For those who've been following long elsewhere, and those who haven't, I've had some concerns over my publisher Musa lately. While they have paid on time, there were other issues that I, and other authors, have been having with them. Because of these issues, I'd decided to request an early rights reversion on Kitchen Witch and not to renew my contract on But I Never Said I Didn't Love You!. About a week later, I received my rights back on both books and set about figuring out what to do next. Self publishing both seems like a better option; it's difficult to get a publisher to even sneeze at a book that has already been published, much less twice like BINSIDLY, so I've been preparing for that.
About a week after that, I noticed some buzz on Facebook. There were a couple vague mentions about "my books are now homeless" but as I scrolled down, there was a post from somebody saying she'd received an email that Musa Publishing was closing operations. Several commiserated and offered condolences, so I quickly checked my email and found the same notice. This was pretty difficult for me to process; after having Aspen Mountain Press suddenly vanish out from under me, the publisher that was formed from that debacle was closing, as well.
Losing two publishers in about five years is enough to give you a complex.
Today is the last day of operations, so I have a lot of scrubbing I need to do (starting with the links and personal infoto the right!) Again, while it was nice to receive (semi-) regular royalty checks, I've had some issues with them, as have others, that are outlined over on the Absolute Write page about them. I even flounced briefly from AW because I didn't want to believe there were any problems with Musa but I was politely requested to return after the issues were confirmed.
After today, my books will no longer be available for sale through Musa or the usual outlets. However, I can say that they will be coming back shortly in one form or another. I can't let them go; one of the issues (there's that word again...) I've been having with myself is I've been wanting to build a viable career as a writer. It's almost, barely, kinda, sorta, not really, but just about happened, and I need to take it to a larger scale if I want something serious to come of it. It's going to happen, come Hell or high water, so I have a lot of work of ahead of me if I want it to. I'll post here and elsewhere when things gel, so keep an eye open for me later.
Thanks again to everybody who've offered their well wishes. I've really felt crushed by all of this, wondering how it's going to affect me. I just need to regroup and get my shit together because after all, tomorrow is the day after today.
Saturday, February 28, 2015
Saturday, July 19, 2014
The first date that never happened
Not trying to win a game of "My Life Sucks Worse Than Yours" or anything, but my adolescence was pretty rough. Glossing over some details because they're irrelevant to the story at hand, I'm surprised I made it out as unscathed as I did. I'm still carrying some baggage over it, and probably will for a long time.
I first came out in 1980, when I was 15 going on 16. After I'd told myself I was gay, I told my best friend. We'd been messing around a little and I felt I could trust him with it. I'm not sure if it was the same night or some time later, I also told him that I was in love with him. It may have just been a simple adolescent crush, but I'd fallen for him and deep and hard. I could go into detail about the physical that I was attracted to (those eyes! That ASS! OMFG, that ass!) but everything else? I...am not so sure. I remember he was a pretty decent guy for a while, but I guess getting my first "but I love you as a friend!" speech immediately after telling him I loved him does that to a person.
About a year after I'd told him, a 3D movie called Comin' At Ya! was released and never having seen a 3D movie, I wanted to go. I also asked D. since you hang out with your best friend at the movies. Somewhere along the way, much to my dismay and horror, my father invited himself along. During this time, I wasn't getting along too well with him, my mother advising me I don't tell him about my being gay, but I really didn't complain about it. He and D. got along okay, though, so it was pretty cool to them. It galled me my father invited himself to the movie with us because I'd felt it was bad manners (probably didn't matter because, after all, he was my father) but I'd wanted to hang out with D. by myself.
Because I wanted to, somehow, treat this as a date.
I wasn't sure how, though. I wasn't sure if I could get away with anything like trying to hold his hand or doing the yawn-and-stretch-my-arms-over-my-head routine to get my arm across his shoulders, but since I was in love with him, I wanted us to do "boyfriend" things. You know? But with my father with us, I had no hope of anything happening like this.
Of course, it was only made worse when my father sat between us.
No, he had absolutely no clue what was going on between D. and I. Honestly. He was just a clueless parent who was hanging out with his son and his son's best friend woo boys' night out. I was absolutely mortified he'd come along but since D. had no idea what I was trying to engineer, did it really matter?
Of course, it did! I wanted to have a "boyfriend" relationship with this guy, so I'd hoped we could do things that I could call "dates" and make myself a bit more happy than I was at the time.
Oh, who the hell am I kidding? I was a deluded little puppy if I thought I could get away with calling us going to watch that incredibly, totally, and very, very execrable piece of shit 3D movie a date, even if we'd gone alone, much less with my dad in tow. I've learned over the years you can't fake being in a relationship, no matter how much you want the other guy.
*headdesk*
It wasn't another two or three years before I officially went out with somebody on a real date, but even that was probably questionable since it was with the guy I wrote about in my previous post, Names have been deleted to preserve my sanity.
So, yeah, I'm a hot little mess.
The trailer for "Comin' At Ya!":
I first came out in 1980, when I was 15 going on 16. After I'd told myself I was gay, I told my best friend. We'd been messing around a little and I felt I could trust him with it. I'm not sure if it was the same night or some time later, I also told him that I was in love with him. It may have just been a simple adolescent crush, but I'd fallen for him and deep and hard. I could go into detail about the physical that I was attracted to (those eyes! That ASS! OMFG, that ass!) but everything else? I...am not so sure. I remember he was a pretty decent guy for a while, but I guess getting my first "but I love you as a friend!" speech immediately after telling him I loved him does that to a person.
About a year after I'd told him, a 3D movie called Comin' At Ya! was released and never having seen a 3D movie, I wanted to go. I also asked D. since you hang out with your best friend at the movies. Somewhere along the way, much to my dismay and horror, my father invited himself along. During this time, I wasn't getting along too well with him, my mother advising me I don't tell him about my being gay, but I really didn't complain about it. He and D. got along okay, though, so it was pretty cool to them. It galled me my father invited himself to the movie with us because I'd felt it was bad manners (probably didn't matter because, after all, he was my father) but I'd wanted to hang out with D. by myself.
Because I wanted to, somehow, treat this as a date.
I wasn't sure how, though. I wasn't sure if I could get away with anything like trying to hold his hand or doing the yawn-and-stretch-my-arms-over-my-head routine to get my arm across his shoulders, but since I was in love with him, I wanted us to do "boyfriend" things. You know? But with my father with us, I had no hope of anything happening like this.
Of course, it was only made worse when my father sat between us.
No, he had absolutely no clue what was going on between D. and I. Honestly. He was just a clueless parent who was hanging out with his son and his son's best friend woo boys' night out. I was absolutely mortified he'd come along but since D. had no idea what I was trying to engineer, did it really matter?
Of course, it did! I wanted to have a "boyfriend" relationship with this guy, so I'd hoped we could do things that I could call "dates" and make myself a bit more happy than I was at the time.
Oh, who the hell am I kidding? I was a deluded little puppy if I thought I could get away with calling us going to watch that incredibly, totally, and very, very execrable piece of shit 3D movie a date, even if we'd gone alone, much less with my dad in tow. I've learned over the years you can't fake being in a relationship, no matter how much you want the other guy.
*headdesk*
It wasn't another two or three years before I officially went out with somebody on a real date, but even that was probably questionable since it was with the guy I wrote about in my previous post, Names have been deleted to preserve my sanity.
So, yeah, I'm a hot little mess.
The trailer for "Comin' At Ya!":
Tuesday, April 15, 2014
Names have been deleted to preserve my sanity
Trying to get back into this habit of this blogging thang, I had a couple topics in mind that I was going to pursue, the others being "write what you know" or "I was the third gunman on the grassy knoll in Dallas". I decided on this one because it's probably just as funny as my trip to Dallas (hint: you really shouldn't accept paper bags from strangers in bus terminals, either in 1963 or today. LOLZ!)
April 15, 1986, is a rather dubious anniversary for me, an achievement that I really wouldn't wish on almost anybody. For our friends who aren't in the US that are playing along at home, April 15 is the date we have to have our tax returns filed. The day in 1986 has a more significant meaning for me.
It was the first time I broke up with somebody.
FOOTNOTE: IT HAPPENED WHILE I WAS AT WORK OVER THE PHONE.
The only reason why I remember the date is it's Tax Day. The other times I've left a guy/been left by a guy/told somebody to fuck off and die? Don't remember. And since it has the double dubious achievement of being on a Tuesday again this year, thanks to the serious fluke of a jacked-up calendar system, it began a longtime love affair with the day. Garfield hates Monday? The rest of the universe can't wait to TGIF? Me? Hooray for Tuesday. Look. I even have an Official Theme Song.
Anyway, I really should have seen it coming, hindsight being 20/20. There were a few areas where we seemed to work but everything else? You know how everybody was charmed and oohed and aahed and giggled when Patrick Swayze told Demi Moore "ditto" when she said she loved him in Ghost? I was screaming internally in abject horror, "TURN BACK! RUN AWAY! FAST!" To me, the declaration "ditto" wasn't soft, sweet, and romantic; it was just a repeat of what I went through with the guy. When I said "I love you" to the guy, his response? "Thank you."
Let me repeat that so it sinks in: "Thank you".
Nowadays, I see it as an emotionally stunted reply from a person who was afraid or unable to make any sort of commitment. Yeah, he did ask me to move in with him but so many other things about the relationship were so fucked out of the gate, it's not funny. First and foremost, the age difference. Now, for some it might work but in my case, it was probably a serious hindrance: I was just barely 20 and he was about to turn 40+.
Or it might have been his lying about it: he somehow had gotten somebody at the DMV to believe he was about 3 years younger and had it faked on his license. And rather than doing something like getting some Grecian Formula and covering up the grey at his temples, he'd bleached hair back to the light ash blonde he was in high school before going brown during college.
And his chest hair. Dear Sweet Jeebus Crisp, yes, his chest hair. As much as he liked...things...done to...other things...I have to say L'Oreal Light Ash Blonde #1AB doesn't taste good. So not worth it.
I was also going through some serious growth myself at the time, so I really shouldn't probably shouldn't have probably pursued the relationship but he seemed to be into it on some level. Probably not the same that I was, but I think he did feel something. This began my "Every Love Song I Hear On The Radio Reminds Me Of You" phase, which lasted well until I was about 30 or so, but being barely out of puberty and finally, FINALLY, FINALLY having a Boyfriend really colored my outlook. Can y'all say "starved for affection"?
I was a serious poster boy for my mother's saying, "When you're in love, you get stupid". I turned a blind eye to much of his assholishness and responded to him with more assholishness. He also had another boyfriend he saw occasionally (and wound up with permanently after we split), whom I knew about and was "cool" with, even though I was seething with jealous rage over the arrangement because I was Real Mature about it.
Hah.
Through a series of unfortunately events I'm loath to discuss here (sorry, that much shame and embarrassment prevent me from going any further), barely over a year and a half after we'd gotten together, things fell apart. I was working a part time job as a secretary/administrative assistant (a job I lost shortly after the break-up due to budget cuts, my final day shortly after National Secretaries Day, grind that salt into the wound even deeper with a wedge of lemon), and we started the morning with a serious argument. I went to work and on the bus ride there, I finally made up my mind it wasn't good for me to keep going. Hell, it wasn't good for either one of us to be in such a toxic atmosphere any longer so in the short time I had between getting to work and actually having to start, I called him up and told him we were through.
I was rather surprised when he started crying because I wasn't aware he was emotionally capable of anything more than "Thank you" when I said I'd loved him. Apparently, somehow, somewhere, I meant something to him, as he did me, but it seemed obvious that we couldn't continue to live in the same house and have a serious relationship any longer. Yeah, sure, I tried to continue the "we can still be friends" routine but things were so strained between us, I couldn't even do that (when I came to his place to get some stuff after I was moving to Milwaukee and he was moving in with the Spare Back-Up Auxiliary Boyfriend, I'd warned the people who came with me he might be a bit of an asshole. As we were leaving and out of earshot, one of them turned to me and said, "You were right. He's more than an asshole.")
And that's what April 15 means to me.
And for those turns of the calendar when April 15 lands on a Tuesday, well, imagine my delight.
April 15, 1986, is a rather dubious anniversary for me, an achievement that I really wouldn't wish on almost anybody. For our friends who aren't in the US that are playing along at home, April 15 is the date we have to have our tax returns filed. The day in 1986 has a more significant meaning for me.
It was the first time I broke up with somebody.
FOOTNOTE: IT HAPPENED WHILE I WAS AT WORK OVER THE PHONE.
The only reason why I remember the date is it's Tax Day. The other times I've left a guy/been left by a guy/told somebody to fuck off and die? Don't remember. And since it has the double dubious achievement of being on a Tuesday again this year, thanks to the serious fluke of a jacked-up calendar system, it began a longtime love affair with the day. Garfield hates Monday? The rest of the universe can't wait to TGIF? Me? Hooray for Tuesday. Look. I even have an Official Theme Song.
Anyway, I really should have seen it coming, hindsight being 20/20. There were a few areas where we seemed to work but everything else? You know how everybody was charmed and oohed and aahed and giggled when Patrick Swayze told Demi Moore "ditto" when she said she loved him in Ghost? I was screaming internally in abject horror, "TURN BACK! RUN AWAY! FAST!" To me, the declaration "ditto" wasn't soft, sweet, and romantic; it was just a repeat of what I went through with the guy. When I said "I love you" to the guy, his response? "Thank you."
Let me repeat that so it sinks in: "Thank you".
Nowadays, I see it as an emotionally stunted reply from a person who was afraid or unable to make any sort of commitment. Yeah, he did ask me to move in with him but so many other things about the relationship were so fucked out of the gate, it's not funny. First and foremost, the age difference. Now, for some it might work but in my case, it was probably a serious hindrance: I was just barely 20 and he was about to turn 40+.
Or it might have been his lying about it: he somehow had gotten somebody at the DMV to believe he was about 3 years younger and had it faked on his license. And rather than doing something like getting some Grecian Formula and covering up the grey at his temples, he'd bleached hair back to the light ash blonde he was in high school before going brown during college.
And his chest hair. Dear Sweet Jeebus Crisp, yes, his chest hair. As much as he liked...things...done to...other things...I have to say L'Oreal Light Ash Blonde #1AB doesn't taste good. So not worth it.
I was also going through some serious growth myself at the time, so I really shouldn't probably shouldn't have probably pursued the relationship but he seemed to be into it on some level. Probably not the same that I was, but I think he did feel something. This began my "Every Love Song I Hear On The Radio Reminds Me Of You" phase, which lasted well until I was about 30 or so, but being barely out of puberty and finally, FINALLY, FINALLY having a Boyfriend really colored my outlook. Can y'all say "starved for affection"?
I was a serious poster boy for my mother's saying, "When you're in love, you get stupid". I turned a blind eye to much of his assholishness and responded to him with more assholishness. He also had another boyfriend he saw occasionally (and wound up with permanently after we split), whom I knew about and was "cool" with, even though I was seething with jealous rage over the arrangement because I was Real Mature about it.
Hah.
Through a series of unfortunately events I'm loath to discuss here (sorry, that much shame and embarrassment prevent me from going any further), barely over a year and a half after we'd gotten together, things fell apart. I was working a part time job as a secretary/administrative assistant (a job I lost shortly after the break-up due to budget cuts, my final day shortly after National Secretaries Day, grind that salt into the wound even deeper with a wedge of lemon), and we started the morning with a serious argument. I went to work and on the bus ride there, I finally made up my mind it wasn't good for me to keep going. Hell, it wasn't good for either one of us to be in such a toxic atmosphere any longer so in the short time I had between getting to work and actually having to start, I called him up and told him we were through.
I was rather surprised when he started crying because I wasn't aware he was emotionally capable of anything more than "Thank you" when I said I'd loved him. Apparently, somehow, somewhere, I meant something to him, as he did me, but it seemed obvious that we couldn't continue to live in the same house and have a serious relationship any longer. Yeah, sure, I tried to continue the "we can still be friends" routine but things were so strained between us, I couldn't even do that (when I came to his place to get some stuff after I was moving to Milwaukee and he was moving in with the Spare Back-Up Auxiliary Boyfriend, I'd warned the people who came with me he might be a bit of an asshole. As we were leaving and out of earshot, one of them turned to me and said, "You were right. He's more than an asshole.")
And that's what April 15 means to me.
And for those turns of the calendar when April 15 lands on a Tuesday, well, imagine my delight.
Monday, October 21, 2013
Thank you very much!
Thank you for stopping by my blog during the recent hop, everybody! I'm glad you enjoyed yourself, and I'm happy to announce Laurie has won a copy of my e-book, Kitchen Witch. Enjoy!
Hope to see you around, and thanks again!
Hope to see you around, and thanks again!
Saturday, October 12, 2013
Slipper When Wet Blog Hop Stop
Hi, everybody. I apologize for the lateness of this post, but I'm trying to get back in a regular rotation of all things online. I have to remember that life doesn't start and end with Facebook (especially with all the ginchy webcomics I follow on a daily basis!)
Since it's October andChristmas Halloween is mere days away, I'd like to offer visitors a chance to win a !FREE! copy of my e-book Kitchen Witch! It's really simple to enter: all you need to do is leave a comment below and that's it.
For a little extra witchy fun, here's Cass Elliot singing "Different" from the "H. R. Pufnstuf" movie:
Since it's October and
For a little extra witchy fun, here's Cass Elliot singing "Different" from the "H. R. Pufnstuf" movie:
Sunday, June 23, 2013
What a difference a few...thousand...thousand days makes...
When I first came out to myself in 1981, I had no idea of the significance of the month. I'm not certain of the exact date, but all I can remember was it was during June.
Pride Month.
Over the years, I've been to celebrations in different cities, even making a pilgrimage to San Francisco in 2001 to mark 25 years being out. One thing I've noticed is how much they've changed from the first historical marches. They've turned into neighborhood festivals with face painters and beer gardens and turkey legs and financial planners looking to sell you their services and local churches who have QUILTBAG congregants and booths where you can have your picture taken in an oversize easy chair so you can look all Edith Ann (kids! Ask your parents!)
And I wonder where these festivals will be in another 20 or 30 years.
When Pride began after the Stonewall Riots, they were a call to political action and public recognition. Nowadays, they're more of a public celebration, and I wonder if much of the call to political action gets lost in the vendors hawking lemonade shake-ups and rainbow-patterned oven mitts. True, Minnesota has much to celebrate this year with the passage of the same-sex marriage act but there are still many states where it's perfectly legal to fire somebody for being QUILTBAG. (Never mind I think the current institution of marriage is truly fucked and needs to be overhauled before allowing anybody to marry, and that the same-sex marriage debate is seriously misguided when there are still states where QUILTBAG people can still be fired and denied housing, and we need to getting that fixed before we should worry about getting married, but that's another rant for another time.)
The tenor has certainly changed since I first came out. Around that time, an infection was starting to hit the gay male populations of many large American cities, finally getting the acronym GRID. Around the time I went to my first Pride Parade in Chicago, people were getting fired-up over the lack of concern and action from the US government so there was a certain sense of anger. Since then, the parades and celebrations I've gone to have, again, been more neighborhood block party unless there's been a major issue that's scheduled to be voted on at the following election.
I know I'm not one to lecture others on political (in)action. I'm not out in the fields ringing doorbells or handing out flyers or making phone calls on a regular basis; I'm lucky to get the occasional hair up my ass to make blog and forum posts online about things that gripe my cookies. I know there's much to be celebrated every June but when the day comes we have full, equal status in the US, what's going to happen at the Pride Celebrations? Will there even be parades and neighborhood festivals? Once the younger generations become the burnt-out old farts of tomorrow, where will we be?
Pride Month.
Over the years, I've been to celebrations in different cities, even making a pilgrimage to San Francisco in 2001 to mark 25 years being out. One thing I've noticed is how much they've changed from the first historical marches. They've turned into neighborhood festivals with face painters and beer gardens and turkey legs and financial planners looking to sell you their services and local churches who have QUILTBAG congregants and booths where you can have your picture taken in an oversize easy chair so you can look all Edith Ann (kids! Ask your parents!)
And I wonder where these festivals will be in another 20 or 30 years.
When Pride began after the Stonewall Riots, they were a call to political action and public recognition. Nowadays, they're more of a public celebration, and I wonder if much of the call to political action gets lost in the vendors hawking lemonade shake-ups and rainbow-patterned oven mitts. True, Minnesota has much to celebrate this year with the passage of the same-sex marriage act but there are still many states where it's perfectly legal to fire somebody for being QUILTBAG. (Never mind I think the current institution of marriage is truly fucked and needs to be overhauled before allowing anybody to marry, and that the same-sex marriage debate is seriously misguided when there are still states where QUILTBAG people can still be fired and denied housing, and we need to getting that fixed before we should worry about getting married, but that's another rant for another time.)
The tenor has certainly changed since I first came out. Around that time, an infection was starting to hit the gay male populations of many large American cities, finally getting the acronym GRID. Around the time I went to my first Pride Parade in Chicago, people were getting fired-up over the lack of concern and action from the US government so there was a certain sense of anger. Since then, the parades and celebrations I've gone to have, again, been more neighborhood block party unless there's been a major issue that's scheduled to be voted on at the following election.
I know I'm not one to lecture others on political (in)action. I'm not out in the fields ringing doorbells or handing out flyers or making phone calls on a regular basis; I'm lucky to get the occasional hair up my ass to make blog and forum posts online about things that gripe my cookies. I know there's much to be celebrated every June but when the day comes we have full, equal status in the US, what's going to happen at the Pride Celebrations? Will there even be parades and neighborhood festivals? Once the younger generations become the burnt-out old farts of tomorrow, where will we be?
Saturday, June 1, 2013
We have a WINNAH!
As part of the recent Hop Against Homophobia and Transphobia, I'd announced I was giving away a copy of Kitchen Witch, my recent e-book. I'm happy to (finally) announce that Karl is the winner! Thanks again to everybody who stopped by and entered, and I hope to see you all again real soon.
Thursday, May 16, 2013
Hop Against Homophobia and Transphobia
From May 17-27, I'll be participating in the Hop Against Homophobia and Transphobia to help do my part in spreading the word. Different parts of the US have different ideologies about GLBT people, and I remember one time shortly after I'd moved to Milwaukee, Wisconsin. I felt more comfortable about being open and who I am there than I did back home in South Bend, Indiana, and had bought a t-shirt that declares NOBODY KNOWS I'M GAY (I think I still might even have that shirt around somewhere, even though it fit about 30 years and 50 pounds ago). I went back to South Bend to visit friends and family there, and wore the shirt on my arrival. When my best friend and I got to one of our favorite places for coffee, I'd taken off my jacket and immediately remembered where I was and what I was wearing.
Then I quickly crossed my arms across my chest to hide the message and deflect attention, and sat down.
It took me a long time before I was comfortable telling people I'm gay without apologizing for upsetting or offending them. During my time being out (I first came out to myself in June, 1981), I've been quite lucky I haven't experienced the outright discrimination and violence many people have elsewhere, but attitudes are changing. Of course, it's still possible to be fired in many states in the United States for being gay or transgender, but we're slowly turning the corner on that. Hard to believe this happens in a country where many basic freedoms are supposedly guaranteed in a document that contains the phrase "...all men are created equal".
As part of the hop, I'll be giving away a copy of my e-book Kitchen Witch. It's my latest gay romance, and all you need to do to enter is leave your name and email address in a comment on this post. That's all. Pretty easy, yes? Meanwhile, I hope you'll enjoy the rest of the hop's participants, and thanks for stopping by!
a Rafflecopter giveaway
Saturday, May 11, 2013
Home again, home again, jiggety-jog!
I came home from this year's RT Booklovers Convention (link to their page on Flickr) this past Monday, and I just want to say a big THANK YOU! to everybody I saw there, particularly those who stopped at my table during the E-Book, Indie Published, and Graphic Novel Expo (again, link to their Flickr page). That has been a highlight of the conference for me because it gives me a chance to say "hi!" to people, particularly my fellow authors (watch out for Nikki Duncan. She throws Snickers Minis at people she knows. I know. Sounds horrible, don't it?) I also had the chance to hang out with people I only see online the rest of the year and talk shop with them (hi, Grace! Hi, Lori! Hi, Vanessa! Hi, Christine!).
There are times where I forget most of this "author" jazz and lose the focus of why I go to RT Booklovers. It's the social aspect that I need to get my face and name out there. I have to remember I'm doing this not only to attend the seminars and pick up a few pointers and learn the business end, but to have people know me. Lila Dubois, who sat next to me at my first RT Booklovers in 2011, stopped to say hello during the Expo. Many of the cover models who attend remember me, as well, particularly Scott Nova, who was my escort during the masquerade at the 2011 and 2012 Faerie Balls.
I'm also learning that I have to reach out to people if I want that connection. It's a difficult process for me, but I have to overcome that discomfort if I truly want to make that First Impression. During the Fan-tastic Day party, I had an opportunity to do that. I'd seen fellow M/M author Damon Suede last year in Chicago but really didn't have a chance to say anything. This year, he was on a panel I'd attended but didn't have the chance to talk to him after that since everybody was scrambling to get to the next (even a 15-minute block of time between panels can evaporate quickly when you have to stop and chat with somebody!) At the Fan-tastic Day party, he was doing emcee duty and calling out raffle ticket numbers for the door prizes. I'd had a bunch of my promo material with me since I was A Scheduled Author, and I got the sudden idea that it would not only be a great idea to connect with the rest of the attendees, but to say "hi" to A Big Name.
I went to the front of the ballroom where the event was, and kindly waited off to the side for a chance to talk to him. Well. That was easier said than done. Many of the ticket numbers went unclaimed so he had to pull another one and announce that. It just kept going that way, and I was just waiting my turn. As I waited, I had the usual internal monologue going when I want to speak to somebody: Oh, please, shut up already so I can talk to you I just want to say something really quick it won't take that long will you just shut the hell up already oh my God I can't talk to him I'm going to say something rilly stoopid and he'll think I'm an idiot it'll just be easier if I die right here where I'm standing please shut up already! I finally got a chance to talk to him when somebody was able to claim one of the door prizes, and I handed him sample chapter booklets for But I Never Said I Didn't Love You and Kitchen Witch. I told him I have some of his work, and I wanted him to sample some of mine. He seemed genuinely pleased and I got a nice hug out of it, as well.
(Which he does very well. And he's a cute little shit, which helps.)
Some people have asked me, and I've asked this myself, if I'm so overcome with this social awkwardness, why the hell am I an author? Reaching out and connecting with people is a big part of it, and it scares me to death I have to do this. Many times, though, when I move beyond the initial "oh, what do you write? Anything recent?" type of conversation, I'm finding some very pleasant, fun conversations with others. I've also had the chance to discuss some of these fears while at the conference this year, and for many it's a universal feeling. There's that fear of rejection, which is a common aspect of the business and I have to learn to accept as a norm.
It's hard to separate the personal from the business, however. It's also difficult for me to take peoples' positive feedback for what it is: positive feedback. I've had the rug pulled out from beneath me so many times, I find it hard to trust a person might actually have no ulterior motive when they tell me they like my book, other than telling me they liked my book.
I also find it difficult to discuss this without sounding like I'm only looking for pity or validation.
No. Seriously. I did have fun at RT Booklovers this year, and I'm glad I went and I'm planning on going next year. It wasn't all trauma fits over my self worth as a human being or doubts over my writing. I enjoyed myself immensely. I guess I learned a bit more about the business than I'd expected.
There are times where I forget most of this "author" jazz and lose the focus of why I go to RT Booklovers. It's the social aspect that I need to get my face and name out there. I have to remember I'm doing this not only to attend the seminars and pick up a few pointers and learn the business end, but to have people know me. Lila Dubois, who sat next to me at my first RT Booklovers in 2011, stopped to say hello during the Expo. Many of the cover models who attend remember me, as well, particularly Scott Nova, who was my escort during the masquerade at the 2011 and 2012 Faerie Balls.
I'm also learning that I have to reach out to people if I want that connection. It's a difficult process for me, but I have to overcome that discomfort if I truly want to make that First Impression. During the Fan-tastic Day party, I had an opportunity to do that. I'd seen fellow M/M author Damon Suede last year in Chicago but really didn't have a chance to say anything. This year, he was on a panel I'd attended but didn't have the chance to talk to him after that since everybody was scrambling to get to the next (even a 15-minute block of time between panels can evaporate quickly when you have to stop and chat with somebody!) At the Fan-tastic Day party, he was doing emcee duty and calling out raffle ticket numbers for the door prizes. I'd had a bunch of my promo material with me since I was A Scheduled Author, and I got the sudden idea that it would not only be a great idea to connect with the rest of the attendees, but to say "hi" to A Big Name.
I went to the front of the ballroom where the event was, and kindly waited off to the side for a chance to talk to him. Well. That was easier said than done. Many of the ticket numbers went unclaimed so he had to pull another one and announce that. It just kept going that way, and I was just waiting my turn. As I waited, I had the usual internal monologue going when I want to speak to somebody: Oh, please, shut up already so I can talk to you I just want to say something really quick it won't take that long will you just shut the hell up already oh my God I can't talk to him I'm going to say something rilly stoopid and he'll think I'm an idiot it'll just be easier if I die right here where I'm standing please shut up already! I finally got a chance to talk to him when somebody was able to claim one of the door prizes, and I handed him sample chapter booklets for But I Never Said I Didn't Love You and Kitchen Witch. I told him I have some of his work, and I wanted him to sample some of mine. He seemed genuinely pleased and I got a nice hug out of it, as well.
(Which he does very well. And he's a cute little shit, which helps.)
Some people have asked me, and I've asked this myself, if I'm so overcome with this social awkwardness, why the hell am I an author? Reaching out and connecting with people is a big part of it, and it scares me to death I have to do this. Many times, though, when I move beyond the initial "oh, what do you write? Anything recent?" type of conversation, I'm finding some very pleasant, fun conversations with others. I've also had the chance to discuss some of these fears while at the conference this year, and for many it's a universal feeling. There's that fear of rejection, which is a common aspect of the business and I have to learn to accept as a norm.
It's hard to separate the personal from the business, however. It's also difficult for me to take peoples' positive feedback for what it is: positive feedback. I've had the rug pulled out from beneath me so many times, I find it hard to trust a person might actually have no ulterior motive when they tell me they like my book, other than telling me they liked my book.
I also find it difficult to discuss this without sounding like I'm only looking for pity or validation.
No. Seriously. I did have fun at RT Booklovers this year, and I'm glad I went and I'm planning on going next year. It wasn't all trauma fits over my self worth as a human being or doubts over my writing. I enjoyed myself immensely. I guess I learned a bit more about the business than I'd expected.
Saturday, April 20, 2013
We now resume our regularly scheduled program...
Maybe.
The last seven months or so haven't been the easiest for me. Around September or October, I'd noticed some chest discomfort and thought it was from my backpack. I'd shift it to one shoulder and slow down, and the discomfort would subside. This happened to me several times, maybe two or three times a week, and I was getting concerned. Plus my blood sugar numbers had skyrocketed, about 30 to 40 points higher than usual. During a week I had off in November to use for National Novel Writing Month, my doctor had called to schedule some regular blood work to make sure my diabetes and cholesterol medications weren't interfering with anything else. I figured since I was going to the doctor, anyway, I decided I'd see him about the chest discomfort.
That morning, the alarm went off and I got up to hit the snooze button. And it hit me. Hard. It wasn't just discomfort but serious, constricting pain. I didn't know what the hell was going on but it had subsided by the time I had gotten up and was on the way to the bus to get to the doctor. Once there, I rearranged the appointment to include a consultation with my doctor and he set up an EKG along with the blood work. The cardiology specialist didn't like the results of the EKG and scheduled a stress test for later that afternoon. I'd heard about those and had never had one, so I wasn't really ready for the grinding and rubbing of the ultrasound wand against my ribs and sternum.
Once they got the initial readings, I was put on the treadmill and the real fun began. As the test progressed, my blood pressure shot up to 200/116 and I began to have some of the same chest discomfort I'd experienced earlier which led me to mention it to the doctor. Because of that, they cut the treadmill portion short and got the final readings they needed. I went home and got a disturbing call that evening.
The chest pain I'd experienced earlier that morning was a mild heart attack.
I misunderstood what was going on and completed miscommunicated everything to everybody who needed to know what was going on. I didn't realize that I had to be admitted to the hospital that night because the phone kept cutting in and out, so Peter was unnerved when I didn't come home. That, and a healthy dose of denial kept me from believing anything serious at all had happened (in the usual sick sense of humor I've come to expect from the universe, not counting staff, I was the youngest person in the unit.) The food was decent and I was slightly outraged at the miniscule portions, constantly reminding myself I WAS IN THE FUCKING HOSPITAL AND IN THE CARDIAC UNIT SO THEY WERE GOING TO HAVE TO BE MINISCULE. The boredom probably ravaged me the most, however. Since I wasn't clear on what was going on, I didn't even bother to grab my nook on the way to the emergency room, figuring I'd be in and out spit spot. And because of the IV in my hand, I couldn't sleep on my side, like I usually do. Sleeping on my back was incredibly uncomfortable for me, taking two nights to get used to it, which was almost pointless because I was released on the fourth day.
And I had to spend my birthday in the hospital getting an angiogram.
Having type II diabetes, I usually don't need insulin shots but because my blood sugar numbers were so scattered, they became part of my medication regime while I was there. They finally stabilized when the doctor had hoped, so I was released when they'd expected it. The angiogram showed a blocked artery but they didn't put in a stent because two smaller arteries around it were doing the extra work and the cardiologist decided a medication regime would be just as beneficial.
I'm now on a total of NINE prescriptions for diabetes, acid reflux, cholesterol, high blood pressure, and the blocked artery. Of course, the medication for the artery is the only one that's not a generic but the plan from work covers a huge chunk of it. I've also gone through a cardiac rehab program that was recommended by my cardiologist and I'm trying to adhere to most of it. And trying to fight through the biggest, deepest round of guilt, anger, self-hatred, and self-loathing I've ever experienced. I know everything I was doing wrong for myself and to myself, and have incessantly beat myself up over it. Much of it could have been prevented and the severity lessened, sure, but with my medical history it was a case of when I'd develop heart disease. I could give you the complete laundry list but I don't want to bore you.
Along the way, I'd developed issues at the day job. Long story and tl;dr version, I had to get an Americans with Disabilities Act dispensation to move to a more desirable position with much less stress than what I'd been moved to almost a year ago. And other things have suffered, as well. Not-so-important, more "busy work" things. Such as updating this blog and my website. And needing to get some more pictures taken for possible inclusion on my site. And getting some things ready for RT Booklovers Convention, where I'll be in just a smidge over two weeks. (Commence self-loathing and beating self up.) And not beating myself up so much.
The last seven months or so haven't been the easiest for me. Around September or October, I'd noticed some chest discomfort and thought it was from my backpack. I'd shift it to one shoulder and slow down, and the discomfort would subside. This happened to me several times, maybe two or three times a week, and I was getting concerned. Plus my blood sugar numbers had skyrocketed, about 30 to 40 points higher than usual. During a week I had off in November to use for National Novel Writing Month, my doctor had called to schedule some regular blood work to make sure my diabetes and cholesterol medications weren't interfering with anything else. I figured since I was going to the doctor, anyway, I decided I'd see him about the chest discomfort.
That morning, the alarm went off and I got up to hit the snooze button. And it hit me. Hard. It wasn't just discomfort but serious, constricting pain. I didn't know what the hell was going on but it had subsided by the time I had gotten up and was on the way to the bus to get to the doctor. Once there, I rearranged the appointment to include a consultation with my doctor and he set up an EKG along with the blood work. The cardiology specialist didn't like the results of the EKG and scheduled a stress test for later that afternoon. I'd heard about those and had never had one, so I wasn't really ready for the grinding and rubbing of the ultrasound wand against my ribs and sternum.
Once they got the initial readings, I was put on the treadmill and the real fun began. As the test progressed, my blood pressure shot up to 200/116 and I began to have some of the same chest discomfort I'd experienced earlier which led me to mention it to the doctor. Because of that, they cut the treadmill portion short and got the final readings they needed. I went home and got a disturbing call that evening.
The chest pain I'd experienced earlier that morning was a mild heart attack.
I misunderstood what was going on and completed miscommunicated everything to everybody who needed to know what was going on. I didn't realize that I had to be admitted to the hospital that night because the phone kept cutting in and out, so Peter was unnerved when I didn't come home. That, and a healthy dose of denial kept me from believing anything serious at all had happened (in the usual sick sense of humor I've come to expect from the universe, not counting staff, I was the youngest person in the unit.) The food was decent and I was slightly outraged at the miniscule portions, constantly reminding myself I WAS IN THE FUCKING HOSPITAL AND IN THE CARDIAC UNIT SO THEY WERE GOING TO HAVE TO BE MINISCULE. The boredom probably ravaged me the most, however. Since I wasn't clear on what was going on, I didn't even bother to grab my nook on the way to the emergency room, figuring I'd be in and out spit spot. And because of the IV in my hand, I couldn't sleep on my side, like I usually do. Sleeping on my back was incredibly uncomfortable for me, taking two nights to get used to it, which was almost pointless because I was released on the fourth day.
And I had to spend my birthday in the hospital getting an angiogram.
Having type II diabetes, I usually don't need insulin shots but because my blood sugar numbers were so scattered, they became part of my medication regime while I was there. They finally stabilized when the doctor had hoped, so I was released when they'd expected it. The angiogram showed a blocked artery but they didn't put in a stent because two smaller arteries around it were doing the extra work and the cardiologist decided a medication regime would be just as beneficial.
I'm now on a total of NINE prescriptions for diabetes, acid reflux, cholesterol, high blood pressure, and the blocked artery. Of course, the medication for the artery is the only one that's not a generic but the plan from work covers a huge chunk of it. I've also gone through a cardiac rehab program that was recommended by my cardiologist and I'm trying to adhere to most of it. And trying to fight through the biggest, deepest round of guilt, anger, self-hatred, and self-loathing I've ever experienced. I know everything I was doing wrong for myself and to myself, and have incessantly beat myself up over it. Much of it could have been prevented and the severity lessened, sure, but with my medical history it was a case of when I'd develop heart disease. I could give you the complete laundry list but I don't want to bore you.
Along the way, I'd developed issues at the day job. Long story and tl;dr version, I had to get an Americans with Disabilities Act dispensation to move to a more desirable position with much less stress than what I'd been moved to almost a year ago. And other things have suffered, as well. Not-so-important, more "busy work" things. Such as updating this blog and my website. And needing to get some more pictures taken for possible inclusion on my site. And getting some things ready for RT Booklovers Convention, where I'll be in just a smidge over two weeks. (Commence self-loathing and beating self up.) And not beating myself up so much.
Wednesday, October 31, 2012
We have a winner!
Thanks to everybody who visited my blog during the Howloween Blog Hop, graciously hosted by The Blog Hop Spot. I'm happy to announce that hentaifangirl is the winner of the Kitchen Witch prize pack. I'll be contacting you shortly for the details. Once again, thanks to everybody who entered and I hope I'll see you around!a Rafflecopter giveaway
Saturday, October 27, 2012
For a complete list of participants, click here!
Whoa! That was a surprise! I'd barely gotten started at my end, and I already had comments on my blog. Rest assured, if you've already commented on my first post you're entered for the Kitchen Witch prize pack, which consists of a signed cover flat, magnet, and trading card, plus a copy of the e-book (your choice of format). To be entered, just leave a comment either here or on the previous post, including your email. The winner will be announced on October 30, so I hope you stick around.
a Rafflecopter giveaway
Sunday, October 21, 2012
The last blog hop was so much fun...
I thought I'd participate in another one!This one is the Howloween Blog Hop, hosted by The Blog Hop Spot. I'll be on the hop October 26th through 29th, and I'll be giving away a Kitchen Witch prize pack consisting of a signed magnet, cover flat, trading card, and a copy of the e-book (your choice of format). Sounds fun and I hope to see you there!
Sunday, October 7, 2012
With that, I leave you with this musical number from Were The World Mine:
Saturday, October 6, 2012
Thursday, October 4, 2012
Here's an odd one: if you drop an umbrella on the floor, there's going to be a murder in the house. Especially if somebody doesn't get back here AND PICK UP THAT UMBRELLA AND PUT IT BACK ON THE COAT RACK LIKE I'VE ALREADY ASKED THEM TO DO ONLY ABOUT A MILLION TIMES TODAY.
No, I don't think this one is from Every Mother's Guide to Superstition.
To help you start your weekend right, here's Cindy Wilson of the B-52's and her electrifying rendition of Screamin' Jay Hawkins' I Put A Spell On You:
Don't forget: there's still plenty of time for you to join the blog hop and enter for your chance to win a Kindle Fire or other swelligant prizes, including a copy of my latest e-book, Kitchen Witch! The hop runs until this Sunday, October 7.
Wednesday, October 3, 2012
Did you know...
According to a superstition dating to the 1580's, you had to crush the ends of your egg shell after you'd finished eating your eggs. That way, a witch wouldn't be able to gather the empty shells to fashion a boat, go out to sea, and create storms.
I think I dated a guy like that for a couple months.
Speaking of crazy witches, here's Elizabeth Montgomery in Bewitched as Samantha's groovy cousin Serena singing "Blow You a Kiss in the Wind" to send you off:
Monday, October 1, 2012
Today's superstition first appeared in 1957's Every Mother's Guide to Superstition:
If you drop silverware on the floor, that means company's coming to visit. Possibly the paramedics if you don't put some shoes on, walking around barefoot with silverware all over the floor like you do. What, I didn't raise you to know any better?Man. Sorry for the flashbacks.
Here to send you off to the next blog on the hop is a polite request from Dame Shirley Bassey:
Did you know...
Today's superstition was first reported in Soperstishon, Majik, Annd Othir Maladeze, published in 1567 in Caerwent, Wales. It states:
Wenn the howsecatt winnks at yu, it is yur tirn tu chaynge the howsecatt's pottybocks.Lucky you.
Meanwhile, here's a fan remix of Cass Elliott performing "Different" from the movie H. R. Pufnstuf to see you through the rest of today.
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