Obligatory Year End Blog Post OR Eddie Vedder is Swoonable

I'm trying to find a nice way to tell this year goodbye without sounding like I'm too excited for the arrival of 2016.  Really, it's not like I despised 2015, I didn't/don't.  I'm not even sick of it.  I actually kind of liked 2015.  But the calendar is the way it is, and 2016 is going to be here no matter how fond I was/am of 2015.  And 2015 will be no more.  I'm fine with this.

So back to my struggle.

This week between Christmas and New Year's when you have no idea what day it is, the date is irrelevant, and you probably ate too many peanut butter sandwiches while you were attempting to figure it out.  This last bit is especially troubling if you, like me, just recently found out about your new life stipulation that wheat and dairy be eradicated from your diet.

But it just drags on.  This never ending week of posts from friends and coaches and colleagues titled things like "Closure and Cloister, Ten Lessons You Should Have Learned in 2015;" "Call to Action: What 2016 Needs From Your Digestive Tract;" "The Coming Trend of Eyelash Removal and the Brave Pioneers Behind It;" and my personal favorite "Failing at Flailing: Your Inner Fangirl's Loss of Nerdido." <-- (a nerd's libido, obvs).

I'm just ready for it to be done.  Goodbye, 2015, it's been a real slice.  But let's get on with it, shall we?  

What is this last week of lamenting all about?  Think about it?  We do it every year.  Okay, not we.  You.  You do it every year.  I don't do it every year because, frankly, I'm kind of a jerk and half the time I don't notice that the year is on its way out until is over and done and it's calling me asking if nothing we shared ever meant anything to me.  I hang up and roll my eyes at the obvious wrong number and feel bad for the poor bastard who has to deal with that clingy handful.  When it's over, it's over, am I right?

*clears throat*

It's statements like the above that are the reason people cry when I talk, isn't it?

Moving on.

Why all of the emotional attachment to a numerical based system of measuring the passage of time?  Every January is the same:  "This year is MY year!" and it ends the same:  "Screw last year!  Last year was the worst!"

Hate to break it to you, but you're kind of being a little bit slutty with your years.  Maybe if you treated them the way you want to be treated, you wouldn't feel so devastated at the end when it dawns on you that it's just a number and is not, in fact, an all powerful Oz promising to make your dreams come true.

I spend this week rolling my eyes a bit and trying to figure out how I can cram one more gluten free cookie baking session into my daily life without drawing a lot of attention to myself.  And also, planning a birthday (he's turning five this year. Star Wars the theme).

Stop putting so much pressure on the year to do and be great things for you.  Do and be great things for yourself.  That's right, I said it.  Do it FOR YOU.  The year doesn't matter, it's a way to mark off the passage of time and remind you to pay your bills so that you don't freeze to death in February when winter finally shows up (it's coming. it always does).

Say goodbye to 2015 with a blown kiss and a jazzy wave.  Have your party if you must, but curb your hatred.  If 2015 let you down, that's on you.  Maybe your New Year's Resolution should be to place less responsibility for your emotional happiness on a Stardate, yeah?  Maybe, just maybe, this year *rolls eyes so hard it hurts* you take control of your life and make it yours.

Yeah.  I like the feel of that.  This life is mine.  The dates don't matter except to mark the beginning and end on my gravestone of where I started and stopped.  

But the in between is mine.

 

 

Running Through the Next Field

Every month I have an anthem.  I play it loud and I sing it louder— much to the dismay of my child and neighbors.  I am not a good singer.  And more often than not, I really play up that fact by doing my best Adam Sandler and/or Fat Albert impression at the same time.

October begins in two day (less than that at this point), and I'm already singing that month's anthem.

Before I tell you what it is, let's talk about what happened this month.

I released BRAND NEW SKY into the wild.

It's the sixth and final book in the Double Blind Study series.  It wasn't an easy book to write.  So it's completion was both a relief and a heartbreak for me.  I didn't want it to be over with.  This entire series was a big deal for me.  Huge, in fact.

I've told the story many times about how and when and why I started writing, so there's really no need to go over that again.  But this series was the beginning of something new.  It was me finally getting those stories out there, instead of keeping them to myself. 

Sharing the adventure.

So many of you joined me along the way and I will never stop being equal parts grateful, shocked, and humbled.

As BRAND NEW SKY made it's way into ereaders worldwide a couple weeks ago, I was struck by the fact that this was the least stressful book release ever for me.  I had an awesome team helping me get things sent to bloggers and readers, and an amazing support system that kept my head focused and didn't let me get overwhelmed.  I normally freakout the night of a release by drinking wine and eating chocolate.

Not this time.

This time, I was writing.

Because the next story begs to be told and I wouldn't dare to silence it.

So, while the release wasn't stressful, that doesn't mean that there wasn't/isn't still some very strong emotions attached to it.  

Because the series is done, and now it's a new beginning.

I'm running.  Towards the next story, into the next adventure.  Completely and totally clueless how it's going to turn out and I'm not scared.

I have this song pounding itself into my head and heart.  The anthem of things to come.  The song that's currently annoying my neighbors. => Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For

I suppose this is what I get for falling in love with an explorer.  He makes me unafraid to chase down the dawn of the next dream.

Hell Yeah, I Rememeber Aurora

Photo belongs to Roswell Films/ HBO

The above quote is from me.  I said those words out loud to myself a few months ago and then added it to that stunning picture of Dave Grohl they kept using in the Sonic Highways promos.

I was in the middle of writing Sway and Ryan's story.  I was just at the part where they're really getting to know each other.  That fun, happy, you-know-good-and-well-it-can't-last stage.  And I was falling in love with them.

It was Dave's fault.

It's always his fault.

Every time I fall in love, he's playing the soundtrack in the background.

And I fall in love every time.

Each book I think that this couple will be the one, the ultimate couple.  I will love them the most and no one will ever replace them.  Then I get to the next story and the next soundtrack and it starts all over again.

Maybe that's just the way it has to be.  Maybe I can't honestly write their story unless I'm fully invested in the outcome.  That outcome being all the love ever forever.  With sprinkles on top.  

So here's the rub.  I'm working on a story right now that doesn't follow the pattern.

 It's a prequel (my betas have promised to not let me George Lucas the shit out of it).  

Ryan's origin story.

See, I got into this thing with her and Sway, and realized she was a very complicated woman.  So much so, that I couldn't get into all of it in Sway's book because it's Sway's book.  I floated the idea of writing her story and some of my pre-readers and close friends have encouraged it.  "Have at it, Plucky Duckling!  Hoist the mainsail!"

(They didn't use those words, that was in my head.  Judge away, there's so much more in there you don't know about.)

Ryan's story will be about who she is and how she became the Ryan we all meet in BRAND NEW SKY.  It's not a romance.  

But it is a love story.

Going through my notes, writing these first few chapters, I find myself falling in love with her. 

And guess who's playing the soundtrack? 

This novella's anthem is Foo Fighter's "Long Road to Ruin" because it's Ryan's song.  It's where she's at right now and it's not a great place.

But it will be. 

 

The One About Romance

It should come as no surprise that music is kind of a big deal for me.  Maybe it's because I have no musical talent whatsoever and so I'm drawn to its mystery.  Maybe it's because some of my earliest and most treasured memories are of my beautiful mother playing the guitar and singing me love songs.  I think those things probably tangled together to form a desire in my heart to explore it further.  Not the music so much, but the emotion behind the song.  The people, the story, the soul of the song.

I wanted to be a part of it.  

My small contribution to the writing world is my best attempt.  Yes, I write romance.  No, I'm not ashamed.

I want to take people on an adventure.  And if the slow, dangerous exploration of a person's heart isn't an adventure, then I don't know what is.

For what is more mysterious than the intricate layers and motivations of a man?  

What has led to more misunderstandings and more victories than the quiet diligence of his soul?  

What does he see?  What's the color of the sunset from out of his eyes?  What kind of memories are replayed with the sound of an old song on the radio?  Who is he?  Where is he going?  

Every story is another cliff dive for me.  

I stand on the ledge, feel the wind whip harshly at my body, stealing my breath. 

I'm going to jump.  Every time.

I have to tell the story.  Their story.

It's my song.

On to the next one.

Right Behind Me, Everywhere I Go

Good evening, gentle readers.
 It's been a while, yeah?

Growing pains is the only reason I can give as to my absence.  I mean, I could go into the details of what this summer had been like for me on a deeply personal level—digging into the dark emotional abyss that is my heart and laying it out on the floor for all to see.  But I won't.  Because it's just not me.  

I will tell you that this summer has been one of discovery.  

In the midst of all the happenings in my life, I finished a novel and thus the Double Blind Study series.  It's currently with the editor and dare I say, I'm proud of this one.  More so than the others.  Not because the writing is the best (it's not), and not because it's going to change anyone's life (it won't), but because of all the things I learned during it. 

I might be back in a couple days to unpack some of those things.  Right now I'm just sort of savoring this feeling.  It's quiet and simple and I'm enjoying it. 

No matter how hard life can get, there's always these amazing people who shine their light right into my life and save me.  I guess that's what I'm reflecting on tonight— the bright lights.

And I am grateful.

 



 

 

The day I woke up in Birmingham OR Sweet Home Alabama

Maybe y'all noticed that I've taken a break from blogging for a couple of months.  I needed the break.  Too much was on my plate and I started dropping the things that seemed less important until I could get caught up.  

I recently attended my first book signing in Birmingham, Alabama.  I had been planning this trip for many months and it kept changing and morphing into a whole new beast.  It made me nervous.  Until it got to a point during the planning where I had to make some hard calls.  I had to call it quits on a few things.  I canceled a total of three photo shoots that I had been looking forward to.  I ended up taking Cap and Bear with me.  I didn't go to any of the author meet-ups, I didn't make it to the after-party.  I wasn't sure how I was going to feel about it until after.

I loved meeting all of the readers.  Truly.  And I've always thought of myself as not being very good at "peopling."  I really, really liked meeting all the new people.  Pretty much every person I came into contact with, I fell in love with just a little bit.  

We spent the day after the event walking through Birmingham.  And something happened.  Something peaceful.

If you know the history of Birmingham than maybe you can feel the weight of that.  


My recent personal life has been... difficult, to give it a word.  I was feeling tense and anxious and completely lost when I got on our first plane in Omaha.  But there is something about being high above the world that puts things into perspective.  It was as if my heart reset.  It cleared it's cache of negativity and I was able to fill it with new things.

I really like this life I have.  If that makes me arrogant or insane, I don't care.  I'm content with my present.  There's a peacefulness in acknowledging the space that your mind and heart are occupying.  I spent an entire day surrounded by art and history and science.  I had gone from feeling like my brain was a water-logged sponge, to feeling like my soul had finally set anchor.

And that feeling lasted.

Our flight out of Birmingham kept moving due to the weather in Chicago.  When we finally got to Chicago, the weather had made a fine mess there as well.  It was nearly midnight when they told us we finally had a plane but no pilot.  My friend Kellcie asked if we were in a secret remake of Airplane.  Still not sure about that one.  Our terminal was loaded with grumpy, tired travelers.  And I watched my four-year-old dance with his father and make those tired people smile.

So, yeah, I love my little family and the life we get to share together.  And I'm glad I brought them with me even though that wasn't the original plan.  I think having them there with me healed that scorched portion of my heart that had been fading quickly.  And now I feel whole.

My life is still moving.  I'm still running towards the future.  But some things that I had planned on, have changed.  At first, that was a scary and sad thought.  But you can't force something that wasn't meant to be.  I'm continuing this journey.  I want to see how it finishes.  I plan on doing my best, because it's all I have.

 
   

Things My Father Taught Me

I am, by nature, a very private person.  I don't broadcast the most intimate details of my life because it seems inappropriate and frankly a bit tacky.  I have secrets.  Things that are mine and I plan on keeping them that way.  I'm always, still, surprised when I see people tell everyone everything about themselves ever. But I'm even more surprised when I see them tell everything about someone else.

Now, I'm not talking about gossip or backstabbing or slander.  Those are separate issues.  

I'm talking about those moments in peoples lives that are not and should not be treated as a spectator sport. Personal things.  Big news, tragedy, heartbreak, loss, ailment, intimacy, triumphs over obstacles, etc.  I'm not saying no one should share these things about their lives, that would be ridiculous.  What I've noticed is the blatant and boisterous announcement of news that belongs to others.

I don't get it.  But I think that has more to do with watching how my parents handled things like that.  And how they still handle things like that.  

There's a reason that my mom or my dad gets called first when tragedy strikes someone.  A trust has been earned.  A stalwart resistance against the curiosity of the world.  They're first instinct is to protect and serve.  Their circle is small, the information tightly controlled.  I can't even tell you how many times or nights they've spent in hospitals, on roadsides, in stranger's homes, traveling across the country. 

They have no desire to attract attention.  I think that if they did accidentally attract attention, they would consider their mission a failure.

Part of what they do is give the power to the person it belongs to.  If it's good news, then they should be the ones telling it.  If it's sad or awful or the worst thing ever, they should be allowed to reveal those things in their own way and in their own time. 

I remember asking my father once, during my rebellious youth, why he didn't want people to know what he had just done for someone.  I'd gone with him to help someone stranded. My father has been, and always will be, a Jedi mechanic.  I have no idea what he did to fix this car specifically.  I just knew that he had a skill set that was needed in that moment and he'd done just that.  

We were driving home and he was very quiet before he said something that stuck with me.  "That's not why I did it."

It seemed like such a simple answer.  But I never forgot it.  And it repeats in my head every time I see or hear someone declare something they've done for someone else.  I think, "Is that why?  So you felt justified in talking about it?  So that you were the focal point of this moment?"

It's a lesson I learned well.  I find myself doing the same thing.  Shying away from letting others know how much I know about an event or a person.  It's become second nature to me.  I don't just protect my own secrets, I protect the secrets of others as well.

I can promise you, I have been witness to events that you will never hear about.  I have seen the best of humanity in the most private and secret of places.  I have watched my mother be the most amazing and admirable woman I will ever know.  I have watched my father display the exact characteristics that make me proud to be one of his children.

I've learned that to declare yourself as part of someone's life changing event, you put the focus on yourself.  Is that appropriate?  Did you earn that position?  Or did the person whose life you just took a moment of credit for, make the mistake of trusting you to just be there for them? Are you doing good with your very loud words?

Maybe I was raised in a weird way.  Maybe my parents taught me to be more private than your average bear.  Maybe it's bizarre to you, looking from the outside in, as to why I would hold my tongue and keep things to myself.

Or maybe, just maybe, they taught me something invaluable.  Something I will never forget... How to keep it secret and keep it safe.