Accomplishment, Confusion, Denial, Excuses and Pursuit

The stages of meeting someone whose work you admire...

Okay. Some of you may not have this experience. You can meet someone who you think is, ahem, balls to the wall, if you will, and be completely cool. You're confident.You walk away feeling great about you and never think a thing of it again. This is not me. 

Whenever I meet someone incredibly talented my first thought is, 'of course they want to be my friend. Just look at how well we get along.' I feel accomplished to have made it in their presence and to be able to have a conversation that isn't dominated by hums and ha's. I feel successful by association.

Don't worry, this rubs off in 2.3 seconds after my mouth closes and I walk away. I turn confused. Wait, I just talked to someone I admire. Someone talented. Someone accomplished. Why am I not accomplished? I wonder about this on the entire walk away from them. 

Then before I start to panic, I tell myself it's not real. There's no way they are that big of a deal. Obviously. I then research the hell out of their career and figure out just how big of a deal they are. The constant fan groups/awards/love for them is shoved down my throat and all denial dies in the pit of my stomach. It's about the next morning before I move on to the next stage.

No, JB, it's not you. You're busy. You work full-time. You go to school full-time. You're a great writer, you just don't have enough time/money/resources to put together a best selling book. It isn't your fault. You're still young. I baby myself. I fill the next day with all the things my life consists of. I've even gone so far as to write down all of my activities to prove my excuses. I check my bank account and the costs of publishing over and over, pretending they are absolute facts and are the only possible things that can propel my success, which by looking at them, is the exact reason I'm failing. 

Then I take a breath.

Time for a side note. 

I'm writing this because this happened this weekend. I met the author of one of my top ten favorite series in the world, Red Rising. His name is Pierce Brown and he is 28. 

TWENTY-FREAKING-EIGHT.

He is a NY Times #1 best selling author and has sold book rights to Universal for his book Red Rising. [You can learn more about him here] 

AT TWENTY-FREAKING-EIGHT.

I, my dear loving friends, am 27. I will be 28 this year.

I have published one book and one novelette. I have not had a #1 book-- forget movie rights!

Meeting this author has probably done more of a number on my brain/motivation/self-confidence than any other has in the past. It has made me seriously question things-- and there's been a whole lot of whys and hows I've thrown around about my writing. About other people's writing. About success. Failure. Reality. Probability. And a horde of other issues I'd rather not talk about.

Here's the real rub of it: when I started the books, I didn't know a damn thing about the author. It could have been a 65 year old woman that had written hundreds of best sellers. I read the summary, decided it looked good and read. and read. and read.

I loved them. In a moment where I was struggling with finding something to read, these books were like water. I seriously couldn't get enough. Darrow is one of the most honest, heart-breakingly real characters I had come across in years. I could see myself there. In every moment. 

And this past weekend, the person who wrote something that had broken my heart and made it whole again, stood in front of me. A 28 year old, goofy guy, and for a few good hours I wasn't sure how I felt about me. 

He is practically the same age as me. How can he be a successful author and I'm still, well, just me?

Back to the stages.

I don't want you guys to think this is about Pierce Brown, because it's not. It never has been. This is about me. About how I am affected by those around me and what I can do with those reactions. I have been completely gifted with the ability to work with and talk to several amazing writers, artists and editors that I am completely in awe of every, single, day. Jealousy is an ugly thing and I am ashamed to say it can get to me too. I see others that I am so completely enamored with and I compare. I compare myself, my writing, my characters. I compare my work ethic, my lifestyle, my choices. I try to make sense of something just to make myself feel better, so that the world I live in seems more at fault than my mind is. I struggle. A lot. And in the face of happiness, in the presence of success, my struggles only tend to become that much more real. My faults become red marks in a world of white. I can see who I am and who I am struggling so hard to be.

Then, my dreams come into focus.

Pursuit. That's the only defining characteristic I can label the last stage as. I am in pursuit of my dreams. After everything I feel, after all the self-guilt, I can remember why I'm writing. That the way I feel when I've read a book, and the way I want to become something bigger than I am at this moment, is a gift, a reminder, that I want to bring this companionship and emotion to readers, the way these authors bring it to me. My mind comes back to all the colors. The love I have for my own stories. How I know if I push myself just a little bit further and continue moving towards my goals, I'll get there too. 

And someday, someone, somewhere will go through the stages. I'll shake their hand and smile and set their mind on a path I've been down oh so many times before. I'll remember then like I remember now, that it's worth it.

So, the next time you find yourself in the presence of someone great, someone whose art makes your breath catch, know that you too, can be that. Maybe not in the same time frame, same mode, same anything. Realize that it isn't about them. It's about you. You're good enough, strong enough, beautiful enough to create something that speaks to someone else. You can become successful, in whatever way that may mean.

For me, I'm going to write a best selling novel. Starting with today.

<3JB

The Last of Yesterday

And the beginning of tomorrow...

I've been traveling a road for a summer, fall, winter and new year. I wasn't alone, although there were so many times it felt like it.

My husband quit his job in the Spring of 2015.

He had worked there for over eight years. He had built his goals on the foundation of a zoo and when he had accomplished all he had striven for, he found he wanted more.When you're driven, which we both tend to be, losing a dream is infuriating. You become lost in who you want to be. Where you want to go. Especially when you realize where you are doesn't fit right any more. Like your favorite t-shirt you wore ten years ago when you made that dream to start. You've outgrown it. 

I like to think I'm a loving wife. An understanding one. One who knows her partner with every whisper of breath. I knew he was drowning so, I threw a life raft. 

A shaky, ugly, torn thing that only had the inkling of a plan.

But I threw the damn thing with all my might. And he quit. As furiously as he does anything else and our journey began. 

I have learned so much.

We thought our own business was the best idea this side of Spokane. My husband is talented and I am able to keep the papers together enough to make sense. We would be busy and happy and fulfilled. 

We were not.

It was long and grueling. People were snakes, hands stuck so far out of their pockets and into our own we were confused who was who. We found the ugly side of money and the greed seeped deep in our area. A hard days work isn't worth much anymore, apparently. Honesty is spit on and screamed at. Necessities should be free, regardless of what we owe to obtain them for you. Our dream of creating other people's dreams and making them a reality, soured. But we learned.

There are two types of people in the world: One's who live to work and those who work to live. 

Either is fine with me. I thought if we had purpose, meaning and love in our jobs (and only these things) life would be easy. I still think it might be, but those positions are few and far between. We may get back there someday, but for now I am completely happy, actually more happy than I ever thought, by working to live. I'll go to a job where I like the people and the work is OK and the stress levels are low and then I'll spend the money I make there on the things I really love. I'll use my vacation to travel the world and write until my little heart has no more words. My husband also learned that he would like that too. The search began.

And search was all we did. 

Every day for months we scoured the world for work that would more than make ends meet and that he would enjoy (for the most part) doing. We applied. He took phone interviews and tediously went to five or six interviews a week. All on the hunt for something to fit his new (hopeful) lifestyle. We wanted benefits. We wanted enough cash to live comfortably. We wanted a good environment. We wanted a reasonable commute. 

It was heartbreaking and at times soul crushing. 

I'm not what you would call religious, but I have faith. I have a faith so strong that the world will work out and if you put good things into the world, the world will return good things to you. I have faith in my husband and his abilities. In his personality. I have faith that we can make it through anything. But this, this tested that faith to the very frayed ends of it's existence. 

And I realized that when my faith of the future is wavering, I become reclusive. I cannot handle listening to others say anything negative. I cannot hear it will be okay or talk about the downturns we've had. I cannot hang out as if everything is okay. I can only squirrel my soul away until it is back to being stable. Until I know I can face friends and foe without be persuaded by their words. And this is why I am not a great friend. When the universe is testing me, I will fail or succeed alone. I give myself no other option. 

Good, bad or ugly, this is the truth of who I am. 

And it took what looked to be the end of life as I know it to see it. 

I've come so far. 

I can't begin to explain what it has felt like to see my savings dwindle. To hear no after no after no. To push my husband up when I felt like doing was staying down. I know it isn't going to be the last hurdle, nor the worst, but it was a glaring change that was probably one of the largest in my adult life. It was the first time I openly doubted my faith that things were going to work out. It was a trial where I learned so much about myself and my husband that otherwise would have gone unnoticed.

It mattered and that's why I'm writing this. To remember.

Thankfully, I can write this because its over. My husband accepted a job that is perfect for him. And us. It is absolutely everything we didn't know we were looking for and everything we were. I am so, so thankful. A weight has been lifted and a lightness I didn't have before (even before this happened) has filled me. I see a plan forming. A future. It is exciting, terrifying and fulfilling in every way. I'm no longer wandering aimlessly. 

We have finally found the path through the trees.

And what a glorious road to see.

<3JB

#SaturdayScenes The Beginning

I've decided to share the entirety of my novelette The Beginning for the next few #SaturdayScenes in honor of NaNoWriMo.

Here's the blurb:

The Beginning: 

For every step in the right direction,

There’s one that lingers in the dark.

Forgive the stability of my expression,

But the truth stands still inside the spark.

For what you know cannot be true,

There’s a different path in sight.

Don’t worry, history doesn’t blame you,

It just wants to set the tale right.

The wolf was real, the girl a sham,

Real humanity in the village was kept.

The hunger inside is quite grand,

So you better watch your step.

The Beginning is a novelette for the Guarding the Vila series. It takes place before Red. It is approx. 10k words and is a short-story.

Enjoy!

*
And this warning take, I beg;

Not every wolf runs on four legs.

The smooth tongue of a smooth-skinned creature

May mask a rough and wolfish nature.

These quiet types for all their charm,

Can be the cause of the worse harm.

-Charles Perrault; Little Red Riding Hood

France, Fall of 1697

*

The dew had yet to be disturbed and the leaves lit the ground on fire with their 

color. The wooden cabins lay laced with mist, hardly visible from my window, while they 

sat in the distance. I should have been soaking up the beauty, loving the morning before 

the winter turned it cold, but Mama had woken me too early after her long trip from 

Grandmere's, causing my mood to turn fouler with each passing breath. No amount of 

beauty, or threat of its extinction, could soften the sour look I gave the dawn.

"Scarlett," she called. "Wake up! Grandmere is sick and cannot get out of bed. 

The wolves are said to roam this time of year, so I need you to get up so you can 

go and light the fires for her tonight. She is too weak to do them herself and I 

must go to town and fetch your sister to help take care of her."

I mumbled sleepily and rolled over, trying to ignore the urgency in her voice.

"Girl, wake up!"

She shook me heavily as I tried to burrow deeper under my covers, when 

suddenly she tore them off completely. She scowled, tapping her foot impatiently, as I 

crawled begrudgingly from my bed to get dressed. I did not want to be up and I did not 

care to walk the distance to Grandmere's. This could wait, I was certain, but if I did not 

do as I was asked, I would be left no coin for food, and Mama's temper would flare 

when she returned. It seemed far better, for now, to appease her. She quickly kissed my 

head as she pulled on her cape.

"You know what you must do?" 

I rolled my eyes with my back still turned towards her. 

"Yes, Mama. Light the fires at Grandmere's." I could hear the rustle of her skirts 

moving away from me.

"And you must do it before dark. Do not stray, Scarlett. I'm trusting you."

Before I could say more she was out the door and on her way to the town a half-
day’s walk north. I couldn't help grumbling, cursing at my unfortunate luck, as the chill of 

the floor crept through my bare feet. I should have been married off long ago, released 

from being a burden on my family and from having their burden on me. But at twenty I 

was still living at home, taking care of Mama as if I were an old maid. It was customary 

for fathers to pick a future husband to take care of his daughter as soon as she was of 

age. My father had done all of this, choosing a boy about my age named Jacques. He 

was brave and eager to become the lead hunter's apprentice, convincing father of his 

worth even though he came from humble beginnings. My father always called him a 

wolf in sheep's clothing, insisting he was more predator than goat herder. All had been 

set until my betrothed died at the age of sixteen, weeks short of when we would have 

been wed, alongside my father.

Papa had taken him on an early hunting trip, training him. They did not stand a 

chance. The wolves tore them apart to the point that they were barely recognizable. The 

only indicator that it was them were the pieces of clothing strewn on the ground and the 

emblem embedded in my father's chewed fist, declaring him the lead hunter of our 

village. Since his death, Mama had refused to give me away and her fear of the wolves 

had been palpable. The fires were key to keeping the beasts at bay, but as I stood in 

the morning light, I could not bring myself to head into the woods towards the cabin. I 

did have a little time until it would be absolutely necessary to leave in order to be there 

before dark. I turned my steps towards the baker's cabin, the forest drifting away at my 

back.

The smell of freshly baked bread and hot iron filled the air. The earliest risers 

were always the baker and the blacksmith. I loved the way the morning swirled with the 

scent, both metallic and warm. The baker ran her shop out of her small cabin, tucked 

deep into the middle of our village, a pitched lean-to in front. The outside was lined with 

shelving and tables, all holding the goods she baked to sell. Thankfully, I had a few 

coins to fill my hunger with since the smells of her wares were driving my stomach to 

flips.

A crowd of villagers were pulled tightly together by the time I reached the shop, 

requiring me to push my way through to the front. A week ago I had come, craving the 

taste of scones, and just as I had arrived, a traveler snatched the last one from the shelf 

greedily. I knew I needed to be quick, so I would not be cheated again. I none-too-gently 

elbowed a man in a graying outfit, quickly taking his surprise as an advantage to step in 

front of him. I saw his glare from the corner of my eye, words of protest hanging on his 

lips. He looked to the hood at my back, recognizing me instantly.

"Red! You should try to watch your elbows. It's not very ladylike to be shoving 

men around." 

He gave me a wink, a smile spreading across his face. Claude was the 

handsome, carefree boy in our village, whose looks alone would make even the most 

proper lady swoon. His golden hair only haloed his charm and his eyes of brun 

constantly danced with mischief. He made every girl smile and would have no trouble 

finding a bride... except that he was completely in love with me. He had asked my 

Mama numerous times for my hand, but every time, she declined. We, of course, had 

our fun, but I couldn't imagine marrying a butcher's boy, the stench of death burned into 

his hands. I was a hunter's daughter and to marry outside of my class was beneath me. 

My father had always promised me a hunter and even in his absence I would accept no 

less.

I turned away from Claude, unconcerned with his teasing, and grabbed for the 

last raspberry scone, snatching it from underneath the hand of a battered old man. He 

looked pitiful, urging me with his eyes to give up the scone I had taken. I refused, 

shrugging my shoulders, pointing instead to a pie that was still waiting to be taken from 

the shelf. He shook his head in disgust at my suggestion. I did not feel guilty as I bit into 

the gooey raspberry filling, the flavors comforting my decision to be harsh. All acts were 

fair when dealing with the baker's delicious goods. The old man would just have to 

learn, as I had, to be quicker next time.

I left my coin in the hands of the baker's daughter then shuffled my way out of the 

crowd, satisfied with my haul. Claude was right on my heels, obnoxiously digging into a 

scone of his own. When we were far enough away to be simply a memory to the crowd, 

the scones licked clean from our fingers, he swooped me up by the waist, planting a 

sugar-filled kiss on my lips with force. I pushed at his arms to let me go and he did, 

dropping me lightly to my toes. I grabbed his hand and ran towards a small alley 

between two stables, hidden away from prying eyes.

"Claude! That was not discreet! I thought we agreed it wouldn't be proper, kissing 

in the streets. What if someone saw? My reputation would be ruined, you 

wretched boy!

I slapped at his chest but he just laughed, the contagious sound thrumming through my 

fingers.

"No one saw us, darling girl. You know I would be ashamed if I ended up the 

cause of your fallen honor. I would never be so rash!" He gently brushed my 

cheek. "You are as precious as a rose in bloom." Stepping back, he looked 

around in delight. "But behold! We are alone. So. Where were we?"

He grabbed me by the waist, sweeping me up into another kiss. This time I 

returned it, consumed by his urgency. He tasted of jam and warm bread, and for a 

moment it didn't matter who we were. We could have been anyone and the future laid 

out before us. All that mattered was that it felt right. That moment, however sweet, just 

as the roses were, faded quickly. He returned me to my feet, that I carefully shuffled 

trying to regain my balance. I adjusted my skirts and cape back to their proper position.

"What is the meaning of all of the commotion this morning? There are so many 

people about so early," I said. 

"The men are going on their hunt tomorrow for the wolves, so the town is 

throwing a festival for their safe return. There'll be plenty of food and drink today, 

ma cherie! It's a celebration! One that you do not want to miss, dear lady."

He slurred his words in exaggerated excitement and I couldn't help the grin that 

came to my face. In my anger at Mama I had completely forgotten the day. I loved the 

festivities before a hunt. There was no better place to be in all of France when our 

village was celebrating the safe return of our men. Claude's enthusiasm only spurred on 

my own. The town would be so alive today, whereas tomorrow there would be nothing 

but drowning amounts of fear—terror that our loved ones may not return. I had a few 

hours until it would be absolutely necessary that I leave and this would be a pity to miss. 

I grabbed Claude's hand and started dragging him towards the pub. He played along, 

pretending that my strength overwhelmed his own.

"Where are you taking me, my rose?" He said with feigned concern.

I just winked and we ran through the streets, laughing.

It's Never Too Late

To Say Thank You <3

Today, my dear friends, is for you. I want to simply say thank you.

Thank you for your time, reading the stupid, but needed, things that I post.

Thank you for including me in your circles, your jokes, your advice. 

Thank you for taking moments out of your days to answer my questions, commenting or sharing, and making things seem like they matter in a world that is usually too busy to notice.

Thank you for helping me step out of my comfort zone.

Thank you for helping me. Period. Even though you may not know you're doing it, have done it, or will do it in the future, know that you are, will or have. 

Thank you for being real. For showing me your success, for sharing your trials, for giving more than I'm sure you feel you should, to those of us who want to know.

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

<3 JB

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.