Thursday, June 21, 2012
Thursday, February 23, 2012
ABNA: Take 5
I entered the Amazon Breakthrough Novel Awards again. Fifth time's a charm, right? As with last year, I made it past the dreaded Pitch Stage, and am now in the dreaded Excerpt Stage.
Last year, I didn't fare so well in that stage. It was brutal. I think I've grown since then, but probably not. We'll see. This year I swear to bite my tongue if I don't agree with my reviewer.
I mean, mostly promise.
Somewhat promise.
*crosses fingers*
Last year, I didn't fare so well in that stage. It was brutal. I think I've grown since then, but probably not. We'll see. This year I swear to bite my tongue if I don't agree with my reviewer.
I mean, mostly promise.
Somewhat promise.
*crosses fingers*
Thursday, January 19, 2012
Friday, October 28, 2011
The plunge
Well, I did it. I took the plunge.
I've ventured into the world of self-publishing.
I've learned a ton already, and there is so much more to learn.
The most important lesson is who good my friends are to me. I can not, in a million years, express what I've felt over the past 24 hours since I hit Save and Publish and became a self-published author.
After I collect my thoughts, and figure out what comes next, I'll have a more substantial post about this whole process.
For now, visit Voices in the Field and let me know what you think.
j
I've ventured into the world of self-publishing.
I've learned a ton already, and there is so much more to learn.
The most important lesson is who good my friends are to me. I can not, in a million years, express what I've felt over the past 24 hours since I hit Save and Publish and became a self-published author.
After I collect my thoughts, and figure out what comes next, I'll have a more substantial post about this whole process.
For now, visit Voices in the Field and let me know what you think.
j
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
I don't have cancer
I have LPR. And something else. Something about elephant pachyderm something-something. I have to look it up yet, and figure out what's next. Doc says there's not really anything they can do about the LPR other than treat and adjust my eating and drinking habits. But, I don't have throat cancer. Of this, he's sure.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
This is a journey, into sound
Sept. 6 still seems a long time away.
In the meantime, I've been driving myself insane. Part of me wants to believe this is all in my mind. But the pain seems real. The difficulty swallowing, the hoarseness, the cough, the mucous, the swollen glands . . . they seem real.
My mind is playing tricks on me. I've replayed my funeral in my head a thousand times. I've spelled out my wishes to my wife. I've checked and double checked my life insurance policy. I'm preparing for the worst.
And, yet, it could just be a scratchy voice.
Do I believe that? No. I believe it's the worst possible scenario.
Is it Sept. 6 yet?
In so many ways, I just want to know. One way or the other, the not knowing is more difficult I think.
j
In the meantime, I've been driving myself insane. Part of me wants to believe this is all in my mind. But the pain seems real. The difficulty swallowing, the hoarseness, the cough, the mucous, the swollen glands . . . they seem real.
My mind is playing tricks on me. I've replayed my funeral in my head a thousand times. I've spelled out my wishes to my wife. I've checked and double checked my life insurance policy. I'm preparing for the worst.
And, yet, it could just be a scratchy voice.
Do I believe that? No. I believe it's the worst possible scenario.
Is it Sept. 6 yet?
In so many ways, I just want to know. One way or the other, the not knowing is more difficult I think.
j
Friday, August 26, 2011
I remember the day my mother died, not because of the significance of losing a parent, but because of my reaction to it.
My mother had been sick seemingly my entire life. As far back as my memories go, all I see is this frail, pale woman with translucent skin and a soft voice. I know there were times when she wasn't sick, but even in those times, my memories are of a quiet, reflective woman. She was gentle with this easy air about her, not so much aloof, but more of a Devil-may-care freedom that allowed her to exist in a moment.
On the morning that she passed, I was in school when the voice over the intercom called me to the office. I looked at my teacher and said, "My mom just died." There was no way I could have known, but I did. After 11 years of watching and waiting for the inevitable, it had finally come. And I just knew it.
I never cried.
It was like business. I had lived it for so long, it was just another part of the process.
At the funeral, I felt out of place. All these people around me were crying. My father held my sister and I close, perhaps to comfort us, but I think it was more so we could comfort him. Although I knew I should cry, I couldn't.
It wasn't that I didn't care, or that I wasn't sad. In fact, quite the opposite. My mother and I had a bond I never shared with my father. Likewise, my father had a bond with my sister he never had with me. I was heartbroken. I was crushed. I was completely lost. And for that, at 11 years old, I shut down.
Nearly 30 years have gone by, and while there have been times along the way that a particular song or a milestone passes that reminds me of her and a tear forms, I've never fully grieved her loss.
I wonder how my son will handle my death. Will it crush him, or will he bury it inside and accept it as part of the deal we make with life. We only have a moment to be, and then it's gone.
My mother had been sick seemingly my entire life. As far back as my memories go, all I see is this frail, pale woman with translucent skin and a soft voice. I know there were times when she wasn't sick, but even in those times, my memories are of a quiet, reflective woman. She was gentle with this easy air about her, not so much aloof, but more of a Devil-may-care freedom that allowed her to exist in a moment.
On the morning that she passed, I was in school when the voice over the intercom called me to the office. I looked at my teacher and said, "My mom just died." There was no way I could have known, but I did. After 11 years of watching and waiting for the inevitable, it had finally come. And I just knew it.
I never cried.
It was like business. I had lived it for so long, it was just another part of the process.
At the funeral, I felt out of place. All these people around me were crying. My father held my sister and I close, perhaps to comfort us, but I think it was more so we could comfort him. Although I knew I should cry, I couldn't.
It wasn't that I didn't care, or that I wasn't sad. In fact, quite the opposite. My mother and I had a bond I never shared with my father. Likewise, my father had a bond with my sister he never had with me. I was heartbroken. I was crushed. I was completely lost. And for that, at 11 years old, I shut down.
Nearly 30 years have gone by, and while there have been times along the way that a particular song or a milestone passes that reminds me of her and a tear forms, I've never fully grieved her loss.
I wonder how my son will handle my death. Will it crush him, or will he bury it inside and accept it as part of the deal we make with life. We only have a moment to be, and then it's gone.
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