Salisbury.Fake Weekly Update, writing

Writing Journal #16

Hi, hello. Hey.

Cool news! I finished my November Writing Thing literally a few moments ago. My final word count (out of 15k) was 15,041. So, solid success. I think it could be edited into something rather decent and kind to the characters, but for now! I’ve finished with writing for the year.

Yes, that’s right. I’m not going to write anything else the rest of the year. I’m pinky promising myself because I need to take a break. And it’s only a month. I can do a month, right?

I’m going to post stuff in December, don’t worry. I’m not abandoning you yet. I’m compiling a list of my favorite books this year and I’ll do a post similar to how I ended last year, with a “this is what I liked the most!” I’d originally thought the list wouldn’t be that long because I thought I didn’t read that many, but joke’s on me, I am almost in the 70s. Again, most of those are romance novels because my brain needs to shut off a lot, but I think I’ve hit my quota of those for the year and the rest of the reading I do will be stuff from my actual REAL LIFE TBR. Shelf books. Stuff I picked up because I thought it was cute.

So yeah. I accomplished the thing. I hope you’re doing well and I hope your words find you when you least expect them, but not while on the toilet. That’s a bit awkward.

Until next time, friends! ❤

Salisbury.Fake Weekly Update, writing

How Do People Do This?

I received the author copies of Daisy I ordered, and I opened the box a little too enthusiastically. Holding copies of my books in my hands is such a strange feeling. Strange because I think it might be pride, and I’ve never really allowed myself to feel that before. I did just find a typo in it, but ya know what? I don’t give a fuck. This book I put together entirely by myself, and I’m not perfect.

When I was first working on Fulcrum, I didn’t have a printer that functioned, so I asked my mother if I could use hers. She agreed, and I printed out around 70 pages of the first “real” draft of Fulcrum I felt was actually going somewhere. I was holding it in my hands, staring down at the words, and I kind of said to myself, “I wrote this.” Then, I smiled and I looked up at her and I said a little louder, “I wrote this!”

“And I printed it!”

Instant deflation. I couldn’t have one thing for myself. One of the few times I allowed myself to feel pride, and she ripped it away from me.

Not anymore, though. I’m trying to give myself the gift of being proud of myself for the things I accomplish, and typos or not, I am proud of Daisy. I know I wrote about how it was a struggle to get this one done, and I’m not trying to say it wasn’t, that the end product is overwriting (hah, get it?) the struggle to get here. But I think I figured out why it was such a challenge for me to finish this one.

Ellie’s story is deeply personal to me. Author inserts and all, setting that aside, I understood her character in a way I don’t understand the others I love dearly. I’ll never be a chosen one, bound by destiny to save the world like Frankie, but I have been an abused child. I still have this lingering feeling of “don’t tell people, they don’t need to know. Don’t tell them so they know what she’s really like. Let them love her as she wants to be seen.”

I still love my mom. I love her painfully. It’s painful because I see mothers behaving and being the way I wish mine had. I accept her as she is, I accept that we will never have what I need from her. But no one can ever say I don’t love her.

Maybe it’s because this is exactly a year after the last big holiday I saw her that I’m feeling really sentimental, and seeing a finished book about a character I actually was is unleashing grief I refuse to feel. Or maybe it’s the insomnia that’s got me by the balls, leaving me overly sensitive to big feelings because of sleep deprivation. I don’t know.

But what I do know is how very proud of myself I am for telling Ellie’s story, and giving her a place to exist in the world. I don’t ever promote my shit, much to the befuddlement of others, but I’m of the mind that my words will find those they’re meant to. Ellie is probably the truest character to my heart, and I feel kind of like a parent watching her kid go to school on the first day of kindergarten. Out into the world to become herself. Be what she wants to be.

I’m rambling. I’m tired. It’s a holiday, and I am grateful for you. Thank you for reading my wombles. Thank you for being part of the world at the same time as me, because you make it just as neato as I do.

Until next time, friends.

Salisbury.Fake Weekly Update, writing

Writing Journal #15

Another short update this week.

I’ve released Daisy into the wild. It’s listed on my publications page if you wanna see the final cover and stuff. I’m very much a minimalist when it comes to cover design, and this one is definitely minimal. There’s no summary on the back, and the front is just a flower and the words “a novel” centered on it. The title and my name are on the spine, so it’s not like… a complete mystery. But yeah. Daisy is done.

My November Writing Thing is currently at …. some number of words. I’m 293 away from my goal for this week. I’m contemplating letting myself miss goal since I was working on getting Daisy finished up. I can make it up easily, too. I’m a little less than halfway through to my final word count goal, and I don’t know where I’m trying to go with it entirely. But that’s the beauty of storytelling. It gets figured out along the way.

I’ve decided after I finish writing this piece (currently titled Simon Says), I’m going to gently encourage myself to take a break from writing. I don’t know how well that will go because I must always be giving the world words, but as I’ve finished up my Daisy work, I’ve come to realize I devote a lot of physical energy to a book and I don’t really ever tell myself to slow down.

I have a folder of short story ideas that I’m looking forward to getting into for next year, and then of course there’s the third book of the Maker series, Lazarus Rising. That’s going to be a fun time. I mean that. I kind of went through the first draft a bit, about halfway through for some random edits, and I genuinely enjoy being in that story. It’s a home I created for myself, I think. If I could live in Lazarus, my goodness. It’s one of those situations I wish I could link up my brain to a visualizer and show you what it looks like in each of the cities so you could see it the way I do.

But therein lies the other joy of storytelling. I get to show you with my words.

I had something else to talk about, but I’m currently working on typing something up for a friend, and my wrists are a little sore–OH! Instead of writing the rest of the year, I’m going to be reading. I have two books I want to finish before the end of the year, and then whatever else I happen to come across on my shelves will be a delight. I don’t remember what my current total read is for the moment, but I’ll do a “books of the year” post either at the end of December or the beginning of January.

So, this isn’t a short update, but I got a little sentimental, I suppose. I was thinking about how I made a promise to myself to utilize this website more and I think I’ve done so. It’s been nice to put my thoughts somewhere I know someone might see them. I appreciate the readers I have, and I appreciate the consistency in which y’all see the innards of me noggin.

And with that, I sign off for now. It’s not the end of the posts for this year, but it might be the end of the posts for November. We’ll find out! I hope you’re well. I hope your words taste good, and I hope you remember it’s never too late to tell a story.

Until next time, friends.

Salisbury.Fake Life, Uncategorized, Weekly Update

Little By Little

Sometimes, my dad hugs me just a little longer and I am lighter than I was before. Sometimes, my sister drops a random moment and I laugh like it’s how I breathe. My stepmom will give me a smile and I am okay for another day.

My niece tells me about her little almost seven years old life, and I wonder if anyone ever listened to me with such gusto.

I’m always going to be thirty years older than her, and I still see how small she was when she was born. She’s not my kid, but she’s my kid.

When I see the little ways people love me, the quiet ways, the moments just us, it makes me panic that I don’t appreciate it enough, that they don’t know how much it means to me.

I’ve hated my birthday for a long time, never wanting to be reminded of my own existence. I know I’m here, don’t tell me about it. But this year I started asking myself why.

The attention being on me is certainly one of the reasons I hate it. I hate being cared about so openly. It makes me feel like I need to do something to “pay back” and when people don’t want the reimbursement of their love, I don’t understand.

But I want to.

I want to stop being uncomfortable when someone does something for me because they want to, because I exist in their life and they find value in who I am. I want to see why birthday candles are fun things to look forward to, the wishes blown out a promise of future happiness.

I spend as much time as I can around my birthday in the trees. Seeing the world as big as it is reminds me I’m small and insignificant, but not so I can use that to hate myself. It is my way of proving to myself that my existence is necessary. That I am part of the great woven masterpiece I drape around my shoulders, and I am not meant to leave it yet.

Little by little, I tell myself. Little by little, we’ll find our way back. One day, I’ll smile when my birthday rolls around. One day, I’ll embrace myself the way my father hugs me, and I’ll hold on a little longer each time, too.

Until next time, friends.

Salisbury.Fake Weekly Update, writing

Writing Journal #12

Mornin’, folks.

I’ve been, as I told a friend, almost neurotic in trying to get this book done. I finished marking up the manuscript a… day ago, and I’m already on chapter eleven (this morning) with going through to fix things. If all writing were this fast, I would get more done, I think. I did spend about an hour and a half last night before bed reading through Lazarus Rising.

That one I’m pumped to get back into. I forgot how dastardly Mr. Fogg is, and as I was reading through his sections, I kind of forgot I wrote him and just “man, this guy.” So that was fun.

I’m possibly going to have my summer project, aka Daisy, ready by the end of the month, and I wasn’t going to do a big release of it, but I think I might just announce the completion and be all “hey, here it is.” I’m only going to do a print version of it, I think.

I wrote out a list of the front matter I need for this one (the bits in front of the book, for those who don’t know the lingo I didn’t know until I finished Fulcrum), and I definitely think I’ll put a content warning in. It’s not smut on the romantasy level, but there are some descriptive moments. It’s one of those things where I kind of … It’s necessary for character development in this case, like, very necessary, which is the only reason it’s been put in. And the descriptions are there for the characters and how they’re feeling/experiencing things. I hope I did it well. I am going to take one scene out because it is gratuitous, and I think that’s very editorial of me, haha.

I’ve had Daisy in my head since high school, and I never really thought I’d finish it because it just kind of sat for a few decades. It’s got many, many iterations. I’m pretty sure this final content version is in the teens in terms of drafts for it. But that’s the beauty of being a writer. You grow and life experiences color and graft onto your writing style. What I knew in high school is useful, but I’m able to parse through the stuff in my brain far better. Well, maybe. That’s a different story for a different page.

At the end of the day, I’m proud of this book and the story within it, even if I felt like it was an undertaking now in my thirties versus my late teens, early twenties. Maybe my thoughts about love are a bit different, too. Actually, no maybe about that one. I joked around with some friends that I hate love, and then said I don’t, and one of them said back “don’t lie to my face.” I don’t hate it, I just don’t think it fits me right now. I love it for other people, though. Which I think is why this project has kind of been a lot for me to work on.

Good news for me, though, because once I finish this, I’ll never write a designated romance novel again in my life, haha. I will leave that to the professionals, and if there’s romance in my other stories, it won’t be the focus. It’ll be a side quest.

That’s all the shoes on this rack, kids. I hope you have a lovely weekend and I hope the fall air is crisp in ya lungs as you go about your day.

Until next time, friends.

Salisbury.Fake Life, Weekly Update, writing

Writing Journal #11

Salutations and sabra hummus to all.

I’m minutes away from finishing the second to last content draft of my summer project. It’s going to be a pile of paper for a few days while I let my brain come back to being a person. I tend to disappear when I write, and I don’t mean to.

A few moments later and the last pen mark has been dragged across the paper. Time to type. I’ll let you know when the thing’s ready for lookin’ at. I’m not going to do a big release of it, just kind of set it out for the world to see if they stumble across it.

I’m a little tired. October is a hard month for me, and I’m trying not to let it get me in the funk it usually provides, so of course my brain is doubling down.

I hope you’re well. I hope your words come easy. And I hope you are able to see the sun through the clouds.

Until next time, friends.

Salisbury.Fake Life, Weekly Update

Confetti

Don’t mind me, I’m still in Rocket Arena, watching confetti fall from the ceiling while Vessel sings my favorite song off the newest Sleep Token album.

I’m not one for letting myself cry in public. It takes a lot to make me cry in front of others, like truly cry, not the few tears thing. I can do that. I can show I’m a human through that, but when it comes to the kind of crying that makes people ask if you’re okay, I stopper that up so fuckin’ fast.

I wish I had the words to explain how utterly overwhelmed I was when I got to hear Infinite Baths live. I sobbed. In full view of people I love dearly. One of them put her arm around me to comfort me, for which I’m grateful.

I can’t stop thinking about the way it felt to turn my head to the ceiling and watch the pink paper confetti fluttering down onto us as Vessel asked us to drift with him.

Surreal.

Ethereal.

Unearthly.

The way it lives in my whole body, the way it switches me to life to remember I got to experience my favorite band in an arena.

I’m not a risk taker. I’ll talk myself out of just about anything. And the idea of crowds in any number greater than five is abhorrent to me. So, getting tickets to not only a Sleep Token concert, but also the Louder Than Life festival the weekend before, it made me do a quick, “hey, who even are you?”

Turns out, I can be brave for Vessel. I can put aside my biggest anxieties just for the chance to exist in the same room as him, hearing him sing his music.

That’s such a powerful thing to give someone, you know? The confidence to be unafraid of what scares them. I didn’t need to see him (I did a few times, don’t worry, it wasn’t me just Gollum crouching saying “my precious” the whole time).

I got to hear him.

What a beautiful, beautiful thing to be part of, to keep in my heart for the rest of my life.

Salisbury.Fake Life, Weekly Update

Youth and All Her Follies

I’ve been on somewhat of a nostalgia kick recently. My Instagram feed is full of all these clips from Halo releases and someone posted (again) that video of kids from a 2000s year at high school, where it was a camcorder, not a phone.

I think I missed a bit of that being a kid stuff, but the bits I got to have are pretty solid bits. Whether it’s swimming in a pool with my best friend while it’s raining out, driving to Rally’s (pre-vegetarian days) after school to grab a burger (before burgers were 12 dollars), watching my brother play video games on our small TV while our mom taught piano lessons. That last one is probably one of the best ones.

One of the things I always looked forward to when I was smaller was the yearly trek to Peoria, Illinois for family reunions. I never spoke to the people I saw there except at those reunions. My great-grandmother’s children decided to hold these reunions once everyone started spreading out. There were 9 children total, 8 survived to adulthood, my grandma was the baby.

My great-grandmother had all of her children by the time she turned 44. I’m turning 37 this year and while I don’t have 9 children, I wonder if my great-grandmother would understand the pride I’m building in myself. For staying even when I want to leap into the void. For continuing onward, with a dogged determination to prove the bastards in my brain wrong, that I am worthy of being here.

Life was a different kind of challenging for her, especially as the mother of so many children. Things known as an instinct now were being discovered when she was a teenager. She saw two world wars while trying to raise her family. She had sons fight in the second, two of whom were in some of the bloodiest battles. I can’t even pretend to know what that kind of fear feels like.

The point of this whole thing is to say Labor Day weekend is when the reunion always takes place. I’m still on the email list (something not around in Martha’s time) so I know when and where it’s happening, but after my grandmother died, I couldn’t bring myself to keep going. It was different without her. Not quite empty, because there were familiar faces, but more of a dissonance. A chiming of bells that didn’t ring together.

It’s always a time of reflection for me on Labor Day. Now that I’m in a job that gives me the day off, it’s easier to look back at what being young was for me. Young and full of whatever propelled me onward, ready to bolt toward the future of uncertainties and unknowns.

I don’t know what Martha would think of me. I’m only just now starting to shift my own thoughts of myself. But I like to think that whatever exists in the space between life and death, if there is such a space, Martha finds me funny, endearing, and full of the hope that carried her through her toughest times. I’m probably a bit too raunchy for her, but I feel like she’d have a secret smile for me when no one else is looking.

I hope you’re doing well, friends.

Until next time.

Salisbury.Fake Weekly Update, writing

Writing Journal #10

A list:

  • On chapter 18? 19… of my Summer Project (It’s called Daisy, but I keep referring to it as my Summer Project to … appear more mysterious? I don’t know)
  • Gathered a list of short stories that I think I could possibly put together in a collection
  • Went through a few chapters of Lazarus Rising’s first draft (Fogg is so fun to read and write)

I spent yesterday reading 2.5 books, and both were disappointing. I don’t know why I keep expecting romantasy to be good. It’s all miscommunication tropes that make me want to slam my face in a blender. And if it’s not that, it’s the main couple arguing about their relationship. It’s so frustrating that the plot is non-existent in a lot of these. But if the people want the fuckin’, I guess they’ll get the fuckin’.

I’m going to spend some time typing up a bit of the first scribbles I made of The Dust Chronicles. A story I keep drifting to in my heart. It might be a duology. It also might just be a single novel. But a fuckin’ big one. That’s the next project after the Maker Series.

That’s all the snow on this mountain. I hope you are doing well. I hope the summer has been kind to you, even if it’s been hot as balls.

Salisbury.Fake Life, Weekly Update, writing

Writing Journal #9 Probably

Hi, salutations, popcorn in your bucket, and maybe some peanut butter and jelly on your sandwich?

I’ve been writing, sure. The “Summer Project” is about to be merged with the 2023 draft, and that’s exciting. I have to … grow up? the 2023 draft a bit more because the character is older and some of the stuff is youthful.

Been reading. Finished The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver (highly recommend). Read through a few others this afternoon, actually, and had the thought that I don’t think all people who can discuss books should write them. A lot of “thrillers” and “mysteries” are being churned out by the booktok machine and it’s clearly written for popularity rather than substance. That’s okay. The world does need books like that for the readers who want them. I am not one of them, it seems, so I will consume with caution from now on.

I don’t consider those books beneath me, but I prefer the books I read to offer a satisfying conclusion to a building of tension and “thrill.” Both endings of the books I read today were rushed and one of them I predicted well before the reveal of the “twist” and I felt let down. This is why I don’t tend to read modern mysteries. I usually figure them out before the halfway point and I get frustrated.

That’s all the spokes from this wagon wheel, darlings. I hope you’re well, and I hope the heat isn’t keeping you down.

Until next time, friends.