Fearless and Frightened Female

Kind of an oxymoron, right? Fearless AND Frightened? 

I have written and deleted two other ideas for this blog.  All because I felt like talking about nonsense instead of what is really going on in my head.

Why force something  that should always come naturally?

I'm trying to make a decision. A big decision. A big, writer-ly decision.

Going Indie.

Now some of you nod your heads in understanding while others blink and say "What's that mean?"  Allow me to explain.
Going Indie means self-publishing, being completely independent, and forging the world in the "nontraditional" way.

Thing is, Indie is growing. It's becoming more of the "norm" as days go by. Publishing companies have to be picky in how they spend their money, especially since they're almost guaranteed to take a loss once they issue the advance (up to 95% of writers won't sell enough to match it, depending on the size).  There are those rare few - the J.K. Rowling, Suzanne Collins, and Stephanie Meyers, who manage to strike gold with their crafting, but how many amazing writers do you know of who no one else has heard of?

It happens, and Indie is a way for writers to take control.  They own the rights. They make the money (if any), and they take the risk.  Most notably of late is Hugh Howey, the author of WOOL - a NY Times best seller - who started with Amazon's Create Space and now is signed (keeping many of his rights) and even has a film adaptation in the works.

Karen Amanda Hooper is an Indie author I stumbled across who blew me away. I fell in love with TANGLED TIDES, her own take on mermaids. Man, does she deliver.

The fear, apart from the unknown, is (for me) putting out a book that isn't ready, isn't good enough, has mistakes.  That's not a name I want to make for myself.  Another fear would be no one being interested or wanting to read.

We've all seen those books - cheap or free on Amazon - that aren't very good. They're filled with grammatical mistakes, or even factual inaccuracies (that drive some crazy).  There is such a thing as "jumping the gun" and starting something too soon.

But that's something I have to face.  I don't plan to throw something out there unpolished and silly, and I hope people want to read.  I can't let fear dictate my life and keep me from my dreams, right?

I am lucky to have a ridiculously supportive family. They are fearless on my behalf in this endeavor, wanting to push me out into the world so everyone can see what they believe about me.

That I'm a writer.
A good one.

So we'll see where this goes.  We'll see if it's Indie or Traditional, but right now Indie has a good calling.

What say you, blog readers? What are your thoughts - from writers - on Indie VS Traditional?

For readers, what do you think about an author forging their own path? Are you up for supporting him/her?

Beginning Again

January is well under way.  By this time of the New Year, we've begun separating those dedicated to their "resolutions" and those who were making them just for something to do December 31st.

I didn't make any this year.  I always have goals, but those are monthly, weekly, and sometimes even daily.  This year I am doing The Firm Express workout, because I got it for Christmas, it's fun, and I have to do SOMETHING healthy.  I have been successful halfway through the program.  I plan to finish out strong.

I plan to write more books this year.  I don't give myself a number, because I don't want to A)Limit my brain to anything it could supersede and B)I don't want to disappoint myself by over reaching.

I started a new book this last weekend - I hope to finish it by the end of February. That's a goal. My editor has the first book I wrote last year, and when she's done with it, I will send it in for another round of queries. I also need to edit/rewrite book 2 from last year.

See what I mean?

Goals or Resolutions can be deceptive.  If you focus too much on the quantified outcome, you can miss the joy of the process.  I love writing. I set goals so I don't write aimlessly (and because I'm competitive with myself), but I don't want to focus so much on finishing the books that I miss writing them.

I once knew someone so competitive he couldn't enjoy the game being played.  Everything came down to winning - to the point of rage.  What fun is it to play a board game with friends if you're going to blow a gasket when someone knocks you off the board? (Sorry. I'll show YOU sorry!)

Life can be like that. Not the board game. Actual life.  We're always clawing to get to the top, but in the end, we all reach the same fate.  Everything on this Earth with a beginning has an ending. That's how we were created.
So instead of shoving everyone and everything out of my way to meet my goals, I'm trying to remember one thing this year.

Every person you meet is an eternal being.  They matter.

It's harder to push someone aside when you really look at them.  It's harder to focus solely on your goal when you take a breath to look around and see the world you're in.

That's just my observation.  As always, you're welcome to disagree :).

Tell me your goals - and tell me how you'll enjoy the process of getting to them.
P.S. Wondering about the pictures?  Two of my favorites from the blog last year.

*************************

Don't forget! Neon Monkeys Fly out the window often enough.  There are still some up for grabs. All you have to do is follow my blog and comment below and people will randomly be chosen for every five new followers!

Terror of Tinsel

I love Christmas. It's one of my favorite times of year. I love everything about the holiday. I love the meaning behind it, I love the getting of gifts, and I love GIVING gifts.

But recently when entering to win a $25 Barnes and Noble gift card at The Glitter Globe, we were asked to talk about what scared us at Christmas (there is a new blog offering another gift card. Go win!)

As one of the first winners, I thought I'd share my story with you. Might give you a little cheer even if it gives me nightmares.
The holidays have a tendency to bring out the worry or fear in some of us. Fear of rejection, fear of being alone, fear of having to spend Christmas without the loved ones we have lost or have moved away from. While these are very real things people deal with, I deal with something only a small percentage of the population has to come against.

There is something that comes every Christmas that, despite all the joy and giving, gives me nightmares and a severe case of twitching.

It haunts a small fraction of the world, sneaking in through your front door, to your family holidays, and even lurks near the tree set up in your church.

"But if I lock my door, I'll be safe!" You might say.
You'd be wrong.
Because this terror is often brought in right under your nose...by children.

Yes. Children.
They are the worst offenders. They reek of it. Carry it with them and as they rush to your open arms for a Christmas hug, you see they've brought it with them...it's ON them...and there's no escaping. You have to follow through with the hug. You can't emotionally traumatize (or drop) the child. It's on you before you have a chance to scream.

Just looking at this picture makes me fingers shrivel.

You, my friend, have been attacked by velvet.

It is the bane of my existence, and every other day of the year it is avoidable. Velvet stands out in the middle of July. You can see it coming.

But at Christmas...oh my friends, at Christmas...

Every parent thinks it's a beautiful thing to dress a child in velvet. As an Aunt and a Sunday School Teacher, it's the most horrific day of the year.

That feeling...that touch which burns my skin. I count down the days, sweating through my shirts as it draws closer. The nightmares begin the week before Christmas.
And when the day is here...
There's no escape.

You might think this is all funny - which really, it is.  Sadly, it doesn't make it less true.  I HATE velvet.  I seriously can't stand the touch.  My sister used to wear velvet dresses growing up, and being older, would tell me it isn't velvet and to touch them.  I, being younger, stupidly trusted her and fell for it every time (I did the same thing when she told me something didn't taste like coffee. I was gullible).

So while I hate velvet, this is all in fun and games.  Tell me, what's the worst thing about Christmas for you?  Does Tinsel terrify?  Does Holly Haunt?  What about glitter...is it ....ghastly?

Talk to me. What makes you tick (or twitch)?

As always, we're going to give monkeys away at random, but not for just one comment.  Bring friends! I need to see people are paying attention!

Gifted.

It feels so weird to be back! Weird, but good. I was long gone for the month of November due to NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month).

But I did it - I wrote a novel in the month of November.  It felt good.  It was so outside the norm for me, even in the way I wrote it.  I did everything backwards (for me at least).  Now I have something that, while it still requires editing, feels better than almost everything preceding it.

Now that it's over, though, I don't have the drive I did.  I'm in Christmas mode.  You know what? I am okay with that.  I'm thankful Christmas comes after NaNo, because nothing could keep me more pepped and prepared to enjoy my life than Christmas.

I'm a gifter.  I was born that way.  I love to give a gift that matters to someone.  I feel so cheap when I just decide to go with a boring average gift.  I try every year to pick things that matter to the people who get them, not things that people will say "Oh thank you" and then put in the "donation bin" the first chance they get.

Sometimes that gift means a handmade or well sought unique thing, sometimes that means the gloves they really wanted but no one would buy for them.

What's the best gift you've ever received?  Was it because it was thoughtful, grand, or unique to you?  What is the best gift you've ever gifted?  How did it feel when the person opened the gift?

For me, it was giving a close friend an autographed photo of one of his favorite actors. I thought he might take the picture home and sleep with it (he doesn't).  He did carry it around for the rest of the evening showing it to people.  Definitely felt worth while to me.

So tell me stories.  Monkeys are up for giveaway, and I KNOW you want some.

Suffering from PCS

Currently listening to Spotify.  Playing Norah Jones' Come Away With Me.

For those of you who aren't aware of this terrible sickness, PCS stands for Perfect Confluence of Suckage.  The original post with definition can be found on the amazingly talented J.B. Lynn's blog.

She first introduced me to the signs and symptoms of PCS, and I wouldn't be surprised if it isn't something everyone faces at some point or another.

Today is my day.  One of those days where you trip, catch yourself, fall anyway, get up bruised only to trip and fall again.  But all of the falling is emotional and metaphorical - luckily I have yet to actually trip and fall today.

The thing about PCS is it's the enemy trying to get you down.  It tries to wheedle into your brain and tell you how awful and incapable you are.  It uses your friends, family, coworkers, and even random strangers to make you feel like you don't count, that your passion is irrelevant, and that you aren't good at what you  do.

But just like J.B., I intend to defeat PCS (twitter hashtag #downwithPCS).

When you're feeling low, beaten, under appreciated  and even unworthy, you have to remember these things aren't true.  You aren't that person.  You have value no matter WHAT a close friend said to make you feel like you were next to nothing.

Hopefully, that friend didn't mean it how it sounded - and even if he did, he probably didn't realize how it would affect you.  You can't beat PCS by waiting for that friend to apologize...

You have to beat PCS by remembering that bad days happen.  Sometimes life sucks.  Buck up and move on!
The enemy can't take you down if you're picking yourself up by your boot straps and taking PCS head on.

Some laugh in the face of danger, but maybe on a day when you're suffering, it's best to laugh in the face of this sickness.  You are stronger than the Perfect Confluence of Suckage.  You are stronger than the negative comments that may or may not be sincere.

And when you are having trouble picking yourself up, call the friend or family member who will understand and help you stand.  You don't have to do everything alone.  I have a group of writer friends who remind me that I am a writer and I do serve a purpose, even if most of my non-writer friends don't care to acknowledge how passionate I am about it.

So put on your armor and face the days filled with PCS.  Mine is over...and it truly was suckage (this genius got herself disqualified from a contest for not paying close enough attention)...but tomorrow is a new day, and it WILL be better.

It can only go up from here.  There's always hope.

Join us.  Write your story.  Down with PCS!

If you're curious, you can find me on twitter @KelseyRaeK.  Let me know if you've been here.  Just tweet me and hashtag #downwithPCS.

______________________________________________________________________

Don't forget! For every five new followers we'll be giving away one of these fun monkeys to random selected commentors. Join in the fun - and tell your friends!

Glitter Globe Guest Blog

Today it is my pleasure to have the amazing-insane-awesome-wonderful-bluemonkeymother Stephanie  Pazicni Karfelt guest blogging in the Asylum.

Stephanie is an amazing story teller, and some of her best are from her every day life.  Please enjoy her hilarity (especially when it comes to Juan) and maybe pop on over to take a gander at her blog at the Glitter Globe.  She gives away candy filled slinky dogs.  Everybody likes her.

The first time Juan asked me out he stood me up. He was immediately written off. The Glitter Globe offered no second chances for this type of violation. So later that night when he knocked on the door, I took a moment to prepare myself mentally for the scathing reception he was about to receive. Opening the door, there he stood in the porch light covered in blood, his hand in a cast of some sort and his arm in a sling. Cheater. I totally caved. Completely fell for his excuse. You know, the old “My car caught on fire in an under-ground garage. I thought the gas tank was going to explode and it was parked next to dozens of other cars. I tried to pull the fire alarm, but that thing you break the glass with was missing. I had to use my hand. By the time the fire department came, my car was completely engulfed in flames – the tires even melted. I would have called you then, except they took me to the hospital. I had to have surgery on my right hand, and the left was burned so I couldn’t use the phone even afterwards. Can I borrow your car?” Yeah, I know. I was so naïve. But, hey, the next time was a pity date!


Juan enjoyed hiking and wanted to take me. He asked if I liked nature. I absolutely love flowers, and that’s part of nature, right? And I’d hiked around a castle in a nearby park at least twice! We had so much in common! “Sure,” I said, “I’m very outdoorsy.”

In order to reach the bottom of the mountain, we had to cross a railroad trestle. Halfway over I was told to hurry, just in case a train came.

Then we had to crawl over the face of a little cliff under a bit of a waterfall. It totally wrecked my hair.

After that it got hard, climbing up a mountain. Grabbing onto a skinny sapling to haul myself upward, it came out of the ground and I slid downhill a ways. Lost a shoe too, well, it fell off when that happened. Then I lost it throwing it at my date. It started to rain then, and despite the exertion from the climb, it was cold. We took refuge beneath an overhang in the rock. I scooted deeper inside the nook to avoid the blowing rain, but was told not to, due to the rattlesnakes that tended to inhabit that spot. This was so our last date. At that very moment my BFF was enjoying Mackinac Island – or someplace equally as civilized that involved fudge – with her boyfriend. I thought about that a lot as I climbed.

We crested the top of the mountain, me flat on my stomach, scrabbling over the ledge. It occurred to me at that point that we had to now get down. I’d almost decided to push my date off the mountain, to test that exit strategy, when I heard rustling in the bushes. It was getting dark at this point, but I could see men hiding there. They were dressed in military fatigues. Juan nodded sagely. “That’s just the National Guard. They practice up here on weekends.” Dang. Witnesses.

The National Guard hadn’t climbed up the way we had. They took the road. Yep. There was a road, and I started marching down it, arms crossed, in that cold silence that most men of dating age are quite familiar with. A truck pulled up alongside us within minutes, offering a ride back to town. There was heat in it. I huddled over that heater and Juan said, “Have you ever been skiing?” Skiing? I hadn’t, but I’d seen people do it in movies. “Because I was wondering if you’d like to go skiing with me sometime? This winter?” He smiled his terrific smile. “Sure, I’ll go skiing with you,” I promised. I had always wanted to try skiing. People were always smiling when they did it in the movies. I wondered if ski lodges had fudge. Pictures of roaring fires, ski lifts and fun filled my head. How hard could it be?

***

My Biography & Picture

Stephanie Pazicni Karfelt loves laughter, writing Urban Fantasy, being a wife and mother, and dabbling in the high-tech industry for story-fodder.  Find her humorous take on writing at:  www.TheGlitterGlobe.com.

Speaking of The Glitter Globe, I’m having an Epic Slinky Dog giveaway.  Just follow my blog and be sure to leave a comment for your chance to win.  They make awesome pets. 

The Music of Mumford Mixed with Mayhem

Babel is here.  Yes, Babel.

I've listened through a few times already...and by a few I mean I have it on repeat at my desk today...all day.

With the exception of having to buy it twice because iTunes is being a big fat jerk (which hopefully will be remedied by my email conversation with Apple support people), I could not be more pleased with my choice.

Any who participated in last Friday's final day of the Asylum Party will know that Mumford & Sons are my favorite band - beyond favorite.  I love them with everything in me.  They are one of the few bands I can sit and listen to a whole CD all the way through and love every song.

Most bands I love tend to have that song (or two) I just don't like that much.  But not Mumford.  Those guys have magic in their fingers and vocal cords.  Cords.  Not chords...chords would be a funny pun.

I'm writing this blog because I want to avoid what's coming....

It's a busy time over here in the Asylum, or rather right outside of it.  I'm excited for a pair of my closest friends to be getting married, but we all know it's going to be work to get to the actual ceremony.  On top of that, a Murder Mystery night I wrote will be going on this weekend for a youth event.  Can you catch the killer?  Because the name of the game is murder...

The Bride and Me last November goofing off

A lot of prep work is going into both events, and both piggy back through the weekend.  Do you ever reach those times when you have so much going on that your brain shuts down and you stop functioning?  You have plenty to do, but no longer have the motivation to do it?  That's where I am.

Ah, Marcus Mumford.  He soothes my soul.  I highly suggest listening to the album.  These boys are fantastic.

When you have beautiful music and an overloaded schedule, I think the best thing to do is stop and appreciate the music.  Eventually you have to take a deep breath, pick yourself up, and move forward with your to-do list.  But for the time being, I'm going to mellow out to Mumford and focus solely on my day job. The rest of insanity can wait until the night.

Tell me about your busy schedules.  Or tell me about the music you mellow out to.  Either way, I'm here to listen :)

_____________________________________________________________

Don't forget! For every five new followers we'll be giving away one of these fun monkeys to random selected commentors.  Join in the fun - and tell your friends!