Tag: #writing

Will the Grass Be Greener?

Celebrity, Marketing, Novel, Self Publishing, Writing

I’ve been given a great opportunity, and I wonder if/how it will pay off in the coming weeks.

A publication for the Phoenix, AZ, area is interviewing me about my book this weekend. I’m pretty excited, even though I got the interview because I work with the editor-in-chief at my day job, and I talk about my book all the time there (because fuck yeah! I wrote a book!).

I’m wondering if this will help increase sales any. They’ve been dismal for quite some time now that the die-hard fans (translation: some of my friends and coworkers) have already purchased their copies. I’ve gotten only a couple of reviews, but I am proud to say they were both five stars. I’ll stick that in the “win” column.

This also gives me hope for the next book. I don’t know what the interview questions will be, so I don’t know if I’ll even have the opportunity to talk about my work-in-progress, but if the first book sells a few more copies then maybe I have hope for the second book.

It feels weird to be on this side of an interview. I wonder if any of the bands or actors that I’ve interviewed have felt this way. Probably not the more well-known ones; they already have careers and don’t care if they get interviewed by me. But the indie bands, the actors just starting out? They just might have a inkling of what I’m feeling like right now. The excitement, the anticipation…it’s pretty cool.

I can’t let this get to my head, though. I wouldn’t have this opportunity if I didn’t have a “connection in the biz.” Still, it’ll be interesting to see what things are like on this side of the fence.

Dead to the World

Art, Cosplay, Drawing, Health, Novel, Sewing, Work, Writing

It’s been a few days since I’ve posted, I know, but I was kinda half dead. Okay, a little dead. Dead enough that I didn’t want to write or do much of anything.

Though it was only a cold, I’m sure y’all know how much that can take out of you. The constant coughing. The wheezing. The shortness of breath. The sinus congestion. The fever. The body aches. It sucks, and it isn’t very conducive to productivity.

Thankfully, though, I’m starting to feel better. I still have a little ghost of a cough, but hopefully tomorrow I’ll be right as rain. That’s a funny saying. What’s so right about rain? Shouldn’t it be right as sunshine? But I digress.

A lot of projects have been backing up. The art commission project. The cosplay work. The beta read. The writing. I’m barely keeping up with the Talk Nerdy With Us work that’s been assigned to me. I’ve been able to work at my day job, but only while heavily medicated. (Not too heavily medicated. The max that I can take legally to function in the workplace.)

I’m trying to psych myself up for getting back into the swing of things. I need to get back into that art project. Like kick-my-own-ass get back into it.

Back from the dead. Time to get to work.

Resolutions revisited

Art, Cosplay, Crafting, Drawing, Exercise, Fitness, Novel, Self Publishing, Writing

image

It’s coming to the end of the year, and as I look at my resolution list I’m both proud and disappointed.

I not only completed the first draft of my novel; I published it as well. I exercised more (not much more, but more than last year). I published a few short stories and flash fiction stories. I sold a few art pieces. And I did more cosplay.

Some of the other resolutions, however, were less than successful.

I gained more weight than I wanted to lose. I didn’t get the tattoo that I wanted, but that’s a trivial thing. And thus far, my marketing sucks.

I’ll try for more realistic goals next year. Perhaps another rough draft? Developing an exercise routine? Who knows. I have a couple of weeks to figure it out.

Inadequate

Musings, Poetry, Thoughts, Writing

I see those around me

So successful, so confident

With interesting stories and interesting lives

I see their triumphs and their accolades

They rise up

And I stay stagnant

Nothing new, nothing remarkable

Just me

Safe, boring me

Where is my life going?

What am I doing that is special?

Even my accomplishments are trivial

The few things I can name as my own

So small, so insignificant

A tiny speck of space dust

In a universe of stars

Flash Fiction Friday: Snowmen

Flash Fiction, Writing

Kathy rolled her eyes as Eric pulled on her arm, dragging her towards the snow-covered cemetery. Convinced that he could scare her, he had begged for weeks until she finally gave in.

She didn’t know what the big deal was, though. It’s not like there are any real ghosts or ghouls or things like that. It was just a place where you buried dead people. People who stayed dead. Eric was an idiot if he thought an old cemetery would scare her just because she was a girl.

They entered the gate and Kathy resisted the urge to giggle. Eric had made quite the effort. On top of every grave was an elaborate snowman–or rather, a snow zombie, “crawling” out of the dirt. Points for creativity, she thought, but not scary.

“Eric, just give it up. Yes, you made some pretty snow zombies. Very creepy. Oooh. Can we go back to the house now? It’s freezing out here.”

Eric didn’t respond, though. Rather, he had stopped in his tracks and was backing up slowly. “I didn’t make these,” he said, his eyes wide.

“Sure you didn’t,” Kathy said. “Let’s just go home. It’s not scary.”

Eric’s hand shook on her arm. He was putting on quite the show. “I didn’t make these,” he repeated quietly.

Kathy sighed, irritated, and wrenched her arm from Eric’s hand. “They’re just stupid snowmen. Watch.” She pulled back her foot and kicked at the nearest zombie, ready to undo Eric’s dirty work just to prove that she wasn’t frightened.

When the zombie grabbed her leg, she screamed.

Eric started to run, but he was so blinded by fear that he didn’t see the snow zombie around the corner of a large tombstone. Eric and Kathy’s screams echoed through the dark cemetery for ten minutes…then all was quiet once again.

The Write Stuff?

Cosplay, Crafting, Sewing, Social Media, Writing

I mentioned before about the Cosplay Closet Essentials posts I’ve started writing for Talk Nerdy With Us. So far the results have been positive, but how long will that last?

As an artist, I’m plagued with insecurity. Is this painting any good? Is the cosplay I’m sewing going to turn out? Will my novel get published?

Will people like the articles I wrote?

Don’t get me wrong; I love the interviews. I love doing most of the work myself: approaching the cosplayers for an interview, writing up the questions, editing and posting the articles for review. It makes me feel good when I’m able to organize something myself. But is that something good enough?

Artists, at times, can be fragile creatures. We put our souls into our drawings and our paintings, our sculptures and our clothing, our poetry and our prose. Think of Harry Potter: every piece of art that is created from the artist’s muse is like a horcrux. Souls torn into a million pieces, each one weakening the artist a little yet making the artist strong enough to live forever.

Some people might say that an interview isn’t the kind of writing that can be considered “art.” I disagree. I put just as much of myself into an interview as I put into a detailed drawing or my latest cosplay. I don’t just phone it in–except for phone interviews. I guess technically I phone those in. But that’s beside the point.

These Cosplay Closet Essentials posts are my horcruxes, just as are my paintings, drawings, and stories. So think about that the next time you read an article that you don’t agree with.

You could be dissing a part of someone’s soul.

Killin’ it…serial style

Cosplay, Crafting, Sewing, Writing

My third submission of an original concept post to #TalkNerdyWithUs was a hit! My editors liked it, my interviewees had fun, and, since I mentioned that it would be a series of posts, I got introduced to another person to interview for the next installment.

I’m enjoying coming out of my shell more and initiating more posts. I like that I can have an idea, roll with it, and watch it actually pan out. With any luck, this will be a weekly event.

As far as my own personal writing goes, that has stalled, but I’m not currently worried about it. There will be more. Just as there will be more art, more sculpting, more cosplay. I won’t let my creative well run dry. I’m just getting started….

Flash Fiction Friday — Caroline

Writing

Caroline turned and glared at Jimmy. “This order isn’t right.”

Jimmy laughed. “Carrie, stop being paranoid.”

She looked at the plate again. On the surface, it looked like a normal meal. Spaghetti with a side of corn. Innocuous enough, but it just didn’t look “right.” It didn’t help that it had been served to her with the meatballs arranged in a grotesque smile, oozing bright red sauce. She knew it was silly, but her stomach churned regardless.

“Is that part of a fingernail?”

“It’s an onion. These restaurants actually put spices and flavors in their food, unlike the crap you make at home. Just eat it.”

“I don’t make crap. I get the expensive sauce; I just like it better with the chunks strained out.” Poking at a meatball with her fork, Caroline fought to keep from gagging. “Why did we come here, anyway? We have Italian at home all the time. We didn’t need to go out.”

With a sigh Jimmy slammed his glass down on the table, spilling a few drops of wine on the tablecloth. Caroline jumped and watched the stain spread. Why wasn’t it turning purple? Red wine stains turned purple; this was still blood red. Blood. Red. She shivered. Was that wine a little thicker than usual?

“You do this every damn Halloween, Carrie. Jesus, I can’t take you anywhere. Just eat the damn food and quit complaining. This place isn’t cheap, you know. I doubt they’d charge us thirty dollars a plate just to feed you junk.”

Shrinking back from his glare, Caroline set down her fork and put her hands in her lap. He was right. She shouldn’t be complaining. It was Halloween, and her boyfriend had brought her to a nice restaurant for her birthday. Maybe being born on Halloween had made her paranoid after all.

“I’m sorry, Jimmy. I’ll eat it.” She picked her fork back up and aimed for a meatball.

Before she could stab one, Jimmy gagged and grabbed his throat. Caroline screamed and watched with wide eyes as his face turned white, then red, then purple. Within seconds, Jimmy fell face first onto the table, splattering spaghetti sauce over the tablecloth.

“Waiter! Waiter! Someone come here, quick!” Caroline shouted. A spindly waiter appeared at her side, his apron askew.

“Oh, my! What seems to be the problem?”

She pointed at the table in disgust. “There is not one single body part in my meal. Is it too much to ask to get a little protein with this overpriced slop?”

The waiter flushed and reached for her plate with a shaking hand. “Terribly sorry, miss. An oversight on the chef’s part, I assure you.” He turned to Jimmy’s still form. “Would you like me to take away the other plate? Your companion seems to have finished.”

“Oh, he’s finished, all right,” she said. “Can you bring me another plate? Get the order right this time.”

“Of course, miss.”

Paranoid, indeed. She knew they’d gotten her order wrong.