The Harder You Try, The Harder It Gets

 

I'm sorry that my posts are a bit bi-polar lately. I promise I'm not crazy. I'm just healing. Healing takes time and effort and a lot of cake. I'm getting there little by little.

My agent told me to calm down, take a break, read a book, and relax. Being rejected isn't the end of the world. (Just think how it's toughening me up for when I start dating. I get to be rejected all over again, for many more reasons!) There are more publishers. Books don't expire. And I will get published. It just takes more time than I like. I thought since I've been through so much crap the last few months that I was owed something amazing. The truth is that I'm not owed anything, not by God, or the universe, or karma. There is no perfect balance. You don't get a reward every time you do something good. You get what you get, and you decide to make the best or the worst out of it. Life isn't based on an equal amount of good and bad. Sometimes it's uneven. Sometimes we're more in the dark than we are in the light. Sometimes you're living in an eclipse.

My faith might be floundering, but it's still there. It's so imbedded in me that I can't shake it. I'm still mad at God and yet I can't deny Him. Yep, I said it, I'm mad at God. And, yes, that's me ducking under my desk, a little scared I might get struck by lightening. I know I should say something like, "Everything happens for a reason." or "Or sometimes things fall apart for better things can fall into place." But I don't want to. I want to curse the cosmos for a little while.

I thought this whole divorce and the years of pain and unhappiness before it were my trial of faith. I thought things would be clear sailing from here on out, but things will always be hard. Life will always suck a little bit. God tries those he loves the most. He must love me a heck of a lot. I don't want to sound ungrateful. I've received so many blessings. The Lord has answered my prayers in a lot of respects. My good outweighs my bad.

 

Maybe the publishers we sent the book to weren't the right ones. They wouldn't have given my book the attention it deserves. Maybe Tom Hiddleston will somehow get his hands on the manuscript and demand that it be made into a movie and demand that he stars in it as the evil Confederate president. Maybe none of it will ever happen, and that's okay, too. I am the mother of two wonderful boys. That is a great accomplishment in and of itself. If all I do in life is raise them to be good men, then my job is done.

But I really do want this book published.

Life and Death

Granny passed away last night at 11:43. She's been unwell for over six months, ever since a hip surgery that she never healed from. She hung on until they brought her back to her beautiful home, filled with antiques, and memories, and echoes of children's laughter. She married my Granddaddy when she was just seventeen. They were together for nearly three-quarters of a century. And my Granddaddy loved her beyond reason. I should have been crying over her passing, but the tears on my cheeks were for me, not her. Because all I could think was no one will ever love me like that.

She is watching over me, and I am glad to have someone so fierce on my side. I will miss her pretty handmade smocked dresses, her sewing room, her black heels, her red-painted lips. I will miss her determination, her spunk. I will miss her until I can see her again.

Death is everything they say he is,

Unfeeling and unforgiving, the stealer of souls.

I saw him, standing in the corner her room,

Head down like the rest of us, silent, still.

Her husband of seventy years, spoke softly to her,

Of a shared life, the gift of children, and the pleasure of her company.

It was selfish, but I cried because no one would ever love me

Like he loved her, unconditionally, consumed by her for eternity.

I held her frail, colorless hand. Her nails were painted pink.

I kissed her cheek before they took her away.

It was like kissing frozen concrete.

She was gone, and yet everything still smelled of her.

They’ll come soon, with casseroles and condolences,

Not knowing what to say to make it better.

Then we’ll put her in the ground, beneath the earth.

We will not forget her because she is in us all.

Life is everything they say it is, cruel, hard, unforgiving.

But I can hear her urging me on, whispering,

“Don’t be silent, darling. Don’t be still. Be brave.

Fight for what you want. Live.”

Giving Up a Dream

 

 

 

I just got rejections for all the editors we sent the book out to. It's over. My dreams aren't coming true. I can't do it anymore. I won't continue to write. It's pointless. Once again I'm not good enough. I've never been. I never will be. I hope you enjoyed that first chapter of the book you got to read because that's all there will be. No more will ever be in print.  

 

I was stupid enough to think that just this once I was going to get what I prayed for. That I would have something of my own, a way to support my children, a career. But I have nothing. Nothing but time wasted and tears shed, and nothing, nothing at all. I have no home, no real job, no income, no traditional family.

 

They say the Lord won't try you passed your breaking point, well, it's too late. I'm broken. I'm done with it all. I give up. And this news comes less than twenty-four hours after my ex-husband says he won't be paying child support because he can't afford it. What am I supposed to do? The summer is almost here. There is no school during the summer, so no work.

 

Truth vs.Tension

The boys are with their dad for a few days. I hate being away from them, but I know it's important that they have a relationship with their father. He might have not been the greatest to me, but they love him and need to feel that he loves them, too. Oh, the fun of raising children in a divorced home. It's so hard to not tell them what I think of their father and what he did to me, but they don't need to be involved in adult struggles. I just want them to have fun with him and remember the good times.
That's all they need right now.

Since I am a free woman, I'm working on book three. Book two is a rough draft, and book three has about forty pages, and the rest is in outline form right now. I'm still figuring out the details of it. There's a major plot point that I'm working on, trying to determine if it's more important to keep the tension in the story or to reveal a truth that has been kept from the reader the entire time. My writing muses have been helping me determine which road to travel, and I have decided to stick with the tension. Stephen King once said, "Good books don't give up all their secrets all at once." I'm a firm believer in tension over truth. You can't keep everything a mystery all the time, but it's important to reveal, little by little, line by line. As I continue writing my books series, I see how much of me is in my main character. I'm the truth within the lie of fiction.

In real life, do you keep the tension or tell the whole truth? For my book, I'm keeping the tension until the end, and I'll do the same with the boys. Until they are adults, they don't need to know the truth. Sure they will feel the tension, even when I try to stamp it down, but it's worth it. Sometimes you have to keep the truth hidden to keep your children young and innocent.

If I Get a Little Prettier Could I be Your Baby?

 

Is it just me, or do you feel like if you're not perfect, no one is ever going to give you a chance. I'm not just talking about dating, but the world in general. Sometimes I wonder why people ever talk to someone like me, a tired, hag who prefers yoga pants to jean. Now, this isn't a plug to get everyone to flood me with compliments. It's a plug for everyone's feelings of inadequacies. Do you ever feel like your hardest is never enough? Is it the media's fault or is it mine? Do I worry too much? I don't know the answer, but I'll blame super models. They aren't faulted enough for the world's problems.

I'm so worried about not being the epitome of beauty that I bought a teeth whitener kit and a pack of facial masks. Is this what I've become, someone more worried about the outward appearance instead of the heart? Maybe it's because someone who once thought I was the most beautiful girl in the world changed their mind about me. No matter how much I wanted this divorce, it's screwed up my self-esteem. But through all the teeth whitening, I've figured out that it wasn't me who wasn't enough. I was everything I had always claimed to be. I was good enough, pretty enough, and dog gone it, people liked me. I wasn't the problem. It was him. I'm fine just the way I am.

It's hard, but you have to remember, no one is as great as they seem. Even Tom Hiddleston has failings. He's a huge nerd, unable to do simple math, and still doesn't know I exist. That lady at church with the perfect hair and well-behaved children, she's a mess on the inside. That guy you have a crush on, is just a guy. He farts and picks his nose when no one is looking. We're all just people, and people are as flawed as all get out. That's what makes us who we are. It's what makes us interesting. So embrace your imperfections. I'm working on loving mine.

You Can't Date Yourself. I Beg to Differ.

 

My almost divorce is final (yay!). I'm just waiting for the judge to sign off on everything, which will take about two weeks. I'm really looking forward to dating myself. No really. I couldn't think of better, hotter, cooler person to spend time with. I plan on taking myself out to lunch, buying myself flowers, and taking myself  for long, romantic runs. I will be an adorable and thoughtful significant other. I don't need to date myself to rediscover who I am. I never lost that. I know what I want and what I need, what I like and what I don't. I'm just going to enjoy some time alone. But you can never be truly alone with two cute little men always at your side.

And who needs a relationship when there is so much yummy food to eat? I have a dream, y'all. I want to fly to France and eat my way through the country. Je voudrais une pâtisserie. I know how to say important things in French. I want to eat so many pastries that I go into a food coma and have to be resuscitated by a hot French café worker. I would marry a bakery if I could. Or maybe a baker. Peeta, can you hear me?

Speaking of Peeta Mellark. Fictional people can't compete with the real world. I'm sorry to say that there is no Peeta Mellark, no Cassel Sharpe (Read the White Cat by Holly Black), no Jem Cartairs or Will Herondale (Read Clockwork Princess by Cassandra Clare), and no Abram or Brigadier Lee (Also read my books when they come out.) And lastly, I'll never meet Tom Hiddleston. We have a long distance relationship, and we mainly see each other over Tumblr. But Tommy is the best boyfriend I've ever had. He lets me be myself, he just stands around looking pretty, he reads me sonnets and E.E. Cummings. He lives in England, and doesn't know I exists, so he gives me plenty of space. If I miss having a real boyfriend, I'll just read a good book or watch Thor, and I'll be good. So I guess I am dating the internet, and our relationship is beautiful.

I don't hate men or the idea of a relationship, but I'm not going looking for it. The good news is that I'll be ready if I do meet someone. I know I was married, but it hasn't felt that way for years. While I stayed faithful, I was always alone. It was like he was already gone. So if someone amazing falls out of the sky, then great. And if he's blond, blue eyed, tall, has a college degree, and is a funny, yet honest man, (It's weird but these were things I always wanted, but I got the opposite of them all.) then I will date the heck out of him.

Healing a Heart

How do you heal a heart
That was broken and bruised
By the one who swore to protect it?
There is nowhere to tie a tourniquet,
So the blood is pumping, gushing.
Red runs out until life goes still.
Wait.
Can you hear it?
Thump, thump, thump.
That's your heart, girl. It's still beating.
Can you feel it?
That sharp inhalation of breath?
You're still alive, still thriving.
He couldn't take everything.
You're better off without his hand,
Tight around the strings attached to you.
You're your own you now.
Everything you once were.
You're not lost.
You're strong, a fighter.
There is a bright, beautiful world
Right beneath your fingertips.
There is success and happiness and love,
Everything you ever wanted.
Take ahold of your new life.
Breathe in and out, knowing it is good,
Knowing you healed your own heart.

I was on my way to work today and this popped into my head. It's amazing the words that flow when everything is quiet. I used to write poetry all the time, but I haven't for years. My niece Anna, a brilliant poet, inspired me to start again. In between the books, there are lines and stanza yet to be written. Grab yourself a beret, a cup of coffee (or hot chocolate if you're a Mormon), start your fingers a snapping, and get ready for some spoken word.

You're Not a Conciliation Prize

 

I don't watch Grey's Anatomy, except to occasionally gawk at Jesse Williams, but this quote is a true story. Why did I leave my husband so quickly? Because I'm not sticking around to make you feel better. I'm not staying just so you're not alone. I'm not a conciliation prize. I'm the freaking first prize!!!!! If you love me, you love only me. I am the only girl in the world for you. Sorry to get sappy, but I need to be your everything. I don't want to be worshiped, I just want to be loved like I deserve. I am not a second choice. I'm what you've been waiting for your entire life.

I'm so over it. I'm a-million-times-a-million over it.  I was relieved when I found out the truth of everything. It gave me an out, and I took it. He only wants me now because he's sad and desperate. I'm never going back. I will never make the mistake of loving someone who doesn't deserve it again. He thinks he can still control me. He couldn't be more wrong. That's not love. It's the opposite.

I was barely breathing and pretending I was alive. Survival isn't living. Being with someone who didn't love you enough isn't happiness. It's settling. It's struggling. It's a lot like dying. You don't have to take the box of darkness someone wrapped up and gave to you. You are brilliant brightness, and light is the only gift you should accept. Never been someone's backup plan. Never settle. You're worth a thousand times what you think you are. You are a the grand prize, the only thing that matters.

Write about it. Is your protagonist a first choice or a conciliation prize? There are good stories in both situations. Find the truth. Write about it. For me, writing is the only way to get through it.

A Twisted Fairytale

As I sit here upon this rock, I stare out across the sea,
To the castle and the kingdom that should belong to me.

Since I'm waiting on a publisher for The South Star, I started work on something else. I've got about seventy pages in so far, but wonder if anyone would want to read it if I turned it into a book. You see that picture up there, it's a drawing I did of the main character, Lorelei, the rightful princess of Landon. The story is very, very, very loosely based on The Little Mermaid. Here's what it is about.

Before Lorelei was born, her kingdom of Landon was overtaken, her father and his followers killed, and her mother, who refused to be marry the new king, was turned into a mermaid by a sorcerer and cast into the sea. Since she was still in her mother's womb when she was hexed, Lorelei is a mermaid who has the ability to breathe air and walk on land. But she prefers the sea where she lures every man, who dares enter the water, to their deaths. When the false prince, Merrick comes of age, he must find a bride, and Lorelei has prepared her entire life to compete for his hand in marriage. Even though the thought of being with a man turns her stomach, Lorelei plans to use her beauty and siren voice to deceive Merrick into making her his queen. Then she must find a cure to return her mother back to her human form, take back her throne, and kill Merrick. . . if she can keep herself from falling in love with him.

So would you want to read this book if I wrote it? Even if you don't, I'm writing it anyway. I'm a rebel like that.

You're Not a Sad Story

Sorry for being such a downer lately. I want to be a badass who Buffy Summers would be proud of, but some days, I just can't.

I don't want you to think I'm sad because I miss my ex-husband. I don't miss him. Not even a little bit. Not at all. Maybe it's because I never loved him like I should. I'll own up to that. In typical Mormon fashion, we married fast. I got swept up in everything. He told me that he loved me within five days. I should have seen that as a warning sign. It was too much, too soon. I knew that, but no one had ever told me that they loved me before. And it felt good to be loved more. I did love him. Don't get me wrong. I love everyone. It's my downfall, loving people even when they don't deserve it. Also in good Mormon fashion, I was trying to make the best of my decision. Marriage is forever and I tried and tried, but he gave up on us one day. He started seeing someone behind my back, so letting him go was easy. I'm not sad because I don't have him. I'm relieved he's not weighing down anymore. I'm sad that he doesn't call his boys. I'm sad that my life has been ripped out from under me. I'm sad that I couldn't save the marriage. I'm sad that he chose someone else over me.

I'm concentrating too much on what I don't have, instead of what I do. I have been given the gift of writing, and I have been able to make a career out of it. I have a book with publishers. I have an awesome agent who believes in me. I have first-readers (Erin, Jenny, Hope, Holly, Natalie, Melanie, and Christine, just to name a few!) who continue to cheer me on and never let me give up hope. My book will be on the bookstore shelves within the next year or so. I'll get that first royalty check soon. My dream is coming true. All my hard work, and tears, and blood (Yes, writing is a bloody sport.) are about to pay off.

I have the most beautiful boys in the world. They are smart, kind, a bit wild, and they are mine. I get the privilege of raising them to be men. I get to teach them all about superheroes and the power of God and how to dance. They are my little men and I couldn't be prouder to be their mother.

I have a supportive family and friends, who without I wouldn't have been able to leave. My mom and dad watch the boys when I work. My sister lets me live with her and makes me laugh so hard I almost die. My niece helps me remember what it's like to have a whole, beautiful life ahead of you. My cousins obsess over fictional characters with me. My high school friends have reminded me that relationships formed in childhood never leave us.

I get a do-over. I get to decide what makes me smile. I get to live the way I choose. I get the opportunity to met someone else and to love them as equally as they love me. I get to make better decisions. I get the chance to be out of a controlling relationship. I get a chance to be truly happy for the first time in years. It won't be easy, but I'll figure it out and I will thrive.

The Danger in Hoping

 

Hope? Nope. Grumpy cat is my spirit animal.

There is danger in hoping you might just get what you prayed for. With hope comes disappointment. Life is getting better, but I want to know when it'll stop. I'm wearing my poncho and rain boots, but the shit storm keeps coming. It feels like I'm ankle-deep and the downpour will never let up. I need something amazing to happen because my hope is fading. I need some rainbows and unicorns. I need a day at the beach, where I look amazing in a bathing suit. I need a delicious, calorie-free cake. I really need a phone call from Tom Hiddleston. He'll quote poetry and tell me everything will be okay, darling.

All my life, I've done the right thing. I go to church. I say my prayers. I don't drink coffee, even when I really, really want to. I'm nice to my fellow man. I help old ladies and sick dogs. I exercise four days a week and eat five servings of fruits and veggies. I don't cheat or lie or steal. Okay, sometimes at McDonalds, I refill my water cup up with Coke, but that's the extent of my larceny. And yet my life hasn't turned out the way I wanted it to. Compared to a lot of other people, I haven't had it hard, but that doesn't mean the last few years have been easy. I feel like I'm never going to get what I want or need. I'm never going get my book published. I'm never going to have someone love me so much that all the broken pieces will mend back together. I'm never going to succeed. I'm going to stay stuck in the doldrums forever.

Sometimes I wish I didn't believe in God. It would be easier to think there is no one looking out for me, no one to help, no one to pray to. But I have no doubt God exists. He's been here with through it all, guiding me, putting kind people in my path, whispering be still and believe. I know He is listening, even when He doesn't answer right away or in the way we want.

It's faith and hope, that helps us keep going, even when we are stumbling round in the darkness. The sun has to rise again. I know it's up there, hidden behind the clouds. I keep repeating to myself, "Ye must press forward, having a perfect brightness of hope." (2 Nephi 31:20). I'm pressing forward, y'all. I'm not giving up, even though I want to. Not having hope is worse because there is nothing to look forward to. At least I still believe everything I want is waiting, just around the bend. I have to believe that my new life and my future successes will be so bright that I will need to wear shades.

First Drafts

 

Pardon the swearing, but if you know me, you know I like cussing every once in a while. It's good for my soul. Ernest Hemingway knows what he's talking about. First drafts always suck, but they must be done. Otherwise your book will never get written.

Do you ever think your writing, art, crafting, music, or whatever you're passion is a waste of time? I get that way often. Like right this second, I want to give up writing. It's taking me soooooooooooooo long to get this far, but at least I have an awesome agent and a book with publishers. But it feels like I'm never going to get published. My books will just remain locked in my laptop, hidden from the world.

For some reason, I decided to start working again on my NaNoWriMo (National Write a Novel Month) book again. By working on it, I mean realizing what a piece of crap it is. But at least it's getting done. The scariest part of a new book is starting the first page. I think that's what I like best about writing. I know the ending, but have no idea how to get there. Somewhere amongst the drafts and edits, is a good story, with heartache and pain, but also with joy and laughter. There's a hard beginning, a messy middle, and a happy ending. You read to escape reality, don't you? I like happy endings. I hate when the endings are sad. I'm looking at you, Ernest Hemingway! The ending to Farewell to Arms ruined me. Did you see Silver lings Play Book? Bradly Cooper's reaction to the book was perfect. You're so invested in the characters and the story, and when it ends the way it does you want to throw that F-ing book out the window because you're so mad.

I might be a romantic, but I think all ending should be happy in books, not overly sappy, but with closure and the protagonist getting what they want. Because in life, we don't usually get what we want. We get let down, we cry, we build our lives back up, but in the very end, the crap we went through was what was necessary to get us to where we need to be.

My new life is like a first draft. I have no idea what I'm doing, but in the end I will be happy and the ending will be good, much better than the other ending I was headed for. I will make mistakes, I will rewrite entire chapters, but this life will be better.