Friday, March 21, 2014

Blocking myself

I remember years ago when Sex in the City was still on air, and not in the reruns category. I remember this haunting episode in which Samantha's character (played by Kim Cattrall) ran out of orgasms. For any woman this is a very scary idea. To actually run out of what was once easy, or if not easy at least necessary for happiness in life.

You might wonder where in the hell I'm going with this whole line of thought, but I'm getting there, (this is where I insert snarky comment: that's what she said)...the point...yes that everything has a limit. We may not know how many breaths we get, or days, hours or minutes. We may not know how many orgasms we have until that part of our body just stops working. Who the fuck knows.

We stare in the mirror at our graying hair and wrinkled faces and the clock ticks on. We watch the skin on our hands grow clearer and spotted and the clock ticks on...tick...tock...tick...tock. Its moving along even as we are unaware of it. So my point is, what if we only have so many words in us. So many words we can think, say, type, share, only so many before the damn walls up and we have no more.

What if we only have so much creative juice to use towards our projects, be them book, home, painting or poetry.

These what ifs...keep me up at night. I worry over them more than a person should. Like peeking behind the curtain, or opening a present early, we don't know, and we shouldn't know.

But as I use my creativity on my home and countless other projects that don't include writing I can't help wondering if I'm squandering what ideas could be used for writing on other things. Am I using up that lovely creative juice on the wrong thing? Is there a right one?

I'll undoubtedly harass myself with this thought before I reach a conclusion, and I'll I blocking myself with my own crazy thought process, am I killing my creativity just by pondering its limitations? Am I?

We all play the part of sabotage...

Wednesday, March 5, 2014

Life is Good!

Every once in a while I have one of those days where everything goes as planned. I wake up and I don't hate the idea of moving. I drink a cup of coffee, look at the sky. Whatever it is something just makes everything align in this beautiful way.

I'm so glad for days like today. It makes me believe in what hard work and real effort can give you. Lately I've been working on my house. Little projects here and there, that I always mean to do, and never finish. Thing's I've pinned, idea's I've had. Not unlike all the story ideas I get and never have time to write down. For once, I put everything aside and decided that yes, I was going to work on my house.

One project turned into two, and then three. Three morphed into five, and then seven, nine. You get the picture. I went from painting a dough table, to buying five pieces of furniture I painted an distressed. An entry way remodel, then the hallway, the stairway, the backyard, the front yard, and now I'm soon be starting on my kitchen. That doesn't include little things like putting together the new built ins for the entry way or painting a mirror. It doesn't include making my own cupcake stands, or finally hanging the curtains in the master bedroom. My project schedule was like a damn gremlin that got wet, it freaking blew up.

I'm not unhappy about these events, quite the contrary my home has never been so wonderful. I feel super accomplished as well. And writing, well, sometimes you just need to take some time off. For my readers out there, I apologize, I needed to live a little life before I could write about it. Now I'll finish Lilith in-between painting my kitchen cabinets and hopefully by the end of this year I'll have countless projects, and a couple of books under my belt.

Life is good, its even better when you live in it the way you are supposed to!

Wednesday, January 22, 2014

Life... least it does sometimes. I'm blessed enough with my husband, sons, family and friends to not take the good things, or even the bad for granted. Life happens, even when we aren't ready for it. It just moves on forward without really caring whether we are ready for the next steps or not.

God doesn't give us anything on our time frame, he gives it to us on his. The universe trucks on by, regardless of us and our plans.

My dad is fading. Faster and faster everyday. I see pieces of him disappear so quickly I can barely stand to look at him. He is a shell of the man who raised me.

I'm praying that the loss of my grandma will help me through this hard time to come. I'm praying that my father never knows his behavior or feels ashamed or lost. I'm praying that God takes him sooner rather than later because living a life empty isn't really a life at all. There is pain to come that I don't want to even think about. When he forgets me, when he looks in my eyes and there is no spark of mischief or laughter in his own.

I want to scream at God and ask him why?  Why must his children suffer so at the end of their life. Why can't they hold onto dignity, and why, oh why did my father have to be struck down with this horrible disease so early.

He's a walking miracle. He was a premie baby born at a time when premies rarely made it. He had a heart condition that could have taken his life at anytime during his childhood. A cancer that so ravaged his body he wasn't even supposed to see my younger brother born. And through all the odds, and suffering, and broken legs he has made it to this day, only to suffer all the more. My father has Vascular Dementia and Alzheimer's, and a part of me really wants to hate God.

Life sucks sometimes, but then I'm sure everyone out there knows it....even God.


Saturday, January 4, 2014

Shoveling Shit

Every point in life is important for different reasons. When it's your children you document everything. Baby's first tooth, baby's first step, walking, laughing, and words. Everything is written down and photographed so that you never forget, so that you'll always remember.

I have compared my books to children many times. They are important to me, I have poured my soul into them not unlike I poured my blood and nourishment into my children. It is the closest metaphor I have to compare. Writing a book will challenge you, drain you, and ultimately make you beg for mercy. Some days are better than others, but like those first few steps you document the big ones.

The first finished novel. The first book sold. The first good review, and the first bad one. Book blogs, and giveaways. I remember them all. The first is always more exciting than the second. You stumble you make mistakes. You try again. I am at a new point in my writing life. I am ready to take that next step.

I have been writing query letters, and let me just say for the record, that it is terrifying.

The idea of trying to sum up my story in a few paragraphs feels impossible. And like the book blurbs it feels fake, cheesy, and ridiculous. The point of a book is to tell a large story. Something that can't be explained in a few chapters or even pages. How do I sum it down to just a page?

I beat my head against the desk and hope that what Stephen King said about writing is true. Sometimes you're doing good work when it feels like all you're managing to do is shovel shit from a sitting position.

I'll take his word for it. He should know after all. So I'll get back to my WIP's and my queries and hope the shoveling of shit finds some gold buried under all the manure.

Here's some music inspiration!!

Nick Mulvey-Fever to the form

Tuesday, December 10, 2013

Sprite Bottle:1 , Ashley :0

Like an idiot I decided to open a sprite bottle with a knife. It doesn't take a genius to realize that this was a bad the moment I wasn't exactly thinking clearly. It was one of those times where you see yourself doing something utterly stupid and yet, you are incapable of stopping your ridiculous actions. You are on the outside looking in. Cringing as the knife slips off the plastic.

Needless to say I cut myself....badly. And as my blood flew across the room and onto my freshly made ham sandwich I knew, that I Ashley, am indeed a moron.

The sprite bottle won this round. I could blame it on the cold, and the ninja grip that my honey used to tighten the little fucker, but the truth is I was just stupid.

Note to readers: do not try to open a bottle with a knife, it will not work, and you will in fact cut yourself.

Saturday, December 7, 2013


Yes, that is a word. Well in my dictionary anyways. Along with fugly, fubar, ri-donk-ulous, and many other ridiculous words. I use dork-tastic to describe myself. Recently, I have realized that I am terrible at first impressions, or adult conversations in general. I wonder how in the world I ever survived high-school. Back then I was a little bit better at faking it. It's not that I am shy or unconfident. I am just really bad at first impressions.

I don't know what to say, and what I do say comes out in a strange jumble of crazy. Afterwards, I run the words I've said through my mind and cringe. Why can't conversations be like writing. Where in the hell is the social backspace?

So this revelation makes me realize that things like book-signings, and tours in general are a very bad idea for me. I've had a couple local stores offer to carry my books or have a signing and I always decline. I want to be successful but the actual process of meeting my fans scares the ever living crap out of me.

I am a hermit.

I am way to okay with my hermitness. <---pretty sure that's another made up word.

So how does one survive this vial thing called being social? I wish I knew. When I was younger it was a whole lot easier. Now a majority of my days are filled with arguments with five year olds, reading, and falling into my writing. None of which are all that great for conversations with actual people.

In conclusion I just needed a little venting space. It's better to write it here than say it out loud anyways. At least here I have the backspace button.

Tuesday, November 12, 2013

Also I'm not dead....I promise (or in jail)

I recently got married. Actually, today is my one month anniversary. Why am I writing yet another blog you might ask, instead of celebrating said anniversary with my new husband? We may have been married for only a month, but our six year anniversary is in February...i.e. what's the big deal about a month when we've been together for half a decade. So yea, I'm back from the dead (wedding) and blogging. The last blog, Writers Anti-block I wrote ages ago I just forgot to publish it.

I blame the wedding, everything in my brain that worked remotely well before the wedding shut down while I was planning it. For two months I felt comatose and taken hostage by a wedding date. I will add that the wedding itself was absolutely perfect. Not one thing went wrong. My uncle who did the ceremony was amazing, the cupcakes were great, the food hot and yummy, alcohol a-plenty, and all my family and friends showed up (minus two or three who were legitimately out of the country, sick, or just unable to attend). The wedding was perfect.

Now after the haze has passed and I feel rejuvenated and not dead from the neck up, I have returned from the dead (wedding) ready to write. The blog (the personal and not the book) has suffered. The book one is always suffering. I hardly ever write it. It's just a more professional blog than this one where I frequently whine, cuss, am brass, obnoxious and probably make countless grammatical errors. Hence the reason this one is more fun...I can say FUCK, and not feel guilty! BOOM! Yes that is two completely capitalized words in a row. I just did that. That is why I will always rant here and not on the boring, ho hum overly professional book blog.

I just fell asleep typing that. It's that boring. Ugh, I should just delete it but I feel that if a person (literary agent, publisher, editor, reader, or my mom) were to Google my book and find the blogs, that they would read that one first in the hopes that I appear to be an adult and not a fourteen year old brat girl trapped in a thirty-something body.

Also the jail reference is rather funny. Yesterday the honey (who is still breathing) stole my iPhone. I am pretty sure that in itself is reason enough for divorce, separation, and maybe even death or dismemberment. He stole said phone while I was asleep under the surmise that he had in fact told me while I was drooling on my pillow. Can anyone else spell Asshole, I can, and did upon finding my phone gone. I was in a murderous rage. See the worst part isn't that he took it, and didn't tell me. (To the Honey: telling an unconscious person is not a conversation, just so you know.) It's that I looked, and looked, and looked for my iPhone for hours before I figured out what had happened.

In a blur of cuss words and fantasies of dismemberment, I wrote a Facebook status that went something like:

Walter took my cellphone, I had no intention of going to jail today........sigh.

Simple short, and a little sarcastic like me. Hehe see what I did there. Anyways so my good friend, and best friend, having no idea I was joking, (and they say they know me), commented in worry that I was actually incarcerated and not being ridiculous. I would not actually kill Walter (this is for you future FBI profiler, if anything ever happens to Walter I did not do it. I only joked about it, yes I know that is stupid, and juvenile, see the line above about my being a fourteen year old brat girl trapped in a thirty-something body. end quote).

So to end my rant on all things death and jail, that was my month. A wedding that didn't kill me, a missing iPhone, and a sarcastic not perfectly clear status update that proved yet again that texting and the internet still don't have a sarcasm font. Damn them.

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