Blogging Problems . . .

I’ve been having a blogging problem lately. It’s not that I haven’t been on here, surprisingly enough. I’ve done a better job with that lately than I had been doing.

My problem is that I keep typing up entries, getting to a certain point, and then discarding them. It’s been leaving me very frustrated, needless to say. It’s possible that my issue is that I keep trying to talk about actual STUFF, rather than random stuff. I can’t get anything to come out right.

For those of you who have never gathered as much, I don’t blog how I write; I blog how I talk. Might be silly, in some ways (especially when trying to say, “Hey look. I’m competent. I promise,” given that I don’t speak very well), as most people look at blogging as sharing writing. And it is, yeah. But for me, blogging is more like sharing bits of yourself. I didn’t start this thing up however many months ago to share my writing. Books are how I intend to share my writing, and I’ve never been one for short stories and the like, which are more postable (*ding* New non-word). I started this up to interact. That’s just my purpose with it. Everybody has their own.

So, when going from rambling about news/random things and into thoughts and feelings (or frustrations and worries) . . . there becomes an issue. It’s probably because I don’t share my thoughts and feelings with everyone coming and going. I have a hard enough time sharing my thoughts and feelings with most people I’m close with. Then when you combine writing with sharing . . .

Well, it leaves me unhappy with the results.

Maybe that will come with time, and I DO feel more comfortable with blogging/sharing via blog than I did before. Maybe it won’t. I don’t know. I guess we’ll just have to wait and see. Until then, I will continue being frustrated anytime I have anything of importance to say past sharing book-news.

Which, by the way, the photo shoot for the cover will take place in TWO DAYS. I’m stoked, seriously. I can’t wait to see the photos from it, choose one, and move forward.

. . . . .

I’m kind of comparing the entire feeling of this (in my head) to preparing to jump off a cliff. I’m standing way back and, as of right now, I’m at the ‘feet bouncing’ stage where I’m anticipating the running start. It’s almost time to start running. So close.

And it’s kind of funny when I’ve compared releasing the book to that (though it’s always me throwing it off a cliff, rather than any amount of jumping involved). So maybe it’s more like me running to the edge of the cliff then stopping and throwing it off.

Hm.

Yes, that’s what it’s like, I suppose.

As for blogging, I might try again later to get some of those things out. I might not. But for now, I intend to do some reading.

🙂

My parents’ take on World War Z

Hardly any of you know my parents to appreciate this (how anything was said [with the southern accents] or any amount of cussing on my mom’s part that I’ll leave out).

Watching movies with them can be quite fun, and World War Z definitely wasn’t a disappointment in any sense of the word. The running commentary by the two of them was rather entertaining.

If you haven’t seen the movie and intend to, I won’t ruin anything. It was one of the fastest starting movies I’ve ever seen. Zombies in a manner of minutes (and PG-13 so I can stand the blood). Who can complain about that (plus, there’s the unrated version for all of the people who don’t have problems with blood in movies – WIN-WIN)? Within the first few minutes, there is a car accident (okay, that’s putting it lightly, but there was a car accident involving the MC). Before it, my husband said something along the lines of, “It’s a good thing they have a Volvo.” During it, I said, “That would’ve been MUCH worse if they didn’t have a Volvo.”

Those were the only good ones we got, but they were both immediately followed by my mom making a comment about how, “if he was watching the road and not his kids . . .”

I’m pretty sure there was a cuss word thrown in there. At least one.

Amid zombies throwing themselves off of things, my dad noted, “Zombies don’t have any brains.” I’m taking liberties with that, but imagine it with a southern accent/different word choices.

Those weren’t the ones that got me, and there were a few more zingers throughout (by my dad, as that is his way). My parents’ dog is relentless in his need to go outside when people are paying attention to the television so he can sit there on the rocks and just stare off, but I can’t really complain. It was on the first of those that my mom said, “They all should’ve just laid down and died.”

I asked, “Wouldn’t you fight zombies?”

Her response was, “It’s like you said. They’re just too fast.”

That was my mom’s take on World War Z. Everybody should’ve just laid down and died.

Thought someone out there would get a kick out of it, regardless of not knowing my mom to really appreciate it.

But hey, I thought it was a pretty good freaking movie.

And just a reminder . . .

KEEP YOUR FINGER OFF THE TRIGGER.

That is all.

🙂

Everybody hates prologues.

Why?

Someone, please, tell me why.

I’ve heard it before. I read it somewhere a long time ago and have seen multiple things on that subject over the last several years. What’s bringing it up right now is that I read an article about it again a few days ago. I can’t remember from where, though I’m assuming I somehow found it by tap-tapping away on Twitter, as Twitter and Instagram are really the only things I check somewhat consistently. They’re both right next to each other on my phone, what can I say?

Anyway, I’m not really one to take things that I read on the internet at face value (WTF does that even mean? I’ve never even questioned the saying until right this second. Maybe it’s the Writer in me, but seeing something in front of your face doesn’t necessarily mean that you’re looking at it in the right way. Just saying!), but there seems to be some general consensus that agents, and the like, hate prologues.

Again, I ask anyone out there in the vast expanses of internetdom who can actually communicate back with me . . . WHY?

As a reader, I have no issue with them if they’re done well enough. The only one that’s ever made me stop, tilt my head, and make some sound that Scooby Doo tends to make (at least in my head), is the book that I was complaining about in a previous entry, which you can find here. It was out of place and made no sense whatsoever to what I actually got through in the book, but that’s neither here nor there and is only relevant whatsoever right now in me saying that, as a reader, I’ve never had an issue with them (apart from that one instance, at least that I can remember, which – knowing my memory – isn’t saying very much).

In fact, AS A READER, I tend to like prologues.

Take for example the beginning of Clockwork Angel by Cassandra Clare. The first few words in the actual BOOK part of the book are, The demon exploded in. That’s enough to get my point across, I think. That was enough right there to make me smile and think, “Yeah, I’m gonna like this book.”

Prologue.

Don’t smack me if I’m wrong in saying that it was a prologue, but I’m almost positive that it was. That book is currently in a box right now so I can’t take two steps and check for sure. I’d rather make an as– *cough* . . . butt out of myself.

Anyway, perfect use of a prologue right there. That scene was extremely relevant, but did not fit perfectly with the beginning of the STORY story.

I loved it.

Now, as a writer, I will also say that I CANNOT understand the issue with prologues.

When I was sitting down several years ago, writing the first scene of my first book . . . Well, um, I wrote it. I wrote it, and then I went to the next CHAPTER and, after the fact, realized that – while one could not be done without the other – they did not exactly . . . mesh, you could say. Hence my first prologue was written into existence.

Every single book that I have ever written has a prologue, and an epilogue.

In my (we’ll say HUMBLE) opinion, I think they’re great. And that has absolutely nothing at all to do with the fact that I write them, and everything to do with WHY I write them.

I can understand the issue with them when they’re used for info-dumping, but at the same time . . . I don’t know.

Maybe I’m the only person seeing a difference between bringing a story up to speed in a way that doesn’t fit 100% WITH the story and info-dumping. I know some people are fond of flashbacks (one of my very good friends is fond of them, in fact), but I only am to a certain extent. The first book in my first series has flashbacks out the as– *cough* wazoo. I hated it. I absolutely hated it. I would rather have a prologue with JUST THE RIGHT information than those flashbacks. That’s personal preference, both in writing, and reading.

I just don’t understand why a book would be entirely disregarded (as that was the statement made in the article I read) for having a prologue. A prologue doesn’t mean that it’s info-dumping. A prologue doesn’t mean that the story will be horrible, or the writing atrocious. Where in the world is that stigma coming from? Can anyone out there fill me in? Because, honestly? I just think it’s a load of bulllll- *cough* bologna.

Am I the only one that thinks bologna is a funny word?

I’m giggling a little right now, I’m not gonna lie.

My Point:

When written well, and done well, a prologue can add fantastic things to a story, in my opinion.

That’s all.

And did anybody get the whole Lost reference? Or no?

The Perfect Day

It’s a little after midnight right now, which is my prime writing time, but I figured I would type this up really quick.

I’d sat down to go through some blog entries I had to read (in open tabs) and . . . well . . . okay, I’m starting off in the wrong spot. That was the point of me getting on here, but I should explain that I have the ‘Reader’ page open all the time, hoping that I’ll find more than ten minutes to sit down here. I’ve given up on catching up. So I’ve been hoping for about four or five hours (yes, it takes me that long – I’m following a LOT of people) to go through reading people’s entries to make up for it. I’m going to say in advance that I’ll be digressing with this, but I actually thought about making a VLOG (had a funny conversation with a friend about VLOGGING) to make up for my lack of reading. Why would that make up for it, you ask? Because I’d make a complete and total ass out of myself, that’s how. Probably won’t happen, but the thought crossed nevertheless.

Anywho, while the Reader was open, I just so happened to see an entry that Briana Vedsted just posted. Clicked on it, read it, commented. It was asking for blogging ideas. I’ve only had about one clever blogging idea ever, so I couldn’t help with that. Well, she replied back to my comment and gave ME an idea. How freaking awesome is that?

So I figured I would do that right now. I wasn’t expecting to be this many words in and still  not have said diddly squat about it.

Basically she said for me to describe what my perfect day of writing would be – how I would start the day, what I would eat, and what it would be like to be a full-time, worry-free author. It was so funny to me that I just couldn’t help myself.

*Clears Throat*

My perfect day of writing:

Wake up at 8PM.

Go out into my shed. Preferably Husband will have woken up before me and turned either the AC or the heater on, depending on the weather.

Sit down with fresh cup of coffee and a pack of cigarettes. (Yes, I smoke. I don’t want to hear it. This is my perfect day of writing and you’re not involved.)

Write until about 8 AM.

Eat.

Sleep.

Repeat.

That’s it.

You see . . . This is basically what I do anyhow. It’s not fair, I know. I get to be a full-time (I’ll not say the A-word without Aspiring in front of it) writer. I get to do that because I have a ridiculously awesome husband who – SOMEHOW – understands that what I’m doing is ‘working’ and doesn’t tell me to get a ‘real job’. Worry free? I think not. I’m a worrier by nature. And clearly, you can imagine all the worries that come along when you don’t have a ‘real job’. That’s not why I’m writing this.

I sat here this morning. Er. Yesterday morning, before I went to bed (responding to comments). And I realized . . . I could totally let this entire blog fall off the face of the earth while I’m writing. I could. I really, honest to goodness could. Not going to.

It was easier when I first started this new book and wasn’t SUPER into it. I’m into it now. I’m to the point where I’m talking to Husband about it while I’m not writing it. I’m either writing it, talking it, thinking it, or sleeping. Period.

I had a conversation with my friend yesterday . . . wait . . . No. It was definitely yesterday; I’m just getting my days mixed up here (I lost a day somewhere and found out about it . . . yesterday?). Anyway, it was about ‘the way that we write’. He can do about two million things at one time. I can’t. When I’m writing, I’m writing. I need silence, solitude, uhm . . . I was trying to think of another S word that would be fitting here, but I can’t. Silence and Solitude. Need those. And I just honestly can’t make the time for the things I WANT to do when I’m working on a book. Because I NEED to write and everything else is wants.

I was hoping I’d be done with it by the end of the month (I type VERY fast), but I’m a few hours late tonight so that’s looking less and less likely.

So the entire reason this was funny to me is because I wanted to say, “Don’t expect to see me for a few days.” I might be inside for a little (and I mean LITTLE) bit of time in the mornings before sleeping. Only because I have to eat something. Maybe my balancing isn’t as perfect as other people’s. Maybe other people can have LIVES while they’re writing books. I’m just slowly realizing that I can’t. So I’m prioritizing. I’ve got to get this thing done. Then I’ll take a little time off (a few days). Catch up on here as best I can. Yep.

I’m crawling back into my hole for a little while. I’ll be happier when I resurface.

Everybody should spend a few minutes thinking about what their perfect ‘day’ would be – whether writing, or in general. Give yourself the time to do it. Life is too short to be unhappy and wishing for things. Do it. Take the time. People will understand.

See you again soon.

🙂

What am I doing?

It’s kind of surprising to realize that I’ve been blogging more frequently, now that I have so much less time to spend on it. And I’m realizing . . . I’m running out of things to talk about.

One of my friends very recently hit 500 posts, which blows my mind.

Now, if you know me at all, you would likely know that – introvert aside – I ramble incessantly. I ramble to my friends. I ramble to strangers when they speak to me (nervous-rambling). How in the world could I be running out of things to talk about?

Here’s the issue. Or, well, the issueS.

1) I’m not quite ready to talk about my book(s), past information about what’s going on with them. It’s weird, I know. Counterproductive, for sure. But that’s where I’m at. Once the progress has . . . er . . . progressed a bit further, that will change. But right now? I’m waiting with the big one, and working on new ones. That’s all there is to say.

2) Okay, so I’m following a lot of blogs. A LOT. More of them every day that I sit down here for more than ten minutes at a time. I’m following a LOT of author blogs, and I read them. You should give me a hug for it, really, because I’m awesome. Just kidding.

A little.

Anyway, so, I see a lot of things that authors write about. Mostly, we write about writing, I’ve noticed. Not all of us, and not all the time, but majority? Yes. We write about our books and we write about writing. That’s cool. I always find it EXTREMELY interesting to read the thoughts and methods of my fellow authors (whether they be established or aspiring [like me] – it makes zero difference to me). The thing about those sorts of blogs is that the writers of them . . . Well . . . they write well.

My brain just doesn’t work in a . . .

Let me start again because that was going to sound HORRIBLE.

I’m not fantastic at drawing people in with blogging. To me, blogging is, “Hey, this is what I think.” So I write blogs the way that I think, or speak. I don’t write blogs the way that I write. I could probably train myself out of it, but why would I want to? You just get a big dose of ME here. Lots of ellipses and parenthetical asides. Lots of two word sentences and general trailing off. Lots of ADD moments. That’s me. I know how I write (on here, with books, in general) and that’s just the way it is.

OH MY GOD, WHEN AM I GOING TO STOP THROWING THE SAME BRUCE HORNSBY LYRIC INTO MY BLOGS?

That is what you get from me. Bruce Hornsby. Am I THE ONLY person in the world that loves him? I digress.

So this is where I’m at.

Do I think the saint-like people following me want to hear about potato salad?

No. I’m not sorry about that. It was like . . . four lines.

Do I think that all of you glorious people out there want to see pictures of my dog?

No. I’ve thought about it . . .

Do I think all of you MAGNIFICENT people who waste your time reading the nonsense that I have to say want to read about how I – FOR SOME REASON – cannot stop typing the third letter in don’t and then clicking Don on the auto-word of my phone?

Certainly not. But it happens. Pretty much every time. Don’t is on the left with the second letter, and the right with the third. Don is left on the third. Don it is.

EVERY TIME. >.<

So . . . I sometimes wonder what I’m doing on here. Here is a place, chock full of people who have a trillion interesting things to say.

I’m thinking about asking for guest bloggers – mostly because that’s how I’ve found a lot of the people I’m following (through other people’s blogs that I’m following).

I’ll probably write up another entry (probably tomorrow) doing the asking for that very thing. This is already my second for the day and I don’t want to overkill feeds.

 

That’s all.

No, really. That’s all.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . For now. *cue evil laugh*

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.

🙂

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?