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Well, I’m on the road again. As I’m typing this I am enjoying the happy sounds of a hundred semi’s cozying in for the night across the parking lot of my hotel. The top corner of the box spring of my mattress is held together by duct tape and the water smells notably fowl. It is the greatest place in the world and I love it all. After the first eight hours of my trip it doesn’t matter what kind of bed it is, just the mere act of stretching out on my back is absolute Heaven.

Nothing like a 1,100 mile trip to get you to start appreciating the simple things.

I got a 10% discount on my taco salad and a piece of lemon merange (no idea how to spell that) pie because I’m staying at this super 8. All in all, supper cost my $10 Everything would be fine if it wasn’t for this nagging sore throat that has been progressively turning to fire, becoming a cough, and stuffing up my sinuses. I fear no matter the amount of sleep I get, which wont be much I am a notoriously bad sleeper, I will wake with a full on cold tomorrow. Oh yay.

I am working on my sequel.

But I’m also working on my first book as I go here as well. My mom read it and liked some of it. Though, I must always take what she has to say very well salted, no matter what. She does not read fantasy in any way and my book is heavy graphic fantasy. She admitted she didn’t think my book was very commercial, I.E. she certainly wouldn’t read it if it wasn’t written by her daughter. I really hope that she’s wrong. But even that little sentence from her leaves me terrified. And it doesn’t help that I am presently enthralled in one of the greatest fantasy series of all time, A song of Ice and Fire by George R. R. Martin. His books (rightfully so) make mine read like they were written by a first grader. I am struggling with trying to help his writing inspire me, but, instead, it just makes me feel like no matter how hard I work whatever I produce is total shit.

But I can still learn.

And that’s all I’ve got. Even though it’s starting to feel like I must have started with less talent and capability than most authors I know that a authors ability to continue learning is all that can create decent writing. I’m just terrified that, that means I’m going to attack my first book again. I am beginning to feel like a little skiff in an angry ocean getting thrown again and again, for a hundred years, against the rocks of the coast that are my first book.

Doubt.

I am so sick of doubt. Of feeling like no matter what I do my writing will never be good enough. I know better than to do that to myself. But, some days, it’s impossible to not certainly feel that way. But, this is where common sense must save me. I have not sent my Embraced by Darkness to a single agent; I haven’t even given it the chance to be rejected yet, so what have I got to be so down about? The truth is that I am certain it will be rejected and, honestly, I just don’t know how much more rejection I can take after the last few months. Sharon will be attacking it soon, as soon as we finish one more book before mine.

The Talking Stick: Volume 19

We sent the book in, finally. Sharon and I finished The Talking Stick: Volume 19. I sent it in literally the night before I left for Oklahoma.  And you’re thinking, I thought you and Joseph broke up, why are you going back? I’ve had every man I know tell me to not go back. Tell me that it is the stupidest thing I can do. Why would anyone go back? The truth is that it’s more complicated than that. A lot more. I own a house with Joseph that still has work that needs to be done on it before we can sell it and get the fuck outta here. If the house wasn’t involved I would not have gone back. And, the truth is, in this moment, I feel like a battered house wife, still going back despite everything he’s done to me. And, you reading this, are probably thinking that stupid, naive little girl, what does she think, he’ll take her back? Honestly, if you are thinking that, than you don’t know me.

Why?

I’m going back to finish the house, because it is equally my responsibility as it is his. My name is on it and we’re looking to make a profit when it’s sold but we can’t sell it until we finish the work or we risk losing four years of our lives without seeing a dime of profit. So, there it is. I’m returning to the world of sheetrock dust, Oklahoma heat and he and I slipping into the only relationship we can have: Best friends With Benefits. It’s weird. It’s awkward. But it’s also working. There are no absolutes with this kind of relationship. There is nothing either of us have to do for the other one. There are no plans, no expectations and, mostly, it’s great. But I will admit, there is a sadness in everything.