No, I actually don't like running

And other things I've recently lied to myself about.

Guys, I need to talk about myself for a minute. I know, I know. In a world where social media has taken over and the "look at me!" trend is almost unbearable, why on Earth would you want to waste your time reading about little ol' me? I get it and I completely understand if you move on right this instant, flick on Netflix and watch some Walking Dead (or whatever else may tickle your fancy). Hell, if I could right now I'd do the same thing.

I wasn't planning on writing this blog but I'm sitting here, losing my mind with absolute boredom, knowing above all that I should be writing but not wanting to. Earlier, I halfheartedly opened up my browser and found some awesome templates to help with the movement of my story (and YES! I am going to share those in a different post, promise). I'm still not satisfied with my day. I want to be productive and yet I absolutely loathe being productive. 

And then it hit me.

SCREECH! 

I need to back up the story, so you get the whole picture, to a tussle my husband and I had recently. Maybe last night, maybe a few nights ago. I don't keep that close of track honestly.

Well, a few nights ago (or whenever said thing happened) my delightfully wonderful husband (note-sarcasm) suggested we go on nightly and/or morning runs. I smiled lovingly at him and nodded my head enthusiastically at him. 

"Absolutely!" I exclaimed. 

He subtly (note-not subtly at all) narrowed his eyes at me. "I mean tonight."

I sighed and set my book down. "I can't tonight. It's too late and the house needs to be cleaned and clothes need to be laundered." 

I thought I made a great case. That was until he got that irritated ruffle that happens in his big, manly eyebrows and I knew this wasn't going to be pretty.

"That's what you said last night." I tried to interrupt but he just kept on going. "And the night before. Why are you avoiding this?"

I shook my head in disgust. "I'm not. I like running. I want to do it, there just isn't time."

"Love, be honest with yourself at the very least." And he walked away.

HE.WALKED.AWAY.

I sat there for what felt like hours trying to justify my cause. I do like running. But his words kept replaying and replaying. He is freaking right. I like running better than other forms of fitness--but I don't truly like running. I have been lying to myself.

What the hell else have I convinced myself of?

I've been pondering that answer since this revelation. Here are a few things that I've realized I've completely lied to myself about:

1. I am a "what-to-do-er" not a "do-er". This means that I love finding out how to do something but when it comes to actually doing said thing I have to force myself into gear-no matter what.

2. It's tough for me to finish things. I lose steam easy and it's really hard to keep going once I've hit the lull of my motivation.

3. I like candy over fruit. (I will never admit this one to my husband)!

4. I love everything about writing-- all except the writing part. (Although I will force myself through it because I love the end result.)

5. I'm terrified of social media. That shit is out there for life. It is a scar on humanity and I'm not sure I want to leave all the dirty out there. I may want to be president one day! 

6. I hate the computer. I use it out of necessity and as much as I want to be a "computer nerd", I've lied to myself about this long enough. LIBERATION, my friends!

7. I secretly love romance in novels. I have been trying desperately to act like it doesn't matter, but a part of me dies inside when it's not present.

8. Finally, I make excuses. Lots of them. Hence all the lying of done and believed because, well, it's easier. 

BACK TO TODAY

I know why I'm being a thorn today. Why my mind feels like moving a million miles an hour, and my body feels like it's wired and I have nothing to show for it. It's because I'm not using my full potential. I'm lying to myself, whether it be from fear or laziness or doubt, I'm pushing myself into a corner making it impossible to do anything else. 

At twenty-six years old, I should know I've been doing this. I should've been able to stop it sooner but I didn't. 

I can't go back, as much as I'd love to. I can only look forward and I'm realizing now that it's happening. And sadly it's going to happen. Sometimes that part of me will win. But today? Today, I finally caught on and I'm not going to let it drag me under. Look, I've even got this cool blog post to show that I've made progress. Admitting is half the battle no? And I'm making myself accountable by putting it in the never delete-able universe. I feel like that's a step forward.

Now, I'm going to go work on my writing (the part I hate) because I want to get to the good parts.

Ciao. 

Death to Creativity!

And other nonsensical writing things.

You may have seen my comments yesterday, or you may have just scrolled on through. Either way it's still bothering me. 

My book that is.

I am so frustratingly irritated with it. Kill Match was supposed to be my baby. The book that showed my growth as a writer from Red until now. That proves I can take the feedback I received, turn it into something spectacular and do this one right. It is original, character rich and plot driven. I like the events of the story. Hell, I even like the writing thus far of the story. But for whatever reason on this holy plot of writer's hell I'm in, I am having an excruciating moment of "stillness". 

Oh? You've never heard of this "stillness" phase I'm speaking of? Here, let me enlighten you.

Every time, every. freaking. time, I pick up Kill Match to continue writing I get this awful headache and lose any creativity I thought I might have stored up there to be able to finish this stupid thing. JUST TO FINISH IT. I'm not even trying to put well thought out words down anymore, I simply just want them to relate-able to the story. But when I try to push through this freeze of my brain, it fights me. It yells and kicks and screams that I just need to be still. Calm. And that I "just need to walk away for a moment". But that moment? Oh yeah, it lasts days. Then my brain and I have the same conversation again when I come back to it later. 

It's the freaking stillness. 

Now, I am a big believer in fate. Truly, all laughing matters aside. I think the best choices in life shouldn't be forced (I'm not saying not worked for, there's a HUGE difference) and I believe my brain, no matter how stupid and unnecessary I think it is, is trying to tell me something. So instead of being miserable and not writing at all because I am hating everything about the process, I have decided to move on.

For now.

Because in the wake of not being able to finish Kill Match no matter what I have done to the contrary, my imagination has given me a gem of a thought. A sparkle of a novel that after spending a couple hours yesterday I have completely plotted out. I've finished several plot worksheets, character bios, Q&A's on the novel and mocked up how the entire series will play out (not in complete detail). In a few hours on this one story I have done more pre-planning than every other story I've written combined before I've even starting the writing process on this (usually I start writing first, plan later).

Where I thought my "writer" was broken, I found that I was trying to force something it just didn't want to do. I'm not as ecstatic about this new novel yet but I really believe it'll be a good story with real potential and I'm looking forward to writing it. 

Here's my advice my dear beloved writers, if it's not working--bury it. 

OK, that's a little over dramatic. Maybe you don't need to bury it. But move on for a little while. I am planning to pick Kill Match back up at some point-- I love the story too much to let it rot, but I've come to the realization that regardless of my planned outcome of my published stories, my "writer" has a different path. And now I know I need to be open and ready for that. 

Sometimes you just have to know when to look for the window after you've bashed your head against the door for too long.

Ciao.

JB

Tiny Home & Other Updates

Sometimes you have to remember that everything happens for a reason...

Cliche, maybe. True, absolutely. 

I posted, several, several, days ago about the possibility of moving into a tiny home. I was excited and sure down to my toes that it was going to be it. 

It wasn't.

Not from lacking of trying mind you, but things fell through because of the homes 'uniqueness' and one thing led to another and we ended up not getting it. My little slice of childhood was dashed in an instant and I was angry. Actually, I was pretty livid and disappointed and quite possibly shocked that this would happen to us. So, naturally I was going to force it to work. I called around, pushed and prodded, and found someone who was willing to go the extra mile to make this work. I was going to dump good money after bad to make it happen. 

Then reality hit, a serious adult conversation was had, and my incessant need to get what I want no matter what was brought to the forefront. It wasn't meant to be and I needed to realize that before I spent too much for too little. Pun intended. This made me take a breath and regroup, making the very (and I mean very) hard decision to call the whole thing off. If it cannot happen the right way, it's not happening at all, is how I steeled myself. 

And despite that original disappointment I am so, so glad I did. 

We are now business owners and I am one step closer to becoming a full time writer. 

You read that right. My husband is exceptionally skilled in all things that can be made with your hands. He can build the world if given the opportunity. This has always been a toyed around idea, one that we talk about in our dream-like conversations, along with how we'll be in a place where money counts for nothing and I am a famous writer. However, this time, after another disappointed fall through and the sick realization that we cannot afford (at least not to the extent that we want to be sunk into debt to) to buy a home where we've been born and raised, the conversation seemed much more real with the simple understanding that either we start a business or move away.

What do we have to lose? 

We are debt-free, own hardly any assets and have an incredible knack for wanting to be entirely independent. We do not want children and alas, we have no mortgage to speak of. We have family that is supportive and complimentary and we have the funds to start a business the correct way- with proper licensing and everything. Basically, the only question left was, why the hell not? We didn't have a good answer.

To be smart about things I took back an old job that pays more, has better, more stable hours and that allows me the freedom to help with all things accounting/web/bookie-stuff. It also allows a lot more freedom to write- but that was just an extra bonus. We've budgeted ourselves out for a little over a year- that means he can make nothing for that amount of time and we don't have to worry, after that we'll need to figure it out. We decided to take a month to get all the proper documents and make sure to dot all our I's and cross all our T's. I've almost finished the website, the phone system, accounting system and CRM system are all in place. We are meeting with free mentor programs offered by our state and have called everyone about everything. It's spectacular how much there is to learn. 

We've obtained a truck (beautiful, inexpensive, practically perfect vehicle) and we even have a plan B that involves my husband getting licensed in another field in case this doesn't work. We have resigned to the fact that we're staying in the condo we've been in and have mini remodeled it enough that it's not too shabby. We acquired an eight-person dinning room set so we can have people over and save money on going out. The set is absolutely beautiful and after we purchased it for only $200 we found out it is actually an antique worth much, much more. 

Basically, with a little elbow grease, everything is falling into place. It's been so well put together that other people have commented on the rightness of it all. Which only concretes what I've come to learn. 

If it's meant to be, it'll happen.

Simple, sleek, overused and still so incredibly uplifting. 

#SaturdayScenes #KillMatch

Kardia is a world where history has been firmly planted in our future, every luxury being disposed of and an archaic future is the best we can hope to see. Gladiator's once again roam the Earth as slaves to the throne and competition is deadly. 

Librarea is a nineteen year old Gladiatrix, a female Gladiator, claimed by House Aelius since she was only seven. She dreams of nothing more than to fight through to her twenty-first birthday when the law states that she will finally be released from her duties as a warrior. But just like her father before her, she may never make it. 

Heath, a vicious opponent who was narrowly beaten in their matching, has decided it isn't enough. He's been granted a Kill Match and the prize, if Librarea wins, is more than just her life, but the life of her sister as well.

*

All I could dream of were Liv's screams and by morning I was exhausted. I woke before both boys, their peaceful faces making it impossible for me to want to wake them. They deserved to rest a little longer before the horrors of reality woke them. I snuck to the door still in the clothes I had put on the day before, too pained to have changed out of them.  Carefully, I pulled the door open, cringing at the slight creak of the hinges before stealthily slipping out. Just as I was closing it tightly behind me, I could feel the presence of someone else.

"Good morning, Ferus."

The deep baritones of Marcellus threatened to echo down the hall. I turned to my right signaling for him to be quiet and to follow me. Remarkably he complied, a carefree shrug being his only response. I moved down the stairs, not bothering to acknowledge him. When we reached the first floor he lightly grabbed my shoulder spinning me around to face him.

"Would you like to tell me what that was all about before I drag you back to your room?" He questioned.

I roll my eyes at his ridiculous threats.

"Both Nile and Nero were still sleeping soundly. I have better manners than to wake them us, so I decided to get breakfast myself. I didn't expect you to still be mulling about my hall." I raise my eyebrows in suspicion, demanding an explanation. 

"Save those looks for the others, girl. They don't scare me." He grinned. "But because I'm in a good mood, I'll answer you. Nero didn't want you sneaking out. He also doesn't trust that friend of yours, so he asked me to stay and be sentry." He walked past me toward where the kitchen was located. "He's pretty intelligent. It only took a few hours and here you are. Well, as long as I'm here too we might as well get some food."

Marcellus walked a few steps then waited for me to join him. I shook my head in disgust but knew I had no choice. If I wanted help it would do me some good to learn when to pick my battles. Even though I didn't care for my companion, it was minute annoyance. I followed him through the house and into the kitchen. 

Sweat beaded relentlessly on my brown and I cursed myself for how weak I was becoming. I hated sustaining serious injuries, simply because of the time it took to retrain my muscles to obey. By the time we got there, I wasn't sure how I was going to be able to make it back. Thankfully, Marcellus was in an especially cheery mood and didn't force me to swallow my pride and ask him for help. He simply moved a sitting still against the wall and went about shuffling through the pantries. I quickly took a seat, all but flopping myself down from relief. 

My ribs felt as if they might push through skin if I moved another inch and my lungs threatened to quit being useful all together. I could barely head Marcellus' movements over my heavy panting. I closed my eyes focusing on deep breaths and the tiny cracks throughout my spine that followed several of them.

"Ah, Barret, you beast. I knew you'd have something good tucked away." Marcellus' giddy lilt interrupted my meditation and I opened my eyes.

He turned to walk back toward me, looking rather triumphant. 

"If you say one word to the cook, I will blame you entirely." He warned. "And we both know who he'll believe." I nodded knowing the truth of his threat.

Slowly he unwrapped the parcel in his hand, splitting his plunder in half and handing it to me. I moved the odd ball in my hand, inspecting it's seemingly gooey texture.

"What is it?" I implored.

He rolled his eyes dramatically, as if I were a bane on his soul. 

"They're pulmentum's. Barret only makes them for himself unless they are specifically requested by Lanista Aelius or the Etruscan. He doesn't want to waste his time making them for peasants. At least that's what he's told me. I'm not entirely sure what's in them, but I know they're unlike anything else I've ever tasted." He popped one in his mouth, closing his eyes and smiling as if he was in Heaven. 

I turned mine over once more, then smelled it. Sweet scents that reminded me of goats milk wafted to my nose, a spicy undertone mixing in with each breath. It looked to be meat with cheese and salt but I couldn't figure out what else. I shrugged and popped the bite into my mouth. Instantly my eyes dropped closed on their own accord. The spicy and sweet aroma staying true to the taste of the item with just a hint of saltiness. The meat tore easily, exposing the creamy center. I bit down and a light crunch was found bringing a new nutty flavor into the mix. I finished, licking at my teeth and trying to consume what was left of the flavor. I opened my eyes to a beaming Marcellus.

"So?" He tapped his fingers against his side impatiently. 

I moved my tongue around one last time, making sure it was entirely gone.

"That was... unexpected. It's like a jumble of all of the perfect foods rolled into a tiny, little ball. How does he get away with not making these all of the time?" I asked.

Marcellus laughed, throwing another one into his mouth.

"They apparently take a very long time to make. Weeks, I was told. I only know about them because I was training with Alexander when he requested a few. Since then I've been snooping around the kitchen as often as I dare, taking some from Barret's personal stash." He said.

I smiled at him, shoving the feelings of disdain I had for him becoming a Guard aside. I genuinely liked him and this just added to the many reasons why were had gotten along as children. I threw another one in my mouth and was sad to see only one left in my palm. Before I could ask if there were more, a very angry Nero came storming in, towing along an equally irritated Nile in his wake. I looked to my sentry and smiled again. 

"Looks like we've been caught."

 

 

Downsizing

Because tiny homes are...

I haven't been able to finish that sentence yet because I'm still debating it. 

Let's start from the beginning shall we?

I've been M.I.A. from G+ for a while because, well, I've been M.I.A. from anything that doesn't have to do with work or buying a house. They've been all consuming and I fear they're going to continue to be until the 27th of May. 

What's the 27th you ask? 

It's our closing date. I'm crossing my fingers it  happens before that, but that is our contracted date to be given over the keys and deed. 

YES! We found a home! 

And this time we're pretty sure there's nothing going to stop us from buying it. *Knock on wood*. The inspection has been done and the property was found to be beautiful. The well inspection has been done and there's some slight things but they can easily be fixed. All that's left is the appraisal. 

So, let's get to the fun stuff!

That's the view from the kitchen/dinning room. The house you see across, is pretty far away and that huge gap between? That's a fairly large river, jam packed with steel-head and river otters. 

Now this? This is the front of the home. You see how it's divided by a breezeway? Here's where the Tiny Home reference comes in.

It's actually two pods. In one pod it's a kitchen and dinning room. In the other pod it's a bedroom, office and bathroom. 

Is it odd? Yes. Do we love it? YES. 

The whole house is about 700sqft. 

That's all folks. 

Now, before you go buggy eyed, you have to know, it's on an acre. And that it is just my husband, myself and our two (smallish) dogs. We don't want children and we are not planning to expand in any other way. 

Although we have lived in small spaces before, we've lived in 1200+ sqft for the past three years. In those three years, I have accumulated a few things that I am very fond of. So fond of, in fact, that yesterday my husband and I had our first tiny home fight. He basically wants to dump everything and start over since we'll have to custom build every piece of furniture so that we get the most out of it (my husband builds custom furniture). My poor, little, hoarding heart couldn't handle it. 

But what about all the records and the record player? 

What about the beautiful antique roll top?

What am I going to do without my wrap around office desk?

HOW THE HELL DO I COPE WITH GETTING RID OF MY CUSTOM BOOKSHELF?

Yeah, it got serious. 

I do understand they're just things, really I do. But they're things that mark memories in my life. How will I remember the old man neighbor we met when we first moved in here? The one who had cancer and passed away? The one who before he died, knew I'd wanted an old record player and given me his along with his lifetime collection of records? What will remind me of the first project my husband and I ever built together if I don't see it holding the precious books of my childhood? What about the grand staircased bed we made for our old dog? The one with his name stitched into the sides?

It's silly to think that I'll forget, but I will. It will turn into, "oh, I remember that" instead of, "You see that piece there..." 

But they can't go. There isn't room and no amount of wishing is going to make that place grow. 

So why don't you find a different house, you say.

Have you ever walked into a place and the smell, the light, the soul of it, just made you feel like home?

That's why. 

This house is a piece of Washington that we remember from our childhoods. A place where there's more trees than people. Where it's a one lane road in or out and all you can hear is water. It's the heart of my homeland and I don't want to let it drown out with the rest of the progressing world. More than anything I want to keep this piece of the Pacific Northwest mine for as long as I possibly can. I would giveaway every memory to keep just this one.

It doesn't make it hurt any less but I do believe it'll be worth it. 

That's why I've decided to document the fights, the trials and the success of moving into this space. There's so many things we want to do with it that I haven't done since childhood and I know it's going to be a hell of a ride. So, naturally, I'm sharing it with you. 

Here's to growing up wanting the things you grew up hating. 

:)

#SaturdayScenes #TheHumanCondition

It is 4:18 in the morning and this is the first time I've been home all day/night. It's been a long one. Still, I wanted to post a scene for today, so my apologies on the early morning/late posting.

The following scene is from a WIP that I am working on between Kill Match and Riding called The Human Condition. I'm not entirely sure what genre is would be placed in, but probably YA of some sort. There is no magic/fantasy in this one and it takes place here on Earth, in New York City.

Here is the prologue! Please let me know if you think it catches the attention of the reader to continue on to the beginning chapters.

:)

*

It was late, an hour that most wouldn’t dare to be out at. The time where the darkness is absolute, just moments before the light breaks through for dawn. I hurried my walk, careful to keep my precious cargo from the stinging droplets of rain that slapped at my face. A few eyes from the shadows followed my progress but I knew first hand that they didn’t matter. No one would believe a crack head or a whore, not that I was too concerned about anyone looking for me anyway. It was one of the things I loved about New York. I was easily forgettable.

The wet thunk of shoes against pavement moved me forward. I concentrated on the sound, blocking out all other thoughts. The buildings all leered down on me and I almost missed the one I’d come for. It stood tall and quiet, much like the rest, distinguished only by the golden plaque that hung above the doorway, “Academy of Excellence”. I hated the name with all it’s pompous attitude. It sounded like the private schools my parents could never afford, or for that matter, ones that I never would be able to either. If Dr. Day had not explained the academy’s true intent, I would’ve turned around right then, taking my chances alone.

I scoffed, glad that she had told me about this place. It would be the best for my daughter and I knew it. The pregnancy had been laughable, in a horrific sort of way. It was a one night stand with a man I couldn’t even remember. After my life had fallen apart and my mind had become shattered, I’d turned to alcohol to numb the pain. Knowing what a normal life felt like and having it ripped from me was a reality I couldn’t bare. Finally, when I’d found out I was pregnant I’d searched out help and found Dr. Day. She was the kindest person I’d ever met and when she told me about the program and the research for a cure, I agreed without question.

Only now, standing at the doorstep, did I begin to have second thoughts. A warm hand pulled me into the lobby, the heat from the room blasting my skin dry. I looked into friendly brown eyes and a plump face smiling at me.

“I am so glad you came!”

She hugged me lightly, careful not to jostle my arms. Her genuine excitement helped to ease my nerves. I was doing the right thing. I looked around the barren lobby, hoping to catch a glimpse into her new life.

“Can I… Can I see where she’ll be staying?”

Her smiled dropped, sadness overwhelming the lines.

“I’m sorry. I know this must be devastatingly hard for you. The facility is under complete lockdown. No one but the directors are allowed to leave. Not until the research is over. But I promise you she will be well cared for and safe.”

I gulped back the tears that were trying to form. I would not cry.

“And you promise she won’t be like me? That she won’t end up...crazy.”

I whispered the last part, hating to admit my faults even to someone who knew them well. She put her hand on my shoulder and held my stare with determination.

“I promise. I will care for her as if she were my own.”

I nodded my head, knowing that time was up. I unwrapped my coat from around the baby girl and her brilliant hazel eyes appeared.

“My sweet Maya girl.” I cooed, “Mommy loves you so much. I have to give you a chance to be good, healthy. Normal. I hope in your heart you know you’re the only one I’ve ever loved this much.”

I kissed her forehead, her little hands reaching for me, lightly pulling at escaped strands of hair. I curled my fingers around her as long as I could until fully handing her over to Dr. Day. The tears swelled, raging like a storm that I could no longer control. Before I decided to snatch her back, I ran out of the lobby door into the morning of the streets. I pumped my legs as hard and as far as I could. I had to get away from the decision I’d just made. I found myself chanting into the night, trying to ease my aching heart as best as I could, hoping I didn’t just make another mistake.

“She will be cured.”

April Resolutions

Because who in the hell ever keeps January's?

I'm sick, and not the kind of sick where you think you might be sick, I'm actually sick. My throat hates me for coughing so thoroughly and it feels like my body is being a traitor to my soul. OFF WITH HER HEAD! 

If only it were that easy.

The good news is, I'm at the tail end of this infestation of disease, and have thus had an epiphany of how much better my life can get. 

And I've been told I'm not an optimist. PFFT! (I blame the books I've been reading)

Here's where I make the vow of resolution to my hoard of ridiculous problems. Yes I know it's the middle of April. I'm not entirely delusional. But I didn't very well keep the ones I made in January, so I figure what could it hurt for a little brush up 1/3 of the way through the year.

So, I signed us up for dance classes. Because dancing makes everything better. 

I've been to the ballroom school before and I liked it a lot. I used to love to dance. But then life got busy and for some reason I ran out of time to continue it. Same problem happened with healthy home cooked meals. Somehow the two got pushed aside and I realize now that they were really important. Just ask the grudging weight that I can't seem to knock down no matter how far away from my work I park.

I've also come to realize that even though I've always wanted to dance/act/write for a living, I haven't done as much as I should in any of those categories to make it a reality. I watch videos or read books and I think the whole time, "Man, I would really love to do that". 

WHY THE HELL AM I NOT DOING IT?

I've become... ICK.... content.

And in some (i.e. most) cases, too stressed over things that wouldn't matter if I were doing what I loved in the first place. 

Today, well, not today specifically since I am hacking a lung and I'm sure they wouldn't allow me near any humans in public, I am taking a stance against excuses. Simply because I am not getting any younger and if I just sucked it up and started now, later will be so much easier. So much better. 

That's what happens when you do things your body and soul need. You feel better. 

:)

P.S.

In case you missed the whole point of the blog, the goals are:

1. Eat Better

2. Take dance classes

3. Do more of what I love

I want to hear all of your April resolutions people! I can't be the only one whose slackin'!

Oh, and here's the video that seriously is kicking my butt into dance gear!