San Jose's Darlings - GR
Marcuria's End - GR
Wednesday, August 12, 2015
Excerpt #6 - San Jose's Darlings
The world around us falls away as I am sucked into her shy gaze. This time, I see past the superficial and look at what lies within her, hoping to find the glimmering pinpoint that will burst this dream.
Tuesday, July 21, 2015
Excerpt #5 - San Jose's Darlings
The Imp surges to the forefront, doing what he does best: transforming pleasant experiences into ugly encounters. My stomach churns, and the sweet taste of amiable companionship turns to rot in my mouth.
Thursday, July 16, 2015
Excerpt #4 - San Jose's Darlings
“Then what is this solution of yours?”
Bubblehump places his elbows on the table. “Look at
me, Robert.”
My head lifts, and my eyes dance around his face and
the room.
“Look at me!”
Those unnerving, dark eyes are wreathed in shadow.
Meeting them takes all the willpower I have. When I manage it at last, his eyes
bore into me, shredding every layer of my being until they reach my core.
“Are you ready to go down this road?” Bubblehump
asks. “Are you ready to believe that which will dash your preconceptions of
reality? Once I begin, I won’t have you dashing off the moment you get scared.
Can you agree to this?"
Friday, July 10, 2015
Excerpt #3 - San Jose's Darlings
I reach into my pocket and dig out the flash drive. I hold up the device and gaze at it, turning it under twilight’s dying light.
Should I show her? What it contains could be dangerous for her health. The information could destabilize her when she’s been making such great progress.
“What’s that for?” she asks.
She has a right to the truth. The contents of this flash drive are going to destroy both of us.
Should I show her? What it contains could be dangerous for her health. The information could destabilize her when she’s been making such great progress.
“What’s that for?” she asks.
She has a right to the truth. The contents of this flash drive are going to destroy both of us.
Monday, July 6, 2015
San Jose's Darlings Excerpt #2
As a means of distraction, I picture myself kneeling at the banks of a stream running through a lush forest. I gaze at the water as a leaf flows past. Something underneath the water (or is it a reflection of sunlight?) grabs my attention as another leaf bobs across my line of sight and disappears into the distance. My troubled thoughts pass through me and float downstream, becoming far removed from me before disappearing altogether. This is what it means to let go. My heart rate slows, and muscles unclench. The radiance in the water isn’t from the sun: something lies just underneath the surface, something that grates against every nerve throughout my body and mind. A warmth, matching the luminescence I see, blossoms inside my chest. I reach towards the water. Before my fingertips can graze the surface, I am enveloped by darkness.
Friday, July 3, 2015
Super Short Excerpt -- San Jose's Darlings
Ordinary people think they know fear. What they do know is only a small trickle of the flood it can be.
Wednesday, June 3, 2015
My Own Hypocrisy
I shouldn't have even started blogging about writing clean or about content or anything. I shouldn't have even gone there. This has caused old obsessions and anxieties / fears to resurface, so dealing with that stuff all over again has really sucked. Just one obsession or fear can destroy me, and I've been dealing with several because I decided to delve into this topic. That was so super smart of me.
It really does break my heart that I just can't care about writing clean. I have to write whatever it is that comes to mind without debating myself or censoring myself. Writing is a very "hands off" activity for me. It often feels like—especially while writing a first draft—I'm sitting behind the wheel of a car, and the car is driving itself, steering itself wherever it wants to go. I just go along for the ride. For the sake of my health, that has to be my approach to this. If the writing comes out clean, then great; if it doesn't, then that's fine also. For the sake of my health, I can't be dinking around with content by trying to make it cleaner. I just have to let be everything that flows out of me and onto the page.
I do worry that I'm contributing to the world's ills, that my efforts are only adding to the stockpile of filth. But then I have to remind myself that art is a reflection of the current state of society and that I am an observer and a recorder of society's ills. That is part of my personal duty as a writer. Because of some of the unsavory stuff I write about, I do feel like a hypocrite at times, or at least I have set myself up to be accused of being such by others who either share my religious faith or who are agnostic. What I write about seems to go directly against my own personal beliefs and my own testimony of gospel truths. But all of the filthy content I have included in my books has always felt right, like it belonged, like it should be included in those pages. I have never included anything in my books that has not felt good to me. If it hadn't felt right, I would have immediately taken it out without thinking twice about it. I am a very spiritually-sensitive person, so I would have known if I had been crossing a line I shouldn't have been crossing. This may sound weird to you, but some of the universal rules are slightly different for me. Well, they have to be in order for me to even be able to exist in this world. Otherwise, I would surely go mad. God is fully aware of my situation. He is merciful and just.
For me to feel like a hypocrite because of this shtuff is just silly. It is a manifestation of the religious form of OCD that I deal with. Because of this monster that dwells inside of me, I have had to install these protections and have had to keep these walls fortified in order to protect myself. I have to take this stuff seriously. I worked too hard over the course of several years to get this horrific form of OCD under control, so I'm not about to go back. I cannot go back. I will never surrender the progress I have made for any ideal, no matter how noble it is. I do not want to go through again what I went through before where I had to basically rip my heart out of my chest over and over again and go through periods of such physical weakness from the therapy that I could hardly get out of bed. It's taken years of therapy to get to a point with the religious OCD where I can actually handle living in this world, where I don't freak out about the slightest mistakes that I make. Now, I don't feel like I have to separate myself from the world or isolate myself from it anymore in order to keep myself clean. Progress!
Not being able to hold my writing up to any lofty moral standard does make me sad because I really want to be a force for good in this life. I want to set a good example for other novelists; I want to encourage other writers to be better, to create books their mothers could be proud of, to produce novels that don't destroy children's souls (do a quick Google search for news stories about kids in school who are being forced to read Jodi Picoult's books and the pornography contained therein). I believe strongly that we should try our best to be good people and to create uplifting content. I strongly believe that we have a social responsibility to produce clean products. Unfortunately, I just can't care about any of this. And that sucks. It pains me greatly.
It hurts knowing that I cannot be like my Christian brothers and sisters in the publishing world who are providing those good examples, who are writing about uplifting themes and adding light to the world. This medical problem of mine has taken that free agency from me. All I can do is be the best I can possibly be. That will have to be good enough.
Anyways, I hope you don't judge me too harshly and are able to come to some sort of understanding of my situation and the tremendously difficult disability that I have. I do feel a little silly about showing you this side of me and all the confusion and everything. But, this is me. The real me. And writing about these issues in this blog helps me out quite a bit in that it helps me sort through my thoughts and get them in order. This blog helps me process a lot of what I am going through as a mentally-ill writer who is trying to make it as a novelist. It's almost as cathartic as writing a novel.
Thank you for reading. If you have any comments or questions, I would love to hear from you.
It really does break my heart that I just can't care about writing clean. I have to write whatever it is that comes to mind without debating myself or censoring myself. Writing is a very "hands off" activity for me. It often feels like—especially while writing a first draft—I'm sitting behind the wheel of a car, and the car is driving itself, steering itself wherever it wants to go. I just go along for the ride. For the sake of my health, that has to be my approach to this. If the writing comes out clean, then great; if it doesn't, then that's fine also. For the sake of my health, I can't be dinking around with content by trying to make it cleaner. I just have to let be everything that flows out of me and onto the page.
I do worry that I'm contributing to the world's ills, that my efforts are only adding to the stockpile of filth. But then I have to remind myself that art is a reflection of the current state of society and that I am an observer and a recorder of society's ills. That is part of my personal duty as a writer. Because of some of the unsavory stuff I write about, I do feel like a hypocrite at times, or at least I have set myself up to be accused of being such by others who either share my religious faith or who are agnostic. What I write about seems to go directly against my own personal beliefs and my own testimony of gospel truths. But all of the filthy content I have included in my books has always felt right, like it belonged, like it should be included in those pages. I have never included anything in my books that has not felt good to me. If it hadn't felt right, I would have immediately taken it out without thinking twice about it. I am a very spiritually-sensitive person, so I would have known if I had been crossing a line I shouldn't have been crossing. This may sound weird to you, but some of the universal rules are slightly different for me. Well, they have to be in order for me to even be able to exist in this world. Otherwise, I would surely go mad. God is fully aware of my situation. He is merciful and just.
For me to feel like a hypocrite because of this shtuff is just silly. It is a manifestation of the religious form of OCD that I deal with. Because of this monster that dwells inside of me, I have had to install these protections and have had to keep these walls fortified in order to protect myself. I have to take this stuff seriously. I worked too hard over the course of several years to get this horrific form of OCD under control, so I'm not about to go back. I cannot go back. I will never surrender the progress I have made for any ideal, no matter how noble it is. I do not want to go through again what I went through before where I had to basically rip my heart out of my chest over and over again and go through periods of such physical weakness from the therapy that I could hardly get out of bed. It's taken years of therapy to get to a point with the religious OCD where I can actually handle living in this world, where I don't freak out about the slightest mistakes that I make. Now, I don't feel like I have to separate myself from the world or isolate myself from it anymore in order to keep myself clean. Progress!
Not being able to hold my writing up to any lofty moral standard does make me sad because I really want to be a force for good in this life. I want to set a good example for other novelists; I want to encourage other writers to be better, to create books their mothers could be proud of, to produce novels that don't destroy children's souls (do a quick Google search for news stories about kids in school who are being forced to read Jodi Picoult's books and the pornography contained therein). I believe strongly that we should try our best to be good people and to create uplifting content. I strongly believe that we have a social responsibility to produce clean products. Unfortunately, I just can't care about any of this. And that sucks. It pains me greatly.
It hurts knowing that I cannot be like my Christian brothers and sisters in the publishing world who are providing those good examples, who are writing about uplifting themes and adding light to the world. This medical problem of mine has taken that free agency from me. All I can do is be the best I can possibly be. That will have to be good enough.
Anyways, I hope you don't judge me too harshly and are able to come to some sort of understanding of my situation and the tremendously difficult disability that I have. I do feel a little silly about showing you this side of me and all the confusion and everything. But, this is me. The real me. And writing about these issues in this blog helps me out quite a bit in that it helps me sort through my thoughts and get them in order. This blog helps me process a lot of what I am going through as a mentally-ill writer who is trying to make it as a novelist. It's almost as cathartic as writing a novel.
Thank you for reading. If you have any comments or questions, I would love to hear from you.
Friday, April 24, 2015
A Creator's Responsibility
Hola. After my last post, I've been wanting to clarify something: I believe strongly that all creators (writers, painters, video-game designers, etc...)—even if their work is aimed at adults—have a responsibility to produce the cleanest material they possibly can; well, to the degree that such an ideal fits with their characters, the setting(s), and with the type of story they're creating. It really does create within me a strong sense of personal shame that I must add this caveat, but I've come to learn through therapy and experience that not everything geared towards adults can be squeaky clean, nor should I expect it to be. In the messed-up world we live in, a world that has corrupted so many hearts, it may not be possible to be perfectly clean in everything we create. As we all know, one aspect of any artistic product is that it either directly or indirectly reflects the current state of society. The stories we're writing might actually call for at least some darkness to be included; however, we should try to limit that darkness and not get carried away by following that snake down into the depths of depravity.
(Quick side note: Whenever I use terms like "filth," "trash," "dirt," or "unclean" in association with content, I'm talking about "adult" material—titillating or salacious material—not pornography. Pornography is a level of depravation beyond what I'm discussing here. That is a line I will never cross.)
While writing San Jose's Darlings, I really didn't set out to include dirty content—and I would have preferred not to have done so—but it was the culmination of every element of the story that dictated the necessity of including such trash. And it was through the natural flow of the story that that filth came out of me, perfectly fitting into and adding to the puzzle I was creating. I considered taking all that stuff out, but I was uneasy about even doing that because I would have been removing an important piece from the characters and from the story that rightfully belonged. In other words, removing that junk would have completely neutered the book, thereby ruining it. So, I went ahead and kept all that stuff in there, fully expecting to feel condemned or guilty for what I'd done. Actually, I felt very peaceful about this decision, which still seems strange. Well, I think I felt good about this partly because I didn't avoid that content; I exposed myself to it, which is the medicine my not-so-delicious brain needs in order to be stable. I often experience a deep sense of peace after I've exposed myself to my worst fears and after I've directly challenged my most troubling obsessions. I think the accompanying peace is a signal that I'm either breaking free or that I'm on my way towards breaking free of those chains.
Okeydokey. With that said and with that explanation out of the way, let me finish today's post with this: Our responsibility as creators is to uplift society, not bring it down by furthering the corruption of mankind's souls with content that is pornographic and/or ultra-violent (i.e. torture porn). Pornography alone destroys lives, wipes out families, in turn upsetting entire neighborhoods and communities before upending nations through the natural consequences and byproducts created by the willing adoption of this poison. We have a responsibility to not injure our patrons (customers), and we should be doing everything we can to not add to the vileness that's pervading every inch of Western culture. We must be conscientious of what we send out into the world.
(Quick side note: Whenever I use terms like "filth," "trash," "dirt," or "unclean" in association with content, I'm talking about "adult" material—titillating or salacious material—not pornography. Pornography is a level of depravation beyond what I'm discussing here. That is a line I will never cross.)
While writing San Jose's Darlings, I really didn't set out to include dirty content—and I would have preferred not to have done so—but it was the culmination of every element of the story that dictated the necessity of including such trash. And it was through the natural flow of the story that that filth came out of me, perfectly fitting into and adding to the puzzle I was creating. I considered taking all that stuff out, but I was uneasy about even doing that because I would have been removing an important piece from the characters and from the story that rightfully belonged. In other words, removing that junk would have completely neutered the book, thereby ruining it. So, I went ahead and kept all that stuff in there, fully expecting to feel condemned or guilty for what I'd done. Actually, I felt very peaceful about this decision, which still seems strange. Well, I think I felt good about this partly because I didn't avoid that content; I exposed myself to it, which is the medicine my not-so-delicious brain needs in order to be stable. I often experience a deep sense of peace after I've exposed myself to my worst fears and after I've directly challenged my most troubling obsessions. I think the accompanying peace is a signal that I'm either breaking free or that I'm on my way towards breaking free of those chains.
Okeydokey. With that said and with that explanation out of the way, let me finish today's post with this: Our responsibility as creators is to uplift society, not bring it down by furthering the corruption of mankind's souls with content that is pornographic and/or ultra-violent (i.e. torture porn). Pornography alone destroys lives, wipes out families, in turn upsetting entire neighborhoods and communities before upending nations through the natural consequences and byproducts created by the willing adoption of this poison. We have a responsibility to not injure our patrons (customers), and we should be doing everything we can to not add to the vileness that's pervading every inch of Western culture. We must be conscientious of what we send out into the world.
Friday, February 20, 2015
On "Writing Clean"
Writing books is all about self-discovery for the author. During the writing process, you push yourself to your limit and expand your current understandings to bring to pass an offering that is unique and different and well-crafted. While you're thusly toiling, you discover your capabilities and your deficiencies; you figure out what types of fiction you're best at writing or which technical aspect of writing you're great at (exposition, prose, dialogue, narrative, plot, or some other aspect) and what you're not so great at. So, while creating this last book, San Jose's Darlings, which includes some sexual content, I discovered that because of the subject matter I wanted to cover, the book was impossible to "write clean" and that overall, no matter how hard I try, I just can't "write clean" at times, and I shouldn’t expect myself to. I shouldn't put that burden upon myself. It's not a healthy attitude for me, and it will disrupt the creative process if I'm constantly self-editing all that flows out of my subconscious.
This doesn't mean that I will purposefully write dirty, nasty, disgusting material, or that I'm going to be writing erotica. What I am saying is that when the story calls for something less savory, when the situation the characters find themselves in demands it and when avoiding it would be detrimental to the plot, the conflict, or to the story overall, I will write dirty material. Not because I want to, but because I have to.
(Since everybody seems to have a different understanding of what clean is, here's my definition of "clean writing": no swearing, drugs, drinking / alcoholism, sexual innuendo / titillation, and other mild stuff at that level.)
The setting and time period has a lot to do with the material you include in your book. I don’t know how anybody can write a squeaky-clean book when it’s set in modern times. How can it be done correctly when a novel's modern setting should be a reflection of the messed-up world we live in? Should we start making up swear words? Unless you're writing a fantasy novel, do not do that. That is so tacky. Though I like some of Brandon Sanderson’s stuff, I hate the made-up swear words he and others use in their stories. Those fake words not only sound dumb, but they are a major distraction. Now, this doesn’t mean your characters should swear every other word, but it does mean that they should feel natural and life-like. Use vernacular that is appropriate for the time period, which includes swear words. It's also okay to simply state that "Jane cursed." But don't use that every time; you'll need to mix it up.
Another factor as to why I don't shy away from dirty content is mental illness. The Imp of the Mind is constantly thrusting horrible thoughts and images into my mind. I've had to condition myself to stop fighting them and to simply allow them to slip through my mind. So, since my first drafts are entirely subconscious driven, anything that comes to me is going to be splashed onto the page, which unfortunately means that content I'd rather not be there is going to end up in the book. There's no way around it. Fighting against the inclusion of such filth makes me mentally sicker since it causes me to focus on content, which is one of my many OCD obsessions. And although I try to exclude vulgarities or anything offensive from my work, the problem is that when I try too hard to "write clean"—by going the extra mile to take out “offensive” content that rightfully belongs—the form of OCD called scrupulosity takes over and I get extremely sick. (Those meltdowns throughout the last ten years have not been pretty: tearing covers off books that contained "inappropriate" images; editing every curse word out of my music; throwing away my favorite board games because they contained inappropriate pictures; using a black Sharpie to edit "naughty" words out of the books I'd bought; constantly berating myself and blaming myself for terrible thoughts.)
Avoiding content is not what I should be doing. That is not the path of good health for someone like me. And I’m at peace with that. God has let me know that I’m okay; that everything’s cool. All I need to do is do the best I can. And like I said earlier, it’s not like I’m creating pornographic material or writing anything that could be rated a hard “R” or NC-17. Besides, including “offensive” material in my novels is therapy for me, because it’s stuff I have to do anyway for OCD therapy so I might as well share it with others. It’s stuff I have to confront, that I can’t look away from, so I might as well let you in on it. In other words, you’re welcome.
Because of these challenges, I am different than everybody else; I have to live life differently than the people who follow the religious faith that I cherish. As much as it pains me, I cannot care about content because I will then obsess over it, and that obsession alone will destroy me from top to bottom, as it has done before.
This whole issue has been really hard to deal with because I am an extremely religious and spiritual person and I take God's commandments seriously. This form of OCD has its hooks in me because I do care about this stuff; I do care about my standing before God. OCD is so messed up: it finds whatever means the most to you and rips you to shreds over it. OCD feasts off your suffering.
Anyway, I just wanted to say that because of my inability to create clean books I have felt like a hypocrite, and for a long while I felt ashamed and guilty over it. It took years to figure out that I'm okay; that I'm not doing anything wrong. I've spent a lot of my time desperately trying to figure this all out. Today, I'm at peace with this issue. I know exactly who / what I am; I know I'm doing my best; and I know that this world is a sick place, which does have an influence on our stories and the content therein—which is unfortunate, but it is reality.
This doesn't mean that I will purposefully write dirty, nasty, disgusting material, or that I'm going to be writing erotica. What I am saying is that when the story calls for something less savory, when the situation the characters find themselves in demands it and when avoiding it would be detrimental to the plot, the conflict, or to the story overall, I will write dirty material. Not because I want to, but because I have to.
(Since everybody seems to have a different understanding of what clean is, here's my definition of "clean writing": no swearing, drugs, drinking / alcoholism, sexual innuendo / titillation, and other mild stuff at that level.)
The setting and time period has a lot to do with the material you include in your book. I don’t know how anybody can write a squeaky-clean book when it’s set in modern times. How can it be done correctly when a novel's modern setting should be a reflection of the messed-up world we live in? Should we start making up swear words? Unless you're writing a fantasy novel, do not do that. That is so tacky. Though I like some of Brandon Sanderson’s stuff, I hate the made-up swear words he and others use in their stories. Those fake words not only sound dumb, but they are a major distraction. Now, this doesn’t mean your characters should swear every other word, but it does mean that they should feel natural and life-like. Use vernacular that is appropriate for the time period, which includes swear words. It's also okay to simply state that "Jane cursed." But don't use that every time; you'll need to mix it up.
Another factor as to why I don't shy away from dirty content is mental illness. The Imp of the Mind is constantly thrusting horrible thoughts and images into my mind. I've had to condition myself to stop fighting them and to simply allow them to slip through my mind. So, since my first drafts are entirely subconscious driven, anything that comes to me is going to be splashed onto the page, which unfortunately means that content I'd rather not be there is going to end up in the book. There's no way around it. Fighting against the inclusion of such filth makes me mentally sicker since it causes me to focus on content, which is one of my many OCD obsessions. And although I try to exclude vulgarities or anything offensive from my work, the problem is that when I try too hard to "write clean"—by going the extra mile to take out “offensive” content that rightfully belongs—the form of OCD called scrupulosity takes over and I get extremely sick. (Those meltdowns throughout the last ten years have not been pretty: tearing covers off books that contained "inappropriate" images; editing every curse word out of my music; throwing away my favorite board games because they contained inappropriate pictures; using a black Sharpie to edit "naughty" words out of the books I'd bought; constantly berating myself and blaming myself for terrible thoughts.)
Avoiding content is not what I should be doing. That is not the path of good health for someone like me. And I’m at peace with that. God has let me know that I’m okay; that everything’s cool. All I need to do is do the best I can. And like I said earlier, it’s not like I’m creating pornographic material or writing anything that could be rated a hard “R” or NC-17. Besides, including “offensive” material in my novels is therapy for me, because it’s stuff I have to do anyway for OCD therapy so I might as well share it with others. It’s stuff I have to confront, that I can’t look away from, so I might as well let you in on it. In other words, you’re welcome.
Because of these challenges, I am different than everybody else; I have to live life differently than the people who follow the religious faith that I cherish. As much as it pains me, I cannot care about content because I will then obsess over it, and that obsession alone will destroy me from top to bottom, as it has done before.
This whole issue has been really hard to deal with because I am an extremely religious and spiritual person and I take God's commandments seriously. This form of OCD has its hooks in me because I do care about this stuff; I do care about my standing before God. OCD is so messed up: it finds whatever means the most to you and rips you to shreds over it. OCD feasts off your suffering.
Anyway, I just wanted to say that because of my inability to create clean books I have felt like a hypocrite, and for a long while I felt ashamed and guilty over it. It took years to figure out that I'm okay; that I'm not doing anything wrong. I've spent a lot of my time desperately trying to figure this all out. Today, I'm at peace with this issue. I know exactly who / what I am; I know I'm doing my best; and I know that this world is a sick place, which does have an influence on our stories and the content therein—which is unfortunate, but it is reality.
Saturday, January 24, 2015
How to Create FB "Call-To-Action" Button
Below is some quick copy-and-paste action from Facebook's page (if you'd rather read the instructions there, then you can go here):
1) Go to your Page’s cover photo and click Create Call-to-Action.
2) Choose your call to action and the destination URL that you want to link to. Facebook will automatically choose the best destination based on your specified web address, but you can edit these suggested destinations.
3) Click Create.
1) Go to your Page’s cover photo and click Create Call-to-Action.
2) Choose your call to action and the destination URL that you want to link to. Facebook will automatically choose the best destination based on your specified web address, but you can edit these suggested destinations.
3) Click Create.
Saturday, January 17, 2015
Victory
(Yeah, this post is a little after the fact, but it takes me a while to sort and process feelings and to organize my thoughts before I can even work on logically stringing those thoughts together in order to make at least some sense. It is quite the process.)
Holy crap, I can’t believe I just published another book! I still can’t believe I’ve finished working on it! This is rather cliché, but it’s true: the past few days have felt like I was in a dream where nothing has seemed real. A wonderful yet scary yet sad feeling. Part of it is that it has been so hard to let go of the novel: there’s always something to do; there’s always something to “improve.”
This really is an amazing time for me, for in just a little over a year, I’ve published two books. Two! That is such a huge accomplishment for someone like me.
This novel was not easy for me to publish and I did hesitate to do it since the content delves into so many personal and sensitive topics that are a part of my life. But I am really proud of myself for having the courage to publish it and for taking such a big risk by putting out there something as original and challenging as San Jose's Darlings, which explores the dark and insidious and unseemly corridors of mental illness. I have never felt more gratified than I do now.
Although I do want the book to sell, I don’t need to sell another copy to know that I’ve scored a huge victory. At the moment, I feel like I’ve totally won at life, which is a feeling I rarely experience. Over the last ten years I’ve gone through plenty of troubling and traumatic experiences, but these last two years have been particularly difficult, even though I have been well cared for and greatly assisted. I don’t think I’ve been more terrified, which is saying a lot considering the extreme nature of my mental illnesses. So troubled and frightened was I that I didn’t think it possible that I would ever pull out of the tailspin I was in (unless I moved out of the place I’m currently staying at), much less write again. There were a number of things going on that could have absolutely destroyed me, that could have caused me to not only quit working on this novel but to quit writing altogether.
It’s hard for me to not listen to and to not ingest nasty, cutting comments; expressions of disapproval and doubt; snickering and mocking—especially when these come from someone I should have been able to naturally trust. My brain picks up on this junk, tormenting me by replaying these words and sentiments over and over again until I feel like I’m about to go crazy, until I become infected with the poison of irrational doubt, guilt, or fear. (You can’t sip from a bottle of poison and not become ill.) These irrational doubts, guilt, and fears are giant, fifty-foot tidal waves that are always threatening to crash down upon me. Whenever they do, I am either dashed to bits or I am drowned, thereby becoming an absolute mess. The persistent doubt alone is so powerful at times that it crushes me underneath its heel, causing me to strain and to struggle as I work on wiggling out from underneath its hefty weight.
In general, I expect members of society to make fun of me, to say mean things to me or about me, but I never expected junk like this to come from a person who should have been first on my list of supporters. I had to bite my tongue quite a bit over the past couple of years, which is never easy for me to do, as I battled intense rage that could have easily taken over and caused all kinds of destruction and violence. Pretty scary to think about, actually, so I will move on.
In the past, this stuff alone would have destroyed my self-esteem and confidence. This latest book of mine would have become derailed entirely as I either sought a way to respond or a way out of the situation. But I won the battle of wills between myself and this person who has been trying over the last decade to manipulate me (through sly comments; by having trusted friends, clergy members, and other people try to dissuade me) into quitting my writing pursuits. It wasn’t easy to write this book while a miasmatic, suffocating aura of disapproval hung over me the whole time.
But that stuff wasn’t the worst of it. I’ve been putting this part off because it’s the hardest to talk about. Please bear with me. I live with someone I have been utterly terrified of. Terrified is too tame of a word to describe how I felt. Horrified is probably more accurate. Well, anyways. . . This person is someone who, like all men, is uncomfortable around me, except when this individual is in the same room as me, his actions are more extreme than those of other dudes who simply jam their hands into their pockets when I’m around. This person I speak of has panic attacks whenever I’m nearby, and he feels the need to shield his crotch from me with his hand. This guy practically cups his balls in front of me. A little messed up, right? To be fair, I believe he has mental health issues that he has never sought help for.
So, I feel like I’ve been traumatized every day for the last two years. I’ve seen things that hopefully won’t haunt me forever. The pain and fear from simply being around this person has been really bad, often leaving me witless as I internally writhed in pain while feeling like my soul was being crushed in a giant fist or under a massive anvil. This experience has messed me up even more, but it also has numbed me even more, which is good I guess. It has caused me to further separate myself from society. Any desire to talk to people or to even engage with others has been totally eradicated. I’m pretty much done with society; I’m pretty much done with people, especially other men, who are sick, perverted animals (I won’t ever forget the evil I’ve seen in them). I am better off alone, living far away from everyone. I would love nothing more than to live in a cabin in the woods and be left the hell alone by people who try to insert themselves into my life and into my business, by betrayers I should be able to naturally trust.
(Side note: It is incredibly difficult for anyone to be around me. You see, whenever my mind becomes riled up or whenever I experience a flood of anxiety, which happens often, my body is wired to respond with an erection. [Well, I either have this or I have the wiggles, but never both at the same time.] It has always been this way for me, although before my mental break, it took a great deal of stress and anxiety for my body to react. Since the Break, this problem has become much more severe. With my mind affecting my central nervous system in such a bizarre manner, it is very hard to keep my body under control. And because my fears concerning my body are quite high, the problem has only become exacerbated. To keep my body in check, I literally have to keep my mind and my heart as blank as possible, in addition to doing lots of therapy.)
Getting San Jose's Darlings done required a series of miracles that allowed me to write and then finish this book. If it wasn’t for God’s help and mercy, there is no way the novel would have been completed. He gave me the strength and the peace I needed whenever I asked for it. I was truly blessed throughout the whole process.
Lastly, I just wanted to share with you the most important lesson I’ve learned from this thoroughly humbling experience of the last couple of years: I can do anything I wish to do—and I can do it well!—no matter how difficult the circumstances are that I find myself in.
Holy crap, I can’t believe I just published another book! I still can’t believe I’ve finished working on it! This is rather cliché, but it’s true: the past few days have felt like I was in a dream where nothing has seemed real. A wonderful yet scary yet sad feeling. Part of it is that it has been so hard to let go of the novel: there’s always something to do; there’s always something to “improve.”
This really is an amazing time for me, for in just a little over a year, I’ve published two books. Two! That is such a huge accomplishment for someone like me.
This novel was not easy for me to publish and I did hesitate to do it since the content delves into so many personal and sensitive topics that are a part of my life. But I am really proud of myself for having the courage to publish it and for taking such a big risk by putting out there something as original and challenging as San Jose's Darlings, which explores the dark and insidious and unseemly corridors of mental illness. I have never felt more gratified than I do now.
Although I do want the book to sell, I don’t need to sell another copy to know that I’ve scored a huge victory. At the moment, I feel like I’ve totally won at life, which is a feeling I rarely experience. Over the last ten years I’ve gone through plenty of troubling and traumatic experiences, but these last two years have been particularly difficult, even though I have been well cared for and greatly assisted. I don’t think I’ve been more terrified, which is saying a lot considering the extreme nature of my mental illnesses. So troubled and frightened was I that I didn’t think it possible that I would ever pull out of the tailspin I was in (unless I moved out of the place I’m currently staying at), much less write again. There were a number of things going on that could have absolutely destroyed me, that could have caused me to not only quit working on this novel but to quit writing altogether.
It’s hard for me to not listen to and to not ingest nasty, cutting comments; expressions of disapproval and doubt; snickering and mocking—especially when these come from someone I should have been able to naturally trust. My brain picks up on this junk, tormenting me by replaying these words and sentiments over and over again until I feel like I’m about to go crazy, until I become infected with the poison of irrational doubt, guilt, or fear. (You can’t sip from a bottle of poison and not become ill.) These irrational doubts, guilt, and fears are giant, fifty-foot tidal waves that are always threatening to crash down upon me. Whenever they do, I am either dashed to bits or I am drowned, thereby becoming an absolute mess. The persistent doubt alone is so powerful at times that it crushes me underneath its heel, causing me to strain and to struggle as I work on wiggling out from underneath its hefty weight.
In general, I expect members of society to make fun of me, to say mean things to me or about me, but I never expected junk like this to come from a person who should have been first on my list of supporters. I had to bite my tongue quite a bit over the past couple of years, which is never easy for me to do, as I battled intense rage that could have easily taken over and caused all kinds of destruction and violence. Pretty scary to think about, actually, so I will move on.
In the past, this stuff alone would have destroyed my self-esteem and confidence. This latest book of mine would have become derailed entirely as I either sought a way to respond or a way out of the situation. But I won the battle of wills between myself and this person who has been trying over the last decade to manipulate me (through sly comments; by having trusted friends, clergy members, and other people try to dissuade me) into quitting my writing pursuits. It wasn’t easy to write this book while a miasmatic, suffocating aura of disapproval hung over me the whole time.
But that stuff wasn’t the worst of it. I’ve been putting this part off because it’s the hardest to talk about. Please bear with me. I live with someone I have been utterly terrified of. Terrified is too tame of a word to describe how I felt. Horrified is probably more accurate. Well, anyways. . . This person is someone who, like all men, is uncomfortable around me, except when this individual is in the same room as me, his actions are more extreme than those of other dudes who simply jam their hands into their pockets when I’m around. This person I speak of has panic attacks whenever I’m nearby, and he feels the need to shield his crotch from me with his hand. This guy practically cups his balls in front of me. A little messed up, right? To be fair, I believe he has mental health issues that he has never sought help for.
So, I feel like I’ve been traumatized every day for the last two years. I’ve seen things that hopefully won’t haunt me forever. The pain and fear from simply being around this person has been really bad, often leaving me witless as I internally writhed in pain while feeling like my soul was being crushed in a giant fist or under a massive anvil. This experience has messed me up even more, but it also has numbed me even more, which is good I guess. It has caused me to further separate myself from society. Any desire to talk to people or to even engage with others has been totally eradicated. I’m pretty much done with society; I’m pretty much done with people, especially other men, who are sick, perverted animals (I won’t ever forget the evil I’ve seen in them). I am better off alone, living far away from everyone. I would love nothing more than to live in a cabin in the woods and be left the hell alone by people who try to insert themselves into my life and into my business, by betrayers I should be able to naturally trust.
(Side note: It is incredibly difficult for anyone to be around me. You see, whenever my mind becomes riled up or whenever I experience a flood of anxiety, which happens often, my body is wired to respond with an erection. [Well, I either have this or I have the wiggles, but never both at the same time.] It has always been this way for me, although before my mental break, it took a great deal of stress and anxiety for my body to react. Since the Break, this problem has become much more severe. With my mind affecting my central nervous system in such a bizarre manner, it is very hard to keep my body under control. And because my fears concerning my body are quite high, the problem has only become exacerbated. To keep my body in check, I literally have to keep my mind and my heart as blank as possible, in addition to doing lots of therapy.)
Getting San Jose's Darlings done required a series of miracles that allowed me to write and then finish this book. If it wasn’t for God’s help and mercy, there is no way the novel would have been completed. He gave me the strength and the peace I needed whenever I asked for it. I was truly blessed throughout the whole process.
Lastly, I just wanted to share with you the most important lesson I’ve learned from this thoroughly humbling experience of the last couple of years: I can do anything I wish to do—and I can do it well!—no matter how difficult the circumstances are that I find myself in.
Tuesday, January 6, 2015
Jus’ Doin’ a Li’l Grieving
Well, I intended this blog post to be one proclaiming victory, but a different mood has gotten the better of me in the past couple of days.
Now that the high has worn off, I find myself grieving. I’m not bawling my eyes out or anything, but I’m feeling a little blue, a little melancholy. For writing such an emotional and ultra-personal book, a price had to be paid at some point. I should have expected this.
But I never would have guessed how badly I would hurt. By publishing the story, I’ve lost it. It’s gone; it’s out of my life now. I honestly feel like I’ve lost a dear friend who has moved far away and never wants to talk to me again. It’s like a close family member has turned their back on me and told me to get lost. I just feel a great sense of loss inside of me. For an entire year, everything I lived for was to write San Jose's Darlings, and now that the book has been published, this sense of purpose, this reason to continue existing, has left me. Needless to say, I’m feeling dazed and a little lost.
What I've written here must sound weird, but it’s very real to me. Since I can’t really enjoy being around people (and since people don’t like being around me), my characters take their place and fill that social void inside of me. I practically ate, slept, and breathed alongside these characters for a whole year. I spoke with them; I laughed with them; I wept with them. They were my best friends, and I knew them well. Now, they’re not my friends anymore. They’ve moved on.
Now that the high has worn off, I find myself grieving. I’m not bawling my eyes out or anything, but I’m feeling a little blue, a little melancholy. For writing such an emotional and ultra-personal book, a price had to be paid at some point. I should have expected this.
But I never would have guessed how badly I would hurt. By publishing the story, I’ve lost it. It’s gone; it’s out of my life now. I honestly feel like I’ve lost a dear friend who has moved far away and never wants to talk to me again. It’s like a close family member has turned their back on me and told me to get lost. I just feel a great sense of loss inside of me. For an entire year, everything I lived for was to write San Jose's Darlings, and now that the book has been published, this sense of purpose, this reason to continue existing, has left me. Needless to say, I’m feeling dazed and a little lost.
What I've written here must sound weird, but it’s very real to me. Since I can’t really enjoy being around people (and since people don’t like being around me), my characters take their place and fill that social void inside of me. I practically ate, slept, and breathed alongside these characters for a whole year. I spoke with them; I laughed with them; I wept with them. They were my best friends, and I knew them well. Now, they’re not my friends anymore. They’ve moved on.
Friday, January 2, 2015
Release Day
SAN JOSE'S DARLINGS is now available on Amazon! For a limited time (through January 11), I am offering the book for 99 cents.
------------------------------
A mentally-ill man grieves. A homebound girl despairs. A madman promises the impossible.
------------------------------
Links
Amazon U.S.
Amazon Canada
Amazon UK
------------------------------
The novel is an interesting blend of genres and styles (urban fantasy, literary fiction, psychological fiction) that offers something for a wide range of tastes. It's both funny and sad, both sweet and more than a little sour at times. It's an interesting, entertaining look at a slice of life from a perspective that many people are unfamiliar with. So, if you like reading novels that are original, different, challenging and well-produced, then check out SAN JOSE'S DARLINGS. You may have just found your favorite book of the new year.
------------------------------
A mentally-ill man grieves. A homebound girl despairs. A madman promises the impossible.
------------------------------
Links
Amazon U.S.
Amazon Canada
Amazon UK
------------------------------
The novel is an interesting blend of genres and styles (urban fantasy, literary fiction, psychological fiction) that offers something for a wide range of tastes. It's both funny and sad, both sweet and more than a little sour at times. It's an interesting, entertaining look at a slice of life from a perspective that many people are unfamiliar with. So, if you like reading novels that are original, different, challenging and well-produced, then check out SAN JOSE'S DARLINGS. You may have just found your favorite book of the new year.
Thursday, January 1, 2015
Blurb for New Book
Yo, dudes. I just wanted to show you the book blurb for my upcoming book, San Jose's Darlings:
A mentally-ill man grieves. A homebound girl despairs. A madman promises the impossible.
--------------------------------------------
Several years after experiencing a mental breakdown, Robert is still scraping and clawing to put his life back together. However, a major piece has been cut out of his life: never again will he be able to love romantically. To love like this is to be overrun by mental illness. The agony is too intense, too debilitating, too insurmountable.
However, when Robert meets Heather, a timid spark of hesitant hope is ignited inside of him, for Heather is a kindred spirit with a similar reluctance to blend into society. That hope is quickly crushed after Robert reminds himself that he is meant to be alone, always and forever. Nothing can, or will, change that.
In the very midst of Robert’s inner turmoil, an eccentric stranger named Chester Dimplebottom steps into Robert’s life proclaiming that he has the ability to grant that which Robert has yearned for: a heavenly gift that will change the course of his life. Nevertheless, life-altering gifts such as these never are freely given. A sacrifice must always be made.
A mentally-ill man grieves. A homebound girl despairs. A madman promises the impossible.
--------------------------------------------
Several years after experiencing a mental breakdown, Robert is still scraping and clawing to put his life back together. However, a major piece has been cut out of his life: never again will he be able to love romantically. To love like this is to be overrun by mental illness. The agony is too intense, too debilitating, too insurmountable.
However, when Robert meets Heather, a timid spark of hesitant hope is ignited inside of him, for Heather is a kindred spirit with a similar reluctance to blend into society. That hope is quickly crushed after Robert reminds himself that he is meant to be alone, always and forever. Nothing can, or will, change that.
In the very midst of Robert’s inner turmoil, an eccentric stranger named Chester Dimplebottom steps into Robert’s life proclaiming that he has the ability to grant that which Robert has yearned for: a heavenly gift that will change the course of his life. Nevertheless, life-altering gifts such as these never are freely given. A sacrifice must always be made.
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