Sunday, February 21, 2016

A Maddening Sabbatical

Dear Writing Friends:

Is it too soon to say how much I love all of you?




Ha, but seriously.

Even with my absence of blogposts, I've felt a sincere adoration from those of you who have taken time to comment on a post with a question, or to compliment my writing--or even those of you who send emails! (I love emails!)

I've always been honest with all of you, and the truth is that I've mistakenly placed myself on a sabbatical (is that even a thing for writers?)

School is seriously hectic. Graduation is etching so close, and with life pressing in on every side, I can't find enough time to write a decent post.

My book, Rubatosis, is complete and is going through many rough drafts and edits by my dear friends, including the awesome Kayla Dean who I met on here, and who is also an amazing writer and literary friend--check out her blog! (And also, shout out to you for being so astounding!)

Y'all, I am ridiculously stoked about Rubatosis, and I can't wait to share more with you. I will say, however, the query editing process is CRAZY. I've been having to go through old blog posts I've written about queries--I'm basically relearning how to write a query, and it's maddening. (Note to self: never stop writing/reading queries.)

I'm also excited about the many new agents I've come across, and you can bet I'll be writing about them on here.

Until then, hold on tight, accept my awkward GIF hug, and know that my sabbatical will end soon!

Tuesday, November 3, 2015

Writing with Depression and Anxiety

I don't know if I've ever told the blog this, but I have anxiety and depression. 




Fact: I've never been diagnosed by a doctor. Fact: I know myself well enough to describe how I feel. 

Medically, Anxiety is described as a nervous disorder characterized by a state of excessive uneasiness and apprehension, typically with compulsive behavior. (Trust me, I've had my fair share of compulsive regrets.)

And Depression is described as a mood disorder that causes a persistent feeling of sadness and hopelessness as well as a lost in interest. 

Together, the two of these can create an explosion of chaos within each other. It's like mixing two great colors together but constantly getting brown. It's somewhat frustrating. 

The thing about the two of these mental illnesses within myself is that sometimes I feel more anxiety than I feel depression, and sometimes I can't pinpoint why I feel the way I do--like why I'm happy now, but how I can be stuck in a mood two days from now.

Though I've sought help for these problems, I've found that writing is a saving grace. I wish I could thoroughly explain how writing makes me feel--the endorphins that are released--but I can't. I wish I could sit inside of your chest, so I could simply show you because I know it'd be easier that way.

But writing literally opens me up in a way that's terrifyingly beautiful--like crazy beautiful. I mean, have you ever written while in a mood? You get some psychotic scenarios, but you also get really extravagant ones, and you wonder how the hell that happened, but then you end up with an entire chapter based off one sentence.

It's completely magical.

This post isn't particularly special, but I felt the need to share my experience on writing with depression and anxiety, and how having a mental illness doesn't have to hinder you or your dreams.

Honestly, I bet you could reach the stars if you wanted to.

Here's a clip of writing from my latest manuscript, Rubatosis. Every aspect of this book is covered with my inner problems, and I'm okay with that. Everyone should be.

"She watched the sun in the distance, fading west, and she took note of how it touched every surface. Nothing was left behind, not even her eyes. It was all these small things, and she wanted to cry. Was it that bad, she thought. Was it so, so very bad that she couldn’t see? Maybe this place really did hold the key that drove people mad, and all it took was a turn and one small thing. The past moments mimicked a kaleidoscope in her head, and what she realized was that she wanted to spend this time with Noah, and she set off to find him.
Ila walked to his shack, still pressing her arms against her abdomen, and she didn’t knock when she entered the dimly lit room. Noah acknowledged her presence. He was seated on a rocking chair in the corner with his guitar in hand. He played a gentle melody, and the tune echoed against the walls and vibrated in her ears. The chord progression he chose mimicked the wings of a bird in flight, and he picked the strings intricately before he began to sing. Then he closed his eyes as the words of the song took him away to a place of serenity and heartache.
Ila sat on the ground before him, legs crossed, and she studied the shadows in his face. His eyelashes laced together; his uneven lips opening and parting to the lyrics, and his facial expressions slightly changing with the chords. She could tell that his passion for music was fueled by the brokenness inside of him, and it was one of the best things she’d ever witnessed. In this moment, he was more of the moon than he’d ever been, shining so brightly in this darkness they’d created. She had a hard time fathoming how he existed in her world. Up to this point, she had heard him sing multiple songs, but she still hadn’t grown tired of it. She was obsessed with his voice and the power behind it.
Noah rocked in his chair, moving to the tempo, and the song went on for minutes. They didn’t speak. He didn’t open his eyes, and he was relieved that he didn’t have to answer her question to where he had been the last few days. After all, there was no such a thing as a good lie."

Till next time.

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