Self-publishing.

Yeah. I’m doing it.

I know, I know. I said I was going to attempt querying and do the whole shebang (get an agent and we all lived happily ever after with a picket fence and 2.4 dogs, er, kids).

Anyone who’s been following my blog for a little while knows I flopped back and forth about it (don’t we all?). I spent so much time weighing the pros and cons of each – carefully and meticulously – until all cons blurred with pros and pros were cons and cons were . . . um . . . what’s going on? That was basically how it went in my head for a very long time, so I told my husband to make a decision on it. I was content with that for about a day or two, and then the mental-flopping began again. I didn’t want to blog about it because I wanted to get it sorted in my head.

I realized, after speaking with so many people, that this was a decision only I could make.

I started looking into cover artists just for curiosities sake and found one that I LOVED.

For about four days, I did nothing but flop around mentally afterward. I mulled over the word author. I’ve said it before that I will NOT call myself one unless the word aspiring is in front of it. Not yet.

One night, I looked up the definition of it. I kind of had a moment. There was no ‘traditionally published’ in the definition, of course. For one of those days, I contemplated over the word – what it meant, what it meant to other people, and what it meant to me.

Rather than focus on pros and cons, I started focusing on why. Why did I want to be published traditionally? What was drawing me to self-publishing despite the stars and rainbows and glitter of the P and the T together?

When thinking about the why . . . it fell into place.

I don’t need a publishing contract to accomplish what I’ve wanted to accomplish with this. All I want is for ONE person out there to love my books – to make an impact on a person the way that some books have impacted me. I don’t need a P and a T together for that. I don’t.

So I made the decision about a week and a half ago and I haven’t looked back since.

There hasn’t been one single flop from me, or even one second of doubting the choice I’ve made.

I don’t like posting things on here unless they’re set in stone. I’m feeling comfortable with sharing now.

I’ve been arranging things with that love-inducing cover artist and the photographer. I love them both. Seriously. Details are being figured out and things are being put in motion.

My editor had to extend the date of finishing my novel, so I won’t have it back until early to mid-October. I’m trying to get everything done that can be done until that point.

As of now, I’m shooting for early December. That’s going to depend on how everything works out, but now . . . I’ll be able to keep you all updated.

It’s so freaking weird having things moving. I spent such a long time feeling like my entire world was at a standstill.

Anyway. No more waiting. It’s time to start letting them go. I’m worried, of course, but . . . I’m feeling good. I’m excited. I never thought I’d be more excited than stressed/nervous, but . . . I am.

Wish me luck. I’m definitely going to need it.

O.O

Advertisements

Friday Music: A Silent Film – Let Them Feel Your Heartbeat

A Silent Film is, respectfully, my second-favorite band. Sometimes they’re not; sometimes they’re my favorite too. They’re the only band (in my mind) that is on par with the magnificence that is Geographer. Sometimes, I have my moments where I love them more (probably because I’ve been listening to them for longer and some of their songs are just . . . SPECIAL to me, I suppose you could say).

There is something about A Silent Film’s lyrics. They aren’t the poetic masterpieces that are Geographer’s lyrics (that will leave you guessing after first listen and still guessing after a year of listening). But they’re special. They’re so simple, but have so much behind them, I think. When I say that they’re simple, it’s not that they’re simplistic. It means I GET them. Sometimes it takes a good deal of thinking, but they’re GET-ABLE, if that makes sense. Geographer and A Silent Film sit at two polar opposite ends of that universe. One, I love for the mystery. The other, I love for the understanding. They clash and yet, somehow, they coexist with one another in opposite sides of my heart where they belong.

This song, for example – it’s by no means their most elaborate song (lyric-wise), but I absolutely LOVE it for it’s simplicity and the meaning behind things. To me, there isn’t much confusing when it comes to the points that A Silent Film gets across. Some of their songs have some of the most blatantly effing brilliant words ever. I will post one of those at some point, I can assure you, but I had to do this one first.

There is SOMETHING about this song. The message is so clear and it has some of my favorite lines in any song, ever.

The first line: The devil puts words in my mouth when we’re close.

Easy.

My ALL-TIME favorite bit is: The heart is deceitful above all things.
So desperately wicked, who can really know it? Are you listening?

Isn’t it just?

That’s why I love this song. Maybe it’s the lines, and maybe it’s the way the lines are delivered. Or maybe it’s the entire point of the song as a whole. I LOVE what it’s talking about. I love everything about it.

There’s SOMETHING. I guess this is just one of those songs that (like the one I posted a week ago) does something to me I can’t explain – makes me feel something, makes me think about something. Who knows?

Okay, okay, maybe I do know.

One of the most amazing things about music is that it can INSTANTLY transport you somewhere. It can make you think about a specific moment, a specific person, some random thing that happened that you forget about until you hear a lyric or a few beats. Every song I’ve listened to more than 20 times does that to me. And I think . . . I think most of my ‘moments’ when it comes to songs are some of the only secrets of my own that I keep. If a song means something to me, that’s because it makes me think about something. It might be insignificant to most people, but maybe not to me. Insignificant or not . . . I’d never tell.

Is the fact that I’ve listened to it . . . I’d say . . . likely 500 times or so any indication of how I feel about it?

I love it.

I think I just realized something. My memory slips constantly. I think I just realized that some things won’t ever slip from me.

The beauty of music. Gotta love it.

A Word

The word moment is a tricky thing for me. There’s really not any other word that be used in replacement to prevent over-usage. Instant only seems applicable under certain circumstances, as does second or stretch of time – things of that nature. Sometimes only one word can be used – should only be used – when all other words would fall short of doing justice to a situation, a message you’re trying to get across, something you’re trying to explain the right way, or some hidden thing that you might be the only person to notice.

Words are a big deal to me. If I told people how many words I’ve written over the last several years, I would get The Look – the same look that I had on my face yesterday when watching YouTube videos of a guy getting scared while playing video games (it’s the, “You need to get out more,” look). Most numbers, when thinking about it, should usually be kept pretty close to the vest when they pertain to personal things. It’s taken me a bit of time to realize that.

Words are my entire life. I wake up, I read the ones I wrote the day (night) before, and then I write more. When I’m editing, I read the ones I wrote, add more, take some out, and move them around, trying to make all of them as close to perfect (my perfect) as I can get.

I don’t know how many times I can say, “I fail words constantly, but they never fail me,” or some variant of that with the same message.

And moment has always given me headaches. It took me an extremely long time of writing stories to realize what I said up top. Sometimes . . . nothing else fits. People might criticize you for it, but you know what fits in your own writing, and in your own life.

But, if we’re getting technical, I should explain.

Writing is like . . . medicine for me. It’s my way of coping with stress, and struggles, and life. It is for most people who do it, but then again, I think most people who do it manage to balance life better than I do. I go and crawl into my shed – sometimes almost literally when I’m just waking up – and I stay in there. I force myself to come out sometimes, just to do things I need to do. More often than not, it takes me several days to manage some things (which things I’m talking about shall go unmentioned past mentioning). I put things off because something inside of me says . . . I need to. For myself.

I spend my life – almost every second of it – writing the moments of people’s lives that only exist in my head. It prevents me from having my own moments. It’s healthy in ways, but not in others. Is anything in the world ever ENTIRELY good for anyone? I don’t think so. A new study comes out daily, contradicting the one before it. This is just me. It works. It makes me . . . better.

The point of this is that I had my own moment two days ago.

Normally, I would explain – rattling off for 2k words about events leading up and the like. I don’t feel I should.

I’ll only say that I realized two days ago that, well . . .

Words don’t mean the same thing to everyone that they mean to me. It’s easy to say the things that you mean and mean the things that you say, but when words are thrown in to any situation . . . the possibility for failing them is almost inevitable. The difference between, “I have faith,” and, “I hope,” is the difference in saying you believe something will happen, and that you believe it won’t.

Words.

I’ve been waiting three years to hear certain words. I hadn’t known – not exactly – what they were. But I heard them two days ago.

My father said, “I think you could’ve been a [INSERT MEANINGLESS WORD] and it would’ve just been a stepping stone. You would’ve ended up here. You’re doing exactly what you should be doing.”

There were more words said, but the last sentence up there was the one that got me. It was the only one that mattered.

I cried.

I cry over the lives of the characters that I write. I do. Often; I’m not ashamed to admit it. I laugh, and I cry. I cry about my own life a very small handful of times a year, if even that.

It was kind of amazing, having my own moment.

Just thought I’d share it. It’s funny how a moment can seem insignificant to some people, but can be the furthest thing from it for others.

I really can’t explain how much I hope all of you are having your own moments out there. That’s not me saying, “I don’t believe it will happen.” I’m saying that I hope it does.

Sometimes . . . a word is just a word. It’s everything behind them that matters – feelings and thoughts that hardly anyone can ever do justice to, express correctly, or truly get across.

When we fail with words, it can be so much worse than anyone ever thinks about. But if we fall, stand up, and try again?

It might be the one thing someone needs to hear, or see.

Words are never just words to me. They’re my life. That doesn’t mean I’m not falling.

Fail, Fall, Stand up, Try again.