Category: Uncategorized

I was eleven years old when I performed in my first “real” play. I’m twenty-three now, meaning we’ve officially passed the “more than half my life ago” mark, which I’m realizing now for the first time and it’s blowing my mind a little.

For my entire childhood, I was plagued with severe anxiety, so the fact that I would A) voluntarily choose to be onstage in front of several hundred people, and B) enjoy it as much as I did, was shocking to anyone who knew me.

At the time, I didn’t understand it either. All I knew was that the second I walked onto that stage, I felt more at home and in my element than I maybe ever had in my life. Looking back now, I think it was the first time my brain was truly silent in a room full of people.

It seems contradictory, to be a person with social anxiety who loves getting up and performing in front of crowds of strangers. It’s not nearly as bad as it was in school, but I still have a very hard time letting myself be seen and fully letting loose or expressing my emotions in front of others (at least, not without overthinking it for the next 3–5 business days). But to me, the stage is a safe space to do exactly that.

When I’m onstage, I’m playing a character, and the things I do are directed by someone else. So I can be loud, or messy, or ugly, or imperfect, and subconsciously, it feels safe. My social anxiety quiets down and steps out of the way because it can hide behind the idea that it’s a performance, and I can let myself do and be these things because even though everyone is watching me, they’re seeing a character.

And the thing is, it’s not that I didn’t ever want to be those things. In fact, growing up, I wanted desperately to just once be the life of the party somewhere, and have everyone think I was fun, and cool, and laugh at my jokes, and want me to be around them.

It wasn’t even that I was bullied, or was made to believe I couldn’t do that, but social anxiety convinced me that I had dug myself into a “quiet weird girl” hole, and any attempt to break out of that would be met with instant ridicule and judgment.

And that’s why theatre appealed to me. Because more than anything, I wanted - and really, needed — to be seen. I needed some way to let the world know that this other girl, the dynamic, fun, loud, emotional girl, existed somewhere within me, even if I had to shield her behind the invisible fourth wall of a plywood set.

Fast forward twelve years, and I’m an adult now with a pretty active social life, full of friends (none of whom I would have met if I hadn’t joined community theatre after high school) who make me feel that level of safety even when we’re not performing. I’m able now to go to parties and join conversations and laugh and be loud and a little messy and feel more loved than I ever thought was possible, and do all the things I was too afraid to let myself do when I was growing up.

I still struggle with reminding myself that I can be that vulnerable of course, although I’ve reduced the overthinking time to about 1–2 business days, which is definite progress. But I don’t think I would be anywhere near where I am today if I hadn’t put my name on that audition sign up sheet twelve years ago.

Theatre has time and time again given me the opportunity to safely shut off the anxiety noise and openly explore parts of me that have spent so long locked away. With every show I do, every bow I take, another bar is removed from that girl’s cage and it’s just a little easier to bring her to the surface.

I have always been that dynamic, fun, loud, emotional girl. She just needed some stage lighting to guide her way out.

One of the really great things about the work I do as an editor is that I have the freedom to make my own hours and adhere to my own schedule. I hate waking up early and have always done my best work late at night (I may be writing this at almost midnight, but shhhh), and I love being able to work around the hours my brain seems to naturally do best with.

One of the hard things, though, is having to be the one to enforce that schedule. Especially when things like mental health get in the way.

I’ve always made it a point to advocate for destigmatizing mental illnesses, and in past blog posts have certainly alluded to the fact that these past few years have been rough on me, like many others. So, leading by example, I have no problem sharing that I have had some pretty intense struggles with depression and anxiety, particularly over the last year.

Of course, I say I have no problem sharing, but there’s that part of me in the back of my mind going “NOOOO delete this and write something else, this makes you look SO unprofessional, people are going to think you’re falling apart and you’re unreliable!!!”

Which is exactly why it’s so important for me to share, because it’s not any more shameful than a physical illness. If I had chronic migraines, I wouldn’t be embarrassed about them keeping me from work or other life events.

And yet, when it’s a depressive episode or panic attack, it ends up being a big source of shame that I let something that’s “all in my head” prevent me from completing projects on time (and thus I feel unprofessional, and I’m ashamed, and that causes stress, and that makes the anxiety/depression worse, and then we get ourselves a nice little spiral). As always, not something I would ever hold against someone else, but our self standards are never as realistic or gentle.

In a way, it’s nice not having a regular 9–5 in these moments, because it’s much easier to take a day off without having to answer to anybody. I’m my own boss, and I can’t exactly fire myself or have myself written up for subpar work or unapproved absences.

But of course, I do have clients, and I do end up feeling incredibly guilty when I’m not always able to meet the deadlines I promised when I was in a better headspace, or I forget to answer an email and the anxiety of it all makes me put it off even longer. 

If I was injured, or came down with the flu, I would have no problem sending out emails to alert folks that I’m going to be a week or two behind schedule. But it’s not exactly a standard practice to send an email that says “Hey Jimmy, this is going to take me a while longer. Unfortunately I’m having a prolonged bout of anxiety because I had to deal with something triggering in my personal life and now I must lie in bed and watch all of Breaking Bad instead of attending to my work responsibilities while my brain calms back down.”

…Which may or may not have been what I was up to the last few weeks, hence this choice of blog post as I’m getting back to a better frame of mind and playing a great deal of catchup. 

I don’t really have much advice here or a plan of action for next time, other than therapy and becoming more comfortable at least saying, “Sorry, I have a personal matter to deal with.” But I wanted to write this anyway, to let other professionals and creatives know that if they’re dealing with similar things, they’re not alone. All we can do is be gentle with ourselves, do what we can, and nurse our souls back to a place where we’re able to pick back up and get back to our real selves.

And for the record, my Breaking Bad binge truly was epic. Not sure it helped my stress, but DAMN that’s some great TV. And a good reminder that as down or anxious or otherwise stressed as you may be, at least you’re not trying to build a meth empire in Albuquerque.

Sometimes perspective helps.

When the pandemic hit and we all went into quarantine, I was twenty years old, and had just moved out of my childhood home barely three months before. That means I only had from December 2019 to March 2020 to experience “normal” adult life, on my own in the real world, before everything shut down. I had finally made my big move to join the world, and then the world went dark.

Most of my first year away from my family was spent in near complete isolation, followed by a serious relationship that, without going into too much detail, ended up being even more isolating than the quarantine. 

Now the world has opened back up, and I’ve long since reconnected and made amends with the important people that got pushed away, but three years later it feels like I’m more or less right back where I started in late 2019. I’m back living with family and once again fighting for the ability to support myself and get back out into the world.

I’ve heard a lot of early 20-somethings say the same thing, that the events of the past three years somewhat forced a false start, and now we’re all trying to remember who we were and who we wanted to become before everything was put on pause. It’s difficult enough to figure out your early 20s when the world is normal, and I know I’m not the only one who feels like they’re only a few baby steps into climbing what looks like an impossible mountain.

I’m struggling to figure out the next half of this post, because I’d really like to spend it laying out what my plan is and how I intend to relearn who I was before global isolation and a damaging relationship made me forget, but honestly, I’m still not sure. And that’s okay I think.

Growing up as a massive perfectionist, it’s hard to accept that I can’t write out a step-by-step checklist with “HOW I’M GOING TO FIND MYSELF AND START A CAREER AND BE THE PERFECT ADULT” at the top of the page and expect it to work. I thrive when I have structure, and the realization that I’m just as much of a mess as everybody else is a truly scary one for me.

But that’s the thing. I’m just as much of a mess as everybody else. There’s not a person in the world who doesn’t feel messy on some level, and it’s silly to think I’d be the one exception. I don’t love my friends or family any less when they’re not perfect. It wouldn’t even cross my mind. Every single organic being in the world is a little imperfect, and it doesn’t make them any less lovable or important.

Four-leaf clovers come from genetic imperfections or developmental errors, and they’re considered lucky. We’ll spend hours in a field seeking them out, not caring a bit about their normal three-leaf neighbors.

My black cat (ironically, an unlucky symbol), Nero, had an infection as a baby that caused him to go blind. He has no eyes, technically an imperfection, and he bumps into things and misses the litter box and one time accidentally headbutted me so hard my lip was bruised for a week, but it doesn’t make him any less lovable, important, or smart.

If we can recognize that in nature and in our pets, we can recognize it in ourselves. I am imperfect, and messy, and certainly very lost after the last few years, but it hasn’t made me any less smart, caring, talented, funny, and creative. I may not have a good grasp of who I am and who I want to be outside of those things, but those are the most valuable anyway, I think.

I may not have a plan, but I am still important, imperfect, and alive. And that’s enough.

I’ve been an artist for as long as I’ve been alive. I was blessed to grow up in a family that valued individuality and creativity and did their best to foster the talents that my sister and I have, so from a young age I spent most of my time learning and creating and discovering what I love to do. I’ve sewed, painted, crocheted, acted, directed, but through it all one of my very deepest passions has been writing.

I taught myself to read around the age of two, so books and writing are as innate and instinctive to me as walking, talking, and breathing. Books have been the love of my life since before I was able to develop conscious memory, and while I certainly have grown and changed and lived so many different lives over the following two decades, that’s one thing that has always stayed the same.

While I can’t remember learning to read, or the first time I put pen to paper myself, I do remember the first time a book made me feel something. I was about five years old, reading my first “big chapter book”: Charlotte’s Web. When I finished that book, I think I cried for the rest of the night. I had never been so moved by something that was entirely fictional, and while I didn’t know how to articulate it at such a young age, I understood in that moment the power of words and their ability to create such complex feelings, even about something as small and seemingly insignificant as a fictional spider.

Words are powerful enough that even twenty years later, I only have to think of the final sentence of that book and I instantly revisit that combination of grief, tenderness, gentle hope, love, and recognition that while tragically fleeting, every single life has the ability to make such an impact. I’m now twenty-three and have since experienced my fair share of all of those things in my real life, but at age five, every one of those concepts was entirely new and it completely rocked me.

I wouldn’t say it was a conscious decision, but in the following years, I sought out to develop my own power through words. As a child, I mostly wrote stories about the life I wished I could have. I was quiet and anxious, so I envisioned myself as a superhero saving the world, unconsciously allowing myself to experience what I was too afraid of in my real life. I wrote similar stories over and over, putting my inner self on the page and absorbing the stronger version of myself that manifested right back in.

More than anything, writing always has been, and continues to be, the number one way I am able to express every part of myself. Whether it’s fictional stories about people I want to be or things I think are interesting, reflections about things I want to talk about but don’t know how to express verbally, or silly Facebook posts because I love to make my friends laugh, the words I write are who I am, and I’m so thankful to get to share them with all of you.

As 2023 crests the horizon, it is a time to reflect on what has been working and what has not in our lives. For me, this week has been a time of recalibration. That is the word for the new year: RECALIBRATION.

Life has changed. The pandemic has brought with it new realities. We seem, as a society, to try to return to the way things used to be; to hold on to how things were. But they can’t be the same anymore. The pandemic changed the landscape of life, in business and in personal ways, and it cannot be ignored.

One of the most important recalibrations for me is in how I spend my time. Last year, for my January blog, I shared how I was adjusting my space to make it more useful, and how I budget my time, creating an effective schedule. This year the recalibration is at a much broader scale. I still have my ideal week programmed, but now MY WRITING has taken on a more prominent space.

My work with WITS and with Inklings Publishing will continue, but it has to take a back seat to my writing. Someone very dear to me asked a critical question: What do I really want to be — a publisher or a writer?

As the publishing house has grown, the amount of time and commitment it requires has increased. The pandemic’s economic setback, however, has made the company’s move toward a revenue stream which would allow me to pay salaried employees to run it unattainable for at least another two years. So, as we enter into the celebration of our 10th anniversary, Inklings Publishing will have a gear shift that will allow it to continue growing, but not eat up as much of my time as it had been taking up this year.

Instead, it’s time to focus on my books. United Vidden, which recently won the silver medal in the Global Book Awards, released in July of 2020. That is two years ago now. Getting Gortive Offensive, book two of the series, completed has been an uphill battle with all that has transpired. But it’s almost there. By mid-January, the draft of the book will head to my developmental editors — Max Regan and Rachel Connelly.

By April, it should be back on my desk for the final revision pass. The goal will be to send it off to copy editing in June for a release date of December 2023. At last book two of Thyrein’s Galactic Wall series will come out, and fans will see what has been happening with Verena and Amiel.

In the meantime, Love’s Call is ready to launch. February will be the release date for book one of The Dragon and His Kitten series. This story is part of Thyerin’s Galactic Wall and the Intergalactic Alliance but it is happening before the events of United Vidden on a different planet: Gelderant. There, Nichamir Vlanespor Linput struggles to gain the trust and love of the woman fated to be his mate. The events of this romance story will have a major impact on the final outcome of Verena and Amiel’s story.

So, as 2023 opens, I will be working on Love’s Flame, book two of The Dragon and his Kitten series. And in 2024, Nichamir and Denipia’s fate will be fulfilled, with Love’s Flame releasing in early Spring of 2024 and Love’s Legacy in December of 2024. And then, we’ll be ready to see the culmination of Verena and Amiel’s struggle in 2025.

This here then is my declaration of intention for the new year: to put my writing front and center while juggling everything else life is no doubt going to throw at me. Wish me luck!

It’s Christmas time! For many this time of year encompasses a different celebration. For me, being a christian, I celebrate Christmas. Needless to say, there’s much that can be written about that. We could discuss many deep and highly sensitive topics about this holiday. BUT… it’s not that kind of blog.

So today, I want to just focus on the fun of deciding how to decorate. There are so many cool options these days for festive Christmas time decorations. The Christmas tree is of course the number one focal point. That’s usually placed somewhere very visible in the house and all the presents sit there for however long waiting to be opened.

There’s some very elegant decorating options. I’ve always favored the idea of choosing a single color and then using white and silver to brighten it up. We’ve had red and white trees and some blue and white trees. I’ve always wanted to do a pure pink and white but we still don’t have sufficient ornaments in pink to fill up the whole tree.

Of course, ornaments are only the beginning. People can add ribbons as well. If I had the skill set to make ribbons on a tree look good, I would so do it. But my ribbons always look just awful. If you ever get a present from me, you better believe it will have just a pre-made store bough bow. There’s no way I can make nice bows. My mother has that skill, but it didn’t get passed down.

Now, there are some very fun versions of Christmas trees. I love this crazy idea of making the tree look like a woman’s dress. I’m not sure how to even begin to try to create something as cool as this, but if I could I so would. And, come to think of it, that might be the best option for my pink and white tree. I’ll have to devote some thought and planning to it for next year. Too late now to try to get all creative like this.

Garlands are another wonderful decorating option. Also, candle and statuary displays. We don’t have that many surfaces that we can decorate with such elements at our house. When you have tall, big dogs, you do need to consider the tail effect. Will the items survive a husky fluff tail swipe? Of course, cat owners might have to consider their pet’s penance for tossing things off surfaces. Hmm.… We’ll have to discuss that with Ellen.

Wreathes are yet another stylistic piece to add to the holiday decor. Outdoor and indoor varieties abound. I still like the idea of color coordination more than mixing up all the colors. But that’s probably because I am more OCD than I’d like to let on.

Well, here’s what we needed up with this year for our decorations. Not as cool or elaborate as the nice pictures we found on Pinterest huh? Well, it’s been such a busy year, frankly, it was a miracle we decorated at all.