Procrastination

Hello friends!
I don’t know if anybody even follows me anymore.  This might just be a shout out in the dark.

I just submitted a third short story for publication.  I’m going to be featured in another anthology!
The premise of the project was to write outside of your usual comfortzone.
My usual genre is High Fantasy/Fantasy.  The category picked for me was Noir.
After looking up what that meant, I was tickled by the anticipation to write a 1940’s conflict.
The first scene came to me in black and white.  I watched it play out live a movie in my head.  And then the next scene followed.  And…. and…. and then….

Well, then I was stuck, see?
So I spent a few weeks trying to get a handle on the story and feel out the way it wanted to be written.

Finally, as the deadline rapidly approaches, I’ve conqured the Voice and am writing at it every moment I get.

Today I finished the final edits and off it went.  Now I wait to know if they liked it, and whether or not I did a good job.

So, Procrastination.  Thats the name of the game.  And each generation does it the same.
Personally, I deal strongly with the idea that I’m a Nobody, and my stories and tales aren’t worth the effort.  Somebody will never read them.  Somebody wont like them.  Anybody can see that I’ve written a book, but as a Nobody, Anybody could leave the book sitting there unopened.

This depression and loathesome style of Self-Worth is entirely common.  Much too common.

Tonight I finished day 2 of a pretty hardcore workout challenge.  It’s not Insanity, it’s a simple challenge that’s amped up to get you going.
I started it yesterday ((obviously)), and the motivation to workout and stick with it is high!  Motivation pumping, my adrenaline is like, “Lets kick this Booty in the Butt!”
And then tomorrow morning will come.  And I’ll face down the depression all over again.

An endless cycle of procrastination and looming deadlines, because I feel inadequate to write the book.  Publish the book.  Make people want the book- in essence, make them want me.

It’s why I barely write here.  I don’t know how to garner a Following, I don’t know how to promote myself.  I don’t even know what I’m doing.

….but little by little I’m doing it.
I’m writing.  I’m making myself heard.  I’m striving to meet the Goal before me, and get into my Pre-Pregnancy jeans!  My wedding dress!  A new ball gown by Nobember!

……my own High Fantasy novel sitting on shelves in Barnes and Noble.  *is struck with starry-eyed dreams*
Going to Fantasy conventions, Comic-Con, Con-DFW, etc….
Feeling the gratification of knowing I am a /Somebody/ instead of a Nobody.

Yeah.  So that’s me.
How are you?

More Than A Weed

A little yellow flower bloomed in a sea of grass, awoken brightly to the sun.
Her beauty was unique, hundreds of tiny petals covered her face, each one like a drop of collected sunshine.
She spent her days reflectively staring into the sun, marveling at the beauty of the sky.  When night came she curled into herself to sleep in a green cocoon.
When she was thirsty, the sky rained down on her, reviving her vibrant greens.
One morning, she was noticed.  The flower happily drank in the acknowledgement until words like, “weed” and “plucking up the roots” were spoken over it.
The little flower shivered, frightened by the thought.  She curled into herself, unsure of what these words meant.
One by one the yard was “purged” of her sunny golden friends.
Was there something wrong with them that they were worthless, compared to more refined friends?
Her color began to weaken, as her saddness caused her to droop.  The powders she endured slowly ate away her will to live.
This flower did not escape her fate, she too was whisked away before her full cycle of life had come to pass.  For instead of a Flower, in gleaming glory, all anyone ever saw was a Weed.

Dear Little Girl

Precious Child, I have some Wisdom I wish others had shared with me.

Your skin is flawless, like porcelain.  It’s sincerely beautiful.
I wish I had taken care of mine, I hadn’t known then what I know now.

Don’t wear the make-up, pressed powder will do.  Your complexion is so delicate, be gentle with every inch of it.
You’re beautiful.  Wear the sunscreen, protect your beauty or one day you’ll look like me.  Damaged, scarred, reddened and rough.

I have some freckles, they don’t help.  So please don’t argue about the sunscreen.

Brush your teeth faithfully.  Keep them shining and healthy.
I didn’t.  And I cannot take back the damage.

Your life is so incredibly worth it.  Somebody loves you enough to help you through.

Enhance your beauty, but don’t smother it.  Wash your face before you go to bed.  I’ll teach you the proper skin care I wish someone had taught me.

Your smile is beautiful and true.  Never be afraid of who you are.  I’ll walk you through this life, and help you learn the True Beauty tucked inside.

The surface is important, you will determine how you feel based on how you look.  The woman who says women shouldn’t let how they look affect them, is right– but how you feel about yourself is going to stare at you from the mirror.

I let that woman control me.  Everything I didn’t see, I tried to create.  I was skinny, I was caked, and I still had yellow teeth.

Your appearance isn’t everything.  But it is going to bother you whether you wish it or not.  You’ll look to be someone else, or something else.  The best thing you can be is YOU.

And I’m going to teach you how to do this.  Because Beauty is more than skin deep.  And you’re already beautiful.  But I don’t want you looking in the mirror and regretting what I have, so I’ll help you believe in yourself like no one believed in me.