That’s the plan.

So there for a little while – and I DO mean a little while – I was super proud of myself. I was getting on here, I was responding to comments in a timely manner. I was posting things. And I had this little voice in my head (figuratively speaking) saying, “Wow, C. You’re doing a great job keeping up with this.”

Should I – or anyone else – be surprised that all of the, “I’m posting stuff!” was followed IMMEDIATELY after by, “Hey . . . hasn’t it, um . . . been awhile, since you’ve, you know . . . been on WordPress?”

My longest hiatus.

One day, I will figure out why I’m so freaking unreliable for just about anything. At least I’m reliable at being unreliable. You can count on me for that, that’s for sure. Wasn’t there something like that in Pirates of the Caribbean? Something like that. Not unreliable. Anywho. Spaz moment.

Anyway, I’ve spent an EXTREMELY long time trying to figure out what I wanted to do with this thing. I needed some sort of stability on here. I’ve already tossed around the ‘writing’ ideas in my head, which I always fall short on when it comes to thinking of things. I can’t depend on myself to come up with SUPER AWESOME WRITERLY TOPICS(!!). So, I thought of an idea sometime in the middle of last week.

Every Friday, I’m going to post an entry with some sort of music that I like. I know it has nothing to do with anything, but the great thing about music is . . . nobody loves all the same music, but everybody loves music. So, I’m going to do that to give myself some sort of stability on here rather than just telling myself I’ll blog when I FEEL like blogging (which, I’ll be totally honest, is not a whole heck of a lot (can anybody tell that it seems to come in spurts?)).

The plan is: Every Friday = Music Post. And I’m telling myself that I MUST blog at least once at some point between the two.

There’s the stability I’ve been lacking on here since, well, I started it.

I actually did have every intention of blogging last week, but . . . Well . . . clearly I didn’t. I was grumpy. That’s a nice word for it. Yeah, we’ll go with grumpy.

That’s the plan.

Don’t hold me to it. I’m going to have a difficult enough time holding myself to it.

Hmm . . .

Anywho, I hope everyone is doing superly awesome out there and whatnot.

🙂

(And now I’m asking myself why I find it so freaking difficult to sit down and do this, lol) . . .

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.

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.

Far-Forwarding and Parenthetical Asides

I’ve made a game plan.  A well-defined (or as well defined as it can be) plan of action.

After many alternating days spent in an exhausted (sometimes strange, sometimes frustrating) headspace, it happened.  I put all things in their proper order inside of my head; I formulated my next several moves as far forward as far-forwarding things can actually go.  It feels good.

It’s funny that the planning actually happened on such a busy week.  It was such a busy week, in fact, that I didn’t do one bit of laundry.  I’m struggling now to catch up on that (along with other household type things).

All of this planning came after my last entry about paranoia getting in the way of things.  I did some thinking (especially after the very helpful feedback I received), and then I stumbled upon a new sort of understanding with myself.

I’m trying to figure out if I’d already sent the first book in my series to my friend by that point or not.  I’m not sure.  Well, I must have.  Or maybe not.  Either way, that understanding with myself was devised with myself at some point before the weekend.

That ‘understanding’ was me telling myself, “Self…you have to be smarter.  Slow everything down for a minute, THINK, and stop being an idiot.  Oh, and stop trying to rush everything for whatever reason.  Some things CANNOT be rushed.”

It seems easy.  Part of me thinks that it must have been because I can’t really remember when, exactly, I felt completely better about everything (it wasn’t immediately after formulating the plan, but sometime later).  But given how long it took me to really think – to stop for a bit and listen to what my heart was telling me…it couldn’t have been such an easy thing.  Or maybe the most difficult things can turn out to be easier than the struggle of them in the end.  Sorry, I’m rambling.  I honestly don’t have a clue what I’m saying; it was just a thought.

Husband and I went home (where I’m from, not where he’s from) for the weekend.  Saw some family.  Didn’t see some friends that I wanted to see quite badly.  Things happen; it’s neither here nor there.  But the friend who is currently in possession of my book came over.  It was the first time that I’d seen her in person since my husband and I got married several years ago.  I won’t go into the awesomeness of seeing her in general (because I could ramble for days and I’m attempting VERY HARD to start making my entries much shorter than the first few [also, personal conversations with friends are personal…she and I both know that it was a great time and I don’t need to go into that any further]), but will instead give a few thoughts on the matter where it pertains to my book. 

She isn’t finished with it yet, but I was able to sit down with her and go through some of the notes she’s made so far.  She asked me questions and I answered them to the best of my ability (so long as they didn’t give away relevant things (secrets) that come into play later).  She and I spent quite a while going over the prologue with a fine-toothed comb – tweaking it in all the places that bothered me.    It was the first time that I’d felt good about the ONE part of the book that gave me innumerable headaches.

I was happy about all of it while it was happening and immediately after, but I think it took some time for it to really sink in for me. 

You see, I always take some time after interactions with people about my books to really analyze everything – tones of voice, facial expressions.  I dwell on those things until I’m positive that I’ve deduced all aspects of a person’s feelings on the matter.  Not many people have read them, so all input (in any form it comes) is valid and extremely relevant to me.  It’s all important.  Everything is all something that could potentially help.

I know that my mother loved all of them, but not because she asked me a plethora of questions about them.  I get quite a lot of my opinionated being from my mother.  Though she saw the main character (and the situations, relationships, secrets) COMPLETELY differently than I intended for them to be seen, she didn’t bother asking me what they were supposed to actually be (regardless of my ridiculously widened eyes due to just how far from home her taking of them as a whole were from my own).  My mother was content with the way that she saw everything, which – though immensely baffling – was satisfactory to me.  So no, I don’t know that she liked them for that reason (seeing them the way I intended).  I know that she did because she read all four of them two times and my mother does not read.  I’m STILL trying to figure out how in the world she didn’t catch where I’d added TEN THOUSAND words into the last one.  I digress.

I will not get further into the other people who have read them (or how they felt, or how I felt, or anything, actually).  It’s not relevant.

I’ve been asked questions about them, sure.  People have listened to me ramble for days about them, sure.  My husband never needed to ask questions because – by the time he was actually reading the first one – he knew everything that happened in all of them, and the ins and outs of all the characters.

I’ve never had a…back and forth with a person about them.  At least not in the way that I had with her over the weekend.

It was very eye-opening – in a lot of ways.  And it was what I’d been waiting for.

I’ve had a great many questions about them swirling around in my head for months on end now.  How would the main character be taken?  She’s very…strange.  I thought she would be extremely difficult to relate to (it was one of my bigger fears), but I’m thinking now that she won’t be.  I’m thinking now there’s a possibility that some people out there might love her nearly as much as I do. 

Would the hints be picked up? 

That was a big one.  The way that I’ve written both of my series is to drop hints about future things – whether that be scenarios, or simply character traits.  That makes it fun for me to write, and I’m hoping that will make it fun for other people to read.  I’m glad to say that – from what I read of her notes and analyzing her questions – some of them have been, and some of them haven’t.  The surprises are just so fun.

I think she was worried that her constructive notes would make me feel horrible.  I’ve wanted constructive criticism from the get-go.  I needed someone to look at my books objectively – to take ME out of the equation and see them for what they were…someone else’s story that I was telling for them.  I love every character that lives in that world, but I’ve done everything that I could for them without assistance.  I just want it to be told as well as it possibly can be.  This is one of those instances where my pride will not stand in my way.  In fact, with this one thing, my pride is basically nonexistent.  My pride will constantly get in my way, but I refuse to allow it to hinder the story any longer.

It was just so exciting – all of it.  I’ll stop with it there because I’ve already written more than I wanted to and still not said nearly 1/10 of what I could.

So basically, things are moving along in the book avenue.  I’ve got the next steps planned out, and now…I’m just waiting for everything to line up so that those next things can be knocked out.  I just…I just feel better about all of it as a whole.

In other news…

We’ve reached our monthly data cap for our internet.  For those of you who do not have to deal with such things…of this one thing, I am envious.  For those of you who do not know what that means…It means that, until our billing month is reset, my internet is moving slower than dial-up.  That is not an exaggeration.  SLOWER.  THAN.  DIAL.  UP.

And doesn’t it figure that Facebook – which I care about less than I can say – is moving along swiftly, but this website does NOT want to load ANYTHING? 

Please be patient with me responding to comments (or ‘liking’ posts because sometimes the ‘LIKE’ button will not pop up on the first go for me when I’m reading other people’s blogs).  I will try to do so as quickly as possible, but some pages take more than fifteen minutes to load…a LOT more.  My newfound patience for my books does not carry over to staring at a blank computer screen and waiting for something simple to load on it.  It’s been very difficult not to throw my computer screen at a wall.  Or out of the window.

That is all.  Have a lovely day.

I’m not sorry for all of the parenthetical asides contained in this entry (or in any other XD).

Also…I don’t write my books that way.  No worries.