Unlucky (?) #13

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Finally. Addiction is FINALLY here! My 13th title overall is done and behind me.

(Technically, I suppose Matchmakers could have been the 13th title, but it doesn’t really count, since it was a combined edition of books 10, 11, and 12)

And this one really felt like an unlucky 13. The story wouldn’t come together. Then edits took far longer than normal. Don’t even get me started on my indecisiveness about the cover. And then, once all was said and done, and I was ready to launch the book…

It got suppressed.

I logged in to my CreateSpace account to order paperback copies for my local readers, but the book was blocked off, unable to access. I’d never seen anything like that before.

CS contacted me and said there was a question about copyright. Did I actually own the content of the story?

That really threw me. Of course I own the content! I wrote the book. Then, in typical Type A Personality fashion, I got myself all worked up trying to figure out how to prove that. Send screenshots of my files? What? I had no idea.

Then I thought it might be because I’d recently gone through a legal name change, and updated my CS account accordingly. Did they think maybe I got hacked? At least that was a thing I could prove, but it would mean more paperwork. (Ugh, I’m so done with paperwork!)

Nope. Turned out it was just a problem with the title. Too many books with the same title, and it gets flagged. Potential plagiarism issue. In the end, all I had to do was email them a statement that I am G.R. Lyons and I do own the copyright to the content of Addiction. Simple as that. Got myself all worked up over nothing.

But after pulling teeth to get this book done and over with, seeing that little Suppressed line was like the last straw.

*wipes brow* Phew.

It’s done, now. It’s finally released. Addiction, the seventh book in the Shifting Isles series, and my 13th book overall. Wow. If you’d told me, even a few years ago, that I’d have 13 books to my name, I would have died laughing. Yet here we are. I don’t even know where it comes from sometimes.

In Addiction, we meet Princess Seryn of Ceynes, all grown up now after having been raised by Sam and Ithyn from Betrayal. She’s living with her yangkemi addiction and trying to make the best of it, but it’s preventing her from having a chance to take the throne of Ceynes, now that her father, Emperor Phaerel (who had originally disowned her) has changed the law to allow a girl to ascend the throne. She wants that throne more than (almost) anything in the world. It’s her birthright.

But then she meets a stranger from Falsin, the icy land in the north of the world, and he makes her wonder if she can have something she wants even more than the throne, something she never imagined she might be able to attain.

Both main characters are technically bisexual, but their respective cultures have different views on that sexuality. It’s not a huge part of the story, but it was an interesting exercise in fleshing out a culture and what was considered moral or taboo.

Now, I must get back to writing. Blindsighted (Book 8) is already done and in need of editing, and I’m cruising right into writing Libertas (Book 9), as well as a side trilogy, Treble and the Lost Boys, which takes place alongside Book 8 and pulls a few minor characters from there.

And that’s not counting the other 15 books I have planned…

Good gods. Someone get me a straitjacket.

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Living the Dream

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Well, I finally did it. I left the day job. For almost two months now, I have technically been a full-time writer.

Technically. As in, not 100% accurate. Besides the fact that I do still go in to the office a couple hours each week (hey, those accounts aren’t going to reconcile themselves), I also haven’t actually been…well, you know…writing.

At least, I wasn’t for the first several weeks. Instead of writing, I found myself sleeping in, watching films, reading (oh my gods, so much reading), playing games on my phone, and generally avoiding the world. If it hadn’t been for paying bills at the office and the desperate urge to hit the gym each night, I probably wouldn’t have left the house at all.

And I was depressed. SO FUCKING DEPRESSED. Which totally threw me off. I would sit on my couch, staring out the window, with absolutely no motivation to do anything whatsoever, and wonder, “What the hells is wrong with me? I’ve finally got what I wanted. I’m away from the day job. I’m home. I have all this time on my hands, and I could be writing, and I should be happy, but I’m not. WHY?!?!”

Quite simple, really. Change is a bitch.

Yeah, I got what I wanted, but even so, it was change. Pure and simple. And my brain does not like change.

I felt completely lost without the routine I’ve held for the past 17 years. Spend that many years getting up at 5 am, getting to work at 7, working straight through until at least 5 pm, then going home and doing it all over again the next day…yeah, it’s hard to train the mind out of needing that schedule. My brain and body expected one thing, and suddenly I’d thrown something else entirely at them, and I didn’t know how to handle it.

So I spent the first few weeks of full-time authorhood doing abso-fucking-lutely nothing.

And in some ways, it was GLORIOUS.

I’ve complained for years that I had no time to really live because I was always working. But now? Now I can do anything. I can go see things I’ve never seen. I can spend time with people I never had time for before. I can go to the market on a Tuesday! Not strictly on Sundays, but a Tuesday! I can walk down to my favorite restaurant and enjoy a plate of strawberry-and-cream-cheese French toast while I write…on any day of the week! I know this probably all sounds so simple and silly, but it absolutely blows my mind.

(Seriously. Don’t become a workaholic. It’s soooo bad for you.)

Still, that transition was rough, and I had a hard time understanding why. One of my CrossFit coaches put it best: “It’s like you’ve been deep-sea diving for the past 17 years, and now you’re coming up for air. Going through decompression is going to take time.”

Brilliant, that.

So, I rode out the transition, learned to stop hating myself for not getting anything done, and allowed myself to just enjoy the downtime. Now, I’m well into the next book. Not as far along as I’d hoped I’d be at this point in the year, but I’m finally making good progress, and having all these days stretched out in front of me that can be filled with nothing but writing — or whatever I want — is making the future look bright.

At this point, Addiction (Shifting Isles, Book 7) is about halfway done, and should be released within the next few months. After that, I’ll be diving into Blind Love (Book 8) and Libertas (Book 9) before taking another side-step like I did with the Matchmakers trilogy and throwing myself headlong into another m/m romance project, which will run alongside Shifting Isles books 8 and 9. Beyond those…well, too many other books to count. I swear, the ideas just won’t stop coming. (Speaking of which, I’ve also submitted a short story to the Agorist Writer’s Workshop 2017 fantasy anthology. Still waiting to hear if my story was accepted, but if it is, it’ll be one small part of the whole Shifting Isles experience. But more on that later…) And I finally have time to pursue them.

This can’t last forever. I know that. Unless the stars align and I somehow manage to become well-known enough that I can sell enough books to pay my bills, I know I’ll eventually have to go back to work. The money in my savings won’t just magically stay there. But, in the meantime, I’m going to embrace this chance I’ve given myself. I could have played it safe. Stayed at the day job. But then, I could die tomorrow and regret not having taken this chance while I could. And the more I think about it, the more I appreciate the idea that this was absolutely the right step for me.

Scary? Yes. Risky? Absolutely. But so worth it. I’m throwing everything on the line to pursue my dream, my passion. Will I succeed? Well, technically speaking, I already have.

I’m not a bestseller, and probably won’t ever be, but I’ve rearranged my life in order to be a full-time writer, and that in itself is the greatest gift I could have imagined.

Awkward: Party of One [includes an excerpt from Betrayal]

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It seems to be a general understanding that writers are socially-awkward creatures. We’re in our heads, making up fake people and fake places and fake scenarios all the time, too wrapped up in our thoughts to be aware of the fact that there’s a real world out there, with real people in it.

Real people who might run into us and wonder if we’re not slightly off our rockers.

I was in the midst of writing Betrayal (Shifting Isles, Book 6) when I had a particularly awkward and embarrassing situation.

Because my brain-mouth connection is just awesome.

I was lying in bed one night, thinking about the plot, when an idea for a scene ran through my head. The dialogue and action played out just right, and I knew it would be a good addition to the story. But did I get up and immediately write it down? No. Of course not. Because I knew, I just knew, I’d remember it all the next morning.

I always do. Somehow, my writer memory is, by far, the most reliable part of my memory. Everything else falls by the wayside. But my stories? Stick like glue.

Except this time. This time, I woke the next morning, and had no fucking clue what the scene entailed.

I remembered an argument, but that was about it. It was something between the main character, Sam, and his fellow mage, Ithyn. But what they argued about, and why, completely eluded me.

Normally, when this memory lapse happens, it only takes a few minutes of thinking it over for the whole scene to come rushing back.

Nope. Not this time. This time, I agonized for hours. What the hells was the scene? What were they arguing about? Why couldn’t I remember?

I needed just a clue. A keyword. A hint. Something to bring it all back.

And, of course, being the awesome socially-awkward person I am, it all came to me in a public setting. Most likely work (since, let’s face it, where the hells else do I ever go outside my house?), possibly the grocery store, definitely somewhere that involved other people.

“Whore!” That’s it. That’s the keyword I needed.

And, of course, I said it out loud.

Cue the what-the-fuck looks from people around me.

And cue the furious blush on my face.

Yeah, y’all totally didn’t just hear me say ‘whore’ randomly just now. You imagined it. Totally didn’t happen. Wasn’t me. Carry on.

At least–thank gods–I salvaged the scene, but I definitely could have done without that particular moment of revelation.

So, without further ado, here’s part of the scene in question, in which Sam recovers from having taken an unknown substance from amidst the stock of herbs and drugs that Ithyn–a specialist in healing–keeps on hand. The scene references the Erosti Guildmates, who are renowned throughout the world of the Shifting Isles for being highly-trained professionals in all manner of entertainments (sex, massage, singing, dancing, cooking, etc.). To be particularly crass, they are–to some–nothing but glorified whores.

Enjoy!

 

 

WHEN SAM came to, he found a blurry figure bent over him, swimming in his vision.

Shhh-sh-sh. Do not move,” a voice murmured.

Sam tried to lift his head, then groaned and closed his eyes again.

Drink this,” the soft voice said as a hand slipped around the back of Sam’s neck and cradled his head, lifting it slightly as a cup was touched to his lips.

Sam drank, and gagged, but the person holding the cup wouldn’t let him stop. The foul concoction was forced into his mouth, so Sam had no choice but to swallow as quickly as possible or choke.

Finally, the cup was taken away and Sam’s head was rested back down. Panting, Sam blinked heavily several times before his vision began to clear and he was able to make out Ithyn leaning over him.

Gods all around, Samril.” Ithyn sighed, gently pressing his wrist to Sam’s forehead. “What were you thinking?”

Sam tried to answer, felt his stomach lurch in response, and shut his mouth again.

Ithyn shook his head. “You nearly killed yourself, do you realize that?”

Sam’s eyes went wide, but he still couldn’t speak quite yet. Killed myself? What the hells did I take?

Ithyn continued looking him over, checking his pulse, examining his eyes and tongue, feeling the glands under his jaw, then sat back with another sigh. “Thank Kalos, I was able to determine which powder you took. Why did you not simply wait for me? I might have been able to assist you with…whatever it was you were attempting to accomplish.”

Needed,” Sam whispered, testing his voice, “an escape.”

Oh, Sam.” Ithyn sighed. “But to take your own life?”

Sam slowly shook his head, thankful the room didn’t spin when he did so. “Wasn’t my intention.”

What was your intention?”

Just…a break. A little break from the world.”

And you used that?” Ithyn asked incredulously.

Sam shrugged and slowly sat up. He found himself on the sofa in Ithyn’s sitting room, not far from where he’d collapsed on the floor. “It did say For Master Shyford.”

Ithyn gave him a puzzled look, then glanced over at the table where all the herbs were arranged. He gave an exasperated sigh and shook his head. “That note had nothing to do with the powders. It was for the books I placed in your room the day you arrived, and I simply forgot to discard the note. Besides, you had my jars all out of arrangement, anyway. How could you possibly match the note to one of them?”

Sam felt the tips of his ears go red. He really had made a bad assumption there.

The blue one looked like–”

Like what?” Ithyn asked when Sam broke off and fell silent.

Sam shook his head. Father’s love, I’m an idiot. He knew herb lore was not his strong point. “Looked just like the drug the Guildmate gave me.”

A puzzled look flashed across Ithyn’s face before it gave way to a stony expression. “I see,” he bit off. Then he was silent for a moment before he suddenly jumped up from his perch on the edge of the sofa and went over to the table, roughly rearranging the bottles and keeping his back to Sam.

Sam slowly sat up, testing his body for any further pain or dizziness, and turned to look at Ithyn. “Did I say something wrong?”

Ithyn paused his movements, gave a tight shake of his head, and went back to whatever he was doing.

Sam stood. “Ithyn, look, I’m sorry I messed with your bottles there. I just–”

Ithyn whirled on him. “You know, when you cavort with whores, you are no better than one yourself.”

Sam’s eyes went wide. “Excuse me? You’re calling me a whore?”

You have been with one,” Ithyn accused. “You admitted as much yourself.” He paused and gave Sam a quick once-over. “And more than once, if I had to guess.”

He’s not a whore!” Sam threw up his hands.

Ithyn clasped his hands before himself, the posture on him somehow more threatening than if he’d crossed his arms over his chest. “Does he accept payment in return for bodily pleasures?”

Of course.”

Whore,” Ithyn reiterated, and turned back to his jars and bottles.

Betrayal (Shifting Isles, Book 6) is now available on Amazon.com in both print and Kindle formats!

And With No Fanfare Whatsoever…

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I released a book two weeks ago, and barely posted a damned thing about it.

It certainly wasn’t for lack of satisfaction with the book. I’m much happier than I initially thought I would be with the story, considering how much I struggled with the plot line (shades of Broken all over again). Although, I didn’t really consider just how content I was with the story until I gave it that final proof copy read-through right before releasing it. There was this constant sense of “it’s technically done” until that final reading, and then I was hit with a sense of “I actually really enjoyed reading that.”

A little backwards from the usual, but whatever works, I suppose.

Overall, I think I’m just … tired.

Too much life change going on at once, and I think it just became more overwhelming than I realized. For an introverted Highly Sensitive Person, change is never a good thing, even when it’s voluntarily chosen. Selling my house and moving was monumental enough. Starting hormone therapy and watching / feeling my body change was a whole other level of stress, even though desired. Hiring someone and training her to take over my day job so I could eventually do the full-time writer gig….I think that just pushed me beyond my limit.

It’s all I can do to drum up the energy to go in to work each day, let alone train her. It’s all I can do to simply adult lately. I forget to pay my bills (which NEVER happens). I forget to do my chores. I put off anything and everything to do with writing, editing, brainstorming, marketing.

Because I just don’t want to.

I’m not giving up on writing. Not even close. It’s definitely still my life-long passion, and I’ve still got (at last count) at least 20 more books to put out, to add to the 12 I have out now. I think I simply overdid things, and might need to take another step back.

Which just kills me, considering the nine-month long dry spell I suffered last year, which set my whole writing schedule back in the first place. Betrayal should have been out last year, not to mention two more that follow it, but now they’ll (hopefully) be coming out this year instead. I just need to ease myself through this depressive funk I’m in and get my head back in the game.

As for Betrayal, though…

This is the first book in the Shifting Isles series that is written entirely in one character’s perspective, rather than switching between the two (or three) MCs. In this book, we get Sam’s story, when he goes off to Ceynes to be personal mage to the emperor there after the resolution of the Westfield virus scandal in The Five-Hour Wife. In Betrayal, we follow Sam as he tries to navigate his new post while also juggling a very unexpected new attraction that just might help him get over his long-unrequited love of his best friend, not to mention trying to make sense of the prophecy that brought him to Ceynes in the first place.

One thing I love about this story is the constant mix of places and technology. Sam goes from Agoran (which is more technologically advanced than our own real world) to Ceynes, which is something like medieval England. There’s even a little sprinkling of Jadu’n, the magical Isle where the magi live, as well as Erostil, the tropical Isle where the Erosti Guildmates (essentially, glorified prostitutes) are trained. One minute, Sam’s in a world with electricity and mobile phones, and the next, he’s in a place where the height of technology is candles and horse-drawn carriages.

And the Westfield virus scandal may not be quite as resolved as Sam thought…

There will be magic. And winged horses. And danger. And secrets. And lots of flirting between Sam and a certain silver-haired mage, which is just about the only thing that keeps Sam sane while he tries to deal with a cocky boy king who sits on the throne of Ceynes.

And there will be betrayal.

Betrayal (Shifting Isles, Book 6) now available on CreateSpace and Amazon.com (in both Print and Kindle formats).

Back on the Box

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Wow, what a crazy few months. Back in October, my entire foundation felt pulled out from under me. Deciding to sell my house with the intention of banking the proceeds so I could afford to try the full-time writer gig was a HUGE change, but apparently that’s how I do things. I trudge along, tolerating, tolerating, tolerating — whatever the problem may be — then finally snap and make a big decision, and never look back.

The process of selling the house, moving, and getting settled in at my new place took longer than I’d hoped, but it’s finally done. And I’ve found a sense of home again, something I was afraid would be always lacking. My entire mental well-being was so wrapped up in my house that I wasn’t sure I’d ever find that sense of stability and comfort ever again, but now that I’m unpacked, settled in, and have a new routine, my foundation is once again stable. I’m home. I have a new writing space, and I love it. It’s perfect.

And, next week, my day job replacement starts training. Which means I’m not far from being able to finally leave the place I’ve worked for almost 17 years (half my life!), and try to write full-time. It’s a scary prospect, but I have to try it. It’s either that or continue in a dead-end, unchallenging job that leaves me feeling like I merely exist rather than live. I want to live.

Now that all the pieces are falling into place, I’m finally writing again. Betrayal (Shifting Isles, Book 6) was supposed to have been out last June, but after releasing the Matchmakers Trilogy, I just seemed to lose all motivation to write. Life, eh?

But Betrayal is now finished, and just getting a last few touch-ups with the red pen before I slog through the tedious process of formatting and setup, getting the files ready for publication. It’ll be so worth it, though. I miss that feeling of having a new proof copy in my hands. I can’t wait.

(Aaaaaand I even got back on my box jumps. Not well, and not every time — I still have to build myself up to them — but they’re not insurmountable anymore.)

As for what’s in store for the rest of the year? All going well, I’m hoping to get back to my previous schedule and also have books 7, 8, and 9 in the Shifting Isles series released throughout the year. If I have time for it, I may even throw in another m/m romance trilogy that the Muse has been teasing me with for several months now. And that’s not even counting the remaining 5 books in the Shifting Isles series after Book 9, and the standalone that takes place before the events in the series, and the other series that takes place before the standalone, and another side series I’m toying with, and…

Yeah. Straitjacket. I need one.

So many books to write, so little time…

Author Interview – G.R. Lyons

A fun little interview via author Andrew M. Farrell. Thanks for having me, Andrew!

A Father, Writer, and Logistics Wizard

Today my Gentle Readers, I have a treat for you. I was recently introduced to G.R. Lyons, a fellow author. I thought it would be great to make some introductions to all of you. In the style of my previous interviews, I will put my comments/questions in BLUE and Lyons will be GREEN.
grl-lion-logo
Thank you for joining me today. Let’s start with something basic. I’ve learned that almost all writers got their start as readers. Tell me, how did you become a reader? Is there a specific event or person who fostered a love of reading for you?
I started reading at a very young age, and devoured just about anything I could get my hands on. I’ve always lived a fairly dull, regimented, uneventful life, so having the escapism of fiction was always a blessing.
Nothing wrong with a little escapism into books. Healthier than a lot of…

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2016 Rainbow Awards

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15380790_1466238886743522_9050221161763556811_nI still can’t believe it. The Matchmakers Trilogy was a Finalist in the 2016 Rainbow Awards!

Being Newbie Mr. Nobody in the m/m fiction genre, I thought there was no way my work would receive any kind of recognition in these awards. Receiving Honorable Mention several weeks ago blew my mind. Finding out I was a Finalist left me speechless. I can’t believe my book made it that far, especially amongst a list of so many fantastic books.

Many congratulations to all the winners! My to-buy list of books is about to explode even more than usual. And huge thanks to Elisa and the judges for all their hard work and dedication to making the Awards happen. Such a great experience and I can’t wait to try again next year with a new release!

Moving, Like a Novel

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Everything I own now exists in a 10’x10′ storage space, and I’m seriously freaking out.

When I first set things in motion to become a full-time writer (see this post from September 22nd of this year), I had no idea what a rollercoaster of a ride I was in for. Selling a house is a whole lot of hurry-up-and-wait, so much more than I was prepared to handle. The constant rush to get each step done, then the anxious waiting by the phone to find out when the next step finally gets to happen (when they say ‘waiting by the phone for a guy to call’, I’m pretty sure this isn’t what they meant, but that’s all I’ve been doing lately).

All things considered, this has been a relatively easy process (especially when I compare it to the three-times-delayed escrow when I bought the house, not to mention some of the horror stories you hear about people trying to buy or sell homes), but it still did a number on my emotions and my mental well-being. I broke down and lost it a few times. I can’t even think about writing. I actually even forgot I had my endocrinology consultation coming up so I can finally start hormone therapy — and considering how impatient I’ve been this year for that to finally happen…yeah, I guess there just wasn’t enough room in my brain.

But, as I said, in general, things have gone smoothly. Got an offer on the house within a week of listing it, no repairs requested, buyer’s financing already in order. Check, check, check, done. Right now, there remain just three days until close of escrow (*knock on wood*), and I’m waiting for that next step.

I can’t wait to find a place, get moved in, settled back down, and move on with my life. This whole process of moving has felt…

Well, a lot like writing a book.

I started out with this overall plan [idea for a story], and try to figure out the best way to go about it. I’m excited, but when I try to start packing [writing], the sheer amount of work ahead of me seems so bloody overwhelming. I have to pack up an entire house [write 100,000 words]?!?! Am I insane? There’s no way. It’s too much.

So I procrastinated, and hemmed and hawed, and delayed, not wanting to even grab that first box [write that first chapter], because it just seemed like so much work.

But, eventually, I got started, and packed up one whole room [wrote a whole chapter], and started feeling good about the whole thing. Yeah, I can do this. Just one book, cup, plate, blanket [chapter] at a time.

Then I get distracted, as boxes pile up around me [disconnected scenes stack up in a Word file], and can’t focus on what I’m packing because I’m thinking about how much else there is to do [how many more scenes there are to write], what I need to leave out for daily use [a scene I want to edit], and all the while wonder if I’ll be able to get everything actually packed up and moved out [be able to get a whole story written cohesively].

Ultimately, more procrastination happened, mostly in the form of reading when I should have been packing [reading when I should have been writing…gee, yeah, that never happens], and the mental weight of all the work left to be done, all the stuff yet to be packed [all the scenes yet to be written] was just too much, until I finally got up and got started. And once I got started packing [writing scenes], I couldn’t stop until it was all pretty much done, all the main stuff packed [all the important scenes written], and all that remained were those last few things you just don’t know how to pack, or those last few things that you find yourself stuffing into whatever box they’ll fit in [writing those last few minor scenes that tie the important ones together].

Then…finally…it’s done. The house is packed [the book is written], and everything is moved out, so all that remains is cleaning [editing].

Ugh. Cleaning [editing]. Not my favorite thing. That’s my chore for tonight (or, tomorrow night, if I’m feeling like procrastinating again, especially after working my ass off all weekend to get everything moved into storage). And after all this, once I’m moved into a place and finally get to leave my job and write full time, I think I might actually look forward to editing, for a change, even though it’s the most tedious part of the job.

Because it’ll mean I’m writing full-time. And that right there is the dream.

But there are still a few steps to go. House to clean [editing], escrow to close [uploading that final text], an apartment to find [designing a book cover], moving in [getting that final proof copy], settling down [proofing the final version and having it all be real], and moving on with my life [clicking Approve and having a book go up for sale]. So much to do, and my life feels like it’s been pulled apart and turned upside down, but it’ll all be worth it.

I’ll be a full-time writer. Holy shit. I can’t wait!

Excitement Error

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There’s always something. You go through the writing process, get everything done and uploaded and ready for sale, and then there’s always something that has to be fixed.

You know, that one little spelling error you missed. Or a page layout issue that just didn’t sit right with you. Or maybe the image on the cover really needs a slight adjustment.

The things that wake you up in the middle of the night after a book launch, and have you scrambling out of bed to get it fixed in a hurry, because you won’t be able to sleep until it’s done.

That didn’t happen when I released the Matchmakers trilogy. I was so excited about that one, so eager to get it released, that for the first time, I actually slept easily the night after launch.

But, there’s always something.

I stumbled across a bad review of Second Chances, the first book in the trilogy. A lot of it I just brushed off as personal taste, but the reviewer did point out one thing that had completely slipped my mind.

The stories take place in a fictional world, and since all my writing takes place in that fictional world, it never occurred to me that the m/m audience, as opposed to my general fantasy audience, wouldn’t immediately realize that the books took place in a fictional world.

Then another reviewer pointed it out (pre-review, thank you Isa!), and I realized how stupid I’d been.

I’m just so wrapped up in this fictional world that it never occurred to me my readers might not be so. I live and eat and breathe the Shifting Isles, so I forget that there’s an actual reality out there sometimes.

So, yeah, my mistake. Entirely my fault. I should have thought of that. I’ve corrected it now, adding a note before the text to clarify that the stories do not take place in the real world, that there are multiple gods, that the days of the week have different names, etc. All the little things that were throwing readers.

What can I say? Live and learn. Fix your mistakes. And move on to the next thing.

But on a positive note…

honorable-mentionEEEEE! The Matchmakers Trilogy received Honorable Mention in the Rainbow Awards!

I actually screamed when I saw this pop up on the Facebook event page for the Awards. Considering I’m the little guy, the newbie, the nobody, and running amongst so many of my favorite authors, I never dreamed I’d actually get any kind of recognition. Sure, I’d hoped, but never thought it would actually happen. As far as I understand it, Honorable Mention means at least one judge gave the book at least 9/10 in all four ranking criteria, which is just thrilling to me. That someone enjoyed my book that much…

What a feeling!

Box Jumps Make Me Cry

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I swear this does relate to writing. No, really. I promise. Just stick with me here.

box-jumps<–You see this? This, right here, has become a tool of torture. The CrossFit box. Evil, evil, horrid thing. This assemblage of wood has become the bane of my existence, and a metaphor for my entire life right now.

When I first joined the local CrossFit gym back in February (CFPR Family ftw!), I was watching all these amazing athletes jumping up onto boxes, utterly fascinated and envious that they could do such a thing. At the time, I was a total exercise newbie and lacked the strength, coordination, and confidence to try this whole jumping-up-onto-a-box thing, and was firmly stuck in Step-Up Land. Then, one day, I finally managed a box jump. Just a 12″ tall box, but I was stoked. I’d done it. I’d done a box jump.

After that, I LOVED box jumps. They were fun. Exciting. I could do them! Soon, I was adding weight plates on top of that little 12″ box, doing a little bit higher jump, and then a little bit higher. One day, I was going to finally Rx that thing, I could feel it.

Then, it all came crashing down. Almost literally. We were doing burpee box jumps, and partway through the workout, I got so tired that I kept slipping every time I tried to jump. After that, my confidence tanked, and I couldn’t fathom ever getting 15″ off the ground again.

Why? I’d done this. Lots of times. I knew I could do it. But suddenly I couldn’t. I got so pissed off at myself that I punched the wall and almost quit the workout. As it was, my workout time was pathetic because I kept having to walk it off between jumps, just to get my head back in the game.

A few days later, I was determined to get back on the horse, and stayed late after a workout to try the dreaded box jumps again. I jumped and jumped and jumped, and ultimately managed to work my way up to 18″. I was stoked! Only problem was, there was no time pressure. So once there was, once box jumps came up again in a scheduled workout, I froze. I couldn’t do it again. I stared at that damned box and just. Couldn’t. Jump.

Now, any time box jumps show up on a posted workout, I freak. I try to psych myself up for it, and it doesn’t work. I even tried modifying back down to a 12″ box, and couldn’t even do that. 12″! That’s barely a hop off the ground. But my head kept telling me it was impossible. So I keep giving up and walking out.

It doesn’t help that my mental state is not brilliant right now, and my attitude toward box jumps is pretty much my attitude to my whole life at the moment.

In the process of selling my house so that I can afford to leave my day job and try to be a full-time writer, the excitement is tapering off and the reality is setting in. I’m actually going to have to leave my house. Logically, I knew that, but now it’s becoming real, instead of just a plan. I’m going to have to leave this home that I made for myself, and try to find that same sense of home and sanctuary elsewhere.

This house got me through the roughest time of my life. It was my escape from the world, my sanctuary, the place I could run away to when things got to be too much. It was the thing I needed while I was dealing with my parents divorcing, getting used to having a stepmother, and of course going through all the mental trauma of having been raped. Tied to the latter, it was also the place where I started writing. It was in that second bedroom, on my little, rickety student desk, that I opened up my laptop and started writing out the most vivid of my rape memories just to get it out of my head. That one scene turned into a novel, which turned into three novels, which turned into…

Well, now it’s spun entirely out of control, and I have more novel ideas in my head than I know what to do with, and it gave me something I’m passionate about and want to do with my life — something I was sorely lacking all through my school days.

And I’m giving up this house just so I can leave my job (that is how badly I hate my work).

But now that it’s real, now that it’s actually happening, now that my house is in escrow and I have the next few weeks to find an apartment and pack up and move and try to get used to a new space, I feel stuck.

I’ve done box jumps, but now I feel like I can’t do them.

I’ve done apartment living, but now it feels impossible.

I’ve done moving, but now it seems like too much to handle.

And I’ve done writing. Lots and lots of writing. But, right now, I can’t write a thing. At all. It just won’t come. And there are days when I feel like I might never write again.

I know that’s not true. Reason tells me that once I’m moved and settled in, I’ll get into a routine and a new comfort zone, and once the day job is behind me, I’ll have a clear head with which to write. I know that there’s just so much else going on right now that my brain doesn’t have much room for writing. I know all that. But I still have this dreaded sense that I’ll never write again.

Just like I have this dreaded sense that I won’t find home again.

Just like I have this sense I’ll never do a box jump again.