Tag Archive: personal problem


Say…

Still working on the last installment of the Say What You Want series. I wrote another 1100 of it so far today and might not get a chance to add much more to it, either. However, it’s a start, and tomorrow I have my full child-free time. My first day on the job is Sunday night — I’m working 12-8am, every other night for my first week. I’m sure my second week’ll be a little different. Training and all that needing to be done and all. 

I am starting to figure out exactly how this piece ends — though I’m a little surprised it’s ending that way. Then again, this is what my characters do, so I shouldn’t be that surprised. And then once it’s complete, I’ll start trying to compile everything together. Vicky & Mordecai part 3 should go up tomorrow — just have to get the title page and the copyright page done and then it’s going up on Amazon. 

Part of me is borderline freaking out about this huge upheaval in my schedule, but I’ll find a way to work around it. I’m going to have to figure out how I’m going to write on the days where I have work — and how I’m going to get enough sleep. I’m sure I’ll figure something out. If I have to like permanently keep myself awake at night or keep weird wake-up times, I will. 

But I will keep writing and I will keep producing stories. I just need to figure out what my next erotic romance piece will be. 🙂 Until then, enjoy this chunk of Say… (still untitled) I wrote today. 😀

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Subject Optional

So for the past week or so, the ex has been leaving for work at around 5am. This morning, it was 3:30am. Since I live in the upstairs apartment, I have to come downstairs to take over the child-watch after she leaves. This means I’ve been getting up at these times, coming downstairs, and some mornings passing out on the couch while I wait for my child to wake up, or realizing my child is already awake and therefore entertaining him until he has to go to pre-school. 

Needless to say, I tend to post blog posts at night, and instead of blogging, I’ve been crashing at around 9pm. Since I haven’t written anything today, and since I have to pick up my brother from work after midnight, I’ll be up for a while yet and yes, I have to get up at 5:30 tomorrow morning. 

Clearly, sleep and I haven’t been friends. Hell, writing and I haven’t been very friendly with one another, this past week. I’ve been trying to determine whether it’s a lack of inspiration (I’ve had dips before) or lack of motivation, and I’m not sure which it is. Maybe it’s a combination of both. Maybe my stress levels have gotten that high again. Either way, I’ve fallen behind of my goal for 2k words daily. I might be able to swing 2k tonight once I’m sure my kid’s fallen asleep, but that’ll still put me about 2k behind. 

Thing is, I don’t know what to write. I haven’t felt like writing smut, so I’ve been editing a couple of pieces instead that I intend to release as a group of shorts in one book. I did finish the rewrite and expansion of Just as Human. It went from 4k words in length to 14k words in length. I have been going back and forth on what my NaNo project should be (either finish Seize the Day or Stellar). I have fanfics I’ve started and stopped. Other works I need to edit in order to submit them to short story markets. Story ideas that are just rattling around in my brain, waiting to be used.

My life is a mess and I know that means my writing tends to get messy, too. I don’t feel blocked; uninspired and blocked aren’t the same things, to me. I know I need to work on Vicky & Mordecai soon, as well as the last chapter of Say What You Want. I know in November I’m not going to be uploading all that many books, either, to Amazon, because my NaNo project(s) will eat my soul. 

I’m hoping I can claw my way out of this, soon. 

A Cartoonist’s Advice — by Bill Watterson

Bill Watterson is, in some ways, a huge inspiration and a hero for me.

The message of this comic is simple: do what you truly want to do. Find the path in life that works for you, and really makes you happy.

As a writer — scratch that, as a professional writer who is finding their way in the self-publishing world and developing a true writer platform, I needed to see this comic now, more than ever. My personal life is at a huge crossroads. My wife has decided she doesn’t want a romantic relationship with me anymore. We’re still determining the mechanics of our separation, and how we want to proceed with that.

A month ago, I dove head first into looking for a job — any job. My goal? Get the hell out of this house as soon as possible. My version of giving my wife the middle finger, essentially, and a way to communicate how hurt and betrayed I felt. Except slowly, I realized that searching for a job killed any urge I had to push through life and keep living. That job searching made me even angrier than I already was.

Writing pulled me back together. Publishing something and seeing it sell a measly five copies brought a smile back to my face. So all of those hours of intermittent work only had a pay off of 10 bucks. Whatever. I made ten bucks

Doing what I love and making money off it? Even if it’s not a lot?

That’s worth far more to me than anything else in the world — especially since I can stay at home, provide childcare for my son, and actually make myself happy. It’s no longer a hobby, it’s the real deal. 

Bill’s comic couldn’t have come at a better time.

I’m Not Dead!

The past few days have been huge emotional roller coaster type ones, so I haven’t been writing much. Having my ex come home, dealing with my child’s school (!!!), and then couple’s therapy and realizing the goal we both agreed on might not work out best for me in the long run…. It’s a lot. I keep trying to push through one day at a time but I don’t know how well that’s working. 

I did, however, write about 1500 words today. I didn’t meet my goal of getting a book out this week, but I have most of one written. I may finish it tomorrow and save to publish it until Monday; I’m not sure yet. I do want to write the next chapter or two of my novel, too. 

Without further ado, some of what I’ve written today:

***

He made to turn on his heel, but Carla grabbed his arm, holding him in place. She then moved in close, her new form a couple of inches shorter than her old one. Her lips brushed against his own, soft and even warm for a moment. “I don’t think you actually want me to get dressed,” she breathed as she pulled away. “Tell me, Alex. Just how…’functional’ am I, now?”

“Fully,” was his quick response. He wished the heat in his face would die away, but he ignored that as best he could as he watched Carla’s every move.

She turned her back to him, pulling the sheet aside as she bowed her head. “So — that part should work as a normal woman’s, right?”

“In theory,” Alex muttered, tearing his eyes away from her. Instead, he focused his attention back on his desk, shuffling already organized paperwork around. “I didn’t have any real way to test it.”

He felt hands on his shoulders as Carla pressed against him, one of her hands trailing down her front and picking at the buttons of his shirt. He could feel her artificial breath against his neck. “Would you like to test it now?” She turned him around, pushing him up against his desk as her hands roamed over his clothed chest. “I’ve seen the way you look at me, Alex, even when I was in that other body.”

Alex’s his breath caught in his throat at her words, a familiar warmth filling him as he noticed Carla still wore only the sheet that had originally covered her body. Those green eyes of hers flashed, her smile almost predatory as she slipped between his legs, her hands ghosting along his thighs. “I don’t — I don’t know what you’re talking about, Carla,” he managed, wishing his pants didn’t suddenly feel so tight.

Carla laughed, her smile widening as she unbuttoned his shirt. “You’re an awful liar,” she teased. One hand rubbed against his crotch, eliciting a small moan from Alex. “You built me this body so we could have sex, right? A lonely man like yourself — why else would you make sure I looked and felt so lifelike?”

Alex’s cheeks burned as he nodded his head. He reached out, hesitantly placing his hands on Carla’s hips. “Does that — does that bother you?” he asked.

Carla just moved closer to him, the thin sheet slipping lower on her body and barely covering her chest as she did so. She pushed his now unbuttoned shirt off his shoulders, revealing Alex’s bare chest. “As long as I have the right to tell you no, I have no issue you with you wanting me, Alex,” she answered, kissing along the edge of his neck.

Her hands were on the buckle to his belt. She undid it swiftly before sinking to her knees, kneeling before him. As she pulled him free from his pants, Alex found himself holding his breath in anticipation. Green eyes glowed, a playful smile on Carla’s lips before she teased her tongue along the edge of his swollen head.

He gripped the edge of his desk, knuckles quickly turning white as he tossed his head back and groaned. It had been so long since anyone or anything had touched him in this way. Alex fought the urge to bury his fingers in Carla’s thick, synthetic hair, and instead whispered, “You can say what — whatever you want, Carla.”

My therapist says so.

Considering when last he saw me I was battling suicidal ideation, and I hadn’t really written much of anything the week preceding that… and this week, I’ve been writing and doing something I felt good doing, and trying to exercise more, and balancing out the job applications. Those things have all had a serious impact on my mood and overall mental health. I’m working on accepting my situation as it stands right now and trying to find the best way to move forward.

I realized I really, really do want to make a career out of my writing. Even if it’s just off the erotica, this is what I want to do. This is what I need to do. You can say that the bad overall mental health resulted in the lack of words; that the lack of words are a symptom — but they’re more than that. If I stop writing, or if it’s a chore to get the words on the page, I’m in trouble.

You have to understand, I’ve been in at varying levels of depression for the past year. I’ve finished a 90k book in 21 days in that past year. Wrote on average 2k words a day, while watching a child and keeping up (vaguely) with a house in that past year. Writing is what I do. It’s how I breathe. It’s how I cope. When I stop writing? When it’s a struggle?

That’s how I know something is completely fucking wrong. And my therapist was so quick to point out the difference from last week to this week. Because that’s how much my attitude changed. That’s how differently I carried myself and how I sat in the chair opposite him and how talked.

So what if I’m (most likely) getting a divorce? So what if I have to pull myself back into a position where I can support and take care of myself — it ain’t like I haven’t really been doing that, anyway, the past 10 years of my life. Only difference now is I have a child to take care of, too. And a cat.

I want to be making a livable wage off my writing by my birthday. Roughly six months.

Betcha I can do it.