If anyone asks me this question, just out of the blue, my mind is going blank. I won’t be able to tell you the name of any characters or if there even are characters. I won’t be able to tell you the location the story takes place in. The basic plot? Nope, not that either. Nothing. I’m going to look at you like a deer in headlights and wonder what the hell a book is.
If, on the other hand, I’ve rehearsed it in my head a thousand times because I know I’m going to be in a situation where someone will ask it, I’ll be able to stumble through the answer, but if you just pop that question… Nope. I am not going to be able to answer it.
A friend asked last night about my writing, about what I’m writing, what is the story, who are the characters, how long is it, etc… And y’all, I couldn’t remember not a damn thing. I’m working on books. I’m between 2K and 33K on several books that take place in a variety of locations with various plots and characters and… None of them came to mind. All I had was a blank space. Sad to say, it took until this morning for me to remember anything about my books.
I’ve heard other writers talk about this very thing and how they seize up. We can generally talk your ears off about research or interesting things we’ve learned, even spontaneously offering up cute details about a story, but the second you ask us about that book we’re writing… We’ll look at you like you’ve grown a couple of heads and are speaking a language we don’t understand.
We need time to prepare. We need time to figure it the hell out ourselves. So, unless we’ve had ample rehearsal time, please don’t ask. Believe me, we’ll tell you all about it in our own time and our own way, and then, you’ll wish we’d shut the fuck up about it. 😉
And man, it’s true what they say… No one really cares.
The caveat is that for most of us, that is true. No one really cares if we’re posting or not. For some, yes. For most, no.
That’s not a pity party. It’s a truth. A realization. Possibly a freedom.
I have been off Instagram for 6 weeks. I haven’t posted. I haven’t scrolled. I haven’t shared a story or reposted anything.
The first few days, were like going through withdrawals. At least, what I imagine withdrawals from addiction of any kind feel like. And I can say it was an addiction of sorts for me, enough that I’d been trying since August 1st to get off the app, but I couldn’t make myself do it. I couldn’t make myself log out and pull away. But I could ask for help and that’s what I did and was able to not only log out, but delete it from my phone.
I’ve done these kinds of things before, going offline for a month or two, for whole seasons, and none were ever so hard.
I deactivated and deleted my Twitter/X account without a second thought.
I haven’t been active on Facebook or Threads in I can’t even tell you.
But Instagram was hard without help. I was addicted to the scrolling, to the information I was seeing, to the fact that I thought maybe in some way I was helping by sharing and commenting, that maybe I was adding to it all… In hindsight, I don’t think I was. I was validating my own thoughts and beliefs and stances.
And I wasn’t creating. I wasn’t writing or crocheting or playing around in the kitchen or learning anything new or… I was deeply stressed and unhappy and began feeling it inside my body and my mind. I was tired of the ads, of the amplification of horror and law breaking and disingenous comments and ignorance and even more ads and not seeing things from people I actually wanted to see stuff from and only being followed by people trying to sell things and comparisonitis and ads. Always with the ads…
I call it an escape because in the thick of it, it felt like being held down, being kept, coerced, pulled in without conscious thought or making a conscious decision. It was a habit. A really, really bad habit, a really really bad place for me to go everyday…
I logged back in yesterday to check a local group that I was trying to be part of that only updates on social media. And the stark realization that no one had missed me hit me square in the face. There were no messages asking if I was okay, where I’ve been, that I hadn’t posted… There was nothing. Not even from people I considered friends.
We’re all busy, I know. We’re all deep into our own lives, our own things, just trying to make it through the day.
But seeing that there wasn’t anything, which hadn’t even been the reason I’d logged in so that expectation, that need for validation is unfortunately still there, but it reaffirmed for me that I’m not missed. I’m not missed on Twitter. I’m not missed on Facebook. Granted, I hadn’t told anyone I was leaving Instagram, either, so I do know it goes both ways. Sometimes we think we’re more important to people than we actually are. We expect them to care about us in the same ways we care about them. The reality that I’ve found for myself is that they don’t.
It’s both sad and liberating. Again, not a pity party. The healing that I’ve been doing, the deep dives into why I have been the way I have always been has helped. Learning about myself, working on my mental and emotional health has helped in ways I can’t express yet.
I want close friends and I want good friends. I want to laugh and have fun and create and make things and be there for people who are there for me. I want to write stories. I don’t know if they’ll ever sell again, but I want to write them. I want to be present, to notice, to listen, to discuss, to connect.
I feel worlds better being off Instagram. Yesterday when I logged in, I wasn’t the least bit curious to see what’s being talked about or shared. I wasn’t the least bit interested in scrolling. So, that’s progress.
How I’ll get the information from the local creative group, I don’t know, but I’ll figure it out.
Social media has never been fun for me. I’ve stated that before and I’ve always been scared, though, to let it go completely. It wasn’t helping me sell books. I wasn’t about to give Meta any access to my bank accounts or credit cards. I wasn’t going to pay to play the games of visibility. Not a good business strategy, I know, but the games were exhausting and I’m just not interested. What that means, I don’t know. A friend and I are looking into alternative things to do that aren’t social media, so maybe we’ll both find our ways that work.
Anyway… I made the Great Instagram Escape, and I can tell you it’s been totally worth it.
It was a miserable Summer. In more ways than one and I’m very glad it’s officially over.
Today is the first day of Autumn. The temperatures might not reflect it, but the matcha latte in my pumpkin mug, the pumpkin chai wax melt making my office smell amazing, the little lights with the pumpkins and acorns and maple leaves and pine trees that wrap around the television, and You’ve Got Mail playing… In my little room here, it’s Autumn.
I’ve been working on new books for a few weeks and I’m not sure when anything will be out. I should have a new cover soon for one of them… Sugared.
I told my newsletter readers that I’d taken August to sit with the abject failure of All That Glitters. I wasn’t sure I would continue writing. It really was the worst in terms of sales. Not even my very first book, Educating Rose, all those years ago with Cobblestone Press sold as poorly as All That Glitters. I’ve never had one do so terrible and I had to do some thinking about what I could or would change if I continued. But then, September came and I’d been off social media for a few weeks (the detox is brutal) and I found myself writing a few hundred words a night.
I worked on a few different stories, started taking notes on another couple of stories and soon realized that yes, I am going to keep writing.
I also realized that I want something different than what’s normal. Hell, I don’t even know what’s selling for romance authors now. I know jack shit about the market anymore. I didn’t know anything about the market when I started out in 2008, either.
With the changing of the seasons, Autumn especially, I always feel like there’s something more, something different, something that I can learn, that I can change, that I can step into that isn’t where I’ve been in the months prior. Winter can feel like that for me, too. Sometimes Spring… But Summer always feels like the dregs, like I’m slogging through life and nothing new is possible. It’s felt like that this year, too, especially this year.
So, with this first day of Autumn and with this breath that almost feels renewed and with the anticipation of leaves changing from green into brilliant reds and yellows and oranges, warm spices filling the air, cooler temperatures enough that the windows can be opened, cozying up with blankets and books to read, and the writing not feeling like a chore, but a discovery… I’ll find my way.
I really do love this book. It’s been a labor of both love and hate, of so much fear and procrastination. And it turns out the fears have been well founded. But…It’s okay. I’m okay. I think… I’m not too sure.
This book, this series has been a few years in the making, from concept, to the first words written, to the multiple re-writes and revisions and editing passes, to the final product.
It’s my longest book at just over 65,000 words.
It’s the first in a series.
It ends on a cliffhanger.
And it’s my worst selling book for a new release in all the years I’ve been publishing. Not even my very first story back in 2008 sold this poorly. 2 books in a week. That’s all. I’ve started on Book 2, All That Burns, and I’ll finish it, but I have to be honest, there’s a lot of fear surrounding that one, too. And the next, and the next after that. I can chalk it up to any number of factors… Nothing new in 7 months. The current state of the world and the US. The end of July/beginning of August and all the back to school preparations going on. The book doesn’t sound appealing or interesting to anyone because most would rather F1 than Endurance. I haven’t been very public facing this year, no ads, no marketing, no talking the book up, and I didn’t even announce I had a new book on Instagram/Facebook/Threads. I did send out a newsletter and had a really good open rate, but a terrible click rate. No unsubscribes, though, and that’s a positive.
So, there’s a lot of reasons only 2 copies have sold and it might pick up, or it might not. It could be that there’s going to be an uptick when other books come out. It could also be that this series will be the one that flops. I’ve had a feeling that this series would be ‘the one’ , but maybe ‘the one’ meant the opposite of good. I don’t know yet. What I do know is that I love this story and I’m proud of it. I love these characters. Ashton. Helen. Brax. Book 2 centers around Hale and I’m still getting to know him and how he wants his story told, but I love him, too.
Maybe people will give this book and this series a try. Maybe they won’t. I’ve learned a lot and I plan to just keep on keepin’ on.
All Ashton Glitterati has ever known is racing, winning, and the unwavering friendships of twins Hale and Helen Troye, and his cousin Braxton.
Inseparable from the word Go! nothing had ever shaken them. Nothing until that one split second on the track. Nothing until two cars were vying for the same groove. Nothing until Ashton’s car spun into a wall leaving him bruised and broken.
Now, months later, all Ashton knows is fear, anxiety, and so much anger that no amount of pills, talking, or physical exertion helps clear the red haze of rage that threatens to consume him.
The only calm in his inescapable storm is Helen. She eases the monsters inside him. She soothes the sharp edges that seek to destroy what’s left of him.
And with the new racing season set to start, Ashton is no closer to being able to drive, and his seat is on the brink of being given away.
There’s always been a Glitterati in the cars owned by his family… But if Ashton isn’t ready to race, what happens to the Glitterati legacy? What happens to his career and what he was beginning to build for himself?
In a moment of desperation, Ashton crosses a line with Helen, devising a far-fetched plan to not only get back in a race car, but to inflict some measure of pain onto her brother, the man who took everything that made Ashton great.
Time moves fast for a race car driver staring into the unknown, for the bonds of lifelong friendships that have begun to fray, and for a man and woman who understand that every dream can be snatched away in an instant, no matter how hard you hold on.
I’ve been listening to a variety of music lately from different sides of the spectrum… Duran Duran to Miranda Lambert to Taylor Swift to Halestorm. Pop to country to head banging screaming music.
Music and my moods have always been connected. I have been angry, sad, happy, depressed, and pretty much every thing between.
Halestorm is one of my favorite head banging screaming bands. They write about misfits and freaks and feeling left out and feeling put upon and they write against fitting inside the box which is something I have been feeling a lot lately, along with the need to find my own way again, to come to my own rescue, to fit with myself… Their music makes me feel like I’m not so alone, like the storms raging inside me aren’t so different than storms raging inside others, that the need to feel both feminine and powerful can go and must go hand in hand.
So, for the next few weeks, I’ll likely be highlighting one Halestorm song from their Back From The Dead album as I navigate how I’m feeling with so many changes to the world around me.
Plus, head banging screaming music fuels a different style of writing for me…
