Tired Rambling Pops Thought Bubbles…

So, Husband and I are all done with the actual moving part of the move…at least where it pertains to our physical selves.  Our things won’t be here for another five days or so, so we’re functioning as minimalists at the moment.  I’ve got the things I need (my laptop for working purposes, my computer for…er…uhm…computing purposes), and he’s got the things he needs (his XBox, his case of games, and our smallest TV).  Then we’ve got the cat and dog, of course.  That was a fun trip with the animals, let me tell you.

I’m still physically recovering from the speed-loading that we did a few days ago.  Me carrying a giant, awkward desk that’s at the end of its rope down stairs?  Well…let’s just say that it wasn’t very pretty.  It was kind of embarrassing, actually – the entire moving process, with me carrying anything that weighed over two pounds or so.  I think I might need to go to the gym and *cue music in my head* get ta workin on mah fitness.

…………..

I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself for just typing that.  Maybe nobody will get it and just think that I’m insane.  That would probably be best.  And it was a joke, mostly.  I can just go shovel rocks or something, which sounds like WAY more fun (that’s just my opinion…to each their own).

No, but really, my body feels pretty shot at the moment.  I’m having doubts as to whether my feet will ever recover and return to normalness.  Normality.  Oh.  Apparently normality is a word.  That’s nice to know.

I PROBABLY should not be blogging right now, given that my brain seems to be lacking its usual functionality.  I knew that functionality was a word, but I’m not sure it’s entirely appropriate to have been used there.  Maybe it was.  Oh well.  I’m sure anybody reading this will know what I meant if it wasn’t.  This is generally the time that I’m most awake during the day (night), but my sleep schedule is still wonky.  By wonky, I mean that I’ve been waking up in the *gasp* morning, and going to sleep right around now.  Meaning…I’m tired.  And my leg is asleep from this HORRENDOUS chair that I’m required to sit on to compute at the moment.  I don’t know how my leg being asleep is relevant to the fact that I shouldn’t be typing anything right now, but………uhm………Yep.

Anyway.  Things are strange here.  Which is strange, me saying that, given that I’ve lived here most of my life (on and off).  Easy how quickly and completely I can forget things.  Things are much more simple, yet so much more complicated in some ways.  I’ll blame my lack of remembering the latter of those to some sort of purposeful forgetfulness.

To explain.

I am beyond physically exhausted.  Even after a few days of coming here, I haven’t recovered.  I’ve said that already, I know.  The point is…I haven’t sat down for more than an hour at a time since I got here.

I’ve walked around, I’ve helped my mom and my mamaw cook, I’ve cut up strawberries for shortcakes and cobblers.  I’ve picked some of those strawberries.  I’ve shelled some peas (yuck to the eating).  I’ve paced while talking on the phone.  I’ve done more walking around.  And then more walking.  And then a little more.

My feet freaking HUUUURT.

But anyway, I’ve gotten so bored during all the spaces between.  Apart from one bit of not-moving-in-between where I worked on a few technical errors in my book.  I was expecting that to take me days upon days upon days.  Nope.  That was my thing to do – my thing to keep myself occupied.  Now, I’ve got a whole lotta nothin’.  Oh my god, I’m even typing that way now.  I apologize.  Which reminds me…I heard my accent coming back out at some point either today or yesterday.  I didn’t lose it completely (it’s the way I talk), but I said something (don’t ask me what it was because I don’t have a clue) and it made my eye twitch.  It’s always so much worse when I’m around my family.  Why in the world am I even talking about this?  Because I’m tired rambling, that’s why.

Back to boredom.  I’m bored.

I could’ve typed this up yesterday, technically, since we set the computer up and all that.  I’m going to be totally honest and say that I didn’t want to.  I honestly don’t want to right now.  This chair is so uncomfortable.  SO.  UNCOMFORTABLE.  I was going to say that it’s almost as bad as sitting on a rock, but you know what?  I would rather be sitting on a rock.

I have a bit more time left before heading off to bed (YAAAAAAAY for air mattresses……Did anyone hear the sarcasm?  I hope so…)…so, when I’m done with this, I’m going to do as I said and do some looking around on here.  I’ll probably have a million blogs to catch up on reading.  That’s fine though.  I can guarantee I won’t get done with that today.  Probably not even tomorrow.  But I WILL get it done.  And it will give me something to do during the between times, when I have them.  Also………..crap.  Lost my little thought bubble there.

I’m antsy to get back to work.  You have no idea.  I’ll calm down whenever that happens.

 

 

I realize that I didn’t make any of the points I intended to make when I started writing this thing.  Well, that’s wrong.  I made a few of them, but not as well as I’d intended because I’m tired.  No big deal.

I’ll give more updates about what’s going on with the book (where it’s at, or where it’s going) whenever things are a bit more set in stone.  I’m trying to work out details at the moment.  And now I’m thinking about Merlin (sword in the stone) and wishing I could watch season five.  I’m whimpering a little on the inside right now.  I love that show.  You have no idea.

 

 

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Small Update.

Husband and I are moving in a couple of days.

I won’t be posting entries, reading entries, or responding to anything for a little while…hopefully everything will be a bit settled by the end of the week and I will be able to catch up on the numerous open tabs for things that I need to read.  I’d intended on getting that done yesterday, but my sleep schedule got all KINDS of messed up and life has a little too much madness to suit me at the moment.  (A little note: Any new followers/likes that I have, I WILL remember to check out your blogs the minute I am able to do so.  Also, thanks for being interested :). )  Soon after that, I will be able to do a little more work on my book, so that will be another gap in time, depending on how much needs doing and whatnot.  Then another break from that.  Then…………done, and working out the details of the means in getting my baby out into the world.  Wow.  Crazy stuff, that.

Good news is…….I will have my shed again!

Hello wonderful, creative freedom.

I was so missing that in life.

I hope that everyone out there is having a wonderful extended weekend, is experiencing wonderful things, and has a wonderful, wonderful week.

– C

Publishing: Which Way Do You Go?

I attempted to write this entry a week or two ago.  When I say attempted, what I really mean is that I actually did write the entry in its entirety, but then decided not to hit the Publish button because I wasn’t satisfied with the feel of it.  Despite making all of the points I wanted to make, I’m extremely glad that I was unhappy with it at the time.  Now, I have a few new things to add.  And now, I intend to leave out all of the nonsense…or most of it, anyway.

Given how close the first book in my series is to absolute completion (and what I mean by that is readiness to be published, not finished with writing), I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about publication.  Don’t get me wrong, it’s something I’ve thought about a lot over the past several years – even before this second series started working itself out in my head.  Of course, when you finish writing one – or even sometimes before that – it starts crossing your mind.  And those thoughts begin slowly as, “Maybe I should try to get this published.”  They soon transform into, “Yeah, I should definitely try to get this published.”  Then, once you’ve discovered a magical gem that was hidden somewhere in the depths of your being, it is finally, “This NEEDS to be published.”

When you reach the point where you’re either serious enough, or curious enough about publication, you begin doing research.  The very first thing you learn about?  Agents.  Agents are the heart of the publishing industry, pumping the blood – a story – through all of the appropriate avenues.  Agents help you get your book completely ready.  They handle the contracts you couldn’t begin to understand.  They support you.  They do everything.  They get you published.  That’s what you learn.

For a long time, I thought that was the only way.  Self-publishing was only for people who COULDN’T get published otherwise, or so I believed.  And I will go ahead and say that I’m more than aware that a lot of people who self-publish do it because they CAN’T get an agent, for whatever reason.

When you begin to dig deeper into everything – the way it all works, all of the options…everything – you realize that there are options.  There are pros and cons to both sides.  I’m not knowledgeable enough about the industry to list all of them as fact; I can only list off the big issues that are currently swirling around in my own head, where they pertain to my own work.

I will tackle the self-publishing first because, to me, it’s the easiest to tackle.

You pay for everything, right?  You pay for your cover art.  You pay for this, you pay for that.  It ends up being quite a lot of money, unless a couple thousand dollars is pocket change to you, or unless you’re extremely gifted at formatting and design (I am not gifted at either of those things).  There’s the – absolutely legitimate – concern that you won’t even make enough money back to cover the initial expense of it.  To me?  The money it would take is nowhere near pocket change.  It’s a big investment.

At the same time, in order to get people to buy your books – because how could they even know who you were? – you have to self-promote shamelessly.

Do I like the idea of that?  Uhm, yes, in a sense.  I like it that people are passionate about what they do.  Do I want to do it?  I am bashful and backwards.  You take a guess.  Am I passionate about what I do?  You have no idea how much.

Would I get over my bashfulness and backwardness to help my books?  No, but I would do what I needed to anyway.  I yam who I yam.  I don’t want to change who I am; I couldn’t, and I wouldn’t.  I like being introverted; I like sitting alone in a shed with as little human interaction as possible.  When I don’t talk, I don’t over-analyze every word that I said.  I don’t get nervous and sweat profusely.  Don’t we all like being comfortable?  Again, I would still do whatever I had to…it’s all just a matter of how happy I would be with it.

Alright…So NOW, the big question is…

Would my books ever reach their full potential if I chose to self-publish?  I don’t know very many people to be like, “HEY!  READ MY BOOKS!”

This is another one of those things that sends this horrendous sinking feeling into my stomach, worrying that something I do will be the reason my books fail.  Before, it was a concern about the crappy way that I write.  I’ve come to accept the fact that, while my blogging (and texting, and messaging) is horrible – my book writing?  Well…it’s really not SO bad.  It’s not great.  It could be better.

It could be a LOT worse.

Which gets me to the gigantic flashing neon sign in my head right now, when it comes to going the traditional route.  This was already the source of The Big Question Mark (and has been for the past few weeks when the realization actually struck me [and yes, it gets its own name]), but I can thank one of my friends for unintentionally solidifying it for me.

Editing.

I woke up and laid there on that day a week or two ago, resisting the urge to groan about being awake – as I do every morning (or afternoon, depending on the day) – and had one of those eye-twitch-inducing revelations that woke me right up.

What if I get an agent, then they send my book off to an editor that changes things without asking me?  What if they ruin everything?

That was the, “Oh fdhc,” moment that day.  The solidification changed the way I thought about it.

There were no expletives running around in my head, which is a feat in and of itself, as there are almost constantly expletives floating around in my head (even when I’m in a good mood).  There were no simpleminded, one-sided thoughts.

Not everyone is going to like my books (I’d realized that a LONG time ago), and that’s fine.  More importantly…not everyone is going to appreciate them, understand what I was going for, the feel I want them to have, etc.

A good, solid editing is important.  I’m a firm believer that you don’t have to get a ‘professional’ editor to do it.  What makes them professional anyway?  As long as you have someone who understands the written word – the way words are used, the way sentences flow, so on and so forth – what does it matter?  You can’t do that yourself.  You can do a damn good job editing your own work, but you still need other people to help in some way.  They see things that you won’t.  They’ll catch your too instead of who.  They’ll find the places where you thought you were being descriptive as all get-out (you can see it in your head…never mind the fact that you left those little details out), and really weren’t.  Editing is important.  It’s key to releasing a good book.

But.

There comes a point in time when you’re editing yourself where, if you touch it one more time, you’ll be doing more harm than good.

There also comes a point in time where anyone else touching it will absolutely destroy what you’ve done.  You have to know when that point is.

I’ll compare it to a beautiful, antique cabinet.  There is a difference between refinishing and slopping a bunch of paint over something.  There is a BIG difference between those two things.

This is where I’m torn, you see.

I want my character’s story to be told as well as it possibly can be.  Don’t we all want that for the characters that we nurture (sometimes torture), and love?

You have to know where that line is located.  You have to respect that line.  You have to respect yourself.

You have to know what you want out of the thing that you love so dearly and completely.

The most important thing is that I have to stay true to myself, and to my writing.  I want the story told as well as it can be told, but – above that – the story has to be the one that I wrote.

I can’t – and will not – change the way that I write, or the focus of my stories to satisfy anyone.  What in the world would be the point of doing this if I was that quick to say, “Of course you’re right,” without giving it a second thought and asking THE most important question you can ask yourself when another person has looked at your work.  Are they right?

More often than not, yes.  Yes they are.

To me, there is such a difference between adding a word, taking out a useless sentence, or moving things around and then completely twisting and distorting who I am as a writer.

I can sit there and drive myself insane all day long, worrying that I will be the cause of my book’s failure.

But the fact of the matter is…I would rather be the cause of that by staying true to myself as a person, and as a writer, than throwing every bit of myself out of the window because someone else suggested it.  I can’t do it.  I won’t do it.  If it’s a sinking ship, I will ride that baby down to the bottom of the ocean.  Do you want to know why?  Because someone out there will get what I was trying to do.  Someone out there will appreciate the characters that I love.  Someone out there will GET IT.  I would rather them get me than get some painted up, antique cabinet.

And that, my friends, is why I don’t know if I want to publish traditionally.  Could I?  Yes.  I believe wholeheartedly that I could.

WILL I?

I’m not sure.  But I can tell you right now that, if that happens…I will not let anyone destroy the integrity of my work.  Not to make it more marketable.  Not to make it easier to stomach.  Not to make it easier to understand.  Not for ANY reason in the entire world.

That’s just the way it is.

And now I’m hearing Bruce Hornsby in my head.

Could be worse.

Shetland Ponies and Contemplation

I’ve been doing a lot of contemplating lately – on varying subjects, and with varying intensity.  Situations have a lot to do with the way that I’ve been spending my time; I have little else to do, at least for a short while longer.  The time of contemplating and thinking is almost over…it’s going to cease and give way to doing.  A lot of the thinking has revolved around planning – planning for this, or planning for that, and always trying to determine the best (most efficient) way to go about accomplishing things or just simply…getting them done.

Some of the thinking has been over other things – things that I have no control over, things that have nothing to do with getting other things done.  Those subjects are more difficult for me to manage.

I posted an entry awhile back about getting into contact with one of my dearest friends, and the resulting feelings because of it.  It made me do a lot of contemplating over myself as a person – the ways that I had changed since turning into a hermit of sorts.  It’s kind of like…walking through a doorway, but different.  On one side, you were who you used to be.  And on the other?  Who you are today.

I felt like time almost stopped while I was sitting in my shed, writing my books.  I could feel it passing, I could feel myself aging.  I could feel my heart changing.  It just seemed to happen so quickly.  Years of time – years of my life – spent…thinking, typing, thinking.  Writing.

It’s so funny because yes, I have always been a thinker.  The funny thing is that I can remember being so selfish with my thoughts.  I’m not anymore.  I’m selfish with my time.  I have more important things that I should be doing.  I suppose that feeling purpose will do that to you.

Have I changed so much?

Is there any bit of that person left?

I don’t know.  Maybe somewhere.

It doesn’t matter…I’m simply asking.

I’m being so dramatic, I know.  I’m a writer; it’s what I do.  If you could see how so NOT-dramatic I am in person, you would laugh at me.  I wonder sometimes how I can actually make up stories, pull them out of my head piece by piece, and make them live.  I wonder that a lot of the time, actually.  I’m selling myself short.  I always sell myself short.  It’s what I do.

I like it that way.  I wouldn’t enjoy riding around on a high horse.  That’s a lot further to fall.  The realistic, sensible thing to do is to ride on a horse that’s fitting of your stature and capability.  I know who I am.  I know what I’m capable of.  Don’t I?

Maybe I’m wrong.

Maybe I’ve been wrong.

Again, I…don’t know.

This is why I prefer sitting in my shed in my solitude.  Interacting with people makes me think.

I don’t have time for this.  I don’t have time to constantly be rearranging my self-perception when I have so many other things to be doing.

Maybe I like riding around on my little Shetland pony.  Do I?  I believe so.

This probably sounds crazy, but I’m trying to work through it – write through it.

All of this – every bit of it – is stemming from the interactions that I’ve been having with people over the past several months.  I’ve been told a lot of…things.  A lot of words that I’m not accustomed to having associated with me have been lightly tossed into the general vicinity of my face.

Inspiring.  Are you serious?

People have said that my accomplishments thus far are ‘awesome‘ (the word is suitable enough).  Do you realize how many people have thought absolutely nothing of it?

Happy.  People tell me that I look happy.  Is it such a rarely appropriate word that it’s worth mentioning?  Is nobody else in this world happy?  I can remember a time where I never thought I would be.  I am, though.  I am so happy, and I’m so glad that it shows.

And then there was the word used during a conversation with an old friend yesterday.  Profound.  He told me that I was profound now.  What a word to be called!  This coming from someone who could remember me taking a sip of nail polish remover (likely in the fifth grade, when I was definitely old enough to know better).  I wouldn’t normally mention something so ridiculous; I’m just swallowing my pride for the sake of understanding. (A side-note: Please, for the love of all that is holy in this world, do NOT do that)…

I’m used to the high praise, in a sense.  My husband does it constantly.  He always tells me that I’m awesome, or amazing, or that one thing or another that I’ve done is just…the most AMAZING thing in the entire world.  I always tell myself that he’s completely biased, thus making his praising….tainted, I suppose.  My parents will always smile and go along with whatever decisions I make in life – often knowing I’m choosing wrong, mind you – so that I can learn my lesson.  They love me, and they always let me do what I believe will make me happy, thus tainting their opinions of me, and lessening the believability of their words (where they pertain to me).

But people that I don’t really know?  People that I haven’t spoken to in seven, or ten years?

I can’t make excuses to myself for the things that they’ve said to me.  I can’t shrug it off, or let it roll down my back without a second thought.  How could they be biased?

Profound.  If you could only hear me scoff at that word being associated with me.  And if you could only understand what all of those things mean to me.

He said something about words yesterday that really hit home.  Words are my life.  I am constantly struggling to get them out correctly, appropriately…perfectly.  And I am always failing.

Am I failing as badly as I believe I am?  Am I failing as badly as I tell myself I am?

Maybe…maybe I’m not.  To other people.

I need to feel like I fail with words.  That’s what keeps me struggling for improvement.

I suppose that I need to come to another understanding with myself.

I will stay on my humble little Shetland pony, but I need to come to terms with the fact that…my best might not ever be good enough for myself, but maybe…

Maybe it’s enough to suffice for everyone else.

I’m alright with that.

 

My god, I need to start writing another book soon.  This thinking about myself is driving me up a never-ending wall.

Basically, the entire purpose of this was to say that everything (like the things mentioned) has been extremely strange for me.  I’m not used to it.

But I need to say thank you to any and everyone who has shown even the vaguest interest in my work.  My work means the entire world to me.  I couldn’t possibly express my gratitude.  All that I can say is thank you, from the absolute bottom of my heart.

Making Time for Security Blankets

I began typing up a new entry earlier today (it will technically be yesterday by the time this is posted), and was interrupted and asked to come downstairs at precisely the same moment that I realized…I shouldn’t have been writing it with intent to share in the first place.

Blogging is difficult for me.  When I do it, I can feel the little tug from the past saying, “Hey, You…You used to enjoy me.  Remember?  You used to tell me everything.  What happened to You?”

I’m a different person now; that’s not a bad thing.  I enjoy taking my personal steps back from my writing.  I enjoy my life being mine.  I enjoy my stories being their own.  My life and my writing coexisting so closely?  Well…it’s just not as appealing to me as it once was.  Sure, I put little bits and pieces of myself into everything that I write.  It’s completely different.  If you write books about characters that have their own lives and experiences – where those lives and experiences do not coincide with your own – you will understand what I mean when I say that it’s different.  I prefer it that way.  I enjoy my privacy – or having as much privacy as I want to allow myself. 

The point of this being that it’s so funny how things seem to happen at precisely the right time.

Is that our own mind adapting to circumstances and situations, growing from them and MAKING any time the right time?  Or is it something simpler, yet indescribably more difficult to explain?  Do we make the right time, or is the right time made for us?  Hmm…It’s definitely something to ponder over.

That question is more relevant to my life at the moment than I can fully explain.

I’ve spoken of headspaces before, but I will say that during the past week or more, I’ve been stuck inside of a worse one than any I’ve been stuck inside of for a very long time.  I’d forgotten what it was like.  It was something I never thought I’d forget; I believe that alone speaks wonders towards the natural progression of life.

Headspace.  Right.

Finally though, after everything had seemed so dark…a little light of hope appeared.  It sounds lame, I know, but it’s true.  It was unexpected, but what was more unexpected was the massive amount of clarity gained from that tiny light’s illumination.  I’d been so focused on the negatives that I didn’t realize all of the other things connecting themselves inside of my head – working themselves out naturally.

I’d already worked out my plan for my books, but I hadn’t worked out my plan for my life.  The realization that it had worked itself out somewhere in the back of my head – without my knowledge or permission, mind you – hit me slowly.  I don’t really feel comfortable with anything unless I have a plan for it.  Yes, I’m aware that you can plan and prepare for as long as you like and, more often than not, it won’t work out the way you thought or intended.  That’s not why I do it.  I do it for the structure and the security.  In fact, you really could compare the feeling of it to a security blanket for my head.  It makes me feel better.  Safer.

Right now?  I feel better.

I’ve been sitting here staring down at the keyboard for several minutes with a little grin on my face.

I have always, always been a mess.  Until I started writing books, I had absolutely no feeling of purpose in life – no direction or motivation; I was just going through the motions, enjoying what I could and getting through the things that I couldn’t.  I was 22 years old when I discovered what I wanted to do with the rest of my life – the thing that I couldn’t live without.  Earlier than some, later than others.  Enough time to get me the experience at life that would make me good enough at writing about it.  I’ve made enough mistakes to learn from them, and I’m at the appropriate distance from those things that I’m capable of looking at them objectively and turning them into positives.  But even after discovering that – my love in life – everything else was an endless question mark.  Wants and don’t-wants traded spots on their respective lists periodically, depending on the circumstances and the time.

Now, at 25…in this moment?  I think I’ve got it.

Happy late birthday to me.

It was worth the lateness.

Suddenly, being closer to 30 than 20…Well…It doesn’t sound so bad anymore.

Liebster Blog Award

http://whenibecameanauthor.files.wordpress.com/2013/05/liebster-blog-award.jpg

So, I got nominated for the Liebster Blog Award earlier by Briana Vedsted (you can find her at  http://whenibecameanauthor.wordpress.com/  – thanks Briana! ).  I was more than a little confused as to what it was (because, at first glance, all that came to mind were those 100 question surveys I used to fill out when I was bored on MySpace several years ago), so I did a little investigating on the matter.  What I discovered was pretty neat.  Basically, it seems to be a way for lesser known blogs to all connect with one another (or something along those lines).  Liebster translates to dearest in German, which gives it an undeniable, “Awwww,” factor…

Onward.

The Rules:

1)      Copy a picture of the award thingy somewhere (might take me awhile to figure out how to do that) into the post.  (Look, there it is.)

2)      Link back to the person who nominated you. (Check)

3)      List 11 random facts about yourself.

4)      Nominate 11 other bloggers to pass it along to (it goes unsaid that you should link to their blogs so the people reading yours can check them out…Well, I suppose that it IS said now).

5)      Notify those 11 other bloggers about their nomination.

6)      Ask 11 questions for your nominees to answer.

7)      Answer the 11 questions asked by your nominator.

When doing research about this, I saw somewhere that the original numbers were not eleven, but whatever.  Eleven is supposed to be a good number, isn’t it?  That’s what they say, anyway.  They say a lot of things, but that’s neither here nor there.  (There should be eleven rules to this, if we’re keeping up the trend.  Rule maker?  Where are you?)

Eleven Random Facts About Me:

1)      I despise odd numbers.  If I can see any sort of clock when I’m waking up, I will not get out of bed until that clock hits an even number.  Numbered volume?  Even.  Numbered speedometer?  Even.  I’m not as bad about it as I used to be (fits would ensue), but it still irks me.  Sometimes, I try to just not look at numbered things if it’s something that would bother me (not all things do).  Non-numbered clocks never bother me.  Yes, it’s weird.  I’m not ashamed of it.

2)      I can’t read books while I’m writing books.  I made about…two(ish?) exceptions while working on my second series.  No matter how much I love reading, writing is a more fulfilling experience for me.  When I’m working, I don’t want any other stories taking up residence inside of my head.  Bad for my working methods.

3)      Speaking of working methods – that reminds me of something else.  I despise noise if I’m not making it.  Outside noises, other people doing things that we all do (key-jingling, pen-tapping, etc.).  I grew up right on the verge of being in ‘the sticks’.  I like quiet.  I like peace.  I can’t work with noise.  I can’t think with noise.  (This is another thing that will induce ‘fits’, but when using that word in both of these instances, I mean a mental fit [for example – feeling the need to type things like ghasdhgjksdhgjshjfd in a bad way].  I can almost always manage to stay composed in any given situation and politely ask, “Will you stop that, please?”).  My dad will make noises like that intentionally around me.  I generally use the word please the first two times, but I’ll get rid of it after that.

4)      I may talk a lot (A LOT), but I’m a very quiet person.  I don’t speak loudly; I mumble most of the time (difficult when your husband has hearing problems).  When I’m at home, I rarely speak at all.  But when I’m talking to people that I don’t see on a daily basis?  I don’t shut up.  I’ve never been ‘loud’ though.  Both of my parents are big mumblers as well.

5)      I make makeup and nail polish in my spare time.  Wholesale websites have got a little too much business from me (being one person and just doing it for a hobby), but I enjoy it and I use it.  It’s a fun thing to do when you’ve got nothing else planned, but it can be extremely messy.  I believe there’s glitter inside every crevice of electronics that my husband and I own.  I’m glad that he doesn’t have a problem with it.  He’d be pretty miserable if he did (or if he was one of those guys that – for some reason – is terrified of glitter).

6)      I have a thing for fuzzy socks and pajama pants.  I don’t know what it is, but I will wear them until it’s so hot that I can’t stand it.  I’ll still wear my robe in the middle of summer sometimes.  I should probably throw it away, but I just can’t force myself to do it.  That robe (and those fuzzy socks and PJ pants) kept me warm(ish) many a night while sitting in my shed mid-winter writing my books.  They hold a special place in my heart.

7)      I have some guns and a bow that I enjoy shooting (responsibly) very much.  Since moving, I have no space to do that safely so they’re just sitting here taunting me.  It’s one of many things that make me miss home.

8)      I’ve traveled quite a few places (even lived in quite a few), but Kentucky will ALWAYS be home to me.  Every time that I go somewhere else, I get a quick reminder of why my home state is so beautiful and amazing.  I want to move back there, but not to my hometown.  And yes…we wear shoes.  I have about a million pairs of them, in fact (clear exaggeration).  Yes, we can read and write.  Yes, we go to school.  No, we are not all unintelligent ‘hillbillies’.  You wouldn’t believe all of the things that people assume about Southerners – ESPECIALLY people from Kentucky.  It’s quite ridiculous.

9)      I’m an avid UK basketball fan.  I watch every game that I can and talk about the ones that I can’t with my dad (or my mom, who mostly complains about one thing or another with it).  UK basketball is a big deal with most of the people in my family (my sweet little mamaw included).  I even got my husband (who is from a different state) watching it and loving it.

10)   I love video games.  My all-time favorite is Final Fantasy VII.  I’m sure Husband enjoys that about me; it makes his life much easier, I would imagine.

11)   I don’t like soda.  I could blame it on the carbonation (which feels like acid to me when it’s going down), but I’ll occasionally drink a flavored carbonated water, or an energy drink.  Coffee is generally my go-to beverage of choice.

The Eleven People I’m Nominating:  (I’m not sure how many followers any of these people have, and this whole thing seems to be about lesser known blogs, but…how am I supposed to know if they don’t have a counter?  You should check all of them out though.)

http://bnbrown10.wordpress.com

http://ajburch.wordpress.com

http://ruralhabituation.wordpress.com

http://njmagas.wordpress.com

(Yes, I can count.  I was trying to pay attention to both followers [where I could], and whether it was obvious or not if they’d received this before…Both of those things eliminated quite a lot of my already short list.  We’ll say that’s MY number eleven in this instance…)

Eleven Questions For The ‘Eleven’ People I Nominated:

1)      Reading: Digital, or Paper?

2)      What is your favorite place in the world (could be a city, a state, or even something more specific, such as a room), and why?

3)      Cats or dogs?

4)      What is your favorite holiday, and why?

5)      What is your favorite thing to do to pass the time (this does not include your occupation if you love it, unless it’s the only thing that you enjoy doing)?

6)      What is the most frustrating thing to you in the entire world?

7)      Who is the person that you most look up to in your life?

8)      When writing (in any form), what is the most helpful thing for you to have during (for example, a cup of coffee, or background noise)?

9)      Your dream job?

10)   What do you believe is the best thing about you?

11)   What is your biggest hope/aspiration in life?

The Eleven Questions Asked By My Nominator:

1)      What is your pet peeve?

–          More things bother me than they probably should.  Hmm…I was going to say something else, but I’ve changed my mind.  I believe the one thing that bothers me more than anything else in the entire world is people only doing things halfway – not putting in the work required, but expecting the results of it.  If we’re talking about minor annoyances, I will spare you all of the long list.

2)      Where would you like to go on vacation?

–          England, Ireland, Scotland (also Rome, Russia, etc.).  Anywhere with a lot of history.  I know nothing about architecture, but I think it can be remarkably beautiful.  I would love to see some of it.  And I would also like to see where my family came from…at least the family that I’ve got traced back.  A lot of my favorite actors are British.  Running into one of them?  Unlikely, but still more likely there than it is here.  That would be awesome.  Could you just IMAGINE running into Matt Smith at a pub (I can’t even imagine GOING to a pub)?  I’d probably pass out before I could get the words, “New companion…do you need one?” out of my mouth.

3)      Who is your favorite singer?

–          I don’t necessarily have a favorite singer.  In fact, I generally have a difficult time picking a favorite anything…comes with the territory of being indecisive.  As of now, my favorite band is Geographer.  Michael Deni’s voice, coupled with Blaz and Ostreicher’s instrumental talent, all tied together with some of the most AMAZING lyrics I have ever heard or read?  Well…it’s about as freaking close to musical perfection as anything my ears have ever experienced.  (If you’re interested, there is an acoustic version of their song “Verona” that is just…beyond words – the link is  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o8d4Tx_hW9M ).  I don’t see that favorite changing.  They’re incomparable to me.

4)      Do you have a nickname?

–          I have quite a few of them, actually.  Almost all of my friends call me something different.  I prefer not to be called by my full first name – not that I don’t like it because I do, but it just feels weird when I hear it; there are some exceptions to that rule.  Given that this is in some way a ‘work’ blog (because I talk about my work) and I won’t be publishing under my legal name, anyone on here can just call me C.  Actually…anyone in the world could call me C and I would be more than fine with it.

5)      Is there something you collect, i.e. stamps, rocks, dried flowers…

–          I ‘collect’ quite a lot of things.  R has called me a hoarder on more than one occasion, but I most certainly am not.  I only collect my favorite things.  Books, make up (mostly eye shadow and nail polish), clothes, shoes, and movies.  I guess that you could also count pictures in there as well.  My mom is an avid rock collector, believe it or not.  If you get around her, expect to be held up for at least an hour while she shows you her collection.  Some of them are pretty cool, but it’s not my thing.  Although I do have a few of them she gave me that I keep close.  Only a few.  I used to collect stickers when I was little.  Okay, okay…I still have a shoe box with some of those somewhere.  Okay.  Yeah, I have some yarn.  And puzzles.  But those are just ‘occupy time’ things.  >.>

6)      If you could go back in time for a day, what year would you go to?

–          I’m all about moving forward and only looking backwards to keep track of where you’ve been to ensure that you’re not stepping over your own old tracks.  I honestly can’t say there is a single moment I would want to relive more than moving forward.  But for the sake of choosing and answering the question?  2011 – The day my husband came home from his deployment.  Good day.  Very happy day.

7)      What is your favorite color?

–          Cobalt blueish (grayish, silvery blue), and dark purple.  See, I have problems picking singular favorite things.

8)      What smell reminds you of home?

–          Green.  Plants, grass, trees.  Good things after barren times, rebirth after dormancy.  And dirt.  The latter might not sound pleasant, but it most certainly is.  Makes me think about my mom’s garden.  Results yielded from hard work.

9)      What was your first pet?

–          I’ve had a great many pets in my life.  My first favorite pet was a Labrador Retriever/Golden Retriever mix.  She was the only good dog that I’d ever had, until Pig.  I had her from second grade until right after I turned 18.  I never thought I would love another more.

10)    What is your most prized possession?

–          If we’re speaking of physical things, it would be my books.  Hard work.  But the thing I cherish most in my life are the loving relationships that I have with the people I care about/the people who care about me.  I don’t care if that sounds cliché; it’s true.

11)    Name your favorite book off the top of your head.

–          I’m sure most people have a favorite book, but this is another of those things for me.  Not counting mine (I’m close to them and of COURSE they’re my favorites, what can I say?), some of my favorites include Graceling by Kristen Cashore (I’m not as big a fan of the two that followed, but I LOVED the first), The Infernal Devices series by Cassandra Clare (I’m not as big a fan of The Mortal Instruments as I am TID), and I love the two series that Richelle Mead has out (Rose is probably one of the most ass-kicking female main characters I’ve ever seen in a book.  I love her…most of the time).  There are also a few Stephen King novels that are as near and dear to my heart as any of his books could possibly be to a heart (I probably began reading his books WAY too early in my life, but I can attribute a good deal of my vocabulary knowledge to him).

Okay, a little endnote here.  Most people that I’ve seen who did this thing didn’t answer questions as in-depth as I did.  I answered them in that way for two reasons.  One, I am long-winded.  Two, I am generally not very OUT THERE when I blog, so I figured this would be a good way for people to get to know a few things about me that they otherwise wouldn’t.

I’m very much looking forward to reading the questions my fellow bloggers fill out.

Have a good day/night everyone.

Failing Words and Suds

I didn’t sleep well yesterday.

At this point, I’m not sure if I should blame it on the windows letting too much light in, the fact that I should’ve known better than trying to fall asleep after the sun came up (without the windows covered), or all of the thoughts and ideas swirling around like little smoke clouds inside of my head.

I’m going to do this tomorrow.  That’s something to do.  There’s a new bit of something to add to the game plan.

I’m sure it was a combination of all those things.  So forgive me (in advance); I’m far too tired to have the sense of what I do and don’t want to say.

While walking upstairs from my last cigarette break, I was thinking about bubbles.  Not the pretty sort with the little rainbows on them, floating around easily before they burst apart in a spray of tiny suds.  I’m talking about the kind of bubbles that we find ourselves trapped inside of periodically throughout life – or that we step into willingly.

My life is a life of bubbles, I realize.  It sounds ridiculous; I’m coherent enough to know as much.  I’m trying to find the words to explain it correctly and I’m failing.  I hate feeling like I’m failing words.  I can’t express how much I hate it.

I lived in whatever bubbles suited me best at whatever time when I was growing up.  Varying colors, varying opacity, varying space.

I’m not sure that I really knew what that meant until now, thinking about the way they’ve changed for me…or the way that I’ve changed for them.  I’m not sure.

When I was writing my books, I was stuck inside of these impermeable bubbles.  I couldn’t see out of them.  I don’t think that anyone could see inside of them.  Maybe they could a little and I was too busy admiring the beauty of it alone from the inside.  They were so beautiful.

I’m inside of a new one now – one that I can see out of clearly.  I can see all the beauty outside while it passes by me.  Life.  Life is beautiful, no matter how much bad we experience throughout the course of each of our own.

Right now?  I feel like I’m stuck here, waiting for that damn bubble to pop.

I think we’ve all had our moments where we felt like life – in all its intricacies, and roads, and deceptions, and potholes – was passing us by.  I think we’ve all felt stuck before.

My problem right now is I can’t explain the difference in that feeling and what I’m actually feeling at this moment.  They are two COMPLETELY different things.  And I’m failing words again.

I’m so sorry that I can’t do you better justice.

Taking a step back.

Those moments of feeling stuck while you were watching life…I know that every time I’ve experienced it, I always felt that some force was holding me back from what I wanted to do – whether it was myself, situations, or another person.  THAT is how this moment is different.  There’s nothing at all holding me back, but there I am, still trapped and watching.

It’s new.  Almost equally unpleasant.  Possibly more so because I can’t really understand it.  Possibly more so because I’ve allowed myself to be open to the endless possibilities.  Possibly more so because I finally have a dream.

It will happen.  I know that it will.  I don’t care if it’s my own determination, some talent that I can’t actually see, or just the natural way that bubbles disintegrate and disappear when exposed to the air.  It will happen.

I need to work on my patience.  With myself.

I know this was way deeper/emotional/ridiculous than my usual entries.  Sorry.

I just figured I’d try that thing where getting stuff out makes you feel better.

Nah.

I’d rather write a book.

I don’t fail words so easily when I’m doing that.