I have not run off with the Doctor.

My biggest problem with diaries, journals and blogs it seems is finding the time to post. Life gets in the way. And when things go sideways and you’re just trying to keep your head above water, keeping things updated has to go by the wayside. I never intended it to be this long without so much as a “Hey, I haven’t been abducted by aliens, or run off with the Doctor.” 

Things had been too good for too long and not surprisingly, my personal life went to hell. A lot of it is personal and I won’t be going into it out of respect for all parties involved. I got went off my medication, something I know I can never do. I suffered the consequences. Now I’m trying to put my life back together. Mixed results. 

Writing isn’t quite my shelter of last resort, but it’s helping me cope and grow. Alice is now in two distinct sections, with that pesky middle bit waiting to be filled in. I’ve been listening to the same songs on repeat, soaking up the images as they come. I’ve done so much research on Hurricane Katrina recently it’s not even funny. I even read Alice in Wonderland. Seemed pertinent. I still don’t know what the hell that book was about, other than a creepy obsession with a little girl and a lot of acid.

Memento got a cursory look today. I think my problem with that piece is that I’m afraid of it. Honest writer is honest. That piece goes farther than anything I’ve done. I’m afraid of failing, of it not being good enough. I’m afraid of it not being right.

 I tell myself these things, and it stops me. But then I look back at the giant piece of newsprint covered in crayon and round about connecting lines, the sheet of paper I’m using to get myself back on track, and I see “Win the Stoker.” Am I capable of it? I don’t know. Part of why I went so far off the rails is because I question my own sanity when I’m writing cute things like a character asking her dead friend about her brains on the wall. But that same sentence reminds me that this is simply who I am. 

I’m back and I’m working. I guess that’s all that matters right now.

Salem Cottage Shoppe -coming soon!

Ever since I was a little kid, I’ve liked arts and crafts. My Aunt Bunny and I made Christmas presents every year. I remember one year making reindeer ornaments out of glass balls and felt. I still have the hot glue gun scars. I start projects with every intention of finishing them before the holiday season which ends with mixed results. The afghan I started last fall for my grandparents is still only half done.

At this current moment, my kitchen qualifies for federal disaster relief (12 days till Alice deadline – I’m not stressed). The counter is covered with cornstarch and food colouring. The table is buried under mixing bowls and jars. At least the kitchen items are grouped by project which is far more than I can say about the renegades scattered throughout my flat. 

The counters are lost to an experiment in homemade sidewalk chalk. Somehow, I don’t foresee getting my security deposit back. I’m convinced I did something wrong, even though it involved mixing literally three ingredients. Ratios.  I’m turning the first batch over to my nephews for product testing. Their mother is not going to be happy with Aunt Tatum.

The jar cookies stand a much better chance of not ending in disaster, I think. How hard can it be to layer things? So far, the difficult part has been coming up with recipes that are unique but not too weird. Also, finding 32 oz jars has been a mission, but find them I did. I bought 2 cases to start with. Later tonight, I’ll be printing recipes to glue onto the pretty cardstock to be tied to the jars with the pretty black ribbon. I should have gotten glue sticks. 

Why the sudden urge to be crafty? Simple: Mama be broke. I’m a writer and while it sounds glamorous as Paris in the 20’s its more often like the Oklahoma in the 30s. Since I’ve gotten more serious about writing, I’ve had to come up with ways to support it. My day job covers all else, but this, the one thing that really drives me. I’m told the self-publishing route is not as expensive as I’ve been lead to believe. However, my mother taught me to always have plans A-D in place. 

With that said, I’ll be at the Raleigh Flea Market at a table called the Salem Cottage Shoppe. I don’t know where exactly on the grounds it will be located, but look for me in two weeks. I’ll post more information once I have it, but I’ll love to see all of your smiling faces at the booth. There will be jar cookies, sidewalk chalk, aprons (one size fits most) and order forms for custom crochet Granny square blankets.

Tyler Durden is my spirit animal

By nature, I’m high strung. I’ve never really learned the art of relaxing and my coping skills are non-existent. Once upon a time, a therapist tried to teach me to meditate. I fell asleep. I watch Fight Club about once a month and I still think to myself, “How hard can it be to find my zen?” Answer: very. So far, I have no Tyler Durden or spirit animal. But I do have gargoyles.

I sat in silence enjoying a min-meltdown with the cat for the better part of an hour. I should have been working on Alice. Her deadline is 20 days away. Instead, an unexpected pet emergency severed my brittle grasp on reality today and sent me running for one of the most difficult to write, unpalatable sections of Memento Mori. Coming from the author, that says a lot. But, it’s got the potential to be a thing of beauty. For once, I’m not afraid of where it’ll take me.

One of the best things I took away from one of my literary courses (apologies for blanking on the title of said course,) was the concept of the Shitty First Draft (SFD). Most of my projects are in SFD form at the moment and it’s taken a lot for me to accept that the first draft doesn’t have to be perfect. It’s a draft.  The important thing is to get all the ideas down on paper before they disappear into the ether that is my brain. And that’s exactly it. Half the time I feel like I’m grasping at vapors.

The desire to be unique/creative can be as intimidating as Julia Child at a bake sale. Even if you’re experimenting with an old idea, it’s your job as a writer to present it as something fresh. My job as a horror writer is a bit more tricky. I have to scare, scar, repulse, and ruin part of you all while creating at least some redeeming element that keeps you reading. 

Working on two major projects at once is beginning to seem like merrily skipping into Mordor for shits and giggles. I don’t know what the hell I was thinking. The Alice deadline is getting closer and I still have no idea what I’m doing. Truth is, I had no idea in the first place. I’ve let myself get so distracted with perfection that I seem to have forgotten that the SFD is there to save me.

So, thank you Jennifer for trying to teach me to relax a bit with my writing. Lord knows drilling that into my thick skull was no easy fete. Four years later though, it’s finally sticking. Now, if I could find that damn spirit animal, I’d be all set.

The Internet Shoulf Be Treated Like a Controlled Substance

I have the unique ability to find the most bizarre crap on the internet. Sure, it sucks up hours of my time and distracts me from important things like pulling the cookies out of the over BEFORE the smoke alarms go off. However, the efforts of one night on eBay yielded a turn of the century wax head that looked identical to my friend’s fiancée. For my own good, ban me from eBay. Please. I don’t need any more trocars. But I could use a 19^th century bone saw… and the other volumes of Anatomy and Histology for Embalmers (1935, 1^st Edition)…

In between heckling my own television and writing the first blog of the night, I’ve been sucked into Pinterest. Lists of things with pictures! I’ve found some useful tips and a ton of ideas. I like the fact that I’m able to categorize my ADD easily. I don’t know what real use this has, but so far I’m happier than a Goth in a graveyard.

While I have lost hours to “Pinning,” it is nothing compared to the hours I’ve spent searching for Lit Contests or requests for submittals. Every now and then I need a good swift kick in the ass. I’ll fight it claw and fang, but things get done.  Same applies to my writing. I suffer from chronic writers block. Despite the fact that I always said I never knew what to blog about, I am now finding myself readily supplied with ideas for Arscenic, Spite and Old Scars. It’s my short stories that stump me. 

These contests give me a two fold kick: an idea and a deadline. Having decided to let Memento Mori simmer for a little longer and instead focus on Requiem for Alice, time for shorts is limited. But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to try. Probably only one entry. Something that will give me time to polish. I’m looking forward to weeding through the options until I find the ONE. I’ll keep you posted.

Bring it on, Alice

As you know, I’m incapable of meeting my own deadlines. Like happens, ADD takes over, and my writing pays the price. I try to keep my goals simple. Sometimes listing them requires an act of God. However, when I do make lists, they’re epic novels on scraps of paper. Keeping track of them is hell on Earth and they always seem to end up in the damnest places.  I can’t tell you how many times I had to retrieve them from the slobbery maws of my giant beast.

The summer’s dragging on and I find myself checking the forecast with a sick glee. One should not have this giddiness about potential natural disasters.  I have no right to it. But, I prepare nonetheless. I have my neatly organized zombie and World War Three kits, not to mention my hurricane gear. Hurricane season continues until the fall, so it only seems wise have a stockpile.

In 2005, Hurricane Katrina caught millions of people off guard (even though there had been weather advisories and reports for days leading up to landfall.) In addition to basically the whole of the Gulf Coast, Katrina nearly wiped out the vampire Mecaa, New Orleans, LA.  At landfall, it was a category 5. It left roughly 1800 people dead. The governmental missteps were nothing short of astonishing and the recovery has been sluggish. 

Fast forward to 2008. My creative writing professor asked us to tell her a story based on a poem. I wish I could remember the name and poet, but the gist is the narrator talking about the beauty of the grain in a silo. And then there’s the hard left and the narrator begins talking about a boy drowning in the grain and then it was back to the beauty of the yellow grain. Leah told us to tell her a story like that. So I did.

The secrets in the telling, and I’m not.  Two years ago, I brought this piece to a meeting of the Proud Failures Group. They saw what I didn’t. They pointed out the allegory, that, after reading it again was glaringly obvious. I went chasing Walt down the rabbit hole and came out with Alice. This makes not a lick of sense to any of you reading this, but to the six Failures that were there, you know. 

Here’s the goal: Requiem for Alice will be done (SFD) by August 28^th, the day Katrina made landfall. I don’t know how the hell I’m going to do it. There’s an app downloaded onto the tablet so I can write while at work. I’ve found a few quiet places (which in a dental lab was no small fete, let me tell you.) The beginning and ending are solid, it’s that tricky middle part I’m fighting. Research to ensue. If I manage to reach this goal, there will be a party. A large one. 

So, kick me in the ass. Send me inspiring clips about New Orleans, Tom Waits and Alice in Wonderland. Seriously, anything will help. I guess we’ll see what happens.