bad stuff

Eeek. I didn't realize it's been almost a month since I've posted over here. I blog twice a month over at www.hugs-and-chocolate.com. We've been going since February and I've actually managed not to miss a deadline. Over there, we talk about all the writerly things that I don't talk about on here. You should check it out.

Anyway. I'm doing NaNo right now. I could use that as an excuse for why I haven't posted this month, but it wouldn't be entirely true. There are some things going on in my life that are beyond myself and beyond my writing. I feel like I'm dancing on a glass floor and a single misstep is going to send my world crumbling. I know it's coming and there's nothing I can do to prevent it.

It's hard living a life full of worry. It ages you. It turns you bitter. I try not to worry, but I can see the toll it's taking because sometimes there's nothing left but worry. The saying, "don't worry, be happy" is ideal, but unrealistic. I'm sorry that I can't choose happiness when someone close to me is facing a medical prognosis that's... well, not good. I wish I could say I choose happiness, but no. I worry. Everyday and every night. Which is why at almost five in the morning I'm up typing this after tossing and turning for a few hours.

People tell you to think positive. It's kind of funny. When I was laid off, people told me to think positive. When we were losing our house, people told me to think positive. When we camped out in a one bedroom apartment with no plumbing or electricity, people told me to think positive. When we worked through the summer to get the place livable and had someone belittling us and making life more miserable than it already was... yeah, you guessed it, people told me to think positive. I don't begrudge them saying that to me, what are they supposed to say? It's easy and supposed to be comforting, but instead, it makes you feel as though it's somehow your fault these things happened because your thoughts weren't happy enough.

I know people mean well when they say it, but it still sucks.

Is this a depressing post? Yes. Yes, it is. Am I sorry? No. I don't deal well with this kind of stress. I like challenges, like getting published or playing a game. But there are some things that come along in life that no matter how much you fight, how much information you have - you can't beat it. I don't like to lose. I withdraw and want to cover my ears and not hear anymore bad news. But I can't. I'm an adult now. I have to be stronger for my son and my family. They need me to be strong. Sometimes I hate being an adult. I'm not ready for this, but then, is anyone?

This is my place to get my thoughts out there and try to make sense of the world around me. I truly hope your world and your reality are kind to you tonight.

“We love our superheroes because they refuse to give up on us. We can analyze them out of existence, kill them, ban them, mock them, and still they return, patiently reminding us of who we are and what we wish we could be.”
― Grant Morrison, Supergods: What Masked Vigilantes, Miraculous Mutants, and a Sun God from Smallville Can Teach Us about Being Human

Lately I've developed a fascination with superheroes and comics. For the longest time, my only knowledge or contact with superheroes was through movies or television. There was Christopher Reeves Clark Kent on the big screen and then Tom Welling's Clark Kent on Smallville. There were the various interpretations of Batman in the movies, but my favorite character of them all was The Joker as played by Jack Nicholson. I was supposed to root for the hero, but I liked the villain more.

The hero was always too perfect. Too good looking, too built, too rich, too everything. It wasn't appealing. I tried to get into the comic books, but didn't know where to start. So, as a teen, I wrote it off as not being for me. In 2000 a movie came out which made me reconsider. It was "Unbreakable," by M. Night Shyamalan. It was the story of a man, David Dunn, who was the only survivor of a train accident. The movie brilliantly shows his life as colorless, depressing, and lonely. You can just feel there's something missing until he meets a comic book store owner, Elijah Price.

Price has a rare disease that causes his bones to break very easily. His childhood nickname was "Mr. Glass," due to his condition. Price spent his childhood reading comic books and had a realization, if someone like himself was born so weak and helpless then there had to be someone at the opposite end of the spectrum. Someone strong who could help those in need - a superhero. I won't give away the ending, but if you haven't seen it, I'd highly recommend it. It really made me think about superheroes and villains in a whole new light. It definitely led to a whole slew of "what if" questions.

The world has no shortage of villains, but how often do we hear of the heroes? I'm thinking of the everyday person who does something amazing and no one ever knows who they are. What an amazing thing to believe that under the guise of a poor single mother beats the heart of a fierce, brave superhero. What about the homeless man shuffling down the street? What if it's all a cover to hide the cape? Impossible? Laughable? Perhaps. You can believe what you want. However, I choose to believe there are heroes and better yet, superheroes among us. What a boring world it would be without them.

P.S.
Yes. This fascination also came about because of a story idea, which I'll be writing for Camp NaNo.

Finding Me

So, it's been a long time since I've posted anything on this blog. I've been trying to be a part of and do something that's not me. I've been trying to fit in. It's kind of like being the new kid in school and you're welcomed into a certain clique. You're not fully comfortable and don't really feel you fit in, but you say what you know people want to hear, you commiserate about things you secretly find trite, you pump up your enthusiasm about things that bore you to tears in private. Why would I, or anyone, do this to themselves? Is it furthering my art or making me feel better about myself? The simple answer is no. I'm very unhappy because I'm not being me. I'm trying to squeeze myself into a mold which will never fit.

I want to be a successful published author. There. I said it "aloud." I know what you're thinking, so do a lot of other people - and you're right. I've got a ton of writer friends on Facebook and they all want to be successful and published. Looking at the feed on my wall is almost discouraging at times, but I keep pushing myself to better.

I want to write. However, I spend so much time worrying about finding good critique partners, critique groups, finding beta readers and getting feedback. I can't afford workshops, retreats, and writing classes and I worry this will affect my chances of being published. I read craft books and then panic that I'm not doing something right. Egads! I used an adverb in the first five pages!! I told instead of showed! My characters can't blink, shrug or sigh without making my palms sweat.
I know I'm supposed to have an online presence, but can't afford a website, so I have a blog, but I don't update it enough (yes, I'm talking about this one). Is my content relevant anyway? Is a blog good enough? I don't know. I once read an article with an agent that said the first thing she does for any potential client is Google their name. Ack! My pulse was racing. I have Facebook, Google+, Twitter and I write for two other sites in the hopes of getting my name out there. But is this going to be enough?

Sometimes it feels as though I've jumped onto a hamster wheel. I keep hearing that if I do things a certain way, I'll make it - maybe, possibly, eventually someday. I keep running, but I'm not getting much accomplished, because I'm trying to follow all the "have to's." So, I'm taking a flying leap off the wheel and into the stormy seas of the unknown.

I'm going to pursue publication my way. I'm going back to my writing. The statistics of becoming a successful author aren't great, not even good. If that's the case, then I need to enjoy the journey instead of worrying so much about the rules. If you can't disregard rules in art, then when can you?

Some people I know are probably shaking their heads in dismay(argh! another thing that sets my heart racing in fear - the dreaded head shaking by a character).

I've spread myself too thin. Now, instead of writing happily for hours, I'm constantly checking that I'm doing something correctly. Instead of writing what my characters want, I worry that it won't fit into the genre and an agent won't like it. Instead of following the story as I feel it should go, I'm worried about the three act plot, subplots, inciting incident, build up, climax, character arcs, etc...
The funny thing is, I know how to do this. I've been reading for more years than I care to admit. I know how a book should flow. I'm not saying it's going to be perfect, but it'll be fixable. I'm going to again start writing the stories I love.

I'm not going to turn this into a blog about my journey to publication - seriously, how many are of those are there? I'm not going to give writing advice. Why? Because I'm not qualified to do so. I can't tell anyone how to get published, because I'm not there yet. I won't be doing anymore book reviews, because I just don't like to do them. This blog will be about whatever I feel like when I'm posting. I'll try to update on a somewhat regular basis, but I'm not going to make any promises, because as much I appreciate you following me or reading me via Facbook and Twitter, blogging isn't my love - I'd rather be writing.

Log on

This blog is under construction. I apologize for the inconvenience, but I look forward to getting this up and running again. Thank you for your patience.

Book Review: Chimichanga by Eric Powell

In Eric Powell's Chimichanga, we're introduced to Lula, the bearded girl of Wrinkle's Traveling Circus where the freaks aren't so freakish. We're given Heratio - The Boy Faced Fish! An amazing two eyed goat who tells the future! Randy the colossus of average size - he's a man with the strength of a slightly larger man, watch him fight his way out of a wet paper bag and be amazed at the large sacks of groceries he carries up stairs and you can't forget his kitten wrestling abilities! Needless to say, the circus is struggling.

The story begins with Lula going off to buy lunch. She heads for a taco stand and orders; you guessed it, a chimichanga. On her way back, she's met by a witch with a horrible gas problem. In exchange for a few hairs from her beard, Lula receives a wagon and a rock which, unbeknownst to either of them, was recently puked up by a rather sickly looking stork/vulture hybrid. Lula takes her wagon and heads back to the circus only to be slowed by an increased weight in the wagon. She finds the rock, which apparently was an egg, has hatched and now a large, hairy monster is sitting in her wagon. Lula names the monster Chimichanga and takes it back to the circus.

Meanwhile, the witch has prepared her brew and it's cured her gassiness. She immediately takes it to Dinderly Pharmaceuticals where she tries to sell the concoction as a cure for chronic gas. In a rather fun dialogue the owner of the pharmaceutical company explains that cures aren't good for business. They prefer medicine which will keep consumers coming back for more. While the witch is arguing with him, her gas problem erupts twice as bad. The pharmaceutical guy is immediately interested and shoves aside a researcher who has almost found the cure for cancer so he can make room for his new darling: pills that relieve gas and then makes it come back twice as bad. However, there's the problem of where to get more beard hair from a young girl.

What follows is an adventure as Chimichanga gets taken away and Lula is kidnapped. The lawyers of Dinderly claim ownership over her and the circus performers must come up with a way to save her.

I'm relatively new to the graphic novel genre and I have to say, I really enjoyed reading this. The pictures were fun and while colorful, they were a bit muted to show the grittiness of the carnival. Any colors to do with the pharmaceutical company were stark and dismal which gave the intended feeling that we’re dealing with something bad.

Some might find the subject of the pharmaceutical company dealt with a in a heavy handed manner, but I laughed the whole way through. The story between Lula and Chimi was vaguely reminiscent of Frankenstein's monster. I loved the not quite freaks in the circus. It was a little predictable at times, but well worth the read if you’re looking for something light and fun.

Guest Review: The Girl in the Box

Amidst the war and genocide in the jungles of Guatemala, a visiting Psychoanalyst discovers a young teen chained inside a wooden box. The girl is mute and appears to be mentally damaged. After the pleas of her parents to take her with him, Dr. Jerry Simpson takes the girl back to his home in Canada. Enlisting the help of his close friends and colleagues, he attempts to unlock the mystery of her past.

When the doctor is later found murdered by the girl, Jerry's long- time friend and lover, Caitlin, sets out to find out why it happened and what went wrong.

I found this book to be very well researched, as evidenced by the author's thorough knowledge of the mental health community and the vivid descriptions of the settings used in the book. The question of "why" will keep you turning the pages in this well-written psychological mystery.

*Note: The Girl in the Box by Sheila Dalton will be available in Novmber 2011. Guest review done by Nancy Fields.

When I first read "The Prisoner of Azkaban,"by J.K. Rowling, the dementors didn't seem so scary. Sure, they were highly unpleasant, but not terrifying. The thought of just being near one and having it suck out the happiness and hope until nothing was left but an empty shell was too remote of an idea and I didn't fully get the impact.

Now, I do. I understand on a level which I'd never wish on anyone. I recently read where Rowling based the idea of dementors on her experience with depression. Not sadness or the occasional unhappiness, but the deep hopelessness of seeing nothing of beauty or worth in life. Here's a quote from her.

“Yes. That is exactly what they are. It was entirely conscious. And entirely from my own experience. Depression is the most unpleasant thing I have ever experienced. It is that absence of being able to envisage that you will ever be cheerful again. The absence of hope. That very deadened feeling, which is so very different from feeling sad. Sad hurts but it’s a healthy feeling. It’s a necessary thing to feel. Depression is very different.”
“I think [dementors] are the scariest things I’ve written.”–J.K. Rowling (quote from http://hpcompanion.com/pa/pa5/)

Life is full of ups and downs for everyone - that's part of life. However, there are times in life when one does lose all hope and if you were drowning - you don't know if you'd bother kicking your legs to reach the top again. Over the past few years, life has been, how shall I say this? Not quite the happy world it once was. Depression in a serious issue and I think a lot of creative people suffer from it. Sometimes it gets so hard to fight that you don't know which way will bring you back to the light at the surface.

As I mentioned earlier, the past few years have been exceedingly rough. My own personal battle with dementors started in 2001, but has been near constant since 2008. There has been job, possession, home and friend loss. The loss of physical things I think I could have handled better had it not been for something else - the loss of self respect and basic human dignity. You see, when we lost our home to foreclosure (brought about by the job loss), we had to stay with relatives. I'd read, before all this happened, that sometimes, being taken in by family in such a situation, had worse repercussions than those who stayed with friends or even in homeless shelters. At that time, it never occured to me how such a thing could be possible.

I hope you never know the feeling of being a bother, of being humiliated by your mere existence. I hope you never know how it feels to know you're not wanted and in the way. I hope you never want to disappear, just so you won't have to wake up to see the condescending looks and hear the whispers of your failure repeated daily. I hope you are never pushed into a corner and kept there by fear. Fear of losing the little you have left.

Things in life have improved. We're in another state where we're renting a home. However, the depression is still there and I have the feeling it always will be. It's something I fight on a daily basis. I can feel when a bad funk is coming on. It's physically hard to smile. Things that once made you laugh you find irritating. There's nothing between you and the dark, stormy abyss.

This has been my own experience and I hope that if you suffer from depression you get the help that's best for you. I'm not sure why I felt the need to talk about this today. I usually try to keep the posts fun and a bit quirky or offbeat, but here it is. Love you all and wish you the best!