Horror and dealing with things…

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Let’s be honest. All this shit happening around is bonkers to say the least.

I’ve tried writing something other than horror to keep my mind from thinking of all the terrible circumstances of our current existence.

But I’ve failed.

I spent three weeks writing an outline for a story that has failed to hold my attention.

I don’t think it’s the outline that did it but more along the lines of how my brain reacts to the world around me.

I thought I could write something more mainstream, or at least something non-fantastical.

That came to end this morning when I put away the outline and went back to a short story I’d shelved.

I do enjoy the world I created with that outline but I currently feel like I’m trying too hard to write something that a person would enjoy and that person isn’t me.

I like to read all flavors of books but the fantastic saved me more times than anything else has.

I’ve tried to deny it, but after writing ten books with nothing to show for it, I have to go back to what makes me happy and it’s not writing what someone who isn’t a part of my life would enjoy.

Of all the books I’ve written, they’ve all had fantastic elements. Whether they be vampires, apocalypse, Grim Dark fantasy, or any of the other derivatives of fantasy.

I just can’t write a regular fiction novel without thinking about where I could put a monster. It didn’t happen during the outline process but boy, it’s happened in the drafting process.

I keep thinking, “hey I’m could put a monster in here”, then I think, “No. That won’t work in the larger scale of the story.”

That’s my problem.

I tried writing something that wasn’t me.

Sure I read all those books when I was a kid, but I wasn’t given the option of reading anything else.

The books and comics I wanted to read I hid and read them at night when I was alone in my room.

I was always fearful of being found out that I read those books. There were always from the library at school or the public library.

Those stories got me through one of the worst parts of my childhood.

I’ve neglected the teenager and kid I was and what he would have enjoyed reading.

It was during those nights alone that I started to create my own stories.

It was those nights when I had the apartment to myself that I’d read, write, and think about stories and worlds.

I’ve forgotten those moments, or more appropriately, buried them deep enough to block them out.

I have to go back to those nights, weeks, and darkest parts of my childhood to find the stories the teenage me needed at those moments. I hated my life, who I was, and was unsure whether I wanted to continue living at all.

I owe it to the kid who survived.

Exercise, Anxiety, and getting my mind right.

I reached a breaking point.

This happened for a number of reasons. The main on being I haven’t taken care of myself lately.

I stopped working out, I’m not sure why. I wasn’t burnt out. My muscles weren’t sore or my joints, I just stopped.

Exercise, mostly weight training, has always been in my life.

My biological father did bodybuilding when I was younger and when I turned 14 he got me in the weight room.

Initially I didn’t care for it, spending most of my gym time in the pool instead of the weight room. I’ve always loved the water. It’s a Pisces thing.

As long grew older I fell in love with being in the gym. I enjoyed the feeling of the weights, the pump in my muscles and attended the Olympia on a couple of occasions.

Until recently I never associated the gym with my mental wellbeing. It was just something I did.

Then I looked at where my life was when I spent the most time in the gym or my muscles grew the most.

Those were emotional times.

In high school I used my weight training class to deal with my teenage anxiety. Never understanding then what I was doing.

In my early twenties I used it to deal with loneliness and that I was an awkward shy person.

I found comfort in the weight room. It was something I could do where my effort determined the results.

In my late twenties I used it to deal with our first miscarriage. Then in my early thirties to deal with my daughter’s early birth and first month in the NICU.

As I moved up on age I never noticed this, until now.

Most recently, I used it to deal with the death of my big brother.

When I struggle most I return to the weight room. That’s what I’m beginning again.

It’s another way to deal with anxiety, my writing frustrations, and just with every day life issues.

It has never failed in getting my mind right. It never failed in adjusting my attitude or my mindset.

TM keeps my mind in good shape, but with the combination of TM and exercise everything fires on all cylinders.

I’m back in the gym because I realized it keeps my mind more focused when I do it.

I may not thank my biological father for much, but a love of the weight room will always be one of them.

Have a good weekend.

Get shit done, have some fun, and keep going.

Working to get on track.

This past week blew me up.

I haven’t been able to get any decent words on the page and the stop-start of stories has thrown my mind into a tiff.

I’ve written little bits of story, but nothing substantial and not anything I’d show to anyone, even my wife.

Today, this morning, I’m working on getting things done, because I can’t sit here and not work. I have to do something, even if it’s editing.

I’m stick to what I said on Monday and I’m getting past what I wrote on Wednesday, and it’s hard.

I’ve had to look at myself and my writing in way that I don’t want. Hell, I’m not sure any of us what’s to look at ourselves the way I have in the past week.

This weekend leads into another week and it’s day-by-day.

I keep going because I have to prove something to myself.

This isn’t about getting published anymore.

Its about proving to myself with all the headgames and all the the ways my mind tells me I can’t, that I can.

Have a good weekend and I’ll see you on Monday.

Catching the failure bug

The problem of being an unpublished writer it there isn’t a metric of comparison. I can’t compare myself to my writing idols, they have something I don’t.

This weekend, after I reconciled with myself about my actions, I thought about my work ethic.

Have I been working hard enough to get published? Am I focusing properly? Is there something more I could be doing?

I realized there are a few things I’m not doing and some I’m not doing enough of. There are streams of sunlight at the end of each storm, but we tend to think of the storm, what it did, how it wrecked us, but we don’t think about the clean up. We’re too focused on the storm.

The storm struck me this past weekend. It made me question my writing, it made me question myself.

For me and my struggles with depression, this is a dangerous road to travel. Much like sandbags along a river, I have to set up markers and ways to stop the progress of doubt and feelings the stop or hinder me.

These markers usually work, but this one, it’s taking things away from me.

I’m working to get through it. I stare at the keys when I’m writing and wonder if I should keep going. I get words, but are they good enough?

I feel my writing is good. I’ve improved greatly over the last eighteen months. But the doubt crept in. The sandbags filled with water and the dam broke.

Life tosses us through the storm, the sandbags break, the water spills over the dam, but we keep going because that’s who we are and that’s what we do.

But sometimes, the dam breaking hurts. It causes us to question where we’re going.

I’m struggling a bit this week. It’s been a while since I have, but putting it on the page for the world to see and for the world to know helps me get through it.

Finding hope, and the motivation to write…

I missed posting on Wednesday. There were issues and I had things to deal with.

Life comes at us hard when we’re not expecting it. It will punish us. Make us feel like we’re worthless and keep kicking until we can’t breath.

This punishment can be brought on by our actions, our inactions, or by not paying attention to our own thoughts.

Our own thoughts will beat us worse than 3 rounds in the octagon. It will take what we believe tear it apart and leave us asking how it happened.

Getting through that pain is the hardest thing we will do in our lives.

I’ve dealt with the loss of my brother, my father-in-law, who I felt close to, and the pain my mind inflicted on my felt worse.

Your mind will torture you, call you names, and when you think it’s done, it’s back for another helping of tossing you bullshit to doubt yourself.

That doubt will sink your dreams, your marriage, and any friendships you’ve created.

The only way through is to have a belief in your goals stronger than the bullshit in your head.

That belief will get you past the loss of anything. It will guide you in the darkest night and be the light to lead you.

This week has been one of reevaluation, digging in when I didn’t think I could go deeper, and trusting the process when I wanted to quit.

I really thought about giving up on writing this week. I hate to struggle and I feel like I’m struggling, not with writing but with life. I know it will get better but right now, staring at nearly nine unpublished books, it’s hard to be confident.

I’ll be pushing harder to get things published this summer and I’ll keep you posted but damn, I’m struggling to keep writing and it has nothing to do with the words.

I’m averaging 1500 words a day, reaching g 2700 words or more on some day.

Have to keep going.

Faith, journeys, ​and progressions

Every day we have the opportunity to solve our problems.

We have a chance to stand out in the world for who we are, what we want and whether we’re going to do what’s needed to accomplish our goals.

Today, I sit in a better place than I’ve been in a long time.

I still struggle with depression, though its no longer a constant.

In the past, I would blame others for my failings. I would stoke fires of hatred towards those who I believe wronged me.

In this life, our journey’s and endings are determined by how hard we work for what we want.

I never thought about working hard enough to achieve my goals. I never understood what it would require.

There were times when I’d have little glimpses of what I thought it required. Those glimpses allowed me to narrow my focus.

Understanding the journey and the faith it required in myself created a radical change in how I approach my writing, life, and daily challenges.

I use to hide from what I wanted. Expecting it because I believed I deserved it.

Nothing comes to those with those beliefs. The only way to get what you want is to work your ass off.

Today, I understand that faith in myself and my writing will bring m to where I want to be.

I understand the journey I’ve been on has led me to this place.

I believe the progress I’ve made in recreating who I want to be has made all of the above possible.

We can get through life without failing ourselves. We can understand that our faith will guide us to where we are required.

Somewhere in the middle of all of it, we’ll reach the place where we’re needed.

Move Forward

There’s a point in life when you’re tired of the bullshit, tired of talking about what’s happened and you must step forward and move on.

You must forgive, you must remember what got you to where you, are and find a new way forward.

It’s when this happens that freedom comes. It’s this moment that you’re available to get your head out of your ass

It’s this moment that you’re available to get your head out of your ass. You’ll stop and get past the bullshit, you’ll stop, look in the mirror and stare at the person you’ve become and then you can understand the truth of how you got to your current situation.

Hold on to this moment, write it down, work through it and do what is required to move on.

Your writing will push you forward, you must listen to it. You must listen to your heart and the breath coming from your lungs.

The voice inside is no longer a viable concept. If you listen to the voice in your head you’ll falter, you’ll fail and become on of those who gives up.

Don’t give up, it leads to misery. Misery leads to finality and you’ll never dig yourself out.

Get through it, put your head down, get the words out that you need.

If you push through to the other side you will thank yourself later.

Move forward, always…