R.R. Washburn's Blog, page 2

Writing With Depression

Most people wouldn’t think it, but the last few months I have been living in my own little circle of Hell. Not in the way that you would notice just by looking at me upon first glance, at least not right away. It happened in little strokes, just festering like an open wound that I couldn’t help but unconsciously pick at.
When I was a teenager, I was diagnosed with depression. But of course, when you’re a that age it’s a challenge to differentiate depression from teenage angst, so of course it got cast aside by both mine and my mother’s lack of acknowledgement. As I got older, the feelings didn’t disappear. In fact, they became something else. Like the open wound, a series of unfortunate events shaped them into an incurable mark.
Depression is a hard thing to explain to people who don’t have it. In a way, I’m grateful for that. I wouldn’t wish the things I think and feel on anybody. The best examples I can give are provided by the talented Allie of Hyperbole and a Half, who authored Adventures in Depression Part One and Two. Additionally, Depression Quest is a scarily accurate depiction of what life is like living with this insidious disease.
But it doesn’t explain what life has been like for me personally. It doesn’t chronicle the aforementioned Hell that I’ve been living in, on repeat, for years if not my whole life. It’s different for everyone and yet it’s all the same — we’re living with monsters in our heads that are slowly trying to kill us. And for some, the monsters win. It’s a long and grueling battle, and one that no one should have to suffer alone.


Every. Day.
For years.
So you see why I wouldn’t want to wish this feeling on anyone. Why it comes in a horrible wave, and I lock myself up in that cage and throw away the key, hoping for the storm to pass. But it doesn’t pass. It never passes. Not until something or someone comes along to quell this horrible urge to make it stop the only way I sometimes know how.
When I was awake, I was living a terrible nightmare. When I slept, I was trapped in another type of horrific dream. I have many night terrors, waking up with my heart racing, yelling or gasping for air. Some nights, I would lay awake unable to sleep at all, and those were always the worst because I’m trapped once again with that Depression Monster, gnawing away at me. What’s even worse about it all is that there was no safe place to escape to.
Depression is insidious. I’ve had people constantly tell me that it’ll be okay, it gets better. “It’s not your fault.” No matter how many times such kind words are repeated, and try as I might to make it my mantra, I can’t shake the inevitable. Eventually it rears its ugly head, and I’m dragged back down underwater, unable to breathe.
They always tell you that it gets better. That’s false advertisement if I ever heard one. It’s like people expect the healing process is supposed to come by waiting around hoping for it all to go away with time. But no matter what I did, it didn’t go away. I had friends, forced myself to be social. Got a job, had myself a paycheck. Sure, it felt like every day a piece of me was dying a little more, but I had some semblance of self-sufficiency. Maybe even balance.
The problem with depression sometimes is that, like I said, it’s insidious. There was part of me that slowly killing myself with a mantra of its own: You don’t deserve to have friends who respect you. You don’t deserve to be happy. You don’t even deserve to live. And it’s a horrible thing, coming to that conclusion. That you don’t want to die, but you don’t feel like you deserve to live. Once a part of you has come to that inference, it becomes impossible to reason with it. Suddenly every little terrible thing that happened, I decided happened because I deserved it. Every good thing that happened to be, I would inevitably sabotage. I lashed out even when I was not aware of what I was doing, because in my mind I didn’t deserve that shred of happiness.
It always bothered me, when people react to suicide and say things like, “It’s such a shame. They had family and friends. I guess it wasn’t enough.” I’ve been up and down, and I can say that even in my highest moment I still battle against the Depression Monster telling me what I do and don’t deserve. Doesn’t matter whether it’s right or wrong, the monster doesn’t care. There’s no rhyme or reason to it. Yes, it’s a shame. It’s a shame to know that, even when I am surrounded by loved ones, sometimes I guess the monster thinks it’s not enough.
No, that’s not true at all. The monster doesn’t think, “It’s not enough.” The monster thinks, “You don’t deserve that.” That’s where it gets hard explaining depression to people who have never suffered it, or understand it. Why would we want them to? Why would we want to burden others with our problems, if we don’t feel that we even deserve your understanding and love?
Writing had always brought me solace. The place I retreat to in my head is so vivid that revolving my life around fictional people became a coping mechanism and a lifeline until my mother and grandfather passed on. Then tidal wave swept that solace away, and eventually I found myself in a rift unable to comprehend time, words, or anything that was in front of me. There were days where I would walk around in circles in the house, unable to understand my surroundings. I drank a lot. Cried my eyes out on the floor while drunk on whiskey sours. I did some stupid shit — some I remember, some I do not. I crawled into my little hole where it was just more convenient to be. I used to have a great memory. Now it’s a fog. It’s hard to keep a functioning schedule when sometimes you can’t remember what your reason for going into a room was for, let alone complicated tasks that goes with employment, or plot ideas that come with writing. And it’s hard maintaining a job without pissing people off when you are occasionally stricken with short-term memory, unable to retain information because you’re so trapped in your head that nothing makes sense anymore. It always hits me the worst during the summer, the time of year where my mom and grandpa passed away. During that time, I can’t function. My mind and body just shut off. It’s been like this, every year.
Somehow, I managed to be able to write again. I found it in me to put words on a screen and find my voice, thanks to the support from fellow writers. It helps. I met a lovely young lady who I dearly love. She helps. I have friends, a fiancée, and all of my fictional companions that help keep my head above water. It helps.

 As summer came and went I found the ever popular phrase of “It gets better” to be more wrong than ever. The publishing process for my first novel providing only a mere distraction kept me going, sure, but that’s what it was. A distraction from the monster that was nagging on the back of my mind, once again telling me about all the things I do and don’t deserve. I can’t function, and there are days where it hurts so much that I am unable to escape my bed due to the physical agony of it. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t sleep. A few times, I went on for days without sleep. When I can’t sleep, I can’t write. I can’t edit. I can’t work. I had hardly any strength to sit upright, let alone be a living human being. What more, I was lashing out again. I felt like I was a different person — a monster — and people were starting to not even recognize who I was. My complexion was awful. My eyes were dead. I couldn’t see or hear or focus. My skin felt like there were needles jabbing into me from every angle. A lot of the time I would curl up and wait for it to pass, which could take several minutes to hours.

Finally, I promised my poor worried fiancée that I would get help. The whole process was exhausting, trying to figure out just where to start. First I toyed with seeing a therapist. That was a mistake. Not only did it feel like I was being interrogated, but she practically told me that I was exaggerating my existing symptoms. Pissed, I decided to go another route by seeing the doctor who had diagnosed me with depression and PTSD six years ago. By then I was so bad that I could hardly carry myself, but fortunately felt safe and comfortable enough with my old doctor to get what needed to be done actually done, without there any judgment.
So I’m on medication now. It’s not a cure, but I’ve come to the grim realization that there will never be a cure. Because the truth is, my hardware is broken. The depression has been a virus constantly taking over my system, and the medication serves as software to help flush it out from time to time. Some days hit me worse than others. On my good days, I’m able to at least sit upright long enough to feed myself a little. Others, I’m shaking, or tired, and strangely I’m finding myself more partial to the exhaustion than the daily panic attacks and lashing out I became so prone to. It’s sad when you find yourself preferring lethargy and numbness when the alternative is so, so much worse. But that’s just where I am at right now.
It’s taking a little longer than I would have liked. Writing has been my dream for so long, but this demanded more attention. I almost didn’t make it past September, and the night I published my book I was at my worst while pretending to still be human. It has been a long fight. It still is. I figured it would be a little therapeutic to write it all down in a place like this, and I could finally work towards a better path than the one I started heading down a few months ago. It’s a start, and I suppose it’s improvement.
My second book is done, if nothing else. I’m more than proud of it. With any luck and a little help from the people I love, I’ll be able to wade through this funk for us to see it through. That’s life for you, though.

Orphan Song

While going through my hard drive, I managed to find this old piece that a friend of mine – Rich Stuart – composed for me. In the past we had worked together on an official soundtrack for another novel of mine, some of which I have uploaded onto the WWW, but today I just feel like sharing an oldie but goodie that is more relevant to the PROJECT SERAPHIM Series.






This song in particular comes up in Chapter Eleven of Seraphim Ascent, and is slightly eluded to several times throughout the series.
Yes, there are lyrics to it, but I’ll have to do some digging to re-find them.

Crowdfunding Campaign #2

So I just started another crowdfunding campaign. My last one wasn’t very successful, and it may be partially due to the way Gofundme works in that you’re practically transparent until you’ve hit a certain milestone of donations.

I don’t like begging. It’s my least favorite thing to do. I’d been raised with the mentality that asking for help is a sign of weakness, and admitting that weakness makes you a lesser person. But the way I see it, I’m not begging for handouts. I’m raising awareness of my creative efforts by rewarding people for their generosity with something in return.

In the indie world, I’ve been told that you don’t really start reeling in a profit until you’ve at least hit your third book. I’m almost done with Seraphim Storm, the second installment of the PROJECT SERAPHIM series. Additionally, I have a prequel novel lined up, as well as other short stories and novellas that I would like to see the light of day sometime in the near future.

No one ever said it was going to be easy, and I had no illusions in my mind that it would be. Despite being a writer, I’m not particularly well-spoken, and I’m only just learning about my new-found confidence in my abilities.

Are there days where I want to just say “fuckit” and throw in the towel? Of course. It’s normal to have those moments of so-called weaknesses. But life is short, and I can’t waste it away with the regret of never following my dreams, doing the thing I love.

That said, if you have any time or money to spare, drop a few dollars into my crowdfunding page on IndieGogo. If you don't cash, then spread the word via Twitter, Facebook, Tumblr, or anything in the crazy social media world.

Every little bit helps. :)

Seraphim Ascent: Serial Novel

They say that time heals, and the truth will set you free.

But as Rey unearths who she is and why she awakened in the morgue of an abandoned sanitarium with only a toe tag to her name and no recollection as to how she got there, the shadows of her past will beg to question if the truth is a skeleton she wants digging out of the closet.

SERAPHIM ASCENT is the first book of an adult post-apocalyptic/science fiction/horror series, set in a mid Twenty-Second Century dystopian society..

SERAPHIM ASCENT, Book One of the PROJECT SERAPHIM Series, is now available on Kindle in four serialized “episodes”. You can read more here and purchase a copy off of Amazon.

If that’s not to your liking, you can still buy a copy of the paperback and the complete Kindle edition off of Amazon as well!

Why I Decided To Write A Series

Time and time again I have mentioned that PROJECT SERAPHIM had originally been planned as a standalone novel. A very gargantuan novel that rivals many tomes, but my stubborn side refused to have it any other way, even when published authors had advised me against it.

But when did I start to have second thoughts? What made me decide to throw in the towel?
It was after I had committed myself to dividing my sci-fi/horror tome into a duology — two books — that it hit me.One of the problems that I have with Seraphim Ascent is, although I have much love for it, it’s hard for me to take anything out of context. Because when I am dedicated to writing only two novels that are restricted to a smaller word count each, I had a lot of story that I want to tell. A lot of story that didn’t leave much room for anything else.
When I say I have trouble taking sections of Seraphim Ascent out of context, I mean it’s hard for me to find scenes that aren’t related to the plot. I’d been so drilled on the concept of removing scenes that don’t propel the plot in any way that I sacrificed this equally necessary thing called character development, and character development doesn’t always have to be a turning tide in the plot.
A member from my writing group called them “sunset moments”. These are moments where the characters in the story have a chance to reprieve and interact with each other. They’re not talking about the conflict going on in the overarching plot, but a moment where they share something poignant, maybe even soul-searching. I realized that by restricting myself to one, two, or even three books, I’m all the same sabotaging my chances at these sunset moments that I so much wanted for my characters. I wanted to explore relationships between them, allow them to bond and grow for reasons that aren’t related to the ongoing fight. I wanted that sunset.
Soon as I knew what I wanted, I no longer felt confined by this idea that every scene had to count. I allowed myself to explore relationships for the sake of the relationship, not to always engage the plot. I learned things about my characters that I had no idea before through their sunsets. Now, I am free to take various paths without worrying about my word count, because if I don’t get to it in one book, I’ll always have material to put into another. And that, I have realized, is what is so beautiful about writing a series.
Part of my revelation, and what solidified my decision to make PROJECT SERAPHIM into a series, actually came to me in a dream. In this dream, I had found Rey in a setting outside of the main plot. How did she get there? Why? I wanted to know. So I started writing out notes, which turned into an outline for a whole new novel. Before long, my creative process had brought me down this winding avenue that soon lengthened the story.
Is it for everyone, writing a whole series? Absolutely not. If you have a story that fits well within a number, then go for it. For me, I’m grateful to be able to spend more time with my characters, to get to know them in ways I never imagined when I had finished the very first draft back in high school.
While Seraphim Ascentis a novel that I am proud of, as I am finishing the second book and outlining future installments, I find myself more enriched because the characters are talking to me, and I am letting them. I’m happier because I have let go of this notion that I need to hold back on character development because they don’t always “further the plot”, and just take a moment to appreciate the beauty of those sunsets.

RRW's Top 10 Books

Recently I was tagged on Facebook to list my top 10 books that have influenced my life in some way.

Considering I was spending more personal time offline than than on Facebook, I didn't get the chance to tack away. But now I'm able, and since then have decided that the list was important enough to me to put on my blog, with a few additional details that weren't on my original post.

That said, here they are!

1. Slaughterhouse Five by Kurt Vonnegut

There's something about Vonnegut's style that just jives with me. I also have very fond memories of this book from my days in high school, more specifically my classes with my English teacher. In fact, I still have that gut reaction to think or blurt "So it goes" when something/someone dies.

In which case, so it goes.

2. Flowers for Algernon by Daniel Keyes

This book made me cry. It made me cry a lot.

I didn't care that much for "journal-styled" novels even back then, but Flowers for Algernon struck a cord in me that I can't ever quite describe. So much so that I wound up naming a character after the titular lab rat, Algernon.


3. Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury

I know I'm naming a lot of old books that many of us were assigned to read in high school English, and there's a good reason for that: They're just downright damned good books. And I think a lot of kids can benefit reading them and, better yet, learn to enjoy them.

Fahrenheit 451 was different, though - I didn't read it because of a class assignment. I actually read it out of spite over not getting into the advanced English class in my freshman year, though I believed I deserved to. After all, I liked the required reading for the advanced classes better than the standard class that I was assigned to.

I read Fahrenheit 451 not out of necessity because my teacher told me to, but because I wanted to. And it inspired me to seek out more books - by Ray Bradbury included - outside of the classroom. Since then he's become one of my favorite writers.

Rest in peace, Ray.
4. 1984 by George Orwell

Here is another "required reading" that wasn't required of me because I didn't get into the advanced English class.

Actually, I never read 1984 in high school, and only got around to reading it after borrowing a roommate's copy. Not gonna lie, I felt kind of cheated out of not being assigned to read a book as amazing and pertinent as 1984, as it's become very relevant to my interests in later years.


5. Carrie by Stephen King

If anyone ever asks me what my super power of choice would be, I would say telekinesis. I have an unhealthy obsession with telekinesis. I partially blame Carrie for that.

I really loved this book when I read it for the first time in the seventh grade. I really felt sorry for and sympathized with Carrie... which is exactly why I would recommend anyone to watch the 2002 TV remake over the 1976 movie, which I loathe with the passion of a thousand dying suns as someone who really loves the book and Carrie as a character (I can't say anything about the 2013 remake, as I haven't seen it yet!).

I'm always rooting for you, Carrie.


6. Bag of Bones by Stephen King

Oh Stephen King.

Regardless of how you feel about him or his writing, there's something about Bag of Bones that's very different about King's usual style. It lacks a lot in the usual King campiness, and definitely by far my favorite of all the books he's written. Normally I don't get that creeped out by most horror novels, but this one really got me a few times.

I also like to make a point that this book made me realize something about myself. I've suffered depression. After the death of my mother, I underwent a similar experience as the protagonist, Mike Noonan, after the death of his wife. Eventually my ability to write had been crippled with an incapacitating pain, both physically, mentally, and emotionally. The next three years following my mother's death resulted in many nights stressing over empty documents until I fretted that I would never be able to write another word again.

In a way, Bag of Bones helped me to realize the power that my depression had on my ability to form words. I guess you could say that it helped me to understand something about myself and, in a way, point me in the right direction to make myself better. Not so much in the way Mike Noonan did, but... you know.

We all have our hauntings.


7. House of Leaves by Mark Z. Danielewski

Speaking of novels that "got me", House of Leaves is by far the scariest book I've ever read.

Danielewski really pushed the limits of what can be conveyed through text, giving both a claustrophobic and paranoid feel throughout the whole thing. From bizarre font styles to insane ramblings of a deranged mind, I'd definitely recommend this book if you're looking for something that's... well, different.

If nothing else it's really inspired my more subtle style of horror, which is actually not that easy to do through text when you don't have the visuals or the scare cords to really shock your audience with. Not that I... like those aspects in my style of horror.


8. Watership Down by Richard Adams

I'd like to say this book saved me from being stuck in a really horrible class that forced me to miss one of my favorite periods in sixth grade, haha.

Basically I was held back into a first-grade level reading class for no reason. I got bitter about it and skipped it to stay in my normal class a few times, got in huge trouble. So instead I would go and read Watership Down instead of the required reading which, to me, were really stupid (I remember after the one about sentient mustard and I outright told the teacher I won't do any of the required reading). I was actually a pretty rebellious eleven-year-old... but it got me out of the class when they realized what I'd been reading instead.

On a more relevant note, I loved this book. You'd think a story about rabbits going on journeys would be for kids, but it's definitely not a kid's book. At least not for those who are supposed to be in a class with first grade reading material...


9. Odd Thomas by Dean Koontz

Normally I don't like first person POV novels, just as I don't like journal-styled novels. I'll read them, but I'm not a fan of them.

I picked up Odd Thomas on a whim shortly after my mom had died, because it kept catching my eye at the grocery store whenever I was in line. I read a few lines, really enjoyed it, and eventually bought it.

I mention my mom's death because, like Bag of Bones, these books really helped me through in some way. I was going through a rough time and needed to get into the head of a character like Odd. His positive attitude and his ideas on the afterlife and ability to speak with the dead, in some ways, affected me and gave me something to look forward to. Reading these books was kind of like my own little therapy session.

Odd is a great character and by far one of my top favorite protagonists.


10. Otherland by Tad Williams

Saving the best for last, since this is a title I bring up a lot because these books have got to be the most influential in my experience as a writer.

Anyone who reads my stuff might get a better perspective by reading Otherland, as his style inspired me in many ways. Between both culturally and racially diverse set of multiple POV characters, to the mood and style and distinctive voice that engages each character's POV style, among just the fact that it's a downright amazing story.

I didn't learn how to write from workshops and writing classes and craft books, but from books like Otherland that inspired me to follow my own voice and style. In a way, you could consider Otherland being my teacher.

So that's my top 10. Originally I was worried I wouldn't have enough books to put on my list... only to find myself having to regrettably remove some without the risk of going over my limit. It was a fun list to do, though. Definitely got me thinking.

There is one last book that I feel deserves an honorable mention, at the very least:

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows by J. K. Rowling

Like it or love it, we all gained a little something from Harry Potter. I feel the need to mention this because of my previous mentions of my depression, and what this book meant to me during one of the hardest periods of my life.

In July of 2007, my mom passed away rather suddenly. She had started to slip into a state of dementia before she was comatose, and then died in her sleep. The day I found out that we would have to take her to a hospice was the day I bought my copy of the final Harry Potter book. I was 20 years old at the time, and mentally preparing myself for the worst. But rather than staying present, I allowed my mind to wander to words on a page as a coping mechanism. When I went to hospitals and places where I couldn't lug a big hardcover book around, I spent that time reading warning labels on the hospital bed, or posters on the wall, or anything that I could focus on just to escape for a millisecond.

When I wasn't sitting at my mom's bedside watching her die, I was in Harry Potter's world. While most people would rather delve into something a little more lighthearted, watching Harry's struggle against his - arguably bigger and more important - adversities helped propel me through my own. While Odd Thomas and Bag of Bones helped me realize things about myself afterwards, Harry Potter was there with me during my struggle between fantasy and reality. Because at the time I wanted nothing more than to disappear into a world away from the one where my mother was dying a quick and yet agonizing death. It's like that friend who you remember being with through thick and thin, and yet no matter what happened you will always remember and appreciate that they were there.

On second thought, I've no idea why this book isn't listed as my Number One. Probably because I can't allow myself to let it be measured by any numbers or countdown. But there you have it.

So it goes.

SERAPHIM ASCENT is Now Available!

SERAPHIM ASCENT: Book One of a new
post-apocalyptic sci-fi/horror series
by R. R. Washburn

→ Paperback ↔ Amazon ↔ Smashwords ↔ Barnes & Noble ↔ Kobo ↔ Apple ← Well, it’s finally here. It’s been several years in the making, has gone through various drafts, edits, and rewrites. But now I’m slapping it up and marching onwards to the completion of Book Two.
Seraphim Ascent has gone through a variety of transformations over the years. It once started off as a very video game-inspired novel back when I first wrote it in high school. In college it shifted from an action/shooter-esque style to a tale of what has become to be about conspiracies, mind control, mutations, plagues, war, and ultimately about identity. Not just for Rey, but for a bunch of characters trying to find their place.
Originally this series was intended to be a standalone novel, with the first two drafts capped at about 360,000 words. I like big books so at the time I didn’t see anything amiss until people pointed out to me just how insane that would be to print for a first novel. By the second and third drafts I’d planned to write a duology, but by the time I was writing what has now become Seraphim Storm, I felt like I was cheating a lot of the characters’ out of their full potential. Storylines I wanted to explore were constrained by the idea that I probably shouldn’t write about 360,000 word novel, which risked a lot of character arcs I wanted to explore.
But I’m the boss. It’s my story, and I can make it go however the hell I want.
So it became a trilogy, and then a series when I started planning out plotlines for a fourth novel.
At this point, I make no such commitments to numbers to say how long this crazy story will go on. It’s a start, and that’s all I care about.
As Rey would put it, “The only certainty is going forward.”

SERAPHIM ASCENT Book Teaser

With the release day of SERAPHIM ASCENT drawing even nearer and nearer and the cover being officially complete, I decided to throw together a little teaser trailer for the upcoming event. It's short and sweet and I wanted to keep it a little vague... But I'm pretty happy with it!

Also, my official website is LIVE, where you can find more updates in regards to releases and upcoming projects and all that other fun writer stuff.

http://rrwashburn.com/
Facebook LaunchGoogle+ Launch

PROJECT SERAPHIM: RELEASE DATE

The Beginning is the End is the Beginning

Everyone has their writing weaknesses.  Mine has always been the beginning.
I can’t even begin to tell you how many times SERAPHIM ASCENT in particular has been written, rewritten, and ultimately gutted. Needless to say it’s gone through quite a monstrous transformation over the years, with a rather challenging opening to boot.Fortunately, I am feeling confident enough to share my prologue over in my author blog in celebration of having the necessary to publish this damn book.Yaaay! P.S. No you are not going insane. I have, in fact, changed the URL for my blog today, for professional reasons and not just to mess with you and/or ruin all of my links now. Oops!