I will not be writing fiction or much of anything else for the foreseeable future.

I know withdrawing from writing fiction at this time won’t make much of a difference in the scheme of things. My small group of readers haven’t read anything new from me for almost a year already. The last time I posted to this blog was in April. There are millions of fantastic books and short stories out there to keep everyone entertained forever. I have no illusions that anything new I might produce would be missed.

I’m not boycotting the writing world as some kind of call to action, nor do I think declaring an end to my fiction writing will result in some kind of change that will impact how people think. Between the pandemic and the arguments over masks, the lives lost and the massive economic hardships millions are facing, my imaginary characters, their lives, their issues …  well, who gives a shit? Certainly not me.

Every single day I've felt guilt and insecurities because I can't do more than stare at the empty page. I wish I could fill it with my fear, frustration and the extreme anxiety that washes over me every time I consider what will happen to my country, to the world, if the same thing happens in November 2020 that happened in November 2016. If the politics aren’t enough, watching George Floyd die and the callous indifference on Chauvin’s face broke me. I didn’t think I could take one more story of police brutality and the wrongful deaths of innocents at the hands of people who simply didn’t care. Then there was Breonna Taylor and Elijah McClain and Venessa Guillen, a sister in arms whose murder inexcusably went unsolved for so long even when the killer was the most obvious person imaginable. If her murder had been a novel, readers would have excoriated the author for making the solution to the puzzle so damn obvious.

Why is it so hard for Americans to wear a damn mask? How could parents support a president who demands they send their children into virus riddled infection chambers? How do we allow news organizations to spread propaganda against Black Lives Matter as if this civil rights group is some sort of terrorist organization? How is it okay for the party of POTUS to put a mentally ill rapper on the ballot in a scheme to draw votes from his opponent? How do we allow our neighbors or, more importantly, our employees to scream the N word and call the police on people simply for walking down the street? How does anyone make excuses for people who stand on their front lawn and point weapons at people exercising their first amendment rights? Did that cop really think it made things better to help a 16 year-old girl sit up, after he made her and her sisters lay face down on the ground and put handcuffs on them? And even after people from around the world have expressed their anger, shock and horror over our handling of this pandemic, and indeed, ban Americans from visiting most countries around the world because of it, how can the architect of this disaster claim we are the envy of the world? Worse, how can his followers think this is all okay?

The horrific destruction left in the wake of the explosion in that Beirut warehouse seems almost representative of the collective pressure we are all facing. I’ve had enough.

Every single day my frustration and feelings of helplessness have grown in the face of all of this madness.  At the same time my guilt over not being able to put words on a page multiplied exponentially. The horrific destruction left in the wake of the explosion in that Beirut warehouse seems almost representative of the collective pressure we are all facing. I’ve had enough.

I wish I could control the fear so many millions feel over their need for that extra $600 congress can’t come to an agreement on. I wish I could control the guilt some cops may be wrestling with as they start to understand the realities of the systematic racism they have unknowingly supported. I wish I could control the risk to health so many teachers will face. I wish I could control the gut-wrenching feelings low income, hardworking parents must be facing who know their children won’t get the homeschooling they need. I wish I could have control over how much further behind those low income kids will become. I wish I could control the hatred in the hearts of so many who become incensed, outraged and violent over a simple demand that no lives matter until Black, Brown and Native lives matter.     

I know that many people share my frustration and feelings of helplessness in the face of all of this. By saying I'm not going to write anymore, I'm finally taking control of the one stone of guilt I can lift off my shoulders. Unlike COVID or federal troops on the streets or those who refuse to wear masks or the lunatic in the White House and all of the evil monsters who support him, this one thing, the guilt I feel over my inability to write, I can control. So I will.

I need words. Give me some words. Don't make me beg.

All I want for Christmas ... are my words back.

I used to have lots of words. Thousands and thousands of them. I would sit down at the keyboard and weave tales and create worlds and imagine characters that weren’t just characters to me. They were living breathing people.

But, to be perfectly honest, I haven’t been writing. I’ve lost all my words. I’ve tried, but I can’t find them.

Help!

I have multiple projects in progress. Projects I’m excited about and ones that should be relatively easy to finish. The characters, locations and plot points are right there, waiting to be fleshed out and realized. I see them. I feel them. I just can’t write them.

Instead, I spent most of the summer having every single one of my titles reedited. There were a bunch of nagging issues and my known weakness is that I never, ever catch all of my editing errors. Never. So, I always hire the work out, but still, I’ve known there were issues with books already out there. I decided to have every book reedited. It wasn’t cheap and it took a long time.

Then, I was having all kinds of issues with my website. I had never been able to get it to look the way I wanted. So damn frustrating. I hired a web designer to finally have the kind of website I wanted and the look I was after.

I sometimes find words in fire, but I've looked and they aren't there. Even Sojue has helped search.

Prior to this summer, my books were all exclusive to Amazon. I wanted to change that, so I went through the business of researching and deciding the best way to get them published to a wider market. I even considered issuing them in hardcover. When I finally made a choice, I went through the business of reissuing all of my books on multiple platforms, which also takes a great deal of time.

And as the political animal that I am, I can’t ignore that all of what is going on in Washington is a distraction that has virtually paralyzed me. Every time RGB sneezes, my heart stops. Each new revelation and public testimony restricts my airways. I know one day this nightmare will be over, but right now, I don’t recognize my country. In light of that it’s difficult to follow Hester, Quincy, and Rashid into sewers to battle trolls.  

I know it may sound like I’m making excuses, but all of these things drain the sand from the clock, sap your energy, and frankly squeeze every single bit of fun out of the business of writing.

Finding and hiring an editor, building a relationship, trusting them to work through each manuscript, making the changes and adjustments, all went as I expected. But then, just last week, I received a new review. She loved the story, but I was absolutely crushed when she withheld one star because she’d become frustrated with the errors she found in one of my books. ERRORS? STILL?

Then, imagine my frustration when I realized the web designer I hired had built fatal flaws into the site, breaking things that weren’t broken and leaving me with plugins and themes that couldn’t be updated. I had to hire yet another person to redo what I’d spent a great deal of money to have done. The website is back up and running now, but my trust in hiring freelancers is trounced. Not that I won’t do it again. I just don’t know what I could have done differently to improve the outcome I’d had with the first one.  

Unfortunately, much of this happened just before and during the publication of The Bonding Blade. I’d worked diligently on the book and I absolutely love the story. From Subaru, to Clark, to Erika and Sarah, the characters and situations are some of the favorites I’ve ever written. It’s a damn good book and continues The Desert Goddess series -- both books, The Bonding Spell and The Bonding Blade could use some review love by the way -- with the kind of twisting mystery, dark and serious situations and wry sense of humor the series embodies. The release was … not a letdown exactly. It just didn’t bring me the kind of joy I usually feel when sending one of my babies out into the world.

Purchased from 13 Magickal Moons in Occoquan, VA. Reminds me a bit like Logan Fredricks' shop in St. Paul, only that place is only in my imagination.

I owe readers of the series a next book and I WILL fulfill that promise. The problem is, I’m a bit lost. I’ve lost my words. I’m searching for them, but so far, they have remained elusive.

I’m going on a trip soon and hope I’ll find some words under some rocks there, maybe buried in the ashes of a fireplace. I really am looking for them everywhere. I wish my mom would send some word from Heaven that I’ve left them in my sock drawer. I can’t hire Master Sergeant Lauren Harper to figure out where they’ve gone. I’m sure she and Harry are on Holiday leave.

So, if you have a good lead on where I can find some words, please let me know. I will take them in the form of inspiration gift cards, or writing prompt packages, a word download infusion, a sage cleansing, or magical talisman like the Muse Touch I purchased from a witches shop in Occoquan, Virginia. I bought it a few years ago, so it probably needs a refresher spell. I wish I had Quincy’s grimoire database. But I don’t. So, I guess I’ll just keep looking.

Happy Holidays! Here’s hoping you get everything you’re wishing for.

A wise young NCO once said to me, "change is never good or bad. Change is just change."

While in uniform I tended to agree with that philosophy. In the military, change usually meant you had to do it wrong the first, second and third time before you got it right. Change meant classroom training, hours of standing around while someone explained this bold, new change and more hours of everyone complaining that the new change didn't make any sense and then some old been-there-done-that guy explaining in great detail why we should just keep doing things the old way. Sound familiar?

As a civilian working for the Army I can truthfully tell you that the reaction to change hasn't changed much.

BUT, when it comes to this blog ... or more importantly, this website, where I continue to write about women in combat boots, change was necessary. Change was critical. Change had been on my mind for a long, long time and with the help of the lovely Natasha Wilson, change is finally here! (more…)

How do you measure creativity? Is it liquid so you can measure it in a cup or a bucket and carry it? Maybe it's wind since I often say someone's creativity blew me away. Or is creativity something solid that smacks you upside the head?

Three things that carried, blew, smacked me this week.

First, is the novel, The First Fifteen Lives of Harry August, by Claire North. I’d never heard of it, but evidently it was a big hit and all the talk when it first came out in 2014. Not her first book, Claire North made a name for herself after this one came on the scene and I understand why. (more…)

You’re going to want to enter this contest.

If you read this blog at all, you know I’m a big fan of R. R. Haywood’s Undead series and that I love hanging out in his Living Army Facebook group. It’s a lively place with lots of motley characters who all have a love of the written word either as readers or as writers.

About six months ago, Haywood held a *Write A Chapter* Contest. He provided a prologue and then asked contestants to add 500 words to it. The one who made the best use of those 500 words was the winner.

Guess who won. Go ahead. Guess.

Yep. That was this girl (double thumb point).

(more…)

First, a whole bunch of the Lei Crime Kindle World authors got together for a Valentine's Day Facebook hop. Some lucky person is going to win a $170.00 Amazon gift card. You don't want to miss this contest.

The sweet part, aside from thlei-crime-valentinese fat gift card, is that each Facebook post features a unique Hawaiian recipe --Get it? The sweet part? Since most of the Lei Crime stories take place in Hawaii, the recipes get you closer to the world. I want to try them all. Hawaiian king bread, Kalua pork and cabbage, Hawaiian pineapple Cake... So many yummy and fairly easy ideas to bring to the table.

All you have to do is visit some Facebook pages, leave comments and move onto the next one. Lots of us are playing. You can start on my page (www.facebook.com/mldoyleauthor) and go get familiar with other authors who write in the Lei Crime world. It's a talented bunch who write mystery, romance, fantasy and much more.

The second big thing is the Association of Writer's and Writing Programs (AWP) is this weekend. I'm so excited to be going back again this  year. I will be on a panel alongside some amazing veteran writers. I went to AWP for the first time last year and the experience had a lasting impact. I wrote about it when I got home and now I can't wait to see some of the friends I made. Here's a description of the panel I will be on. It would be great fun to see you there!

 

 

 

 

 

Friday, February 10, 2017

9:00 am to 10:15 am

Marquis Salon 6, Marriott Marquis, Meeting Level Two

F110. The Middle Americans: How Flyover Country Responds to War. (, , , , ) By various measures, rural Americans are more likely to enlist in the US armed forces. Despite isolation from traditional centers of publishing and military power, voices with Midwestern roots have sprung forth like dragon's teeth to deliver clear-eyed, plainspoken views of war, service, and sacrifice. The civilians and veterans of this stereotype-busting panel of published writers offer their insights regarding themes, trends, and markets in fiction, nonfiction, and poetry.

 

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