Tag Archives: Reading

Another End and Another Beginning: A tale of stuff and other things.

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It’s been a couple of years and nothing much has changed since the last post.

I’m older. My health is possibly worse.  I haven’t written a full romance manuscript. My husband and I have been learning how to live, work, and parent and do that all together at the same time in some form of positive manner.

But mostly, there has been an overabundance of self-indulgence.  I’ve been thinking about me quite a lot. I’ve been thinking about me so much that I’m actually a little over myself.

I did submit one children’s story to a publisher but the three month deadline has passed so I am assuming it was a bust.  I know people get heaps of knockbacks before something sticks so it’s not that I’m devastated. It’s more that some part of me has to believe I deserve a yes. I’m clearly not there yet.

When I have written something it has always been about me or stemming from me – something that some misguided part of me believed other people would want to read – which is inherently what a blog is. I suppose that is why I moved away from blogging in the first place – I just couldn’t see how complaining into the universe would help anything or move me forward in a positive manner. Perhaps I wasn’t blogging correctly? Perhaps I had no idea what I was doing? Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.  Also a song off my favourite Cake album.

So I’ve started to weed through the copse of self-indulgence to look for the positives that have grown. I have continued reading my favourite novels and continue to love romance as a genre. I have learnt more about myself.  I have reconnected with my favourite music.  I have submitted one manuscript. I have been learning every single day through work and through parenting.

So I wonder – how does one move from a period of learning and self-indulgence to whatever the opposite of that is? Is all writing self-indulgent? Self-serving? Why am I uncomfortable with that? All great questions.

So was it a beginning? That last misguided post and attempt to refocus and push myself? Yes, yes it was. It wasn’t the beginning I was hoping for but it was a beginning.  Hope, I have realised, doesn’t really have a place here.

I am also an incredibly private person. Unfortunately after my last post, instead of engaging in writing, I essentially went to ground. I stopped using social media. You know, so I would have more time to think about myself I suppose.  Or it was born from some misguided attempt at not being vacuous and attention seeking.  That is not so say that those who use social media are vacuous and attention seeking. More, that’s how I felt.  Once again – because I was all up in my own business rather than being out in the world thinking about something other than myself.

So up next is a piece of writing that is completely not about me. Something that scared me because it didn’t fit in a box. Also, something that fell out of me after a large cup of coffee and a moment of bravery.  So maybe coffee and bravery is the key. Maybe hope gets you started but bravery gets in and does that hard work.  Maybe I still don’t get it.  I might be back in a couple of years denouncing bravery too.  Who knows?

Please enjoy my short story titled: The Gardener. Or not. I can’t tell you what to do.

x Angelina.

An End And A Beginning: A Tale Of Stuff And Things.

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I’ve not posted a piece here for some time. That’s not to say I haven’t been churning out submissions for the page. I have. Quite a lot actually.

However, a while ago I made a decision to not send anything negative into the already cluttered webosphere. So I have a virtual pile of blogs waiting to be posted. They haven’t all been negative, but they do all address mental health in one form or another.

Is a blog really a blog in the woods? Or does someone have to read it? Huh?

I realised some time ago that I was writing the blogs for me. I’d love for them to be worthwhile in some way to at least one person out there in the world, however, they really have just been a bit of therapy. They have also helped me stay connected with writing when there was no connection.

So today I’ve decided to end all pretence of having a blog. This will be my last post. I am now reconnected with writing. In the past I wanted to make that a public thing. I was proud and I wanted everyone to know it. I’m a little more private about it now.

So, just in case there is any curiosity about my un posted blogs, here are some of the titles I’ve been writing under:

A Silent Heart And An Empty Cup. Or: Work/Life Balance And Other Things That Elude Me.

My Neighbour Is Taunting Me With Her Washing Line. Or: Paranoia And Other Fun Things.

I Read My First Nocturn. Well Not Really. I Read Some Of One Nocturn. Then I Placed It Gently On The Table And Backed Away Slowly.

Post Natal Depression. I’m Okay Now.

Does He Love me Or Was It The Depression All This Time? A Commentary On Self Worth.

Why Aren’t I Writing? No really. Why?

You Are The Collateral Damage Of Someone Else’s Trauma.

The Evolution Of Pain. Not To Be Confused With Dance.

So Apparently I’m The Elephant In The Room. The Cautionary Whale, And Other Terrible Cliches.

A Sense Of My Own Mortality. On The Wisdom Of Grosse Pointe Blank.

Killing Myself With Kindness.

It’s Not You, It’s Me.

As Soon As I Saw Her Eyebrows I knew We Would Get Along Just Fine.

People pleasing 101. Another Commentary On Self Worth.

As you can see from their titles, they’re pretty amazing…and just for me. If you want your own therapy I can recommend a few people.

Thanks for the good times you delightful 41 people signed up to receive a notification I’ve posted something new. You rock. Don’t let anyone tell you any different.

I’ll be back when I can say, “I just finished writing my first book.”

X Angelina.

I can’t read. Well I can. But just not right now.

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Let’s address the elephant in the room. I haven’t blogged since June. My last blog wasn’t even a run-of-the-mill blog. It was one of those – “I’m going to save the world and end poverty, and look at me, I can conquer anything!” blogs. You know, not quite. But sort of. So yeah, what happened to me?

June was going to be life changing. I was going to write and finish a manuscript (destined for Harlequin Presents) in one month. For the first half of the month I was on track to do just that. Then I became sick. Then my husband turned 40. Then, under the weather and slightly off kilter I experienced something that triggered memories of my experience with post natal depression. Cue several months of emptiness. I want to write about that one day. But right now let’s get to the real point of this blog.

I can’t read. Well I can. But just not right now…and not for the last few months. If you’re a reader, devouring stories daily, you’ll have an idea how I feel right now.

I’m in a funk. Clearly there’s something on my mind. I can barely read the first two sentences of a book before I throw it down and self medicate with chocolate. My usual go-to authors aren’t doing it for me. I keep buying books in the hope one will pull me out of this fog. Instead, I just have a large pile of books. Where do you go when your go tos don’t work?

When I start reading a book I find myself mentally critiquing the style or format. I’m not engaged. I’m not getting lost in the story. I don’t like Prologues. I find too much of the first chapter written from the hero’s point of view tiresome. I want the hero and heroine to meet on the first page. I want lots of dialogue. Blah. Blah. Blah. Even I’m getting tired of these restrictions and excuses. 

I have several theories on what could be wrong with me. So does my husband apparently. I apologise in advance for the dot points.

– I wonder if I could be depressed and not realise it. Though with my history, I’m sort of a pro at identifying the onset of ennui. Mad skillz everybody.

– The 50k in 30 days (Romance Writers of Australia) may have been too confronting for me. Did I burn out? Was I overwhelmed by the acceptance and support I received?

– I just may have backed myself into a genre specific corner. I know exactly what I want and I want it written exactly how I want it and I want it now. (For those of you who are curious: I want a Presents Sheikh. A not-so-damsel-in-distress. Lots of sand. Tents. Adventure. And not a ‘Tycoon’ to be seen. Not that hard to find right?)

– I may have a story sitting in my heart that needs to be completed before I can allow myself anymore bliss in reading. Perhaps I’m punishing myself for not completing my manuscript?

Are you still with me? I totally understand if you’ve nodded off.

My husband’s theories:

– He wonders if my perception of the industry has changed. Perhaps I know too much about the ‘behind the curtain’ stuff now? Is my developing knowledge of the publishing process taking the magic out of reading these stories?

– He wonders if my relationship with these books has changed. After moving closer to family this year, perhaps I don’t need these characters to fill my emotional void anymore?

– He wonders if the events of the entire year have exhausted me emotionally. Leaving full time employment and my dream job to move back to our home town to be closer to family and be a stay at home mum again might have affected me more than I thought.

– Have my life priorities changed? Is reading and writing the romance genre not that important to me anymore? (My heart cries just typing this so hopefully not.)

So I put this to you, am I depressed? Do I have something on my mind not yet identified? Have I backed myself into a genre specific corner? Is not being able to sit down and read a book a #FirstWorldProblem? Where did I put my chocolate? Is there a part of me that wants to burst forth and write MY story? Am I now too close to the process? Do I know too much? Do I know too little? Has my dream changed? Do I not need these emotional supports in my life anymore?

Have any of you experienced something similar? If so, how did you move forward?

Thank you for listening. *A kitten and a box of chocolate to those of you who made it through this whole mess of blog entry.

X Angelina.

*Disclaimer: I’m not really giving out kittens and chocolate. If I had kittens and chocolate I’d be running a kitten circus, serving chocolate, and riding the wave of kitten circus success.

Why it’s important to have Heroes, and not just the Alpha, ‘I’m a Cowboy Sheikh Tycoon With a Tortured Past’ Hero. The other ones. But you know, the Alpha ones are great too.

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Last night I realised my husband doesn’t have a hero. As I presented this new found realisation to him and he made appropriate noises to my revelations, I realised more and more how my heroes affect my daily life. They represent my goals and life standards. They’re in my head talking to me and influencing every step I take. They’re fluid and changeable with age and influence, but they are there. I consult them daily, they just don’t know it.

This wouldn’t be a blog primarily focussing on my passion for reading and writing if I didn’t mention here that my current hero is Maisey Yates. Those of you who devour Harlequin Presents know who I’m talking about.

My natural inclination is to insert an essay on Maisey’s contribution to the romance genre but I’ll contain myself. Just. Instead I’ll keep that essay for my next post. But yeah, she’s pretty awesome.

I digress. I asked my husband if he’d ever had a hero. He ummmed and ahhhhed and vaguely cited a couple of people he’d felt an affinity with over the years. But no one who truly inspired him. This made me sad. It made me wonder how important it really is to have a hero.

My hero helps me focus on my goals. She is the standard to which I base my own work. How do you stay focused when you don’t have a hero? How do you define standards in your life if you never aim for higher or more skilled practices?

It was at this point in my ramblings from the couch that my husband started to really become part of the conversation. By that I mean he looked at me occasionally and smiled as well as ummming and ahhhhing. But I knew I’d piqued his interest. We are subtle people.

So I leave you with this:

Do you believe in heroes? How does your hero keep you focused on your goals?

*cue ‘I need a hero! I’m holding out for a hero ‘til the end of the night…’*

X Angelina.

It’s not you, it’s me.

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I’m certain there’s something wrong with me. I haven’t read a romance in an incredibly long time. So long I’m embarrassed to cite the exact time frame. I can’t seem to stay focused. Is this representative of my current life circumstances, or something else entirely? No really, I’m asking because I have no idea and I don’t want to have to book in to see my psychologist again.

I could bandy around words like mojo and drive and impotence, but let’s not be hasty. Just cool your jets. And your metaphors. I’m choosing for the moment to believe this is fixable. I’m imagining a pill or an online 3 step self help course. I’m hoping there are only 3 steps because quite honestly, any number higher than that just won’t hold my attention. Thank goodness I teach kindergarten and not high school mathematics.

Am I turning into a social media, smart phone, no more than 140 characters drone? Or, as previously mentioned can this be brought on by stressful circumstances? Unfortunate really as reading used to be my bliss, my rest and relaxation, the Sam to my Frodo, and the wind beneath my wings.

Could it be them? It’s not me, it’s you? How do I break that news to my pile of novels to be read? It’s currently heaving under its own lackluster weight. More confounding, is that also includes many ebooks.

Is this a common affliction? Or am I the only one? Do I need to have ‘the talk’ with my books? Do we need to break up? Or, alternatively, and my preferred action – do I need to quit my full time job, flee to the hills, and spend some quality time between the covers?

X Angelina.

Back Story And How It Writes Our Future.

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We all have a back story. For some, it’s a little more linear than others. Events are preceded by the required set up and the narrative flows beautifully. For others, it’s a little more fleshed out. It’s character driven with little regard for the proposed and expected plot.

I’ve lived the latter. The details aren’t important. I’ve also experienced an interesting and varied childhood; met new and wonderful people throughout my life; went to university to become a teacher; met my husband and married him in an incredibly fun Vegas wedding with close family and friends looking on; honeymooned on an Alaskan cruise; toured through Canada; and gave birth to a beautiful, hilarious, cheeky, and charming son.

So I suppose I have a choice of letting the negative events define the arc of my life, or whether I just let them be my back story. I could base all future decisions on those negative events or I can take the positive life lessons and forge ahead accordingly.

I’ve chosen to forge ahead.

I’m getting to a point here. Bear with me. It’s something about teaching and writing. I assure you it’s brilliant. Wait for it…here it is:

So when I teach I have to recognise my children have a back story. For some 5 year olds it’s a short back story. For some, like mine, it’s quite extensive. It’s my job to recognise and acknowledge that my Kinder children come into Kindergarten with that back story. A new character or plot device could have been added to their life just that morning. It affects their interactions and ability to engage in learning and social constructs. Imagine the children who have special needs. They are already struggling with these concepts.

I’m learning that this is the same with writing. Every reader comes to the page with a back story. Every character has a back story. One would hope. If they don’t, put that book down! No really, put it down. It’s what we do to engage both character on the page, and reader holding the book. Like anyone, if we feel respected for who we are, we will stay engaged and responsive to the world around us. So how do we achieve this? I know how to help my Kinder children achieve this, but how do we do this with writing? I haven’t quite got an answer for that question yet. I’m getting there.

Sometimes I feel silly talking about writing and editing. I have no formal experience of either and I’m not published. It’s just something I love, and along with teaching, am very passionate about. I’ve gained insight into people through my own back story and from my years of teaching. I’ve gained insight into writing through those same experiences, as well as through reading A LOT. I’ve also gained wonderful insights into writing through conversations with some amazing authors and editors on social media.

I suppose this blog is a little ‘hats off to you’ – to the authors and editors who inspire me and help me learn and stay engaged and passionate about reading and writing. I’ll never stop saying ‘Thank You’.

So in conclusion, (I really need to learn how to write short posts), our back stories don’t have to be the same. We just need to acknowledge and respect the back story of others.

X Angelina.