’s my short list (because I think I could go on forever):-          Anyone under the age of 80 calling me “hun” or “sweetheart”: Okay when you are 22, not okay when you are 32. And  boys, to you I am “Ma’am”, as in “yes, ma’am, I will hold the door open for you because I see you wrestling with two crazy children. Do you need help out to your car?” -          Using text language: 20 and under? I chalk it up to immaturity and it being the cool thing to do. Fine. Anyone over 30 who texts me BRB, TY, or the letter U instead of you is not okay in my book. Plus, don’t we all have SIRI or the Windows equivalent now who writes our texts for us? Come on, our conversation is worth the extra three seconds. I deserve the whole “you”! Disclaimer: LOL is okay. We who are over 30 invented LOL. We are keeping it. -          Sub-par service at a restaurant: At 22, if the food wasn’t perfect or if a waiter was sucky, I’d just shrug my shoulders and soldier on. But 30-me? You better bet I’m calling your backside over, waiter, to fix the food mistake. And if it is you, waiter, who is sucking, I’m old enough to feel obligated to call over your manager so you learn your lesson.-          A lack of life insurance: “Don’t think about tomorrow, let’s live for today!” said every 20-year-old always. And that’s fun and romantic for a few years. But I think you can only carpe diem through life until you hit about 26, and then your back starts hurting. Shortly after that, you need to buy some life insurance… and have a job with health insurance…and have a car to buy some car insurance for.-           Man jewelry: The cute surfer wearing a bunch of woven bracelets around each wrist? Fine. The dangerous looking young guy on the back of a motorcycle with gauged ears? Not my style, but understandable, young man, if are in your twenties. But ANY piece of man jewelry outside of a wedding ring on a guy over 30? Shut it down! By the way, gauged ear guy, your ears are gonna look KILLER when you are fifty.
So what is your take? What is no longer okay when you reach 30? Also, does anyone else remember when this blog used to be about writing? I’ll get back on that.

All the Donuts in the World

It’s November, 2012.
My husband and I are lying on our bed after putting the kids to sleep.
I had a feeling.
“Big things are coming,” I say out loud, more to the ceiling fan than to my husband, who is already snoring.
“Big things,” I repeat. I couldn’t shake the portentous feeling.
And I was right. The next eight months have been Dickens-esque. It’s been one of those it-was-the-best-of- times-it-was-the-worst-of-times situations in the Bryant house. A cancer diagnosis, a publishing deal, emergency invitro, mastectomy surgery, our ten-year anniversary, buying a chiropractic practice, chemo, getting down to the change we had left in the house to buy that week’s groceries (who knew it was so expensive to buy a chiropractic practice???), miracles the likes of which I never thought I’d have the privilege to see... Like I said, the best of times, worst of times.   
So now that the chemo is done, now that the practice is bought, now that my shelves have food on them again, what have I learned?
- Trials either break you or make you unbreakable. You get to choose.
- Family is the biggest blessing of life. And if you’ve been nice, they’ll stick around when you need them.
- It is really important to have food storage. Life gets lean sometimes. The extra cans of spaghetti sauce will come in handy.
- Let art imitate life. My novel’s characters know a lot more about suffering now that I do too. I’m a better writer after going through this last year. You can’t teach that kind of life experience.   
- Chemo is so all-encompassing, it can even make things like donuts, chocolate and frozen yogurt taste bad. And for a food-enthusiast like myself, that’s a big deal.
- If God leads you to it, He’ll get you through it. You never have to do anything alone.  
Before we know it, it will be November, 2013. And while I’m hoping for a more best-of-times situation for 2014, I wouldn’t trade this year for anything. Not even for all the donuts in the world. And for me, that’s saying a lot.

Things are about to get real...

I should be looking forward to August. 
Don’t get me wrong, it is going to be great for a lot of reasons. But August is really starting to scare the proverbial pants off me. Don’t worry, my real pants aren’t going anywhere.    10 years awesome
August will mark my husband’s and my 10 year anniversary. 10 blissful years of sunshine and butterflies and absolutely no frustration or craziness ever… sure, let’s go with that… Together, we’ve done one Master’s degree, one doctorate, three moves, two kids, one miscarriage, breast cancer and a whole lot of work. All joking aside, it is a big thing in our little family’s life and we are excited to reach that milestone together.

August will also be my last round of chemotherapy. This is definitely a “let’s rent an entire cruise ship, fill it with everyone we know and hire Aerosmith, Britney Spears and every boy band from the late 90’s to perform for us as we sail around the world in celebration” kind of deal (can you tell I’m a mom and have no idea who is cool in music right now? Like, who the crap is 2 Chainz and why are we letting him be famous?). But I am also a little afraid to walk away from chemo. There is something comforting about having cancer poison coursing through your veins even though the effects are ill indeed. When it stops, your body is left back to its own devices. You know, the kind of devices that grew the cancer in the first place. I’ve got mixed feelings about the end, which makes it a little less exciting to be done with chemo. Rockin' some polka-dots
“And last, but certainly not least, my book releases in August,” she said with a forced grin, the fear and trepidation plain in her eyes. Yes, I’m starting to freak out. Having a book about to be published is loads of fun. It is a pinch glamorous and really exciting to talk about.  But then people read it. And the reviews start coming in. And that is when things get real. You lay bare your soul and hope the general public doesn’t laugh at your poor soul running around naked.
Maybe my publisher will let me write, “I am just getting over cancer, please wait to post all negative reviews until the New Year,” on the front cover of every copy sold.
Whether I’m ready or not, August is a-coming.  And things are about to get real…

Also, people have been inquiring about the book site: kristinbryant.com

Truth be told...

Me, going into some
procedure or anotherI recently had a local reporter interview me about my upcoming book. It was the first time anyone had done "research" on me before actually meeting me. Unnervingly cool experience, by the way. But, I quickly realized that her research hasn't uncovered anything very real about me. I am more than where I graduated from grad school and my latest Facebook post. So here they are, some very basic truths that give you a better idea of who I am…and they are mostly about food…hmmm…
Food:
- I love food. Eating is my favorite pastime. In fact, I don’t like going to restaurants with anyone besides my husband because I feel like I can't enjoy my food the way I want to for fear of social judgment. When I’m at the Olive Garden, I want to go with someone who doesn’t think twice about me asking for a third basket of breadsticks. On a related note, I love my very long-suffering husband.- I frost cakes very lightly because I can't wait to take a spoon to the leftover canister of funfetti frosting after the party is over. That's how I roll...and if I eat much more frosting, rolling won't be a problem. - I eat 2/3 of my meals standing up because there’s no reason to sit down when your two boys are going to ask you for something every 33 seconds. On a related note, I love my two wild and crazy boys.- There is nothing fun about “fun size” candy bars. “King size” is my fun size and they should call them “Mom size”.

Fashion and beauty:- Any day I can't wear flip flops is a bad day.
- I only ever change out of my yoga pants due to social pressure.
- I am currently undergoing chemo for breast cancer and as a result, I am as bald as Mr. Clean. From this, I've learned two things. One- you have to know exactly who you are without hair to hide behind. Two- when you have no body hair whatsoever, showers go from 20 minutes to about 2.5.
Awesome hair dayGeneral knowledge:
- You want me on your team when playing trivia games, I'm pretty good. Because of this, people sometimes mistake me for being really smart. Not so. I know things the things because I have a pretty good memory and I am on Google far too often.
- I loathe scary movies, scary stories, haunted houses...anything remotely spine tingling. For me, seeing a ghost would be a worst-case-scenario situation and I don't find watching my worst case scenario onscreen anything akin to fun. - I am in awe of those who know everything about old movies or classic literature and reference them in deep conversations. People who talk of things kafkaesque and can use the word zeighiesty as an adjective correctly are way too cool for me.
- I finally know what I want to be when I grow up. I want to write books. It only took me 30 years to figure it out.

So, nice to meet you blog followers! Now you know a few things about me. I really look forward to getting to know new friends and contacts through this medium! Now, back to editing this manuscript…
 

Article

Hey everyone!
Here is the link to my newspaper interview about the book and my recent diagnosis. Thanks everyone for the support!

http://epaper.ocregister.com/Olive/ODE/OCWStarProgress/LandingPage/LandingPage.aspx?href=T0NXU3RhclByb2dyZXNzLzIwMTMvMDUvMDI.&pageno=MQ..&entity=QXIwMDEwMw..&view=ZW50aXR5

Don't Say I Didn't Warn You...

I am fully aware of how lucky I am to have a publisher. I’m luckier than a… dang…as a writer, a simile here should be easier to write… But I digress…
As I have been promoting my upcoming work, I have also been thinking about the mistakes I’ve made along the way. And because I’ve never minded being the subject of a cautionary tale, I thought I’d share some of my bad choices if only to serve as a warning sign for future publishing travelers:

3. The End. Send.
“It’s finished,” I uttered in wonderment, staring at the blinking cursor as I typed The End at what I believed was the conclusion of my manuscript. “Well, time to start shopping it around! Now who is the lucky agent who gets to say yes first?”
12 rejections later… I realized my story may need some cleaning up.
One of the biggest newbie mistakes I made was that I finished my manuscript, and without the gut-wrenching editing process that I now understand is necessary, started querying. Yes, there are a lot of agents and publishers out there, but in the increasingly brutal publishing market, you don’t want to close any doors by sending out anything but your best work.   

2. Everyone wants what I’m selling. Wrong.
Much like the lone sausage vendor trying to sell his pork-laden products outside a vegetarian restaurant, not everyone is going to want what you’ve got. You have to know your market and write specifically for them. I spoke to a book promoter about what he could do to help me market and he talked about the thousands of websites to which he could email blast my synopsis. When I mentioned that my book might speak to a Christian audience, he said, “Oh, that’s great! Having some kind of target audience makes my job about 300-times easier.” Lesson learned: Even if you are handing out your hotdogs for free, if you aren’t targeting the right audience, no one’s gonna bite. Pun intended.

1. Not asking for help.
Please know I am typing this with the knowledge that scripture is scripture, and I have not written scripture. I believe that God inspires man to write when God needs something said. But, even though you may be writing something MUCH less important (and I do mean MUCH less), I believe our Father in Heaven wants us to develop our talents. I also believe He is willing to help us when we are doing something that is worthwhile. It never occurred to me to pray for help with writing since I wasn’t writing anything of a spiritual nature. I understand better now how happy it makes our Father when we develop the talents he gives us. When the work is clean and uplifting, anyone can ask for help. And help will come.    

So there they are folks! Don’t say I didn’t warn ya.
I'm luckier than a cat with two scratching posts…Hmmm, yeah, I’ll keep working on that simile…

Village Idiot

Every single day, parents do their darndest to keep their little ones alive.  “Don’t eat those poison mushrooms!”“Leave that bear cub alone!”“Don’t jump in the deep end of the pool without three pairs of floaties on!”But what happens when the parents have done all they can? What happens when parents need help preparing their young for survival? Well, the old adage tells us that the local butcher, baker, and even candlestick maker step in to help teach children as well. Because, as we’ve all heard- it takes a village to raise a child. I understand this on a few different levels now. Firstly, thank goodness for good teachers who are helping my little ones learn things they refuse to let me teach them. And secondly, I now realize how imperative it is to have a team of people who are amazing at their job to get a book ready for market. Because, as I extend the village metaphor, as a parent of a new book, I am now the equivalent of the village idiot.  Example 1: My editor asked me to send her some ideas for the cover. Since I cannot even draw a straight line with a ruler, I am extremely grateful that there is someone out there who can take my fractured, vague ideas and makes them into a real-life picture to turn into a real-life cover. Example 2: It turns out I know very little about the English language. I had no idea how many mistakes my manuscript had. So, thank goodness for the editorial grammar ninjas who actually paid attention in English class when the rest of us were writing notes to each other. As it is with children, it takes a village to get a book ready for market survival. And being the equivalent of the village idiot on a book team isn’t so bad if you’ve got great people around you to make up the difference.
I’d love to hear from any traditional or self-pub people out there! Who has helped you in your journey to market?

Straight-up Escapism

 My husband, my two kids and I are driving home from a long day which included, among the usual craziness, following a tow-truck with my husband’s car on the back to the mechanic...again. It was just one of those long, never-ending days.
 Actual transcript of what my husband tells me happened in the car:
“Dad, what happens if a tow truck breaks down? Who tows a tow truck?”
“They have bigger tow trucks to tow broken tow trucks.”
“What happens when the biggest tow truck ever breaks down?”
“I don’t know Jake.”
“Mom?” My son paused, because I’m not answering. “Mom!” he yells. Nothing.
“Kristin, Jake’s yelling at you. You ok?”
“What? Sorry, I wasn’t listening to you guys. I was thinking about Disneyland.”
Escapism. I’m guilty of it in spades. In the tough, mundane moments, my mind wanders to things that are pleasurable, like the characters I am developing, a new story plot, or sometimes, apparently, Disneyland.
I belong to more than a few writing groups filled with moms about my age. Of course, we claim to write for fun, for relaxation, because it makes us feel fulfilled…not many of us mention straight-up escapism very often. And I’m not talking, “Oh, writing is such a fun escape for me.” I’m talking, “I can’t handle it anymore. I’m going to go pretend I’m someone else for a little while.”
Maybe it is a dirty little secret of the writer/mom. When the diapers and the screaming and the bills and the mess and the dishes and the piles of laundry get too big to handle, maybe some of us literary types write stories about everything but being a 30-something mom with a whole bunch of kids and a whole bunch of unmade beds.
This quote from Graham Greene hits home: “Writing is a form of therapy; sometimes I wonder how all those who do not write, compose or paint can manage to escape the madness, melancholia, the panic and fear which is inherent in a human situation.”
Reality TV and ice cream work for a lot of people I guess. Me? Sometimes I write to escape.   Hey, it’s cheaper than a day at the spa.