Time...

Time... Infinite, or so it seems. At least that’s what many people might believe. It’s how some people live their lives.

Tomorrow... Tomorrow, I’ll make that call. Tomorrow, I’ll take that drive. Tomorrow, I’ll right that wrong.

Tomorrow...

There’s always time, right? There will be another day, another opportunity. Another chance.

But, what if? What if there isn’t more time? What if there isn’t another chance, another opportunity? What if all you have is the here and now—only this day, this moment, this opportunity?

I’ve spent the majority of my life in 12-step recovery. The most recent anniversary I celebrated was ten consecutive years in the rooms of help and hope. Ten years of blessings, and opportunities. During that time there’s been innumerable lessons, self-inflicted heartache, the struggles that come along with life on life’s terms, peeling the layers of my soul—of my disease, and learning what makes me who I am, how I act, and why I think the way I do.

All of that work—and there’s still more to be done—enabled me to discover who I am at the core. From the top of my head, right down to the bottom of my feet.

My entire heart and soul.

I have a deep understanding and acceptance of the fact that I’m not perfect. I never will be. And frankly, I don’t want to be. Only madness lies on the path to perfection, and I’ve had more than my share of madness in my lifetime.

The last 5 years has carried it’s own brand of madness though. It marks the beginning of change in my life, of a madness that would impact my future—to a degree I hadn’t realized possible.

And through all of that, I’m exactly where I am supposed to be.

Everything happens for a reason. Let me state that again: Every single thing that has happened in my life has been for a reason.

I lost my father.

Two years ago, he was dead and alone in his small one room apartment for two days, but no one would discover that until tomorrow. 8/11/2012. For me, honoring and remembering him, lasts for three days. Three days of a deluge of memories. Three days of a desperate need to have him back. And three days of knowing he’s at peace and right where he should be.

Yet, I would give anything to have just one more Sunday evening phone call with him. To hear him tell me he loved me, or bitch about his life, or call me Puppy. To be sure he knows how much I loved him.

I would give anything to have a little more time. To have tomorrow...

But it’s too late for that now.

We don’t always have tomorrow. We don’t always have another chance, or another opportunity to make it right. Time is sometimes not on our side.

I’m not a fan of missed opportunities or regret.

I would much rather live, and take chances, and know that I got to have something crazy, and good, and complicated, and wonderful, intense, and hard... and then even if it fails, I would rather have the pain of losing, than the regret of giving up.

I would rather grab what life puts in my path, and if I deem it worthy, hold on to it with both hands and see where it takes me. I would much rather have today, even if I know that tomorrow, or ten thousand tomorrows later, it would be gone.

It’s worth it. The mistakes, the good and bad choices, the heartache we receive or cause, and the once in a lifetime passion we might find in one specific person. And the risk that comes along with it. All of it.

I would rather choose to live, than miss one intense moment of it.

Because I think it’s fucking worth it.

My Tornado

Photo credit: http://www.morguefile.com/

Well, it’s November already. Which I’ve noticed has become—probably when I wasn’t paying attention—national “What are you grateful for?” month.

Fine. Great. Good.

Gratitude is a miraculous thing. Right? Yes.

I learned about the value of having an attitude of gratitude a long time ago. There’s a little tool I was taught in 12-step recovery called a Gratitude List. The basics are: make a list (written or typed) of ten things a day you’re grateful for. Do this for two weeks, or longer if you wish. Easy Peasy.

The clincher is, you can’t repeat the same thing twice. Not so easy. And let me tell you, after the first few days, you start listing things like: I’m grateful for toilet paper. This works though. Point is, it can be anything, really. And as is human nature, we tend to lose sight of the little things around us. Toilet paper is really kinda important, don’t you think? Yeah, me too.

So, try it if you want. I’ve done it many times over the years and it really does help switch your focus from the maybe not so great things you’re living through to the things in your life that are great.

Which leads me to my original point of writing a post today.

Right now, at this very moment, there’s a tornado hovering over my life. It’s a big sucker too! Filled with all sorts of debris it’s picked up along the way since it started as a small funnel cloud over four years ago.

As a result, I’m having a little bit of trouble keeping my focus. I’m having a little bit of trouble managing my emotions. I’m having a little bit of trouble keeping my anxiety to a manageable level. And I’m having a little bit of trouble writing.

Who am I kidding? —I’m having a lot of trouble, really.

Those that know me well, know I’m a pretty driven person. I’ve been described as tenacious on more than one occasion. Not sure if I’m truly tenacious or just plain stubborn. Maybe both, but either way, I’m the kind of person that goes after what I want, and I don’t stop until I get it. Doesn’t matter what it is either. This has been the case in regards to my writing.

I started writing about four years ago; this is also when the tornado started. Coincidence? No. Not the cause the tornado. More like the effect.

Anyway...

I’ve been very blessed in my short writing career. It’s in its infancy and I’m doing all the things necessary to try and help it grow. My first book was published in August of this year and I’m currently working on a series, as well as a co-written paranormal project.

The first book in my series is done. The second is half done. The last several weeks I’ve been working on editing, smoothing, tweaking, rewriting whole chunks, etc. of the first MS. Writers know, it’s what we do. And we do it at length when we’re trying to make it as perfect as possible so that maybe a publisher will want to buy it.

But in my case... the fucking tornado! Grr! Yes, I did growl as I wrote that.

The process can be grueling as it is, and in my case, the tornado has made it even more so.
The debris in the tornado keeps slamming me in the head. And did I mention most of the debris swirling in the funnel was tossed up in the air by none other than yours truly? Nothing like making your bed and then lying in it.

Good times! Um, no.

In my effort to concentrate and get myself on track—basically ignoring the funnel so I can write—I’ve managed to do everything but. And I’m really frustrated with myself. I write love stories, and trying to do that when the last thing I feel is happy-happy joy-joy, is just plain fucking hard.

I’ve had to make a lot of changes this year. Some of those are good and some are very painful. I’ve had a lot of loss because of, and during the tornado. My father unexpectedly passed away, August of 2012. I’ve lost friends. Cherished ones. Some I chose to walk away from, some walked away from me. I could go on listing the other things that are in the wings waiting to take a hike, too, but I think you get my drift.

~ ~ ~

Now, here’s the thing. And it’s a rather cool thing, too. Just above this raging tornado is a gorgeous rainbow with a bright and clear blue sky behind it.

There have been some really great things happening amidst the madness. For example: As I mentioned, I sold and published my first book this year! That’s pretty freaking amazing. Also, I started a new job at a new company, less than a month ago. Some could argue that’s also contributing to the tornado, and maybe in some ways it does, but I choose to see it as a good thing instead.

It keeps my mind occupied during the day, and because of that it helps distract me from the fact the tornado is about to rip the roof off. After all, I can’t do a damn thing about the roof. And I can’t do anything about the tornado either. All I can do is the next thing in front of me and, as a friend says, put an X through the day.

So... gratitude right?
Yes. I can also be grateful.

Here’s ten things I’m grateful for today while I try and write through my tornado.

1) My children.
2) The friends that have stuck by me, old and new.
3) My new job.
4) My salary to pay for my home.
5) Music.
6) My agent who is pushing me to give my writing my all.
7) My computer.
8) Being able to laugh at myself.
9) The ability to cry when I need to.
10) A God of my own understanding that I know isn’t going to drop me on my ass.

What’s the next thing in front of me to do? Go work on that first chapter.
I’m going to go do that now.

With love,
Dorothy

One Year... Dear Daddy.

Dear, Daddy

It’s been a year—one complete year, since I lost you. And there hasn’t been a moment since that horrible day that I’ve not thought of you.

I was with my two closest friends. You’ve heard me talk about them many times. You would’ve liked them had you ever met them. I was with them and it was a beautiful day. We were at the lake and I got the call from T that the police had come to the door and they needed to talk to me, but I wasn’t home. They wouldn’t tell him, it had to be me. He called me because he couldn’t fathom what on earth our local police department had to tell me that he wouldn’t be allowed to know.

I couldn’t either.

He hung up with me, saying he’d call me back as the officer came back to verify his identity so they could in fact give him the message.

While I waited one of my friends said, “Call your Father.”

I refused. There was no reason to call you. You lived in New York. I live in Arizona.

...there was no reason to call you because the message couldn’t possibly be about you.

You see, you were invincible, Daddy. I know you thought so, too. You survived years of self-inflicted abuse to your body and so much more, and my mind refused to even consider for one second that it could be about you.

But when T called me back, he could barely get the words out. In fact, I started to lose patience with him as my own panic rose because he was stumbling over his words and I finally blurted, “Just tell me!”

Then he said it.

He said the words I never considered I’d ever hear. He said the thing that my mind refused to consider.

He said you were dead.

And then I couldn’t breathe.

How? How could this be happening? How could you be gone? You weren’t supposed to die before Mommy. She’s the sick one, not you. You were supposed to retire and get out of that damn truck then move to Arizona and play with your grandchildren, watch them grow up. You were supposed to be here so I could take care of you.

How? How could this be?

I still can’t wrap my head around it. That day, I could barely talk. I wouldn’t call anyone. I simply could not bear to say the words out loud.

My father is dead. My father is dead.

My father is dead!
I choke on them still. My fingers stutter and skip keys as I type them. You were alone in your room for two days before they found you. I hate that you were alone. You shouldn’t have been alone. You should’ve been here with me.

The following day I began making calls. Only a few. One of the friends that was with me when I got that call from T sat with me and watched me quietly through all of it. She told me that she’d never seen me look as I did that day.

A shadow of me. A broken me. It’s the only way I can define it based on how she described it and based on how I felt.

That night my body shook with sobs as I wept over the loss of you. I’ve never cried so hard in my life and I’ve never felt that level of emotional pain. It was endless.

Losing you rocked me to my core and I hadn’t been prepared for it in any way, shape, or form. I simply... wasn’t.

A year later, it’s still not any easier. I’m still not prepared. Some days it’s actually worse. Some days, I’m assaulted with the knowledge of you being gone and the reality of it knocks me on my ass, hard, and I can’t breathe. I cry a lot. Still.

I went to NY a few days after the call. I took my son, your twenty-one year old grandson, with me. He walked through all of it with me. We cleaned out your small apartment. We handled your affairs, and we had your funeral.

Many people came. Many people loved you; they mourned you. And people stood up and spoke for you. I stood up and spoke for you. And I gave you the best that I could. It wasn’t what you wanted as a service, but it was the best I could do.

Then I came home.

A shadow of me. A broken me.

So much has happened since you’ve been gone. Good things, bad things, and everything in between.
There are moments when I need to talk to you. In those moments I need to hear you tell me it’s all going to be okay or tell me you’re proud of me. And there are moments I need to hear you call me Puppy and then I need to laugh and joke with you.

Everyone says you already know all of the things I want to tell you, but it’s not the same. It’s just... not. No one knows me like you do. No one understands me like you do. I’m cut from your mold. I’m your kid, as you always used to say.

You are supposed to be here and it’s just not right that you aren’t.

I sold my first book and it launched this week, Daddy and my God, I just want to call you so badly and tell you all about it. I want you to call on Sunday, right at dinnertime, just like you always did for years. I want to hear you say, “What’s up?” So I can say, “Just sitting down to have dinner.” And then you can reply, “Oh! I’m sorry.”

The same, every week. I laugh about it because you always sounded so surprised that it was dinnertime.

But Sunday comes each week and my phone doesn’t ring. I guess it would be kinda’ crazy if it did, but still, I guess I want to believe that it could happen because I need it to.

I know you’re watching. I’m sure you know everything that’s happened and is still happening. I know you’re in my heart. And I know that you know I love you.

But I want to tell you anyway.

So, this is the best I can do. A letter that you can’t read, but others will. A letter I need to write so I can honor you.

I miss you so damn much it amazes me. I never thought I would miss you this much. I never thought I’d still be crying a year later. You were a grumpy pain in my ass, but I liked you. A lot.

I loved listening to you complain about work, or whatever issue was going on with you, though I didn’t know at the time I loved it. And I loved telling you about my writing as well as sharing my troubles with you, this I did know at the time.

I know that you died knowing I love you. And I know you loved me, too.

I love you, Daddy and I miss you so much it’s agonizing. But I know you’re at peace. And out of everything, that’s the best I could hope for.

Love,

Your Puppy

 –Dorothy

Shut The F*ck Up And Write...

Stop trying to plan the perfect plot.

Stop brooding over the mistakes in your last short story or book.

Stop pretending you're working it all out in your head.

Stop waiting for the muse to strike.

Stop making excuses about all you have to do and that you simply have no time.

Stop pinning, tweeting, facebooking and texting.

And, for the love of GOD stop watching TV.

Be daring enough to lose sleep in order to follow your dream.

Be brave enough to try.

Forget the dishes, dusting and vacuuming.

One word at a time turns into one paragraph at a time and then all of the sudden you have a chapter written.

The only thing that's acceptable to be doing while not writing is reading.

You wanted this didn't you?

Yes, you did.

So, shut the fuck up and write!

Love you, 

Dorothy aka WookiesGirl

http://www.dorothyfshaw.com/

Wait... what?

I’m about to turn forty. Forty!

 

Oh. My. God. FORTY! How?

How did this happen? Where did the last ten, or even twenty years go?

I think I’m about to have some sort of melt down or something. And no one gets it. No one! Everyone looks at me as if I am nuts because this bothers me. All I get back when I try to talk about it is, “Why does this bother you?” Or, “Age is just a number. You’re as old as you feel.” Oh, and I love this one, “Forty is the new thirty.” I say bullshit to that. Like hell it’s the new thirty.

Thirty is still thirty and forty is… well forty is just fucking entirely different. Forty means wrinkles (because yes, I am that vain) where there wasn’t before. Forty is looking around at the dance club crowd and realizing I’m old enough to be everyone’s mother. 

Forty is other people. Forty is not me!

I don’t look forty and I don’t feel forty. I feel like something else entirely and that’s the fuck of it all. How in the hell can I be forty? Wasn’t I just twenty-eight? Didn’t I just turn thirty? I swear to you that was just five minutes ago. Wasn’t it?

So, here’s the deal. I’ll list all my reasons for why turning forty bothers me, and you can all comment and tell me how silly I am. How I shouldn’t worry. How I will love my forties. -By the way, the people that say these things to me are either in their early thirties or far past when they themselves turned forty. 

And men? Yeah, guys sorry, but your opinion on this doesn’t count for much with me because it is not the same for you. It’s just not. Most men tend to look better with age.

So please, comment and I’ll roll my eyes, ball my fists and maybe even throw a tantrum. And when it’s all said and done, I'll turn forty and will survive, because that’s what I do.

1)      I fear my mortality the older I get.

2)      I do not want to look old.

3)      I do not want to get old.

4)      I feel like I must have missed something somewhere because the last ten to twenty years is a blur. What was I doing? Oh, yeah. Having kids.

5)      I don’t think I am qualified to be forty. Wasn’t I supposed to know more than I do now?

6)      I have a twenty-three year old stepson and a twenty-one year old son. You know what this means? Yes, yes. Someday, in the not too distant future, I will be a grandmother.

7)      I am not ready to be a grandmother. How in the hell could I be a grandmother? This freaks me the fuck out.

8)      I also have an eight and nine year old. If I am supposed to be forty then why the hell are there little children still living under my roof? (Yes, I realize this is completely insane because I chose to birth them. Humor me.)

9)      I can’t see past the wrinkles that are already here and will continue to show up, as well as the physical aches and pains I already have. And let’s not even get into my medical issues. This will all only get worse.

10)   I’m just not ready.

These are all basic normal fears. Yet no one, other than one person on twitter so far, seems to understand them. Everyone just poo-poo’s me and dismisses it. That really pisses me off.

Do I know that I'm being irrational? Yes. I am well aware. Do I know that these are just fears and that I will get past it and it will eventually be no big deal? Yes. I know this too.

But, it doesn’t change how I feel right now. 

Right now I am completely frustrated, vacillating between ignoring my fears and having a panic attack over them. Also, having no one understand this doesn’t feel very good either.

In less than one week, it’s my birthday. I'll officially be forty. I may or may not be tweeting. I may be curled up in bed in tears or I may be totally fine. Who the hell knows. Certainly not me. I guess we’ll just wait and see.

Wookies Girl.

May I Present...

Hello lovelies…

Below is an interview with a very cool and dynamic lady. She also happens to be a successfully published author. She’s recently been branching out into other genres, and I was interested in hearing her thoughts on that, and a few other things as well.

She graciously agreed to let me question her.

Here’s what I think is really great about this woman: she is incredibly smart, she is fun and has a fantastic sense of humor, she is open and accessible to her fans as well as with her fellow writers, and she also happens to be one of my favorite authors.

Her books capture me in a way that most others don’t. Her writing is real and raw. That is the best way I can describe it. If you’re like me, or most people, and didn’t have a picture perfect childhood or don’t live a Brady Bunch, cut out of cream cheese life as an adult, then her books will hit home for you. She has a style of writing that lets you peek into the life of someone else that is not a typical romance fairy-tale, but does have a happy ending.

She has a gift and I’m honored to know her.

Without further ado… May I present: Megan Hart.





1. Please give us a bit of a biography to start?

The short version is: I was born and I lived awhile. Then I did some stuff and things. Now I mostly write books. The long version is...boring.

2. When did you start writing?

The first story I remember writing was in kindergarten or maybe first grade. It was about vampires who captured ladies and put them in their underwear in a basement. I drew pictures. I saw it on the front of a comic book at the card shop, and I guess it captured my attention.

3. Was there a favorite writing teacher or mentor?

I did have a really tough English teacher in high school, I can’t say she was a favorite, but she definitely learned me mah bizness.

4. Are you an avid reader? Who are your favorite authors?

I am! Sadly, I don’t read for pleasure as much as I used to. There never seems to be enough time. I’d say my favorite authors are Jacqueline Carey, Robert McCammon, Clive Barker. I’ll always be a Stephen King fan. Love John Irving’s books, especially the earlier ones.

5. Do you have any writing rituals?

I listen to music. Often I’ll burn a specific scented candle, but mostly because I love the smell of it, not because it helps me write. I sit at my desk. I drink Coke Zero or sometimes coffee or tea. That’s about it. When I’m done with a book, as in completely finished, I do the “End of the Book Dance” which is...a sight.

6. How do you deal with the dreaded writer’s block?

I don’t get writer’s block, of the sort that leaves me without ideas. I definitely suffer from lack of motivation, and some days the words come easier than others. Some days I can’t wait to get to the story, others, I’d much, much, much rather do something else. But I just work through it. This is my job. When it wasn’t my job, it was still my job. You don’t get to be a writer by not writing. You have to put the words down. Otherwise you’re just a wanna-be.

7. What are the most difficult aspects of writing?

Sitting in one place for a long time. I’m getting older and my day is spent in front of the computer. I’m sedentary. My hands are starting to hurt. I’m starting to feel creaky. I need to force myself into activity, and it’s hard to write and be active because the nature of it is that you’re at the computer or with a laptop or at least a notebook. The other thing is that I don’t feel like I’m ever finished with anything, my work is never done, and so consequently I could really work all the time. ALL the time. And I still feel like I don’t work hard enough.

8. Most authors say their characters find them and suddenly begin telling their stories. Is that what happens with your characters?

Hmm. I don’t usually view my characters as people, they’re firmly made up and I’m firmly in control. But they do get revealed to me, piece by piece, as I think about them. Actually, I’d guess I’d say the idea for the story comes to me first, and then I figure out what sort of people would live through that story, and how they’d react.

9. Are your characters sometimes composites of people you know or knew?

Sometimes. Don’t piss me off. ;)

10. What genre(s) do you write in and which is your favorite?

I write erotic fiction, erotic romance, romance, mainstream, horror, young adult horror, science fiction, fantasy...umm...a little bit of most everything. My favorite has always been science fiction/fantasy but I love horror too. I do really enjoy writing a good, sexy story thought, obviously, since the bulk of my published work is erotic.

11. You’ve recently ventured into writing Horror, what inspired you to write in this genre?

I started writing horror. (Remember the vampire story in first grade?) Always been a fan. Love to read it. Love to watch it. Wanted to write it.

12. What about writing Horror intrigues you?

The same things that intrigue me with writing anything else: what’s going on with the people. Yes, blood and gore can be scary, ghosts, zombies, monsters. But at the heart of it, we are more scared when we care about the people that the scary things are happening to. Stephen King’s a master at writing horror novels that are on the surface about the big bad thing, but when you really take a look at it -- Pet Semetary is about the fear of losing a child. The Shining is about how alcoholism ruins a family. I want to write things that scare us but also are stories about people.

13. Who is the ideal reader for your books, Horror and Romance?

Well, I’d say that readers with open minds who aren’t looking for something specific...I guess? LOL! I don’t know. Smart people? Pretty people. Umm...people who smell good. They should read my books.

14.Will your regular audience be able to relate to this new endeavor into Horror?

Some will. Some won’t even look because they don’t like scary, and that’s fine. It’s a beautiful, big world with lots of room in it for things we love, there’s not a reason for someone to read books they don’t like. But I think readers who like my romance because of the characterization will find the same thing in the horror. I hope.

15. Do your Horror books have a romantic element to them?

Some do. The Resurrected has a romantic through-thread, with some upcoming parts definitely a little bit more on the romance side.

16. What made you decide to self-publish them versus traditional publishing?

I decided to go with self-publishing for The Resurrected because when I planned them, there wasn’t a good place that I knew of to put out a serial. One story a month, short horror. I also had a vision of how I wanted them to be released and the pricing of them -- the first part is as free as I can make it (except places where it won’t go up as free!) and the other pieces are .99 each. I want to be able to offer them for free to my newsletter subscribers and offer coupons and all that sort of stuff to generate interest. Also, I wanted to make sure I controlled the release dates so I could keep myself to a schedule that didn’t interfere with my bigger projects.

17. Where is the best place to find your Horror books?

Right now, The Resurrected parts 1-3, with part 4 making its debut soon, are available on Amazon.com, BN.com, Smashwords.com. Part one is free from my website, www.meganhart.com. They’ll be available in other places forthcoming as they get distributed. My future horror work is still in the works, but I hope it will be available everywhere!

18. How has Twitter been for you overall in attracting potential readers and meeting fellow writers?

I’m not sure how it is for attracting readers, since I don’t approach Twitter as a place to solely promote. I like to talk on Twitter. I like to meet people. It’s fantastic for connecting with my fellow writers and fans of things and strangers and whatever.

19. What is the best advice you could give other writers about writing or publishing?

Write. Write some more. Don’t do something just because it seems easy – self-publishing, for example. YES, of course you can bypass all those stinky pubs and editors that don’t see your genius, but...be honest with yourself. Look at your work with a super critical eye. Is your work really ready for publication? Maybe those editors are right. Or maybe self-publishing is the best venue for you, for one reason or another, but educate yourself first about whether or not that’s true. Work hard, write hard, revise, get critique, and don’t be afraid to cut words. Don’t be afraid, and this is the hard one, to put something away and say “this is not my best work.” Not every word you write is gold. Sometimes, you need to put it away.

20. If you were doing it all over again, what would you do differently?

Nothing.

21. Any last parting words?

Live long and prosper!

*****

Thank you again, Megan, for taking the time to answer my questions. I wish you great success with your career and I know, since I’ve also read “The Resurrected,” you will have even greater success with this new phase of your writing career.

You can find Megan on Twitter and Facebook:

@Megan_Hart

facebook.com/megan.hart

Take care, lovelies.
Wookies Girl

The Definition of Me

Guest post I wrote for @LidiaAnain's website.

Enjoy!

http://lidia-anain.com/what-makes-me-tick-seeking-our-own-truths.html