Darren Endymion's Blog, page 28

11th Anniversary, My 1st

Apparently, my publisher has been around for eleven years. They are having a big sale to celebrate with the code TORQUERE2014 for 25% off.

http://www.torquerebooks.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=97&products_id=3966

They sent us an e-mail to tell us to promote it if we wish (as it benefits everyone) and to encourage us to reminisce about our first book published with them.

That made me think—I totally missed the one year anniversary of my first novel being published and of being published in general. It’s definitely something to be proud of, and I am. One thing I wasn’t expecting was the sheer mediocrity of life afterwards. I knew it wasn’t going to be an earth shattering experience—I wasn’t going to get on the best seller by writing a gay werewolf novel. I did expect to feel different, though.

I’m a slacker of a self-promoter, I loathe most social media, and I’m very secretive about my writing. I’ve counted, and only about five of my friends know I’ve written anything. Why? We’d be here for some time. But I expected to have this inner glow or something. I’m thrilled, but I think I naively expected some constant, ongoing mental orgasm. It just doesn’t feel like a year yet for many reasons.

And what of the future? I’m working on something new that’s sort of beating my head in, constantly mewling like a needy child with volume control issues. When writing the synopsis, I knew that something was going to happen, but wasn’t exactly sure how, but as I was writing the synopsis, I sort of zoned out. When I finished writing the synopsis scene, I sort of snapped out of this daze, realized that was exactly what I wanted for the ending scene, and that it touched on and linked together all the things I needed it to. It was almost trance-like.

I know how lame-bordering-on-pretentious-insanity that sounds, trust me. I’m making myself sick just typing this. But it was like I wasn’t even in the room when it happened. I sort of snapped out of it and realized that I had the ending I needed and wanted. And it was not only infinitely more exciting than what I had planned, but made more sense. But I didn’t see it coming. It’s logical, and when I finish writing it, I’m sure that absolutely nobody will be shocked, but I was unaware.

It’s times like that that I think Stephen King might have something. Maybe stories really are artifacts and we are just the archaeologists. Hopefully, I can assemble this one to be as good as it can be.

I am mostly over how difficult the publishing and editing process was, so that’s not the reason I haven’t written much. It has been a challenging time in my life, and things are finally evening out. Then…well, for the writers out there, have you ever done all the groundwork for something, researched, did family trees, lineages of magical creatures and their offspring, maps, cultures, religions, character sketches, and were starting to work on the synopsis…only to realize that it just wasn’t time to write it yet? It’s enough to give you an aneurysm! I’m sure the stuff will remain the same, but my enthusiasm wasn’t there, I don’t think I have the experience to pull it off yet, and (aside from being a giant chicken) it just didn’t feel right. I wasn’t in the mind set. I was more doom, gloom, apocalypse, and (apparently) pseudo-steampunk (maybe not even romance or overtly gay. The story will tell me when it’s time) rather than fantasy. So, I put it off and it felt right. I’m not abandoning it…it’s just not time yet.

But mostly, I have been lazy and preoccupied for a year. That has changed. Writing can support life rather than the other way around and it is a valuable lesson I’m still learning.

Apocalyptic Birthday

Dark skies. Windmills stopped. A mountain which looked as though it was being called up into the clouds. Raindrops the size of quarters. This was our drive to the desert last weekend for my friend’s birthday. We half expected to see locusts and made nervous jokes about three of us being first born sons. Our phones kept blaring flash flood warnings, startling us all into inappropriate laughter.

When we arrived at our destination it was no longer raining, but two of my friends’ glasses fogged up the moment we got out of the car. It was 95 degrees and wet. We were about an hour before check in time, so the four of us decided to go eat. We had an amazing meal, bloody marys (I’m sure I was the only pretentious asshole who drank it while thinking about Queen Mary Tudor), I was flirted with by the cute Latino bus boy (so it HAD to be obvious if I noticed it), and laughed our butts off.

Back at the hotel, three of us threw our stuff in the room, changed, and assaulted the pool with our presences. I have lost weight, but still felt like a cow at 135 (yes, that was self-justification. I’m a short gay male. It happens). The birthday boy jumped into the pool, and our friend joked that his phone was going off with a tidal wave warning. This same friend refused to get into the pool, saying he was fine just putting his legs in. My friends being the asses they most definitely are, later mentioned to me in private that he had gained a great deal of weight (he has) and that his refusal to get into the pool didn’t disguise the sweat stains forming underneath his tits. My friends are treasures, aren’t they?

To further this point, we played a game where we divided into two teams and one reads clues to his/her teammate in an effort to get him to guess it. This is a timed affair. My clue was “pigs in a blanket”. Jokingly, I said, “We are all…” My friend the birthday boy yelled “FAAAAT!” so loud that we didn’t hear the timer go off, and I’m certain that at least one window rattled in its frame. Mr. Sweaty Tits and I went to pick up food and played a game detailing sexual iniquities and sins. Essentially, the purest one should have won, that being the birthday boy. Somehow, I won the game by virtue of a sheltered childhood (which led into an adulthood of debauchery. I believe I described my old apartment as a Brothel of Sin. I miss that place.)

The next day I awoke to another flash flood warning and a sky the color of Satan’s taint after a long and crippling infection. We ate, swam, and in the early evening drove up a scary ass mountain to watch the sunset. I didn’t realize I had a giant wuss inside me, but the drive up scared the hell out of me — sweaty palms, rapid heartbeat, etc. We saw a sandstorm below us. We drank, toasted the end of a decade, and were chased down the mountain by encroaching clouds full of lightning and terror.

More fun, more swimming, more drinking, and a lot more eating later, and two of us found ourselves in a tub the size of a jacuzzi (with our swimming clothes on), and had an incident with overflowing bubbles like something out of an I Love Lucy episode. Pictures were taken, lives threatened, and a good time was had by all.

I suppose that last sentence about sums up my friend’s Apocalyptic Birthday.

Now I’m left with that leaning forward feeling, like I’m looking forward to a vacation on the horizon…which doesn’t exist.

Yet. I plan to change that.

Sailor Moon Crystal ep 1-05, Makoto — Sailor Jupiter

I decided to trey a new format for these, where I write my reactions as the episode plays. I may (probably will) go back to the old review thing on the next episode. Feel free to let me know if you love or hate it.

– I love Sailor Jupiter/Makoto/Lita! (Pure geek expulsion, let’s move on)

– Makoto always seems to be saving Serena’s ass, doesn’t she? First from a speeding car and then from a softball-sized dent in her cranium.

– Serena’s such a beggar! She slithered across the play yard because she saw Lita with a cute lunch box and thought there might be something she could eat in there. I want Asian food now…unfortunately, the Asian place by my house changed ownership and the entire menu. I blame it on my ex somehow. My favorites are gone! *weeping, fountain of tears* hahaha. Lord, I can really be like Usagi sometimes. Where was I?

– Serena’s total lack of caring about what other people are saying or doing is a shining indication of her personality. Even Ami says something about it — Serena can become friends with anyone. She’s not one who cares that everyone is talking shit on Lita or that they think she’s some super hero of strength. (And why WOULDN’T they want to be friends with her if they thought she had super strength? I’d ask her where she got her powers and make sure I had some, too.)

– The ghost bride/scary-ass mannequin was a little terrifying. Why did her shoulders have to pop like some Evil Dead, basement-dwelling horror?

–  See? Tuxedo Mask is totally Edward from Twilight in these beginning episodes (but less constipated?). That stalker-bitch needs a restraining order and a lesson on boundaries. You don’t show up at someone’s house while they are sleeping and drag them out of their window, Dahmer.

– Loved the triple transformation! And Rei’s throwing fire blades? I want them.

– Lita’s personality is untampered. She’s all about her ex boyfriend and that’s exactly what I wanted. But I’ve always felt bad for her. All the other girls want boyfriends, sure, but Mako is the one who seems to feel the most pain about it. And the way the enemy tricks her is awful. “You said you loved me, but it was a lie.” Who hasn’t felt that way? I feel so bad for poor Jupiter.

– Sailor Moon’s words to Makoto just before she transformed were actually touching.

– No butt cheeks during Sailor Jupiter’s transformation? I feel cheated.

– Jupiter gets two attacks? In the first episode?! I knew her attachment to roses and her earrings were more significant in the manga, and so I think it’s great they brought that out. Though Jupiter is the scout of the wind/lightning, she also seems to be the one of trees. She’s got a lot on her plate — like Flower Hurricane and Jupiter Thunderbolt. I’d say I want her powers, too, but I don’t know if even The Rock could make a strong wind of flower petals into something manly.

– And we have the entrance of the Crescent Moon Wand. Time to turn some bad bitches into good ones.

– Why don’t I have powers? I need to find a cat to give me a transformation pen. Immediately.

Flee This Life, Flee This Place

Once again, that title sounds a bit dramatic, but it’s a lyric from “Movie in My Mind” from Miss Saigon. It could refer to a lot of things, but today it refers to a vacation. It’s not one I would have taken on my own and certainly not to this particular location, but a very dear friend is turning a very difficult age, and he wants to get away from it all. Regrettably, he’s not going to be able to outrun his date of origin, so this is the next best thing.

He’s dragging three of us to a climate known for scorching heat and, well, more heat. I think the whole city gets four or five drops of rain all year. I loathe the heat with every cell in my body—it depresses me, it makes me feel sticky and gross, and I become bitter, horrified, and generally unpleasant. One of us also feels this way and refuses to walk more than half a parking lot, even in optimal weather conditions—and she will complain about the heat even then. Another sweats when getting out of the car. Therefore, we somehow thought it logical to allow the fourth person (NOT the birthday boy), who plans to get drunk beyond all reason and likes the heat, to plan everything.

To his credit, a lodging place was chosen to try and appease us all. Large adjoining rooms, socially irresponsible amounts of air conditioning, and a pool literally right next to our room. Said pool is open 24 hours a day and allows drinking. Always a good combination. Remember that crack I made about four drops of rain a year? Well, they are scheduled to arrive while we are there. And apparently, they have multiplied.

We will be gone for three days. Upon our arrival we will be greeted with a 50% chance of thunderstorms and 97 degree heat. Our second day it will go down to 93 degrees and…you know the Yahoo weather app? Well, it has something like five raindrops and an angry cloud which I believe means I should pack a canoe. If that is scaled down for the region, that means getting a sprinkle they will call Storm Watch 2014 (it IS in California, after all) with hysterical overtones and alarms and screaming babies.

But, if that’s a standard amount of rain, like that icon means “downpour” no matter if you’re in the desert of rainforest, then I may need water wings and a prayer. Very dry ground and a downpour do not make good bedfellows. That’s why every time it rains in So Cal you hear about houses sliding into the valleys and people not knowing how to drive in the rain and people acting like it’s the Second Flood of Noah. I checked elsewhere and it’s supposed to rain a little for something like 4 hours. I think we will manage…in our room, with the A/C on, while casting wary eyes at the distant hills.

In any case, we are leaving tomorrow morning, and I have been informed that I am not to bring my laptop or my PS Vita. They can bite my bag if they think I’m leaving my Kindle at home, too. In any case, I won’t be around on Monday to post, so I’m doing it on Saturday.

Still, despite all this, I’m really excited to go. I’ll loathe the weather, but it will be fun to be with friends and eat and drink with them and maybe even use them as flotation devices. Who knows what the future holds?

Winter’s Trial Price Reduction

So, I’ve recently received notification that my publisher has changed their payment ratio (they essentially pay by the word count on what I assume is some sort of tiered system. Since I’m a wordy mongrel, mine was originally nearly $10). This probably stems from the same place their recently increased word limits for short stories and anthology submissions originates — they have found that  longer stories sell better. It would therefore behoove them to lower the prices to a more palatable level. Who wants to read a pamphlet at a book’s price? The upshot of this is that my novel, Winter’s Trial, has dropped in price.

Sure, that means less money for me, but in truth I’m very happy about the change. At this stage in my writing (career? adventure? experiment? whatever you wanna call it) it’s definitely not about the money. The cheaper my book is, the more people would be willing to take a chance on a new author with only two credits to his name (so far). Before I stopped visiting Goodreads, I saw a thread to this effect under my book and I agreed with that point. It’s sad when you look at your own book, something you babied and are very proud of (while noting where you can improve and do better) and think, “I wouldn’t buy it…not for that price.” Bless those who did; I can’t overstate how appreciative I am.

It’s currently $6.99 on:

Torquere:

http://www.torquerebooks.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=97&products_id=3966

Amazon:

http://www.amazon.com/Winters-Trial-Darren-Endymion-ebook/dp/B00EOR0406/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1409839075&sr=8-1&keywords=winter%27s+trial

Personally, I’d prefer they go even lower, but there is money to be made I suppose, and it’s not my decision in the end. I will take what I can.

As something amusing to consider, they are going from the longest book to the shortest story to apply their new pricing structure. My book was second. I was almost offended. Someone was actually wordier than me at 146,000 words? Lucky for everyone I’m not particularly competitive, or I’d have to up the stakes.

Can you imagine? *handing in 407,895 words* “Enjoy your week of proofreading!”

Life Stopping Fun

In life I have learned that there are four things which will stop my forward momentum and sweep me up in their insanity. Those things are Sailor Moon, Disgaea, Harry Potter, and Halloween.

Disgaea is a strategy role playing game with a sense of humor and the deepest system and replayability of any game I have come in contact with. Disgaea 4 recently came out in a portable version for the PS Vita, so I can take my crack anywhere.

However, almost anything in life — bad times, work horrors, relationship pain, fun times, good work — can all be stopped by getting into Harry Potter. I’m not here to tell you what that is. If you don’t know, then you are likely reading this from Mars, in a cave, with a rock pulled over the entrance and your fingers in your ears. *stealing a line from The Simpsons* I recently got an amazing deal on Amazon for the epic Blu-ray/DVD collection and have been itching to watch them and read the books. Since I’m not trying to write in urban fantasy and I want to keep focused on my writing, I have pushed it off.

Until three weeks ago. Over two weekends, a friend and I tore our way through movies 1-6. She started reading Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone. I read something much beloved and related, but am determined to finish reading my current book, Meg 4: Hell’s Aquarium by Steve Alten. But Harry Potter and my rekindling love for that whole world ripped me out of Disgaea 4 for my precious PS Vita.

And then it became September. I have wanted it to be autumn since the beginning of July. My life stops for autumn. The best season ever. I love horror movies (I’ve watched my new Blu-ray of The Fog twice in three days. Digest that.). This past weekend was spent watching Evil Dead (remake), The Fog, Nightmare on Elm Street, and others like Devil’s Pass, Dark Circles and Seconds Apart (with hottie twins, no less). My friends and I spend every single weekend from September to October together. We hang out, watch movies, and gain back any weight we have lost over the year.

The new Sailor Moon comes out every two weeks (though this week’s episode was postponed ’till next, I believe. I blame Sailor Jupiter). Disgaea is all consuming. Harry Potter trumps everything else when the mood is upon me. Unless Halloween approaches. During this time, I think I have the healthiest work-to-life ratio, incidentally. Halloween trumps life. It’s the biggest, baddest Pokemon. I read, think, listen to, and watch horror. I’m with my friends all the time. I’m happy as the weather changes (which it regrettably does very slowly and only minutely in Southern California).

So, I’m trying to write, to work out, and to go forward with the changes I have in mind. And all these things are coloring my writing. And it’s good. Horror is in the background of everything I write, though I have not yet brought this out in any significant way. Disgaea’s pumpkinheads and rereading Oz books brought the scary pumpkinheads in my short story “The Snow Queen” to life. What the hell will the Item World and thieving angels and Death Emizel do to steampunk? And horror belongs in what I’m doing with this world. Hopefully writing will be the great sponge, taking all these disparate things and allowing me to combine them into one story. I haven’t stopped writing yet, which is a wonderful sign.

As for Harry’s influence, who doesn’t need a little magic in their lives?

Finally! Progress!

So, I have run out of planning things to do and ways to put it all off and I finally started writing the new stuff over the previous two nights. The first chapter or so is always full of me jotting more stuff in my notes, because my mind is working so hard that it’s exhausting and I find connections I didn’t know were there. I ended last night by watching part of Burnt Offerings with Karen Black and Bette Davis (they were in the movie; I didn’t watch the movie with them. That would be creepy) and going to bed early. Don’t judge me, it was a good night for me.

It always feels so good to begin, to start something. I’m reminded of a line from Stephen King’s Misery, badly paraphrased as: it’s good to begin, knowing you won’t write as well as you want, but that the journey has begun.

My writing schedule is abysmal. I finished a 400+ page novel in something like 3 months and it was published. I wrote my published short story in a few days (and I like it, but I think it shows, too. Whatever). I’m fully capable of writing more and pumping out several things a year. Sometimes I think it’s my method, but realistically speaking, the individual steps don’t take long at all. Even combined they don’t. I think I’m…well, we’ll go into that later.

I have an idea, do brief character sketches (or long ones) which pretty much tells me the whole plot. I write out the plot, which adds depth to what I’m doing (I also use this later if I need to write out a synopsis for submission), and I put notes in brackets to tell me what to do when I get there. Then, it’s all fixed in my mind and I can pretty much abandon it.

If it’s a world that’s not “normal”, that world building part can go anywhere (but I recommend somewhere in the beginning. First is good, but I usually do characters first). For instance, one of the best things I have ever read about fantasy world building was to draw a map (unfortunately, it was written by a genius/reprehensible bigot, so I try to pretend I’ve never read anything of his. But I have). When I first read that I thought, “That’s stupid, why would I do that?” Because it works, that’s why. You start to realize what a culture would be like in that region (i.e. by an ocean, desert, etc.) and what landmarks would be good or significant. I’m not doing fantasy this time, so what I did was draw a map of the city where the action would be taking place. It put everything together.

Try it. It really works. Think of what Stephen King’s Under the Dome would be like if it didn’t have a map. Even if we weren’t provided with it, it allows him to be consistent and to plot the action. I’ll bet he had a map for Derry in It. And anything that took place in Castle Rock? Most likely. Joan D. Vinge with Carbuncle in The Snow Queen and The Summer Queen? Probably. George R. R. Martin? *pointing to the front of the books and the opening credits of Game of Thrones*

Then I start writing.

I think the problem is that I don’t consider myself a writer. I don’t know if that will change if I ever go mainstream (a.k.a. not a gay publisher), or if it starts bringing in more money or whatever, but I think it’s also a way of not taking myself too seriously. But the pauses and periods of non-writing are more than the periods of writing, and that’s a problem because I love writing. I think it’s difficult for me to make the transition into something that was a hobby to really grasp that it can potentially be more. And it can be more for me. I’m not saying that I could ever be a millionaire from writing…but I don’t think any writer tells him/herself that it’s not possible, or doesn’t at least harbor a miniscule dream of living off of writing.

My problem is that I actually need to DO it. Which I think I’m gonna go do right now. Till next time, have good weekends!

When it’s Time to Let Go

I have been dealing with a situation in recent months which involves the deterioration of a friendship I once held very dear.

I watched when he had a job and was going to school and was happy and fulfilled and moving forward with his life. I have never seen him so positive, optimistic, and happy. He went through a break up and lost all forward momentum, decided his job was too hard and quit it, lost or gave up on job after job, descended into drugs (just weed, as far as I know) and copious amounts of alcohol. He lost opportunities. In that time, I and my friendship were nothing to him. I was all but totally abandoned in favor of the people he could drink with and be irresponsible with (who, ironically, were getting their lives together and being responsible and moving on). He dated and messed around and paraded this around in front of anyone who had eyes, particularly this ex he claimed to still care about. He was clearly acting out, whether it be in rebellion or anger or sadness.

I kept trying to pick him up, using any methods I could, some of which were awful and counterintuitive. I was an ass and would turn into a hateful harpy when he wouldn’t do what I wanted (which was more frequently than I care to admit). I got overinvolved because I couldn’t bear to see my friend do this to himself. On one hand I thought that he was just being young and irresponsible and better to do it now than when he is in his 30s and 40s. On the other, I thought that he’s at a time in his life where he needs to shape it into what it will become.

Most people would have abandoned him long before, but I am loyal bordering on pathetic and controlling. I kept hoping for him. He would ask for my advice and then do the opposite, though I doubt it was malicious or purposeful—it’s easier to stay in the mess you’ve made than to climb out of it. He asked me for help and would then abandon me when it was offered.

He has left his home place (not coincidentally where I also reside) and is now being coddled by his enabling family (or it’s all a lie and he’s with his partying friends). Regardless, they know him, know his foibles, his shortcomings, his weaknesses, and are doing everything they can to help get him on his feet again. They are probably the support system he needs (even though they give him no room to mess up, so I am wary of the real lessons he will learn). Frankly, I should be happy that the burden is taken off my shoulders. He has repeatedly claimed that he is doing better and will come back home to think and be a better person. Instead, he lies, he abandons, he chickens out, and (once again) he completely disregards my friendship and takes my loyalty for granted.

I’m done now. It is no longer a matter of loyalty, but rather sadly clinging on to someone who doesn’t want to learn or grow. He clearly doesn’t want my help or my friendship. It stings…hurts, actually, but it’s probably for the best. I have made myself too available, put my life on hold to help him sometimes. But it’s over now. I’m not saying we are not friends, or that I’ll never speak to him again, but things will have to change, and I don’t know that this will happen, or that I will be around when/if it does.

At the end of it all, I realize that you can help and be there, but when you are no longer valued, when you are taken for granted, the situation rarely gets any better. I’m ashamed that I have been so pathetic until now, but I have come away from it smarter, wiser, and more aware of the signs that I am being taken for granted. And I will not tolerate it anymore.

I was once told something which rings especially true now: You can never control someone else’s actions; you can only control your own.

And sometimes, it’s just time to let go.

Sailor Moon Crystal ep 1-04, Masquerade Dance Party

What the hell was up with Date-Rape Rohypnol-Action Tuxedo Mask? This isn’t Sleeping Beauty, people! Sailor Moon was passed out at a party and Tuxedo Mask thought it appropriate to literally lay on top of her and kiss her until Virginity Alarm Luna with her Cock-Blocking Nut-Crush action went off on him. Yes, we all know they were romantical a billion years in the past and that next season their daughter from the future will come back in time to pester them. But they don’t know that yet. They are attracted to each other, they feel something is odd about the other, but that doesn’t justify trying to get cozy with some girl in a short skirt who is passed out on a bench, guys.

I’m sure all the Twilight people thought it was adorable, the same way they thought that breaking into someone’s room at night and just watching someone sleep wasn’t creepy. You know how that usually ends? Not in romance, people. It ends in rape, death, media coverage, and a terrible, tragic funeral. We need to watch more Stalked and Solved: Extreme Forensics, apparently.

That aside, this was a good episode.

I like that they are keeping the transformations static, yet changing the attacks from time to time. I wasn’t sure how I felt about it at first, but I like it now. I do hope that some take the time to get into a full, fleshed out, elongated attacks. However, it does sort of make sense.

One of my favorite attacks from the original anime was Moon Spiral Heart Attack and its Super Sailor Moon follow up. However, it took 45 minutes to warm up that attack. By that time the enemy could have dozed off, ordered and eaten sushi, and wandered out of the line of fire, forcing Sailor Moon to blast some unaware passing toddler with what I can only assume were razor-sharp heart blades followed by a massive wall fashioned in the form of a heart. These are attacks, and part of making them effective is that they need to happen quickly or they miss. If the boulder in Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark was going at 0.005 miles an hour, the scene would lose some of its intensity.

Shouting the name of the attack is also something I miss in these quickie attacks, but I understand that it’s like saying, “Hey! Hey! Pay attention! I’m about to attack you!” At least we will always have Sailor Moon, who shouts and makes a huge production out of everything. Sailor Mars is apparently a ninja and will just shoot you in the ass with her Fire Soul attack before you have time to say, “It’s getting a little warm in here.”

The meat of the episode was that basically Melvin/Umino put on a wig and decided to be a princess for a week. That’s pretty much what this princess looked like. She was possessed by Nephlyte, who thought she had the Silver Crystal. Sailor Moon — who forgot her old tiara after helping burn Jaedite (who survived) — gets a newer, prettier tiara and attack presumably made from the Rohypnol that Tuxedo Mask slipped her when they touched at the dance. Shortly after attacking Nephlyte’s shadow thing, Sailor Moon became sleepy, eventually passing out from the aforementioned date rape drug.

As Ami and Rei abandon an unconscious Sailor Moon to the clutches of an overly amorous, Kissy-Face Tuxedo Mask, the un-possessed princess reveals this giant jewel (spoiler: NOT the Silver Crystal) which looks like a bloated Lewis Carroll knockoff, leaving everyone to think, “They carved a giant jewel into THAT pig in a wig?”

Finished vs. Running

I’m very in my own head today. I’ve been thinking about the difference between being done with something and running away from your problems. I’ve been considering and planning a huge shift in my life—changing jobs, states, and lines of work—and I’m trying to identify why I want to leave so badly.

I can’t decide if there’s nothing left for me in this place or if I think that getting away from it all will fix my problems. I don’t think that fresh mountain air (for instance) will inspire me to write and pump a best seller out of my head. It won’t miraculously conjure up an independent, devoted Prince Charming. Changing jobs won’t change human behavior; there is always going to be bickering as long as humans are together. I’m not saying there aren’t assholes out there, but I sincerely think one of my coworkers has about a dozen issues that require medication, a therapist, a broom handle, and a chiropractor in order to make her acceptable. It could only be worse were I a manservant for the criminally insane.

I digress. So, I thought about what I would gain through these changes and what I would lose. The realization I have come to is that most of my malcontent can be fixed with two big (huge, monumental, gigantuous) changes. I enjoy roots, putting my little ass in one place and staying there. BUT, I need to uproot myself from both my job and the state I have lived in all my life. It’s a gamble. Life is a gamble. Life is about change. It used to make me happy and content, but not at all anymore. To paraphrase Sharon Salzburg: What have we ever successfully managed to hold on to and keep 100% the same? What have we managed to keep that gives us the same pleasure it always did?

For someone who moved around a lot when I was a kid and who comes from a very, very poor background, I have roots and money. It’s a fear thing based on a tumultuous childhood. I have something I never did when I was a child—that my parents didn’t. But I’m not happy. I have come to the conclusion that life, truly living, requires more. And it has been a very hard lesson to learn.

Ugh. Enough of that crap.  Later this week I get to babble about the recent episode of Sailor Moon Crystal. *confetti*