my classroom's alternate reality

In a few hours, I will be meeting with a parent who is afraid for her son to be in my class because I am strangling the other kids…
Really?
It’s time like these that I agree with the people who say teachers don’t get paid enough (typically, I feel very fortunate and spoiled in this job).
It will be a meeting that very much tests Mr. Witt’s ability to play the game and not give my true opinion of this woman. Ugh.

rejection

Got another rejection letter today. My work doesn’t fit the vision of their publishing company, but they are so grateful that I took the time to submit to them. Uh, huh. Sure they are.
That’s the bad thing about submitting to so many more agents and publishers. Just that many more rejections. I realize that I need to make a list of everyone I’m submitting to so that I don’t start doubling my bases. Getting rejected multiple times from boys is one thing. People I don’t even know is another story.
I got to do a little rejecting of my own last night. On one of my gay sites, I received a message from a nineteen or twenty year old from out of state. He had no picture of himself. His profile said he loves Snooki. His message had nothing more than his phone number. Not even hello. Seriously? What about me looked desperate enough to take that offer?
‘Course, that was answered by three hours of the best phone sex I’ve ever had.





Just kidding.

perfect storm

I’ve done my best to prepare for today without dwelling on it. I don’t think I’ve even mentioned it here, which says a lot. However, I am struggling so much today it’s ridiculous. I guess it’s just a perfect combination of things, each one making the other bigger than it would be on its own.
Today would have been our fourth anniversary. I almost texted him happy anniversary. Fucked up, right? Don’t worry, I’m not so out of it that I think that’s a good idea. I’d somehow convinced myself that I’d be okay today. Not sure what I was thinking. Okay. Enough on that or I’ll be crying even more.
The guy I’ve gone on several dates with, contacted me yesterday/today about not feeling like we are going to progress any further, but still wanting to get together if I was willing. (And, of course, I am. I was before, when I already knew.) This wasn’t news to me. I’d talked about it here, that I’d had the realization nothing was going to come of it. Still, one more rejection. Even if you know it’s coming, even if you know it’s right, it adds up.
One of my bff’s spent several hours with me last night talking about her marriage and how hard it is, and what a scary time they are facing in their relationship. Won’t go into details, not mine to share, but, wow…
Tattered Cover finally got back to me today, saying I’d need to submit them for review before they would place my books in their store. However, before they would, they need to meet certain qualifications. Mine meet them all, except that the price has to be printed on the cover. The printing job I received doesn’t have that as an option. One more impossible hoop.
And, I know this is ungrateful, and it belittles me to say it—I sound like I’m entitled or think I’m better than I am, but I can’t quite help it today. I’ve had four or five very, very support comments about my books this week. Three people have purchased some books. However, I emailed probably over 400 (?) friends and such. The people I have heard from, with the exception of one, are people I didn’t think would respond. None of the people I thought would be excited for me, supportive, or receptive have even acknowledged it at all.
I know, whiny, bitchy, weak, baby. I’m angry at myself even while I write this. Even so, a little pressure has been release by at least putting it out there, which is why I do this blog to begin with—to help my functioning.
Okay, gonna stop crying now, wipe my tears, and get the hell outta the house and go see my perfect nephew.
Tomorrow will be better.

just putting it out there

Well, both of the books are now up and ready for purchase on Amazon. Their descriptions aren’t up yet, but they will be soon.
As I was sending out about three hundred messages to friends and such asking for their support, The Shattered Door arrived on my porch (it’s even bigger than Submerging), and, simultaneously, I received an email from one of my agent submissions. She doesn’t feel that I am right for what she is looking for. It’s the first ‘official’ rejection for Submerging. Never fun, put I’d prepared myself for endless rejections this time, as I didn’t when I submitted Shattered so long ago. I felt the blow, then turned back to what I was doing, fighting in my own way to do all I can to help this happen.
Tonight, after more massages, I will design a business card to advertize the books that I can leave places, such as my coffee shop and such.
I can look at this two ways. I’ve contacted a little over three hundred of my friends/family asking for their support in this endeavor, and for them to take an active role. I know that’s a lot to ask. However, I would do it for any of them in a heartbeat (and have). I could look at it like, wow, it’s been 12 hours and three books have already been purchased! Or. Three hundred people, and only two of them acted as of yet. I’m gonna choose the first, because it made my night to see that! I’m very thankful. And, I don’t want people to support the books if they don’t like them. Really. I don’t want this dream to come true because people like more or because I have wonderful friends. I want it to be a reality because the books have merit, value, and are worth the time and review and money the money to purchase.
So, in case you are on of the very few people who read this blog who aren’t friends with me on Facebook or some other site, here’s my request for you! (Aren’t you lucky!)

Here is where you can help.
I have both books for sale on CreateSpace (an Amazon company). The
links are as follows:

Submerging Inferno: https://www.createspace.com/3551633

The Shattered Door: https://www.createspace.com/3554115

For Amazon.com, just type in my name (Brandon Witt), or one of
the names of the books, it will come up. The descriptions aren’t on
Amazon yet, but they will be by the 2nd of February. However, at the
end of this, I will include a description, in case you are
interested in one kind more than the other.
Of course, I would love for you to purchase the novels (and if you
choose to, it would benefit me a bit more to purchase them through the
above links as compared to Amazon; however, whatever you want to do is
fine). I hope to have them at Tattered Cover Bookstores in Denver in
the next few weeks as well.
Even more than buying the books, my favor goes deeper. What I need
most from you is to write a review on Amazon.com. (It’s really easy
to do, I do it on books all the time—yeah, I’m a nerd—just go to the
book and there will be a place to write a review.) It’s like winning
the lotto, but if a book gets enough attention and positive feedback,
at times, the publishing company comes to you! Of course, I only want
you to write a review if you’ve read the book/s AND liked them. If
you didn’t, don’t feel the need to write one. And, if you don’t have
the money to buy the books (I completely understand), but would still
like to possibly write a review/rate the book, you can read both books
for free at my blog: http://dreamrefiner.blogspot.com/

Thanks for continuing to read the blog and thanks in advance for any role you’d like to take in my books journey to being published.

Book Descriptions:

The Shattered Door (Contemporary Fiction)--- Nearly a decade after
finally putting the pieces of his life together, shutting out the
demons of his past, Brooke Morrison has settled into an existence he
never dreamed possible. He found a fulfilling career, someone to share
his life, and a budding confidence. He's actually happy. Content,
even. In a solitary moment, everything crumbles in his hands. He seeks
sanctuary in the one place least likely to find it. The place where he
was never enough. The place that still causes him to wake up
screaming. The place he learned he was damned. Home.

Submerging Inferno (Fantasy)--- Disowned by his family, Brett Wright
thought life had hit rock bottom. There was no place to go but up. He
began building a life of his own-a house, friends, even a new career.
Although not the life he planned, everything was going to turn out
fine. However, after nearly drowning someone, life is once again
turned upside down and he is thrust into a world he never dreamed
existed-a world that not only threatens to devour everyone he loves,
but one that brings him face to face with his own hidden heritage.
Being stalked by two different creatures leads him to discover his
true ancestry. The more he ascertains about his bloodline, the clearer
it becomes that not only is this new world real, but that he may be
the key to its destruction.

bound and delievered

What a rollercoaster yesterday was. While not the hardest day at work in the typically sense, I have never been closer to walking out the doors and never returning. It took every ounce of strength I have to not cry out of pure frustration.
I got home and found the package on my porch. Rushing inside, I tore it out. Out slid my book. I couldn’t believe how thick it was. Normal book sized, but, still, to finally see it look like an actual book. Crazy. Flipping through the pages. Page after page after page of words, words, words. I know, you’re like, ‘Duh, that’s what a book is.” I know. But wow. Again, my psyche is a bitch. My first thought was to call HWMNBN. Which, of course, added the bitter to the sweet. In my defense, and his, the book wouldn’t have happened without him. I told him the storyline, why I thought it was crazy and would never work. He told me that no one could write such a story like I could, that it was perfect for me, then supported me every step of the way, even after he left. We talked so much about when it would be published, what we would do, what the possibilities would be. Funny, how none of them involved this scenario. (Not that it’s actually published yet…) I didn’t call, of course, and shoved the thought away as quickly as I was able, returned to flipping the book in true OCD fashion, and reading and re-reading the back cover. I went to dinner with a friend and had great burgers, which truly is a type of medicine beyond compare. Later, one of my bff’s called and told me of her break-up. Of course, we both ended in tears. I keep telling myself that it will get easier one day.
Even now, the book is in front of me. I’ve carried it like a security blanket. The other should come in tomorrow. Goodness, I’ll look really stupid carrying around two books. They should be available on Amazon in five to seven days, but can be purchased on the createspace website.
While I’ll get more royalties from this site, I’m more excited for them to be on Amazon, as then people can leave reviews and such, and it will all seem a little more in the right direction.
Ether way, pulling that book out of its box yesterday is a moment I don’t think I’ll ever forget. One for which I am so very thankful.

call to battle

I spent three or so hours researching/submitting to publishing companies and agents. Out of my huge list that I’d spent a long time gathering the day before, I was able to submit to four or five. That’s it! Most of the publishing companies wouldn’t accept submissions without an agent. A couple of the agents I found wouldn’t accept unsolicited submissions either! How the hell are you supposed to get an agent if you can’t submit to them? Do they have some internal homing device that leads them to talented authors and the rest of us sit and rot?
My time at the bookstore revealed a lot about gay books. If I go to chain bookstores, the gay selection is horrible. Most are about coming out and then there are a few erotic collections, typically no fiction novels at all. However, at Tattered Cover, there were tons. Most of them, however, looked so cheaply done, like horribly low budget movies. Most so bad that I checked the publishing company to make sure I didn’t contact them. I don’t care if I don’t get rich or famous, but I would like to have enough success that I can keep writing—and that path seems like a one-way ticket to oblivion. The only books that looked like actual books, like all the others in the store, were all printed by Kensington—you know, the publisher/agent that was my dream team. The one who turned me down over a year ago, and now won’t even respond to this latest submission. Let’s talk about how I love rejection. So, who knows how this will go?
Through it all, I’m very excited about this week. I should get both proofs in, and assuming I’m ok with their appearance, they should be able to be available for purchase by mid-week. I’m also in contact with Tattered Cover Bookstore (an awesome bookstore here in Denver), and we are talking about them selling a few copies of my book there as well. I also am putting an ad in the magazine that had me write a few articles. Since I can’t afford an ad, we are doing a trade for what I would have been paid for the articles. I’m making steps. No telling where they will lead, success or failure, but either way, progress, movement, fighting for it! While, just like in a relationship, it takes two (me and the publisher/agent/reader—more like an orgy, I guess), I can’t hold it all together on my one. However, I am more able to fight for this on my own. Unlike a relationship, the more tenacious I am, the more in-your-face, the more I fight for it, the more likely success. At least I hope. I’m excited and am encouraged. I’m tired of being content to be shit on. Time to fight! Time to go for it!

development

So, it happened. HWMNBN is single again. And, no, I didn’t go snooping. I heard it in conversation with a friend. And, apparently, it isn’t news hot off the press.
This development, of course, has really thrown me for a loop. What doesn’t when this topic is concerned?
My first reaction was, “Great!” Made me happy. Not because I think he’ll come back. Just because it’s proof that he wasn’t as happy as he thought he’d be. And, if the time limit is any indicator, he was less happy with this guy than with me. I don’t think even six months. I win! (Not so much.) I know that is all very bitchy of me. You know what, I don’t care. If I want to be happy that the man who told me he loved me and said he was going to marry me didn’t find happiness with some [I just wrote a lot horrible adjectives there, not gonna do that] guy, fine by me.
The second reaction is the one that is messing me up. The one that is delusional. A few weeks after he left, he told me that he still couldn’t see spending his life with anyone but me and that he hoped he might be able to figure things out in a few years. Well, it will soon be two years… That fucked up part of my brain that thinks he might knock on the door or just come in (as if he still knows where his key even is).
In the sense that I’m afraid, if the delusions became reality, that he would just tear my heart out again, I don’t love him like I did before. In every other sense, however, I love him the same as always. I still feel like my husband is gone. Out there, less than five miles apart, but a billion miles away from me.
So, the goal for this week? Any time these feelings and thoughts pop up, smash them. Remind myself that he doesn’t love me at all. That he doesn’t want to spend his life with me. That he broke his promise. That to give any more tears in the form of hope is nothing more that being a pathetic, weak slug who can’t face reality.

anger ventilation

I had actual plans to go out last night. Not to a bar, but to a friend’s birthday party. While nervous, I was actually looking forward to forcing myself to be social. I already checked to make sure HWMNBN wasn’t coming, so all was safe. Then, I got sick, again. I swear to goodness I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I am always sick anymore. I felt bad bailing, but I also simply felt bad. I texted a friend and said I was going to sit in a hot tub and then go to bed. It seems that I typed something wrong on the text and what was actually communicated was that I was going to go shit in a hot tub and then go to bed. Once realized, I laughed so hard my stomach hurt. And in all honesty, the way I was feeling, that actually could have been an option. (Aren’t you glad you read this blog? And that I have no pride?)
I’ve cut my antidepressant pill down to one fourth. It’s hard to chop it like that, but I’m hoping I can get rid of it soon. However, I’m not sure if I should. I’ve definitely struggled with the HWMNBN more in the past few days and have had horrible, horrible dreams. About him, and about my family getting sick and dying. I don’t typically have nightmares, so I’m wondering if those are connected somehow. I’m also noticing that I am angry. Really, really angry. About everything. I nearly kill people in the gym countless times a day. For their rudeness, for their stupidity, etc. And, even my books on tape haven’t been able to completely detour the road rage as of late. What’s strangest to me, is my anger at homeless people. I went downtown for twenty minutes the other day to do a couple errands, and I was asked for money no less than eighty or so times (and I’m not exaggerating in the slightest). Both errands had to do with lack of money, so bad timing, I guess. I ended up speed walking, almost jogging, to get out of the throng of people and rushed home to my dogs. Felt like my skin was crawling. This from the man who used to make a point to look every homeless person in the eye and speak to them (wanted them to know I see them as human, as equal); it wasn’t uncommon for me to give a twenty or more to people who asked. I actually did give Five to a lady near my home yesterday, who I saw sobbing last week, holding a sign talking about her baby. My family’s money struggles have made me more genuinely empathetic of how things can turn to shit in a moment, but it’s also made me less patient with it. We’ve gotten creative and altered things to do out best to make it work, worked our asses off. All of us. None of us have begged for money. Of course, that may be next. Whatever the case, it’s one thing to not feel capable of emotion like I did before, it’s quite another to be feeling such anger. Let’s just say, the guy sitting by me in the sauna today [preaching about the heat of the room reminding him of Hell, how Jesus is the Savior, implying that I was uncomfortable with the thought of Christ (I didn’t even say a word), all the while talking about his wife, then referring to another woman he saw yesterday as the hottest bitch he’d seen in awhile, and cursing up a storm and including God’s name in his cursing], should be happy I chose the tactic of rushing out of the room and cooling off in the shower instead of giving into the throttling that was going through my mind.
And now, I’m off to research/contact sixteen different publishers and agents, and enter one of the books into a publishing contest. I guess in that sense, I am totally begging—every single book person I can scrounge up.

the fighter (only with less muscle and sex appeal than Marky Mark)

After successfully uploading The Shattered Door, building a cover, ordering a proof, I took my computer back to the office on my way to bed. Halfway through the kitchen, my little toe on my right foot got angry at the bar stool—not sure why, heretofore, they’ve always gotten along very nicely. It seems this development was unwelcome news to the barstool who let its temper flare and pulled my toenail back, from tip to cuticle, and then released, letting the nail flap back into place, blood pouring out from between the nail bed and the newly remodeled nail. I don’t think I have ever screamed or cursed quite as loud. I’m sure I had to have woken up the neighbors.
I tell this story to simply make you cringe and to share my pain. Right now, my toe looks even more like a baby alien than it normally does.
I SHOULD have both books up and available for purchase by the end of next week (if the proofs come out alright), so be expecting obnoxious mass emails soon.

another step up

It has been a crazy few days. Not bad, but, oh my goodness. I’ve had so much I’ve wanted/needed to blog about, now that I’m doing it, everything is just assailing me and I don’t even know where to go.
I spent yesterday evening with a dear, dear friend that I hadn’t seen in months. He was really impressed/happy with how I seemed to him. We hadn’t really talked-talked since I was continuously breaking down. Of course, after an entire dinner of talking about what I’m focused on (writing, etc.) and how I feel numb and rather out of touch with my emotions and who I used to be, what happened almost immediately when we got home? He said some little comment about HWMNBN (nothing bad) and I was in tears, and everything rushed back. I was so mad with myself. However, I was able to pretty quickly shove it away and lock it up and function again. If I’m gonna be numb and removed, then I wish it would happen all the way.
The main thing I’ve been working on is something I swore I wouldn’t do. I’m going to self-publish the books on Amazon. However, I’m not considering it published. It’s not tattoo time. I am not going to slow down on contacting agents/publishers. However, I wanted/needed something in the in-between, while I wait. I need it to be a little more real. Hold the book in my hands. Have the opportunity for it to be purchased. Get more feedback. (Win the Lotto: have it be enough success like this that it catches the publishers’ attention! AND/OR generate enough profit [$2-5 a book] that I can stop some massage and really be a writer.)
I am supposed to get the proof next week and, if it meets my standards (meaning I didn’t mess up on anything—to have them do it for you is a minimum of three hundred bucks, so I didn’t go that route, obviously) then I should be able to have it available for purchase almost immediately.
When this happens, of course, I will be sending out mass emails announcing its availability. I feel like it’s a big step in the right direction. Like I’m calling it to me (Can’t believe I’m talking like that). I’ve actually been so jazzed about it, I’m having a hard time sleeping. This, unlike the other, is the dream I can work for, that I can do everything I can to bring into reality. That’s exciting.

pigskin

A friend of mine posted, “Does no one respect Tom Brady anymore?” on his Facebook page. Being ever so clever, I replied with, “Marsha, Marsha, Marsha.”
Soon, many other people had replied to his post. Several of them saying that Tom Brady is an asshole and no one should respect him. I found this to be odd. True, he might not have been as cool at Greg Brady who was sleeping with Florence Henderson, but I hardly thought that made him an asshole. A little while later, the post began to allude to football (don’t ask me what they were in reference to). Turns out, Tom Brady is also a football player. It seems my friend has an issue with the lack of respect to this football player.
I threw up a little in my mouth when I realized I had commented on a football post. Gag me with a spoon. Like, for reals!
On the way into the coffee shop, this rather large man came out of his home, heading to his car, which he seemed to be unloading into his home. He gave me a once over, then asked me if I played football. I laughed (probably a little too hysterically) and said no over my shoulder as I walked away. He yelled out after me that I look like I should be, grunted, and said he was jealous. Not really sure if he was coming on to me, trying to get him to help him move, or just being a dumb straight guy.
Actually, just looked up who the new Tom Brady is. And the answer is a resounding, “Yes! He has every ounce of my respect—and everything else. Goodness!”

mouths of babes

Ahhh, Sunday and still have one more whole day off! Perfection!
I only have a little time to write today, but hope to get a lot more done tomorrow. I don’t think I’ll send to any publishers/agents this weekend, but probably will start again next weekend. It’s nice to feel like I am actually taking more of an active role in accomplishing my dream/goal. You’d think writing a couple books would be an active enough role, but obviously not.

I’ve written about Dean Koontz a couple times lately. Each time, someone (anonymous) leaves a comment about how his books are all been there/done that, and that instead we should be reading some banned political book—one that I’ve actually heard about. I don’t publish these comments, because of the link. I’m not going to trust a link from someone who won’t publish their name. I can’t tell if it is an actual person or some automated response. Therefore, if you want to publish your comment about this book feel free. However, please do it without a link (don’t want to be the cause of someone’s computer exploding), just say where they can find it—as I don’t want to overtly censor comments on here, but still want to protect the ‘integrity.’

I had dinner with PCSV&LDR-L Friday (these are the friends I’ve spoken of before who I feel are some of the best parents I’ve ever seen). They told me a rather adorable, heart-warming story. I think it’s heart-warming. Some of you will think it is far from heart-warming, buy that’s your problem.
Their friends (one of whom is a pastor) are getting married pretty soon. Their wedding is in another state. They are both women. That, dear reader, would make them lesbians. You know, flannel wedding dress, tool box instead of a bouquet, or something like that.
They were discussing attending the wedding at their dinner table the other night and SV began asking about their friends’ wedding, if she could be the flower girl and such. Soon, she asked who their friend was marrying. They told her the name. She said, ‘She’s marrying a girl?’ They replied that she was. SV laughed and laughed. ‘Why would you marry a girl?’
P (the husband) considered going into homosexuality and heterosexuality, and quickly dismissed such a detailed, deep conversation for their kindergarten daughter. ‘Well, they love each other and want to always be together.’
SV thought about this for a moment, and seemed ok with that reasoning. Soon, she looked up again, ‘Will they have kids?’
P, ‘Probably not?’
SV, ‘Why not?’
P and C (the wife) look at each other. C covers her mouth, unsure what to say, unbelieving that the conversation with her little girl took an unexpected turn to sex. P, bugged eyes toward his wife, muttered, ‘Oh, Lord.’
He turned to SV, ‘Well, they don’t have the right equipment needed to make a baby.’
C, to SV, ‘Here, hun. Eat your quesadilla.’

Of course, I died at that part. Love it! ‘Eat your Quesadilla!’ Perfect! Equipment is pretty perfect as well.

I loved their thoughtfulness as they spoke to their daughter. They didn’t want to label, they didn’t want to divulge too much information at such a young age, but also want their daughter to simply know and love people. They constantly talk to their daughters about God and His love for them and what it means to be a good woman and a Christian. (They both work in ministry—and not uber-left wing ministry.)
Things won’t always be like they are now for young boys and girls who like other boys and girls. For that I am unbelievably grateful!

Writing about Writing

I did something fairly stupid last night, but a decision I’m glad I made. I turned down a massage client to go write. While I need the money desperately, I also need to give my writing the respect to pay attention to it on times when I’m not on break. If I want it to be a career, I need to treat it as such—sadly, I can’t do that as much as I want, but maybe someday I won’t have to do massage ever again!
I’m returning to the ghost story I began a year and a half ago, The Lodge. It will be a novella (much shorter than a novel, longer than a short story). I doubt I will be able to publish it, due to the length, unless other work I publish is received well. Either way, it’s okay. It’s a story that’s been playing around in my head for a long time, and any type of writing will only make me a better writer when I begin book two of the series.
The Dean Koontz book, What the Night Knows, is still sucking up my attention. I love it. I keep having to look over my shoulder in the car to make sure there’s no one, or no thing, back there. I’m pretty confident in my ability to write a dramatic scene, a tense scene, but I’m not really sure how to write a scary scene. It’s kinda strange since I read a lot of scary books. I’ve really tried to pay attention to when my heart rate increases and I have moments when I have to look behind me or turn on more lights or whatever due to fear as I read. What is the author doing that makes me feel that irrational fear of the book in my hands (or the sound in my car)? Honestly, the only thing I can figure out that they have in common is almost a lack of detail. Enough detail to paint very hazy lines, but a huge absence that allows your brain to take off on its own. The books that paint the scary scenes too clearly seem to make it more of a science fiction feel or fantasy, and loose part of the horror/fear aspect. For me, there isn’t a much harder task. I like to connect the dots, and it’s a daunting skill to know which details to give and to what level that will allow the readers’ brain to take off on a fear tangent.
I’ve read the first three pages of The Lodge several times over the past year or so. Simply because I really like what I written. The style is very different from my normal, and the characters aren’t ones I would normally choose. I don’t really even like my main character, he’s kind of a selfish, insecure asshole (that sadly has enough of me in him, that I can relate to his narcissistic apathy at times). I spent an hour or so simply reading the twelve pages I had written. Three-fourths of it, I don’t even remember writing. Even though I remember the outline I had crafted, I wouldn’t have been able to tell you what happened on the next page (isn’t that strange? I wrote the damned thing.). To my pleasant surprise, I found myself getting scared, even glancing around once in the middle of the coffee shop… just to make sure. Or maybe I was just wishful thinking.
I spent the next hour and a half, painstakingly trying to craft half a page. Finally, I jotted down some notes on where I wanted to go next and put it away. If I’m pushing that hard and nothing is coming, chances are it’s going to be crap anyway.
Hopefully, I can make myself turn down both clients and friends one evening a week to spend writing, or contacting agents, etc.
This in one area of my life I have to start believing in myself enough to invest more time and take bigger risks.

busy night

I made three discoveries yesterday. Discoveries isn’t the right word, but whatever:
1. Things with Mr. Big, Tall, and Gorgeous are never going to be more than just dates and having fun together. I can’t even give the unabridged list of reasons, it was just a moment when we were together last night that it was crystal clear. Nothing that anyone did wrong, just a truth that suddenly glowed brightly. So brightly that I don’t see how he wouldn’t have seen or felt it at the exact same time. As you know, I haven’t really had my hopes up, but that realization is never fun. Granted, I could be wrong. But, I’m not.
2. More than a discovery, I guess it was more of a confirmation. I handle things differently than most, especially regarding my heart/love/break-up/etc. Without detail, life showed me plainly that others are ‘stronger’ in this area than I. What has taken nearly two years for me (am I’m not there yet) other’s process in a matter of minutes (comparatively). I’d like to say most haven’t had the level of love/happiness/etc. that I did and that is why. However, I have a sneaking suspicion, it’s me that is missing some. . . thing (I don’t even know what it is—strength, sanity, resilience), not the other way around. [Britney’s new song, while nowhere near the top of her best list, triggered me hugely—you wouldn’t believe the amount of celebration HWMNBN and I did whenever she released a new song—or, God-forbid, a new album. He was celebrating elsewhere sans me.—and No, this is not the source of discovery number two.] And, I didn’t sit and dwell on it. It was numb realization, but realization nonetheless.
3. One of my water frogs is a mutant, or X-Man or something, which I guess is redundant. Last week, I couldn’t find the larger of my two water frogs, Hermione. These are the water frogs that live in water, they don’t go back and forth. Finally, I decided, she must have gotten eaten by Salazar, the salamander. Then, one day, she was swimming around again. Once more, yesterday, I couldn’t find her. Then, a motion in the corner of the tank caught my eye. She was sitting underneath one of the plants, lounging lazily on some moss. I’m pretty sure I screamed when I threw open the tank, chastising voraciously, and tossed her back into her little pond. Later, after discovery number one, I watched in astounded horror as she climbed slowly, almost painfully out of the water, over a log and up a plant. Yes, UP a plant. Not with sticky feet, water frogs don’t have those, but ‘branch’ by ‘branch’ as you or I would climb a tree (if I had any desire to climb a tree, I don’t). I also noticed that her skin is much, much darker all of the sudden, when I compared her to her friend, Luna. It was like walking in and finding one of your goldfish laying by your stove trying to make tea, or masturbating or something. Not sure why, but it was very disturbing. I’m not sure what little creature I have in my home. If you hear that I was murdered in some mysterious fashion, please tell the police that a certain Hermione Granger may be responsible.

Invitation

I notice that today is 01.11.11. Fun date, and it made me realize a better date is soon coming, one that I won’t be alive for in another thousand years. At least the outlook isn’t positive so far…
I’m getting married! It’s true. I’ve decided. On November 11, 2011. I’ve always loved the numbers six and eleven. Nobody wants their wedding date to be 6.06.06. Well, maybe someone does, but I doubt it would be a good idea to marry them. Therefore, 11.11.11 will do nicely. I’m not sure who the groom (well, the other groom) will be. Maybe whoever I’m going on dates with at the time, maybe someone I meet on-line, maybe someone who happens to be next to me at Sonic, or maybe someone who isn’t even aware what we are doing. Maybe I’ll pull a Sue Sylvester and marry myself, might as well—had enough practice.
So, please send all engagement gifts no later than May. Pre-wedding gifts by September. There will of course be a wedding cake—best part of any wedding, followed by a reception where the actual wedding gifts will be expected. I’ve also decided to have a pre-honeymoon in the Spring in Seattle and one more in the Fall in DC. By myself, of course—hard to take your husband if you’re not deciding till the day of the wedding. If you feel a leading to provide pre-honeymoon gifts, please make sure they are airplane portable and have a safety release, just incase I loose the key.
If, perchance, you’d like to apply for the position to be filled on 11.11.11, please submit an application with a photo and blood work no later than then 10 AM on 11.11.11. Don’t worry, if you decide to break your vows, I won’t hold it against you, I know it comes with the territory. Been there, done that. Oh, Dunkyn and Dolan will expect some sort of dowry for my hand in marriage, and they have expensive tastes.

what lies under the glisten

I’ve decided that it must just be my car/tires, not the weather that is trying to kill me. I was fish-tailing all over the road, getting stuck at intersections, barely making it up two inch hills. Everyone else was zooming around me, and not just 4-wheel drives, but little old grandma cars. And when you’re sliding all over the place, it really doesn’t help having cars fly around you. Really thought I was gonna die. Maybe it just need new tires, too bad those cost money. Whoever those people are that voted for a cut in snow removal crews this past election where morons. Or maybe they just have good tires.
Last night was rather unfun. I got stood up, not that unusual, but still not fun. Saw that the guy who claimed to have a crush on me forever then said he just wasn’t ready for a relationship has decided that he must be ready (five seconds later) according to his facebook status (no, I wasn’t checking, it just popped up). Learned some information about something someone I respect deeply does when his boyfriend isn’t around. You’re never safe. Never. It wasn’t one of those cry myself to sleep nights or anything, nothing like that, just one more, ‘wow, life can be really shitty’ kind of evenings.
However, today, I have my kids and that makes nearly everything better. To top it off, today is even when we get to read our novel—which is my favorite part of the week! If I can’t ever get published, I really should find a job where I can just read books to kids all day.

one more anthem

I know Sara Evans does this song, but I like the Leighton Meester version better
Really hit home.

Woke up late today
And I still felt the sting of the pain
But I brushed my teeth anyway
Got dressed through the mess
And put a smile on my face
I got a little bit stronger

Riding in the car to work
And I'm trying to ignore the hurt
So I turned on the radio
Stupid song made me think of you
I listened to it for a minute
But then I changed it
And I'm getting a little bit stronger
Just a little bit stronger

I'm done hoping that we can work it out
I'm done with how it feels
Spinning my wheels
And letting you drag my heart around
And I'm done thinking you could ever change
I know my heart will never be the same
But I'm telling myself I'll be okay
Even on my weakest days
I get a little bit stronger
I get a little bit stronger

It doesn't happen overnight
Then you turn around and months gone by
And you realize you haven't cried
I'm not giving you an hour, or a second, or another minute longer
I'm busy getting stronger

I'm done hoping that we can work it out

I'm done with how it feels
Spinning my wheels
And letting you drag my heart around
And I'm done thinking that you could ever change
I know my heart will never be the same
But I'm telling myself I'll be okay
Even on my weakest days
I get a little bit stronger
Just a little bit stronger

Getting along without you, baby
I'm better off without you, baby
How does it feel without me, baby?
I'm getting stronger without you, baby

I'm done hoping that we can work it out
I'm done with how it feels
Spinning my wheels
And letting you drag my heart around
And I'm done thinking that you could ever change
I know my heart will never be the same
But I'm telling myself I'll be okay
Even on my weakest days
I get a little bit stronger
Just a little bit stronger

I get a little bit stronger
Just a little bit stronger
A little bit, a little bit, a little bit stronger

A little bit stronger

Come here, Agent, Agent, Agent

I’ve sent queries to three more agents yesterday and today. Three in all, not three each day. Even though I now have generic queries and synopsis, etc, it still takes me forever to adjust those to suit whichever agent I am addressing at the time. While I am actually very confident in my fantasy book, it is such an intimidating process, one where I know they can toss me away within a few lines, because they don’t want to deal with gay fiction, or because they had chewy chicken in their cobb salad at lunch and are in a grumpy mood. I second-guess everything each time. I must say, the amount of pursuing I am doing is somehow increasing my confidence. Actually, that’s probably not that true, but it is increasing my devil-may-care outlook. The worst they can say is no or not respond at all. Of course, that actually is the worst, what I want the least. However, the more no’s I get, the more likely someone will have just gotten back from having the best quickie over their lunch break, be in such a great mood, that they say yes. So, if any of you are in the mood for a quickie and are up to rocking a bunch of middle-aged women’s worlds, I’ve got a to-do list for you.
The rest of my snowy day (pretty gorgeous actually, but ugh…) will be spent doing housework with the puppies, then spending a few hours with some newer but dear friends this evening. The pups really don’t help as much as they should, considering the amount of their poop I pick up. Truly. They each shit twice their own body weight on our walk yesterday. The least they could do would be to hang up clothes or shovel the sidewalk.
Talking about dogs always makes me think of Dean Koontz. Which made me think of the new Audio Book I’m ‘reading’ right now. What the Night Knows. It’s Dean at his best. I keep looking over my shoulder while I’m driving to make sure there’s nothing in the backseat and that I really am alone. Such a fun, disturbing book. One of those books that makes me excited to tell stories of my own. Consider this your book recommendation for the week!

the plan for today

Everyday the world is fallin’ down
Scattered like the leaves
Tossed about in the wind
Blownin’ away from me

Today is Gavin day!!!! So excited to him! The rest of my family too, of course, but, come on! I was planning on working on the ghost story today, but I don’t think I can wait to see him, so writing will have to wait. However, I am going to spend a bit of time attempting to contact two more agents and another publishing company or so. It has been two weeks since I submitted to the other agent, so it is time to keep looking. I am not going to wait for magic to happen and the winning writing lotto ticket to fall in my lap—gonna do all I can to make it happen.
May you have a wonderful Saturday and have something as good in you life as a gorgeous little boy!

grasping fleeting thoughts

Just got back from ‘Country Strong.’ Very good. Although my friend and I both felt beat up after—too close to home in some ways at the moment.
I want to get something down while I’m thinking of it. Something I hadn’t even realized until I was talking to my friend about what he is going through. He turned to me and said, “I’m trying to figure out if I should keep hoping [hold onto hope] and keep hurting or just let it go.”
It brought me right back to where I was, where I stayed for so, so long. I fought so hard to hold onto hope that HWMNBN would return, to believe that he would remember his love for me, keep his promises. When I didn’t feel like I could hold onto hope any longer, I asked a friend to hold to it for me so that I could rest for bit [as stupid as that may sound], when I knew I wasn’t strong enough to keep it up. Maybe it’s kin to my upbringing of Faith, especially in regards to healing. If you have faith, the healing will happen. I’ve spoke of this before with my Grandma, it was the one time I truly had perfect, solid, immovable faith. She died. With him, if I gave up hope, (holding onto hope is perpetual pain, perpetual exhaustion), then I had condemned him to not returning, I’d condemned my love for me, I’d condemned what we had and could be again. By giving up hope, maybe I’d make it where I wouldn’t even want him to return. It seemed my friend is facing similar emotions.
Here’s what I said: I don’t believe that’s true. I no longer have any hope of HWMNBN returning. None. He will never look back. My hope for that is gone. However, if he did, I would take him back, still. I still want him to return.
Who knows, it may happen. I know it won’t, but life is fucked like that.
Although, now that I think of it, maybe the death of the hope was the death of the me I was, that I was blabbering on about earlier tonight. Maybe when that man gave up the last bit of hope, he committed suicide and I’m the man that was left. Of course, since I still wish he’d return (big difference between wishing and hoping), maybe not.

residence

Another break-up happened last night. No not me. Obviously. However, one that effects me deeply. One that, due to the people and to the timing, had me sobbing. I wish I could say the tears were for my friend as we sat together, and some of them were, but we all know what most were really about. This is one more event, I honestly need to blog, blog, and blog about, but, it is not mine even to blog about, so I have to find other ways to process this.
Despite the tears last night, I feel like I’ve turned the corner. I don’t know if it is permanent corner, or one that will wind back around. I also don’t really know what triggered the corner turn. I think a combo of his ever-sweet but ‘leave me the fuck alone’ between the lines response on his birthday, Christmas being over, New Year’s passing, pre-processing this other break-up, friend after friend being in crisis lately (legitimate, real crisis, not just drama)… Whether it lasts or not, a thought came to me today and it’s either brilliant or plain psychotic. I think the last bit of the man I was has finally died. Whatever bit of him was there, clinging onto life, has been cleaved off. That fact that I don’t even feel sad about that kinda confirms it. While I’d rather be that man, he was happier, and I simply liked him better, I no longer am. Looking back, it’s like it all happened to someone else—both the love and promise and that shattering. It’s detached. Not really personal right now. It was someone else’s life. I’m not that man anymore, it didn’t happen to me. To the man that lived in my body, yes, but not to that man that lives here now.
I said wanted it over. If this is what I was asking for, I didn’t know it. But, hell, I’ll take it.

The 'B' Word. You know, Blog.

Tonight’s offering will be mostly a random blathering of garbage, mostly. Just fair warning.

First, news from one of my Seattle friend’s facebook pages. I’m not sure if he took the picture there or found it elsewhere. This photo shows a sign posted in the subway station. It reads: GANG RAPE IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED—VIDEO CAMERA IN USE. First of all, why wasn’t I told about this subway before it was prohibited? Two, they seem to be sending mixed messages. Why video tape if they are telling people to NOT rape. What a boring tape that would be. La, la, la, look at all the people sitting around, not raping anyone. No thanks! Might as well watch Jerry Falwell reruns!

Second, there is, apparently, an outcry against Menthol cigarettes for targeting African-American people in their advertising. They are being accused of attempting genocide—not making this up. Damned if you do, damned if you don’t. They’d be in trouble if they didn’t mark their product to them—they’d be racist. Dumbest shit ever. Well, not ever, but close. By that logic, Marlboro has attempted genocide against hot and sexy cowboys for decades! Thank God they have yet to succeed! BTW, I hear that African-American is no longer politically correct or appropriate, it seems ‘Black’ is correct again. It’s all very confusing. Just like the gay people continuing to add letters to my population. At first I was part of the GL community, then the GLBT community. They have now added two or three more letters, and switched the L and G so the lesbians could be first. Selfish Lesbian. It’s really messing with my sense of self. You know, I pretty much knew who I was when people yelled ‘Faggot’ down the hall in high school. I didn’t need all those fancy letters. Poor little fags today who get yelled at! They have to try to figure out word the people are spelling as they get called names and beat up.

The person reporting on that news story was more outraged by the fight against cigarettes than the stupidity around the imaginary race issue. He was saying it was a fight against freedom, against the American way of life, akin to socialism. Again, not making this up. Personally, I think it should be totally fine for people to smoke and not pay a higher percentage of taxes for their purchase. However, it should be in their homes or designated areas, as I choose to not breath in cancer on purpose, they (or their insurance) also need to be responsible for their own doctor bills as they are dying. This same person, however, is drastically against the legalization of Pot. I’ve never done pot, nor do I want to, but I believe cigarettes and alcohol are much more damaging than pot. He also is against me getting married. Actually, just got glad he uses his American right to smoke. Maybe I should send him a few more packs to he can continue to use his freedom for a shorter amount of time instead of suffocating mine.

Third, while we are on the subject of African-American (Black?) topics, I also found out that the newest printing of Huckleberry Finn will be edited from it’s original. The word Nigger will now be replaced with substitutes, like slave and such. Yes, I typed Nigger. I hate hinting at things. I don’t say the ‘The F-word’ like it’s gonna kill someone—in regards to fuck or faggot. (Actually, I’m afraid people will think I’m referring to the word ‘Flapjack,’ and that could be confusing. I might get strange looks and get asked, “Why’d you just as if I wanted to Flapjack you?”) Because if I say ‘The N-word,’ you’re not gonna have the word flash through your mind so loudly you miss the next three words I say? (If you find this tirade racist, please reference the following paragraph.) Seriously? We’re editing Mark Twain? Really? Let’s edit Hitler’s writing and make it more friendly. People are morons. In addition, what is the big deal with these books? I loved the story when I was seven, I wanted to be Becky Thatcher. No idea why, actually. Maybe to run away with Tom, I bet his arms were hot from starting to paint that fence. But, really, (and maybe I’ve just been exposed to the stories too many times) those books are soooooooo dull. If anything, they should edited for that! Throw in a few vampire slaves, a couple mermaids around Huck and Jim’s raft, some werewolf gypsies, a gay orgy happening in the casket at the funeral when Tom fakes his death. (Yes, I know Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn are two separate books.) Again, morons!

Finally, in the only segment that might not be complete garbage, lately, I’ve heard a lot about a book/author that I discovered during one of my many, many hours in books stores in Seattle. Not only have I heard about her on some of my Gay News sights in the past couple weeks, but even in People magazine. My Princess Boy: A Mom's Story about a Young Boy Who Love to Dress Up by Cheryl Kilodavis. I didn’t pay any attention to the author when I saw the book in Seattle. It is a picture book for kids, showing an African-American (Black?) boy who likes to dress in sparkly, pretty things. (Come on, really. . . who doesn’t?) I read the entire book as I sat on the floor. (You like I how I made that sound all impressive? I read an ENTIRE book while sitting on the bookshop floor! Let’s not talk about how it normally takes me to read a picture book…) While I thought it was kinda cute and I kinda like that more gay kids out there would have books for them, I also figured it was written by some old queen who liked to do drag and needed to vent. If so, that’s okay. I’m not too far from being an old, bitchy queen myself. (Keep your comments to yourself.) For some reason, this lowered my estimation of the book—which is a sad thing for an aspiring gay author to think. I also was irritated at myself for thinking what I said before and catching myself. Boys wearing dresses and boys being gay are not the same thing and are not mutually exclusive. I don’t cross dress, nor do I want to at all. In fact, I avoid it, even at Halloween. However, I did want to when I was a kid. And I actually know [of] straight men who like to wear women’s underwear and such. All that being said, the book took on whole to meaning when I realized two things. 1. The book was written by a young boy’s mother in effort to make the world safer for him. That comes from such an authentic and genuine place, I have no choice but to have deep respect for it. 2. That it was written by an African-American (Black?) family, or at least with the entire family’s support—a heterosexual family. Warning—following statement may be perceived as racist. If you choose to perceive me that way, feel free and go fuck yourself. (Actually, I’ve never understood that… why wish that on someone who you want to insult. If I had to choose between the ability to do that or a winning lotto ticket, I gotta say, not really sure which one I’d choose…) From what I’ve read/learned/heard/etc. the African-American (Black?) community is even more homophobic (per capita) than even my heritage—and that’s impressive! That fact that a rather good-looking, very masculine man’s man in appearance (saw him in People) who is Black (African-American? [look at me switching the pattern on ya. Yeah, I’m tough to pin down]) not only is supportive of his son and who he is, but is alright with his family being the poster family for such an issue… Well, as a thank you, if you’re wife’s cool with it, come on over for a thank-you dinner, honey, and plan to stay for dessert! Very, very cool, dude! While this kid is probably gonna have a rough go of it socially, he’s got a great family to hold him up and walk through those lonely and terrifying years with him!

Back In Session

So, here’s the deal. I’d rather be writing. Even this morning in the shower, my brain took off on storyline ideas for the short ghost story I started well over a year ago. I want to go to the gym, sit down and do some frantic planning, and then head to the coffee shop and write until afternoon.
However... I am soooooo excited to see my kids! I really have missed them, and not just kids in general, but specific things about each of them (well, the majority of them—there a few that I care about but don’t actually miss in the same way).
There are a couple (well, one actually) things going on at work that have me nearly nauseous. Things I’m not stupid enough to talk about online. It’s one thing to throw all my own shit to world and let them judge me pathetic, weak, slut, juvenile, delusional, whatever—it’s a whole other thing to do that with my professional life and, while for sanity, I really need to go there, I won’t. It’s enough to say that I’ve had trouble falling asleep the past two nights, partly due to a fever (I’m so sick of constantly being sick!) but mainly due to not being able to turn my brain off of certain work extravaganzas. Joy.
Eclipsing all of that. . . My kids are back!!!!!! I get to see them every day again. We get to do our best to make progress in learning to read and control our homicidal tendencies! (Oh, yeah, and learn math too----yawn.)
And again, through it all, all the things I would change, all the reasons I take my stupid little pill, all the things that stab at me and cause me to choose numbness when possible, I am so thankful for my job, for my chance to be with this amazing kids every day.
Maybe it’s akin to loving the piranhas that eat your skin as you pet them. Maybe. Their teeth are just so damned cute, though!

spewage

Horrible, horrible dreams last night. All about HWMNBN. One of those dreams where I knew I was dreaming the entire time, but was still so real. He was being horrible to me, so mean, and didn’t look right. HWMNBN was never, never anything but sweet, let alone intentionally mean. The whole time, I kept wondering what was wrong, then it hit me, it was a combo of him and my first boyfriend. The one who was so abusive and cruel. Even as I realized what was going on, it still made me so mad at him, that he would allow himself to be intertwined with such a horrible person. I woke up feeling abused and betrayed. So stupid. Maybe I’m getting what I asked for—if anything could make my feelings for him leave, it would be that. Real or not.
I called off work today and woke up around ten, thank goodness. I needed sleep so badly, but I think that made the dream last longer as well. I had a horrible case of food poisoning the night before. One of those times where you realize you need two toilets at the same time since you couldn’t choose which one you needed to do. Overshare? Yeah, I know, but if I had to suffer, so do you. I threw up solidly between midnight and six in the morning. Then, maybe out of sympathy or just to be a bitch, Dunkyn began throwing up as well. My entire main floor is hardwood, but, of course, Dunkyn chose the small area rug in my living room for his vomiting activities. Special. I spent the entire day on the couch, occasionally getting up for a quick sprint. I know it doesn’t look good calling off the fist day back, but, luckily, there aren’t kids until Wednesday. And, getting up at six would not have been possible, although I would have appreciated getting the hell outta my dream. I don’t understand how you can know how you are in a dream and how it can still affect you, and how you can’t wake yourself up.
I think the food poisoning came from Casa Bonita, you know the place that I said everyone else thinks is so gross, but that I love. No one lese got sick though, so who knows. All I know is I don’t want to eat there aging for a long, long, long time. Still, it was so much fun, and Gavin was adorable, so, so cute.
In spite of it all, I am still very glad that it’s a new year. I’m excited to see where it goes!

Eleven

I just finished reading my blog from last January 1st—right after I tossed my White Russian Chai to the ground, staring at it stupidly before I could comprehend that it was my drink spreading out on the floor under the woman next to me. I was pretty surprised at what I had written last year. I was expecting it to be much darker than it actually was. I had somewhat of a positive attitude going into last year. Maybe because I was just so thrilled 2009 was dead. I definitely didn’t keep that positive attitude all year long.
I brought 2011 in with PCSDRL, which was the perfect decision. Good, good people to usher forth the new year. They stayed the night and we finished the last season of Project Runway. The rest of the day will be spent with Gavin. Oh, and everyone else too. We are going to Casa Bonita. It will be his first time. I know everyone hates their food. For good reason. It’s disgusting. However, I LOVE it! Even as I eat it, I am fully aware how gross it actually it—I don’t know if my true enjoyment of it is from memories as a kid or if it is my white-trash love affair with Velveeta.
So, this new year…what’s in store? No idea. As you may remember, I don’t do resolutions. But here are my hopes, two things:
1. That everything with Gavin will work out best for him—or that they will just give him to me!
2. That things will get better for my family. Period. The financial situation will get figured out, whatever way it will go, just so that there will be finality to it, the fear of the unknown will be over, and we can rest and heal together.
I also, would be willing to bet that by this time next year, there will be a book deal. I’m not doing the whole positive thinking thing or calling good things to me from out yonder. I simply plan on harassing everyone I can think of to get published. Surely I can wear someone down into saying yes.
I am not hoping or planning or requesting love. The only request I have in that area is that my heart will harden to the point where HWMNBN will have no resting place there any longer. That I will look at his face, be it in a picture or in passing (God-forbid) and not feel a damned thing. I hesitate to say this, but I would even welcome getting to the point where I think about our love, what we had, what I have gone through the past (nearly) two years now and think, “What’s the big deal, why all the drama, how stupid could I be, not worth a second of it!” I don’t care if those feelings will be true or not, I just want them there.
So, 2011, here we go…