On November 15, 2013, I published my first author blog post. It wasn’t much more than a signpost shoved into the virtual soil of a free WordPress blog that I used to bolster my courage to keep going on my author blogging path. It promised that the following posts would include four things:
- On the act of writing (the craft, the execution, the magic and the horror),
- Posts the author finds humorous that may or may not relate to writing,
- Updates about the author’s personal writing escapades, triumphs, failures, and publications, and
- (Much less frequently) The occasional rant on the general illiteracy and ignorance of the human race.
(Those are exact quotes, btw. I looked that post up on the WaybackMachine last night when I was debating on what all to write here.
The next post (on the same day), I shared a piece of writing that was my first published piece from a few years before – a micro-fiction horror story called “Prey” that was posted for free on a horror compendium website that is now defunct.
Because when I first started on this journey to writing professionally, I thought of myself as a horror writer. Horror was my first love. Horror brought me from liking books to devouring whole series. It was even the genre I would release my first anthology – my first self-published book! – in, and what finally made me feel like a “real” author. (I would realize later that horror isn’t my primary genre, and create a new pseudonym for that work.)
Not long after that first blog post, my life exploded. My boss fired me. I won NaNoWriMo for the first time. And I parted ways (pretty much permanently) with my abusive mother. Even my gallbladder tried to kill me. And, somehow, it all ended up okay.
In 2016, I thought it was a great idea to switch over from my WordPress.com blog to a self-hosted one. (Spoiler alert: That was the kind of experience I would only wish on my enemies. It still gives me problems.)
I also adopted a dog who I had to rehome after a very short period of time, because my partner at the time was really not a dog person. (In positive news, I believe she is back in my life as the pet of a friend who dotes on her. Win!) I also adopted two cats; I lost one to health issues and the other in the divorce that would come later.
And I published four books and countless short stories.
The next year, my first shift away from my original blogging schedule happened.
Things on the blog from now until the next metamorphosis will be a little different. I will be posting a once-monthly update, sales, occasional free fiction, and the book reviews I already have queued up.
And I released another book, my first science fiction project. (It was a blast; I’m working on the third now, so hopefully it’ll come out in 2021.) I also lost the hard-won outline I had created for my work-in-progress at the time, Eager Observer.
2017 was also the year that I realized my hoarding – and my then-wife’s – was out of control. We weren’t living on stacks of old newspapers and fast food wrappers, but our obsession with accumulating STUFF (mostly books) was beyond out of control.
That was also when the next shift away from blogging was announced, and said a lot of the same things as that first post. I was clearly overwhelmed by everything that was happening. I wasn’t able to cope with all I had heaped onto my own plate.
At the beginning of 2018, I did my first real “recap” post. I talked about everything that had happened since 2016, it was a lot, but I’ll just let you read that here: The Future is Calling.
By July 2018, my mental and physical health were on a sharp decline, and so was my marriage.
When 2019 started, I did my second official “recap” starting in 2017. I talked about the books I’d published (in contrast to those I’d wanted to published), books I’d read, short pieces I’d submitted and/or had accepted, blog post counts, and even managed to sneak in a movie review and show off my new obsession with the TV show Supernatural. I even had the audacity to call 2019 “The Year of Me“.
By September, my divorce was finalized. So, I moved and I took my remaining not-homeschooled kid out of public school.
Then I hurt my already injured back and spent several weeks not able to move farther than the living room couch to the bathroom and back. Just as I was on the mend, I became afflicted with some kind of pre-COVID plague.
This, naturally, led to a deep, abiding depression that clung to me like an oil spill to the marine life of the closest body of water to me, the Gulf of Mexico.
At the end of 2019, I wrote a post that I very stupidly titled, “2020, You Owe Me One“. In it, I related such news as:
- no longer being bedridden (er, couchridden),
- fulfilling the lesbian trope Friends to Lovers IRL,
- attending my first convention as a vendor,
- seeing Jensen Ackles (Supernatural’s Dean Winchester) up close (and almost breaking my ankle in the process, because I’m that smooth), and
- getting in touch with my spirituality, which has really relieved some of the shame involved with my fire-and-brimstone upbringing.
Overall, the last quarter of the year went well. Naturally, I had to ruin it by telling the universe that 2020 “owed me one”. Anyone who knows anything about the universe at large is that it responds to idiotic requests like an evil genie in a horror movie.
So, sorry guys, but I’m to blame for 2020.
I ended the post by saying I was putting this blog on indefinite hiatus, but here I am posting again.
It’s a week until I’ll sit down to a small feast with my girlfriend and my kids, eat too much, and talk more about how much the pilgrims sucked and how white people throughout history are the reason that the collective We cannot have nice things.
Why did I decide to post again? Maybe it’s because I just got so sick of social media that I deactivated all my accounts and deleted the apps from my phone. Maybe it’s from hope that if I start engaging with “author” things again, I will be able to catch back up to all those hopeful publication schedules I set for myself over the past two years. Or maybe I just miss it.
I don’t know if I’ll be able to keep up with this blog any better now than I did before. My comorbid diagnoses don’t work well together and sometimes even the big bag of pharmaceuticals can’t manage to get me out of the sludgy funk that sometimes pours over me. But I’m going to try.
Thanks for reading.