Update: Living with Lupus, Publishing, and what life looks like when I live it

Winter has been tough on everyone. Just ask the guy next to you. I’m certain he has more than one complaint – weather, money, illness. We’ve all been battered, and the massive shift in universal energy is throwing all kinds of crap in our face, but this isn’t a bad thing.

We all have illusions to break and walls to break down. This time has been good for that at least.

For several years my body progressively became more difficult to manage. Pain, constant pain I suffered through in silence, racked my joints and muscles, the winter being a particularly difficult time. But now I have an answer.

Systemic Lupus. Yay me! But not really.

The diagnosis came barrelling in with a lovely expiration date. That’s right, the docs gave my one remaining kidney 8-10 years at best. To make this a little more OMG, they said I wasn’t a candidate for a transplant. Needless to say I was shell shocked. I’ve since found other, less cryptic doctors, who have given me hope. Yes, hope! Combined with a steady ingestion of Prednisone, I’m feeling much better.

The lovely addition of two beautiful children and one of my best friends in the world to this too empty house has given us all a renewed sense of peace and joy. Little things, so very small, have been flowing together to ease the stress and inspire us all to love and support one another. For that I am eternally grateful.

Thank you, Universe, for having my back.

Next in line is publishing. Last month I pushed through a flare-up to put No Name Lane: Diary of an Angel up on Amazon Kindle. It’s a journey, part fiction, part personal, but all about breaking away the thought processes that keep us from joy. With any luck it’ll add a little more light into the universe, and we could all use more of that right now.

To end this rather short update, I am coming back. Just need a little time to settle into this new joy. When someone tells you life comes with a time limit, it puts a lot of things in perspective. And I didn’t realize how much of life I was missing by wallowing in a pool of stress and obligations. Let’s face it, we’re gonna have bills and homes to care for and kids to manage. But those things don’t have to be a noose. We know they’re a part of being on this planet, so why not shrug, smile, and chase a three year old around a living room that’s covered with toys and blankets.

Those are the moments worth living. If we don’t truly reach out and cherish the people around us, then we’re facing this all alone. In the long history of our world, man has always banded together to share resources and support one another. It’s only been in the last several hundred years that we’ve broken away for it, and a progressive steam of hopelessness and loneliness followed.  Why we screwed with a good thing is beyond me, but I’m gathering a tribe, a group of incredible people for mutual love and support. Somewhere in there we’ll find a hell of a lot of joy as well.

To top it all off, you’re part of it. Yes, YOU! Why? Because I’ve seen your heart, the joy and pain, and no one should have to live either alone because, like I told a little seven year old the other day, we’re better together. Yes, I went Jack Johnson on you. ~winky smile~

Love you bunches, and look forward to talking again soon. Mwahhhh!

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Why I’ll only be a Bestseller by Accident.

 

 

 

Bestseller. Amazon Bestseller. New York Times Bestseller.

It’s a constant mantra in the writing and publishing industry. Write more, market more, sell more. Those words can be found on nearly every blog from nearly every writer or publisher disguised in a variety of ways.

My first publisher warned me about launch day – don’t expect too much, this is a long process, it takes time and larger catalogs to get the sales numbers you’re expecting, etc.

He was trying to soften the blow of disappointment most first time authors experience. A kind gesture really, but my anxiety and frustration leading to launch day had nothing to do with expectations for sales. It was merely a matter of the push and conflict to get there.

I recently spoke with another publisher. This man’s enthusiasm is absolutely contagious. I mean, he is seriously pumped to make sure one of his authors becomes a bestseller. And hell, I believe he’ll get exactly that. They have a host of talented authors who will do well, if not extraordinarily well.

He said, “One of you are going to be a bestseller, it’s a matter of odds.”

He’s right, but it brought up a dilemma I’ve struggled with since I started writing. In fact, as I clumsily described what I wanted for my career and from them as a publisher, I inadvertently offended their marketing director by implying I didn’t their services to market. Nothing could be further from the truth.

Why? Because I don’t really market, but this goes back to the title of my post.

In all the conversations I’ve had with writers and publishers, not one of them actually listened to or believed me when I said, “I don’t write to be a bestseller. I write because I have no other way to get rid of the stories in my head. Whether I sell one book or a thousand, it doesn’t matter because I have to write.”

“Oh, that’s not true because I know you’d be thrilled to see your name on that list,” they’ll say.

“Right, but you’d be happy with the money,” they’ll assert.

“Every writer who says that is lying to themselves,” they’ll challenge.

In the exhaustion of yet another failed attempt at communication, I quietly slip away to the peaceful silence of my gatehouse. Here, the trees know why I write. Their reverent observation encourages self-reflection and honest words. With shushing whispers and ancient wisdom, they speak of being true to my vision, the one compelling me to write this post today.

I admire the authors I know that spend hours trying to achieve amazing success in publishing. But that’s their path, and I respect the hell out of it. My path is different, something I realized very early on, but couldn’t quite put into words until now.

My goals as an author are modest – write, edit, format, cover, and print.

Their simplicity has nothing to do with avoiding work. Hell, writing a book or several is damn hard work, and I believe in every story I write. But it’s not about sales or notoriety. It’s not about being on some list, like an international show dog on display. It’s not about proving my worth or ability as an author.

This is about looking back in fifty years, taking my very last breath while lying next to the man I love, and smiling one last time, knowing I accomplished everything I wanted to, knowing I lived my passion well.