It’s been a stressful week and in about an hour, after it cools off a little, I’m going to sit on my deck and watch for the Step Cat. I’ll take a book with me. There is a “dollar store” near my house. Not everything is a dollar, but most stuff is in dollar increments. I can buy paper towels and dishwasher detergent for $2 or laundry soap for $5. Recently I discovered a book rack – dollar books! I found a couple vampire books that turned out to be bodice-rippers with an occult flavor. I read a couple decent mysteries and a futuristic cop thing. Cheap entertainment.
Back in the day, I had an AOHell friend named Razorback. He was working on a graphic novel called Zombie Field and he let me read it and help him edit it. He sent it to me in .txt files (because it really was back in the day, before Word, but not before words). Reading that manuscript was a labor of love because it was hundreds of pages, single-spaced, with very little formatting (not much you can do in Notepad). I thought I would go blind. Even though sci-fi isn’t really my bag, the story kept me involved. As it happened, we lost track of each other until recently. He released Zombie Field as a self-published novel. I bought it on Amazon and it arrived about a week ago. I’ve spent a few evenings on the deck catching up with a story that I always had a connection to – aside from the fact that my name is in the front of the book as a proof reader. (I was more of an editor, but whatever.) It’s still one of the coolest things ever.
Then I won the drawing over at Claudia’s place for Unconcious Mutterings and my prize was a signed copy of a book she wrote called The Fey. The story is fast-paced and intense and I enjoyed every word of it, but the biggest thrill was knowing that this book was sent to me personally by someone I feel like I sort of know. How cool is that?
It made me start thinking about writing again. At this point, I can hardly call myself a writer since I let life get in the way. I let life happen and I let writing stop being a priority when my book was rejected. There were a lot of surface things that led to it, but mostly it was fear. Silly, huh?
Reading the bodice-rippers made me realize that I shouldn’t have given up. Maybe I suck, but what if I don’t? I’m the only one who loses if I don’t submit the manuscript and work on the other one that’s been rattling in my head for ten years.
I think I’m going to post my book online. I’m not sure if I will do it here or create another space for it, but I want to put it out there. If nothing else, I can self-publish it. It’s time to do something with it again.
I’ve grown bored here. It’s not that I have nothing to say, but I censor myself. This was originally intended as a place for me to play with words, but I rarely do much that’s creative because someone might not agree with it. Or they might not like it. Or they might not like me anymore. I’m always telling people (Griggs) to stop worrying. So now I’ll tell myself not to worry about it. Who cares what you think anyway?
More and more lately I am re-evaluating what’s important to me and that list has different things on it than it did ten years ago or five years ago or even six months ago. I think people are brought into our lives for a reason but sometimes we just don’t see it until it’s too late – if we see it at all. Even the Shrew had things to teach me.
It’s time to see what I learned.