Female Friendships

I was hoping to do a post today entitled: ALL THE COLORS Pt. 2.

Obviously I’m not doing that, which is because I haven’t yet attempted what I planned to attempt in ALL THE COLORS. I’m still planning it, but I haven’t got all my supplies out of the boxes they’re in yet. I’ll try it out at some point, hopefully soon.

So instead, I’m going to be writing a post about the importance of female friendships in novels, and in life. This is inspired by Vampire Academy coming out in two days, which I am EXTREMELY excited about.

Most of the reading I do is in the YA genre. I don’t always WRITE in that genre (it’s a bit difficult for me to keep the cursing to a minimum [depending on how badly a character wants to do it] and wondering about the line where *cough* other things are concerned), but I prefer to read in it. My reasons for doing as much aren’t related to this post, so I’m not going to get into that because I’m trying to stay on subject with the new schedule. (Is mentioning something getting into it?)

One of my largest problems (it’s not the only one) with the genre is the lack of female friendships that the heroines have in their lives. More often than not, it seems to be piling a bunch of males in with the one female to develop (sometimes) meaningful relationships and friendships with. If there are females, they seem to be put on the back-burner and are more for keeping up appearances rather than adding any sort of legitimate substance. They’re underutilized, in my opinion. (Kind of like something else, which I will probably get to in another post.)

I’ll completely admit that writing female friendships is a tricky thing. When you’re female, you KNOW how tricky female friendships can get, especially around the age when YA main characters are. I’ll also admit that the male/female friendship ratio I tend to work with is usually pretty indicative that I personally find friendships with males easier. BUT, there’s a quality over quantity aspect. And I will say that in any series I’ve finished, the main female character has AT LEAST ONE extremely meaningful friendship with another female. Doesn’t necessarily happen in the first book of a series, doesn’t necessarily not happen in the first book of a series, but it happens at some point (thus far). It happens because . . . that happens in life. I also believe it’s important.

I think for younger females, it’s good for them to see that friendships with other girls can be healthy. It doesn’t have to be backstabbing and all the other nonsense that comes along with being 16-18 years old (and younger, and older). I think it’s good for them to see that. It’s true that you don’t always get back what you put into a friendship, but sometimes you do.

While I’ve always made friends easier with males (for the most part), some of the most meaningful connections I have in my life are with females. Females communicate together in a way that you just . . . don’t get with males. And no, it’s not all make up and clothes (but yes, that’s fun).

I have no problem saying that Aster eventually develops several meaningful relationships with females in the Reave series (apart from Agatha). Some of them come later into the game than others, but they help her grow as a ‘person’. These females (I’m not giving them away) help her in ways no one else ever could.

I say writing female friendships isn’t any trickier than writing love entanglements. No, they’re not as ‘appealing’, but by god . . . they’re real.

And that’s one thing I loved about the Vampire Academy series (apart from Rose being badass, which she was). Rose and Lissa, whatever connection aside, have one of the deepest friendships I’ve ever read. No matter what boys get thrown into the mix, or what crap, they are always there for each other. I think that’s beautiful, and I think it’s important.

When you have girlfriends and you throw boys into the mix, things can get a bit . . . . . . . . . . . . . . difficult. When you’re young, a lot of times you think the boy is the one that matters, and don’t get me wrong, they matter in their ways. It’s usually not ways you realize at the time.

You might cry on a male friend’s shoulder when you’re falling to pieces over a boy. I know I did my fair share of that when I was younger (A BIG SORRY here to any of you who had to deal with that), but it’s different when you’re sprawled out on your best female friend’s bed, a complete wreck. There’s no, “I knew this was going to happen.”

That comes later, if ever. Usually not.

Girlfriends know you don’t want to hear that garbage, especially when you’re in pieces (you probably did know and don’t need reminding). All you want to do is cry about some jerkface who probably didn’t deserve your time or the tears you’re crying over him anyhow.

I’m not devaluing one sort of friendship and talking up the other. Some of my best friends in the world are male, and I would not give up those friendships for anything, but neither would I with my female friendships. What I’m saying is that it’s all important.

There’s really not much that compares to the bonds females can form with one another, especially in the fueled flames of adolescence. I can easily say that, being well past that time, I’m glad to see it over. That doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate it for what it was, or the people involved. But it’s easy to look back and realize that you take things for granted when you’re young.

So hug your girlfriends and always remember . . . they can’t be replaced. And those connections? They deserve to be written about. They deserve so much more than what they’re given.

Thank you Richelle Mead for doing a fantastic job of that when it seems to be so rare in the genre.

(Also, on a completely unrelated note: I’m trying to get an actual SCHEDULE made up for reading people’s blogs on here. It’s taking me longer than I want it to with all the work I’m doing, but I AM working on it. Please be patient with me until that time, and then I’ll actually have a daily schedule for it to hold myself to.)

🙂

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I am a mess.

I lost the file where I had the list of topics to cover on here before Reave goes live in a couple of days (Wednesday, *fingers crossed*). By lost, I mean I didn’t save it (I was sure I did, I remember typing in the save name and everything…), meaning it’s lack of existence in the world is as much my fault as the fact that I can’t remember what was on the list. It might be somewhere on my computer, but if it is, I can’t find it. Lost. I typed up another entry several days ago and didn’t post it for whatever reason(s), and I don’t believe I’ll do so now because there’s another topic that seems more pressing. The title says it all, I believe.

I’ve been dealing with some major things the past several months (we all have those times), and the ‘book’ aspect(s) of the struggles have been the easiest to say. After all, “I’m freaking out about my book,” IS easier than, “I’m having some significant problems right now, but I’d rather keep them all to myself so please don’t ask me what they are.” The usual response is something like (pardon my language), “The book isn’t sh**.” (If that tells you what usually comes out of my mouth and maybe how hard I am on myself in general, also maybe that I have a potty mouth [I do]…) But things obviously go a lot deeper than that.

The past few months have been……..very difficult. I feel like I’m walking an extremely fine line right now, trying to keep this a certain way. Book things are usually what I talk about here (and blogging about not blogging), but book things aren’t my entire life right now. I would rather play all of this off as ‘I’m nervous that people won’t like it,’ but I don’t really feel that’s fair to myself. Clearly I want people to like it, but I understand that not everybody will and I’ve understood that from the get-go. I’d be happy if one person did, and more than one person already does, so in a sense…I’m kind of content. (More people reading and liking it would be awesome, but I’m still surprised by one.)

As difficult as the past few months have been, they’ve also been beneficial, in some ways. I’ve had to do a lot of self-evaluation, a lot of questioning, a lot of realignment. I’ve had to ask myself some very difficult questions and came up with a lot of answers that I really didn’t care for. It’s easy – sitting in a shed by yourself, writing your life away. Then you wake up one day and realize that so many things have changed around you and you have to try and figure out where you actually are. Three years. I’ve had to catch up with three years. And I’m having….a very difficult time. I’m having a difficult time coming to terms with the fact that… have changed. Easy not to know as much when you don’t focus on yourself, or would most of the time rather ignore your own existence in the world.

So I’m kind of looking at it as waking up one day and discovering that the entire world is different, and you’re stuck having to catch up, to find some place where you can fit. The old place where you fit….it isn’t there anymore.

In the past several months, I’ve hit some majorly low points. Hence the neglection of the blog/social stuff in general. A lot of the time when I disappear for a week or so, it’s because I have too much going on in my head to interact with people. I have extremely bad anxiety, and almost every time I interact with anyone, I get stressed out (even if it’s a pleasant interaction). Not to mention that I’ve generally been run ragged, between being sick with that cold-from-hell that is still making me cough, book stuff, and personal life matters (chicken with no head). Just….ragged. I’m sure everyone knows how effing difficult it can be to do what you feel you need to do – or even what you want to do – when you feel like you have absolutely nothing left. That’s where I’ve been. I’ll admit that.

Saturday was a new low for me. I was unfortunately not alone at that point, so my sister got an earful of things I wish I’d kept to myself or put down on my keyboard (though the keyboard could PROBABLY use a break…). It’s startlingly difficult for me right now – interacting with almost anyone. At dinner today, my mamaw asked me, “Are you excited?”

There are some things I’m excited about. I’m excited because I know someone out there will enjoy my book, and that’s what it’s all about. And, if you read it and do, please feel welcome to tell me. (PLEASE.)  I can’t tell you how much I would love to hear that. But it’s hard for me to throw it out there, especially right now when it feels like the ground I’m standing on is so unstable.

Of course it’s scary, of course I’m nervous, of course I’m stressed. And, of course, yes, part of me is excited. I’m just trying to accept some things that I’ve been ignoring for a very long time.

I am a person. I have a life outside of writing books. Or…I should have one.

I know I’m not the only person out there (far from it) that would rather keep their personal business to themselves, especially in a world where half the people in it want to be (pardon my language again) assholes, just because they can. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned from being on here, it’s that almost everyone is extremely……awesome. And there are some people on here that I might call ‘blogging buddies’ but would actually consider something closer to friends. I’m kind of a bad friend when I isolate myself, and a bit of isolation has been … necessary for me lately. I apologize for that, sincerely – even to my ACTUAL friends, which I’ve isolated myself from as well. I know some of you are worried about me, and I’m sorry about that.

I’m waiting it out until Wednesday. Wednesday will inevitably be a turning point for me in some way or another. No matter what happens, after that point, I will be a ‘published author’…

That’s….whew. That’s something.

I can’t tell you how badly I want to bury myself in work right now (or hide under a rock). That’s all I want to do. But I’m forcing myself to not, even if it would cover up a lot of the stuff and, in a way, make me feel better. I’m not working at all before Wednesday because I want to make sure I’m dealing with this. Facing down personal demons, which is EXACTLY what I’ll be doing between now and then. I might be on here, and everywhere else, and I might not. I’m not sure yet.

Tomorrow night, I’m going to have to click two ‘approve’ buttons. One of my personal demons is going to stare me in the face and ask me a question it’s been asking me a lot lately. “What made you think you could ever do this?”

And I want to be positive that I can stand up on my tiptoes to get in its ugly face and say, “Because I can.”

I’ve been working on that response for the last few months. Catchy, huh? I figured I’d leave out the copious amounts of cursing that will likely happen after and also the copious amounts of violence I would love to inflict on said personal demon. Then again…I don’t want the others to gang up on me.

Anyway, I really, sincerely hope that everyone is doing well out there. I really do. I wouldn’t wish the way I’m feeling right now on anyone in the world. If you have some good things going on with you, it would be fantastic to hear about them. Just saying…

Oops.

So I, um . . . lost track of days.

Clearly.

I just looked (knowing that I needed to blog) and realized it’s been exactly one week since my last post. My bad.

I guess I don’t really feel like I have much to say. I’ve been writing. Series is going. That’s all I’ve been doing. LITERALLY.

Wake up. Write. Eat. Sleep. Repeat.

I’ve literally done nothing else. I have a (growing) list of things that I need to get done. I haven’t got to any of them yet. I’m consumed. I can’t help it. I suppose it’s a good thing that I’m able to type fast – at least the WRITING part of writing this will be done . . . well . . . at the rate I’m going? Pretty quickly.

My cat is driving me insane. Sorry, that was just a random bit of something, as she distracted me from writing what I was going to.

And it’s funny – I’ve actually got a few ideas to blog about. Two? Two is two more than I usually have when I sit down to do these things. Woohoo. I guess that’s what happens when you don’t touch your blog for a little while. Or maybe that’s just a coincidence and I’m going to CALL it something else to make myself feel better about not being on here.

I’ll try to get at least one of those entries posted soon. Got something to take care of tomorrow morning, and also have plans Thursday morning, so if I do it . . . it will have to be either Wednesday or Friday.

I haven’t been doing any social-type-things.

I haven’t touched Facebook in at least as long as I’ve posted an entry on here.

I only realized a few days ago that I hadn’t tweeted (is that the correct thing to say?) anything in like . . . 6 days. I can’t remember when that gap was, but it’s been recently. You see? I lose track.

Is someone going to smack me if I say that being like, “Oh, hey, I haven’t tweeted,” makes me feel like a [BLEEEEP]ing moron?

I talked to one of my friends, um, can’t remember what day it was, but I was talking to one of my friends the other day about having a nocturnal schedule and how freaking DIFFICULT it is to do things. In order to make plans, I have to spend several days messing up my sleep schedule, I can’t write the amount of time that I want to write, I do something for however long, and then spend several days trying to fix what I messed up. It’s quite frustrating. I do feel bad though. It makes communicating with anyone extremely difficult. I get a text (rarely, but it happens), find it when I wake up (which is usually after everyone else is sleeping), and then have to wait to text back until right before I go to sleep (which is almost pointless).

I guess that’s just another thing currently adding to my Guilt Pile.

Why is it that people feel guilty for doing things that are good for them? Or things that make them happy? Why should that make anyone feel guilty?

And really? Why in the world should I feel guilty for sleeping when I want to sleep?

I suppose it makes people think you don’t want anything to do with them, which isn’t the case at all.

I don’t know. Maybe I’m just tired.

I say maybe, but it’s my bedtime right now. I just had to make sure I posted something NOW because the amount of time since I have is ridiculous.

Sorry for the lack of posting. I’m writing. Yes, I’m a horrible (HORRIBLE) social anything. I already knew that. If you’ve read . . . well . . . probably any of my posts, you’d likely realize I suck socially too.

At least I’m trying. That has to count for something . . . . . . .

Right?

That’s what they say, isn’t it?

Hope you’re all doing well out there and whatnot.

The Life-Clinger: An Apology

This is an addition to a previous entry (which you can find here).

Yes, I know I said that I was disappearing into writing oblivion and wouldn’t return for days, but this is the first time on here that I’ve HAD to get something out.

I’m hoping I feel better afterward.

If you read that entry about friendship, then you’ll know what I’m talking about when I say that I’m adding a new category to it.

You click, right?

You click, and you’re friends, and you keep clicking and everything is just ten million different shades of awesome.

And then this happens.

The Life-Clinger: The Life-Clinger is a person who gets too caught up in the clicking. So they cling to the other person until they’ve sucked every bit of life from the friendship. It’s not purposeful. Anyway, they cling to the life of it until they’ve drained it dry.

 

I am an extreme person. Like I said in my last entry – when I’m doing something, I’m DOING it. Normally I don’t put too much stock in other people. It only ever ends in either pain, or disappointment. You get the rare occurrence where it doesn’t. That’s great. It really is. It’s really great when people do good with each other – in relationships, families, friendships. It’s a pretty rare thing for me to latch onto people though. It’s extremely rare for me to let other people get under my skin – at least far enough where they could actually hurt me. But it happens. Even with the best of us.

Anyway.

This is my apology.

It’s possible you’re reading it, or that you will at some point. And if you are, you’ll know that I’m talking about you, and you’ll know what I’m talking about.

I’m sorry.

 

. . . I don’t feel any better.

Friendship: The magic of THE CLICK

I generally don’t tend to have ginormous blog revelations – brilliant things that I feel some unyielding need to write about on here.

I have had my first. It even got its own swanky title from the get-go, which is another first (I’m not good at following maps).

Friends.

Original, I know, right? Wait a minute . . . just hear me out.

We all have them. Maybe a hundred of them, maybe only one. Still, we’ve got them. And, chances are, if you added up your total of friends throughout the entirety of your life, you’d have a pretty dag on large list of names. Even introverts have someone to call their very own in Friend Land. If you don’t . . . then you probably need to get out more. I sit in a shed and write my years away and I’ve still got a few of them.

Now, we all know there are varying degrees and levels of friendship, and I’ll not get into the negative categories.

You’ve got:

The Acquaintance: The Acquaintance is nothing more than a passerby in your life. Someone you may stop and chat with for more than a hello when running into them at the grocery store. They’re the small-talkers, and they’re nothing more than that. At least not to you, and you to them. That’s fine and dandy.

The Old Friend: The Old Friend is much trickier than The Acquaintance. They’re your close friends from childhood – the ones you grew apart from at some point between eating dirt (figuratively speaking) and having a real, grown up life. They’re the ones that you’ll either smile and wave at (possibly followed by unbearably awkward small talk about how life has gone over the past ten or fifteen years while both of you force smiles at the forces of the universe for smashing you together in that very instant), or you’ll just tuck tail into the nearest safe aisle and hide (which is what I do. What? At least I’m honest).

The Fix-er-upper: This is the friendship that requires constant attention and work to maintain. It could be something beautiful, if both parties put in the appropriate level of determination required. But sometimes? Sometimes The Fix-er-uppers just won’t work out. There’s nothing wrong with that. It happens.

The Fader: This is someone who – for no rhyme or reason – simply . . . fades out of your life, and you from theirs. It happens as well. It’s inevitable. You’d be surprised when you’re young by how many sparks of brilliant friendships chock-full of potential turn into Faders.

The Rekindled: I love this one. This is someone who potentially faded, but then – at some point later – blew up like a firework in front of your face. Rekindled’s cannot be ignored. But they take the work of ensuring that neither party returns to The Fader so that they can become . . .

THE ULTIMATE OF FRIENDSHIPS

The Storm Weatherer: These are the people who stick with one another through every whirlwind and flying car that the world has brought upon you. The Storm Weatherers are the most we can ever hope to have from another person, and the most that we could aspire to be for them in return.

But this blog isn’t about the levels of friendship. This entry right here is about the ONE factor that seeps into every relationship in your life, friendship or otherwise.

The Click.

The Click is the most magical of feelings. It’s what will turn a completely rational and levelheaded person into an absolute wreck.

I know this because I’ve experienced it. I’ve witnessed it. I write it.

It’s the thing that solidifies the beginning of something that goes beyond the ordinary. It’s the thing that ensures that – no matter what level of friendship a person becomes – they stick with you forever. They have an overwhelming effect on you, and they change things. They’re the people you allow yourself to get close to, the people you lower your defenses for, and the only people I – personally – will let have any effect on me whatsoever.

And there are levels to The Click.

There are the Smaller-Clicks. The people you feel drawn to in some way for no particular reason, but you still find yourself interested in them nevertheless. They’re the blogs you read more religiously than the rest. The status updates that you make sure you read completely when scrolling through the list of nonsense on your news feed. I might not always comment on something, but I read any new stuff to be read from the Small-Clicks. They can easily *Level Up*.

There are the Medium-Clicks. Those are the people who you’ll find yourself speaking to more often than others. The people who you chat with on a somewhat regular basis. The people who you find yourself genuinely interested, not only in what they have to say, but in them as people.

Then there are THE BIG CLICKS.

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been confused about those – especially when I was younger. I’m much stingier with my Big-Clicks now. A Click is still a Click though, regardless of whatever happens after.

My husband was – and still remains – the biggest Click that I’ve ever experienced in my life. We get along almost all of the time. Arguments pretty much don’t exist in my world anymore (and if you knew how argumentative I tend to be, you wouldn’t even believe that I could/would keep my mouth shut with a person). We just . . . fit.

And it’s the exact same with The Big-Click in friendships.

They make no sense.

I’m a firm believer that, if you cannot get along with a person on a basic level, then you should seriously evaluate the amount of time and energy you allow yourself to spend on them. There are billions of people in the world, so there has to be SOMEONE out there you can get along with.

But I’m going to be completely honest and say that it baffles my brain how any two people can get along with one another. Everyone has different opinions. Everyone has different beliefs. And we will FIGHT TO THE DEATH (!!!!!!!) for those two things, generally. The Clicks go so far beyond agreeing on those two things. The Clicks, in my mind, have diddly to do with those two things.

I’ll spare all of you some nonsense about past lives and those Clickers being close to us then too. I’ve heard crazier theories.

That’s just how insane it is to me – that feeling of so badly wanting another person to think of you the way that you think of them. We all want to feel The Click, and we all want to be special enough for someone to feel it because of us as well.

Even for an introvert like me . . . it’s a magical thing.

We should all take a minute to think about the people in our lives, to think about all the things they’ve done for us – no matter how small – and then let them know that it (along with the person) is appreciated. And we should all strive to be there for them, in the same way that they’ve been there for us.

So – to all of my Clickers and close friends . . .

Thank you.

🙂

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.

Jeremy Clarkson and Dealing with One’s Personal Elephants

I’m currently on my second day and my seventh or eighth attempt at trying to get this entry done.

I honestly can’t remember the last time I had such a difficult time writing anything.  For that, I am angry.  I’m trying to dig myself out of that feeling by repeating a Jeremy Clarkson voice over of, “There will be anger and raaage,” in my head.  It’s working a little.

My god, I’d forgotten what it was like to lay down to sleep and be kept awake by all the words I wasn’t able to get out during the day.  I’d forgotten how unbearable it was.  I’d forgotten how much I hated it – that feeling of wanting to catch the tip of a word and pull them all out through my ear, just so I could get some peace from them.

Damn these pictures of Jeremy Clarkson in place of the previous pictures of kittens taking up space on my screen.  Maybe a distraction will do me some good.

I think the only way to get this out is to ignore the elephant standing in my room.  I mentioned before that I am a private person; I will add to that now and say that I am an extremely closed-off person.  I can’t explain how difficult it is to write about myself instead of characters.  Rather than dwell on that fact – explaining it, describing the extent of it, and making it all so much worse…that’s all I’ll say about it.  I am closed off.  To everyone.  This – blogging, sharing myself – is harder for me than I care to say.

With that in mind, I will proceed forward, walking around the elephant.  (I love elephants by the way – real ones, not the sort mentioned previously).

Yesterday was a strange day for me.  I was in an extremely weird/unpleasant headspace.  Not for any one reason in particular, but for a vast array of them – most of which I have no desire whatsoever to share.  Those that I didn’t want to share were like little baby elephants standing around the big one while I tried to write this.  Now, keeping in mind that I love elephants, is it any surprise that I spent my fair share of time yesterday staring at them?  Analyzing them, contemplating over their unexpected presence in my room?

Now, not everything about yesterday was bad.  In fact, nothing about yesterday was bad, past my inability to write.  I did a lot of thinking.  I did some planning.  I made a mental check list of things that needed doing.  I’ve done a few of those things today as planned.  I still have a lot more.  One of those being the dire need of writing a new, more suitable synopsis/summary of my book for query-writing purposes.  It’s probably ignorant of me, but I write a different one (query) every time.  Some people might think that it’s silly, but the way my head justifies it is, “You wouldn’t write the exact same letter, word for word, to two of your best friends.  Would you?”  Maybe it really is ignorant of me to keep trying to think of these agents as people when they all seem like some giant mass of unreachable entities.  Maybe I should sit down, write a generic letter that could be sent to anyone, and just send them off.  They say it’s frowned upon to send queries to more than one at a time, but I’m going to spend the next two years of my life waiting and sending, waiting and sending.

I want to be writing more books.  I can’t do that while my head is still stuck on worries of this series.

I don’t know.  Either way, I need to write a better synopsis/summary.  I need to get over the fact that I have surprises I don’t want ruined in those books.  Like…fifty of them.  Get over it.

I need to read a book and write a review.

I need to clean the windows.

I need to finish unpacking.

I need to do about a hundred things similar to the last two that aren’t worth mentioning.

So yes, yesterday was full of a giant list of things that needed doing and a brain that fought against the doing the entire time.  There were good things about it.

Husband will be starting his new college stuff next month.  He’ll finally be going to school for something that he has genuine interest in.  He’ll finally be following his dream.  I’m glad I pushed him to do it.  He seems so happy and excited.  I think, maybe, that he might understand how I feel soon.  Ah, the stresses and joys of dream following.

Roommate brought home a newspaper article for me.  It sounds ridiculous, but I almost teared up at the thoughtfulness of it.  It brought a little breath of relief to the end of my day, and it was most welcome.

One important thing that needed saying follows.

I have this friend, right?

You know those people that you always look up to?  The ones that are so good that they make you ashamed of yourself?  The ones that make you stop for a second and wonder, “What would so-and-so do here?”  Yeah, one of those friends.  She’s always been like that, at least since I’ve known her (middle school).  I’ve always looked up to her.  I’ve always wondered how she could possibly be so good.  I used to have zero comprehension of how it was possible.  I’ve learned a little bit growing up, but that still doesn’t change how I feel about her.

Anyway, I lost contact with her, just like nearly everyone else that I know.  So, while I could not call her a ‘close’ friend, I can easily say that she has remained one of my ‘favorite’ friends.  She’s one of very few people that I missed talking to, and you could ask the people that I didn’t lose contact with; I’ve said it many a time.  Making a Facebook will give you an easy avenue to getting back in touch with people.  I’m glad for the general frustration of the website in that respect.

The point of this being, I got back in contact with her, we exchanged a few messages here and there – the how are you doing, this is how I’m doing, sort of stuff.  Now this is where the story gets weird.  I posted a status update on there about this here blogging thingy and everything that followed has sort of blown my mind.

I put passion for writing back into her?  I…inspired her?

My initial reaction was, “You’re kidding, right?”  Then came the slow, goofy, nearly squee-ing grin.  Then the, “You’re kidding, right?”  Then the prickly feeling that you get in the front of your eyes.  I’ve gone back and forth with it probably forty times or more over the past several days.  Either way, it’s made me do some major self-evaluation.  That self-evaluation played a very large role in the strange headspace yesterday.

I’ve closed myself off, hermit-like, for the past several years.  My big question of myself yesterday was, “Have I really changed that much in my seclusion?”

I have.

Enough for that, though?

I didn’t think so.

I didn’t know.

I guess so.

Maybe I’m reading too much into it, you think.  It’s quite possible that it would seem that way.  But it’s the simple fact that I, in some way, shape, or form, had such a positive effect on someone that I’ve always looked up to.  To question the feasibility of such a thing brings up so many questions of who I am as a person now.  I don’t care if anyone else is asking them.  I’m asking them of myself.  I can’t tell you what it means to me.  I can’t tell you what the thoughts it provoked mean to me.  I couldn’t find the words if I tried.  After all, I’m writing about myself and not a character.

It means a lot.  More than I care to share.  More than I could let myself share.  I’ve shared enough about it, I think.  I got my point across.  And in my shortest entry so far, nonetheless.  Hooray for me.

I couldn’t sleep last night because I wanted to say, “Thank you,” but it didn’t seem like enough to me.  I couldn’t think of what to say.  In the end, it’s all I really could say.  All I can say.  Maybe it is enough.

She writes beautifully, by the way.  You can check out her blog here ( http://bnbrown10.wordpress.com/ )…She makes me feel like I need to pack it up and go home, lol.

Now that I’ve finally said what I needed to say, and got out what I needed to get out, I can take a breath and relax.  Maybe those elephants will leave me alone for a little while so that I can sit down and enjoy a few things.

How haaad can it beee?