On Having a License to Thrill

Well, I finally did it. I've become a "licensed real estate salesperson." What does this mean exactly? Not much. Except, if you want to find a pad to live in, or sell your current pile, I could possibly be your go-to home girl. You know, if you're in to that sort of thing. For those of you that don't know, my day job revolves around real estate. I work for a broker, and have been for the last (9) ::gasp:: years. I figured, it was high time to lay it down and get licensed myself, simply because, it seemed like a logical next step, right?

In any case, don't you worry my pretties, my true passion still revolves around writing, which let's be honest, I've done none of for the last year and a half or so. However, G-Money is growing like a weed, becoming his own man, I've got that dark licensing cloud out from over my head, I think I'm overdue to jump back into the writing pool.

Before cooking up my gorgeous little homeboy, I was deep into my second novel. I thought the plot was interesting, something refreshing. It's totally different from "Stress Test." However, the more I got to re-reading it, the less I liked it. It sounds trite, like it's been done. It's not daring enough. I'm looking for shock value, people. This isn't to say I could keep something of the same premise, but otherwise totally rewrite it, and I just may, but, I'm thinking of maybe starting fresh, something completely new. I'm thinking, maybe a book of short stories. I've got an idea for two different books, the first, would be horror, obviously, the other idea is sort of comedy/satire book. In any case, this will probably be my project as we dip into fall and the nights are longer, and maybe the boy sleeps a little longer.

On Comparisons

I've been writing for as long as I can remember. I wrote my first short story when I was six years old, with my Crayolas. There were also some stunning illustrations... for a six year old (sarcasm.) In any case, I've written a lot of garbage throughout my years. Most of this garbage can be blamed on being a kid, and this garbage, I'm not really counting since I was in fact a child.

Of course, the teenage years came and all I could write about was unrequited love. Typical teenage girl stuff right? Well, this equated to more drivel that horrified me beyond belief. I couldn't imagine anyone ever reading that stuff, especially my intended.

About the time I was getting ready to graduate high school, I thought to myself, gosh, I really want to be writer. I want to write books, share my stories with people, entertain them, make them laugh, make them feel. So, I started writing novellas thinking they'd eventually go somewhere, maybe turn into an actual novel. Of course, being judgemental of my work (as pretty much all writers are) I trashed everything I ever wrote, casting it off as rubbish.

As I entered my early twenties I realized, I really wanted to have an actual book out there, but where was my story? I couldn't keep writing about lost love, there's a certain market for that and I didn't want to be pegged. In my mid-twenties, a story arrived, I wrote it, and published it myself.

It was hard work, but not impossible, and I learned a lot of cool things about publishing. Looking back on the story I wrote however, I realize, it's written from a more immature part of me, I can see it in my writing. It's been praised by everyone that's read it (yes, everyone I know) but also, quite a few strangers, which is especially pleasing. I've achieved my goal, I've entertained people.

Now I'm working on a second novel. I can tell already that this particular book has a more mature sense of voice about it. It's coming from an older version of me. Of course, if a writer's work didn't grow and change with the writer's life, it would become boring and calculated. No one would continue to read a particular writer if they kept writing the same thing over and over again.

I'm looking forward to completing this work as I feel it will be more entertaining than my first book. I imagine it will still be a while yet before I complete this piece because well, I let my life and my laziness get in the way too much.

On Getting Published

I finally finished writing, editing, formatting, double checking, and then checking again and declared my book finished. I decided to toss it out into the pond to see if there were any bites before trying to really sell the thing. I published it on the Kindle platform, and also on Smashwords, which will allow it to be purchased or downloaded virtually anywhere. Yes, I've sold a few copies (to loyal friends) who have told me that so far they like it, which is always great to hear. My mother, read it cover to cover in one day and then proceeded to call me and tell me how fabulous it was (but she is way biased.) It's enough to make me think, I should keep going at this writing thing, keep doing it. Maybe one day, I'll make something out of myself and I won't be stuck on cubicle square for the rest of my working life, which let's be honest, is my main goal, to get out of here and do something I truly love. Last week I started work on a second book. I'm already at the first big conflict scene, I've yet to start writing it, because I don't know exactly how I want it to go yet. I do have a good feeling about this second book though. It's going to be darker than the first, with more of a thriller feel to it. It's just rough, working all day, looking at a screen, and then coming home and working for a few more hours, staring at a screen. Hopefully one day, I can sustain on royalties, and maybe a part time job to get by, allowing me to write more, when I'm fresher. Or maybe I'd just be a slacker in the nice weather and go hang out at the park instead of working. Of course, there's no excuse for not working while at the park, there's always longhand, or a laptop, etc. Anyway, even though the sales aren't coming in at the moment, it's still exciting to have something I wrote out in the world. It's out there to reach people, if they so want to be reached by this book. I'm just hoping it's entertaining to those who read it.