The other night I leafed through my superbly sloppy handwriting that filled the pages of my journal from all the way back to September 2012. As gripping as most of the content was, I was surprised at how far I’ve come as an individual these past several months. I’ve gone from this bitter and cynical person stuck assuming the world would forever reject her, to this scared yet hopeful person taking things day to day, working diligently towards the goals she intends to achieve.
Between all that has been much despair, hopelessness, frustration, tears, failure, hard life lessons, talking, learning, listening, growing, a revitalizing lifeline, and new hope.
Even though I’m jobless right now, I’m waking up every day, pretending to be a full-time author. I won’t be job hunting all of March. Depending how that goes, it might carry over into April as well, or at least until I completely draft a new book I’m working on. I’ve put aside book 3 in the trilogy for a standalone post-apocalypse fantasy one that’s been waiting its turn for years. The book is called To Ocean’s End. It’s the story of a seafaring captain who can never find a moment to eat a cheeseburger in peace. Lots of comedy and deadpan humor, and strangely some Greek mythology has snuck its way into the tale. Twas never my intention but things like this happen when a writer lets a story and the characters come to life on their own.
For those of you who don’t keep a personal journal, you should. They’re an amazing learning tool. They are doubly useful for writers. They teach you to just write without editing yourself as you go, no worries about the perfect sentence or word choice. No grammar or wordiness issues either. Just write, just pour your heart out.
Pour my heart out I do. I’ll never blog all the content in mine. I value some privacy. I’m sharing my personal journey and transformation to let others know that you’re so far from alone when it comes to not knowing what to do with one’s life when it feels like nothing’s panning out, like everything has been one big failure after another. I have great passions and huge aspirations. This blog has helped me connect with so many people with the same thoughts racing through their heads.
It’s finally clear that I’m moving forward in my personal journey and as an individual. Instead of checking amazon.com every day and frowning, I’m asking myself what can I do to get the word out that I and my first book exist? What can I do to have my writing succeed? Where do I have to focus my hard work? What’s in my control? Now let’s do that. I simply don’t bother thinking about the rest–well most of the time I don’t. I sucker myself into stressing about things out of my control. Who doesn’t? But I’m training myself to waste less and less time doing that. My creative energies are better spent elsewhere. And so are yours. Aren’t they?
Here is page one of chapter one to the novel. I will post the entire chapter soon enough. This is just to grab your attention:
What remained of Newport, Rhode Island’s streets did its best to break both my ankles as I ran. Chunks of pavement unglued themselves from the mud with a squelch, making it feel like each foot was treading on separate decks in high seas. The mud itself sucked on my boots, trying just as hard to pitch me face-first into what passed for roads for the past three hundred years now. Why did unwanted company have to arrive every time I wanted a cheeseburger?
One of the largest steam frigates I’d ever seen had made berth next to mine sometime in the last hour. Not good–not because of its harpoons, but because of its mere presence. There were only about a hundred frigates left cruising the entire Atlantic, each with their own territorial port. Newport was sort of my territory–only sort of–and that’s the way I wanted it to stay. And right now half of my crew was either grabbing supplies or filling their stomachs.
Homes and stores whipped by, a clash of lumber, stone and some plywood structures patched with scraps of aluminum siding, and I slipped more than ran into the open port. Resonant voices rang out, advertising fish, beef, vegetables and whatnot to the grey and brown masses slinking from one open stand to the next. Geeze, what a contrasting picture from the 2100’s.
“Out of my way!” I pushed through the crowd, practically doing the breast stroke with my arms, but not hard enough to knock anyone over. I’m a jerk; not an asshole. People turned and voiced their anger, but no one got beyond “Hey!” or “What the hell, man?”
One said, “It’s Dyne! Let him through!”
The sardines parted for me as if I were a marlin charging through their school. One of the perks of infamy. Much better.