|Saw him on TV while at the Hospital. Wanted to share.|
Today, I will actually talk about writing as well as my really crazy life of late. The writing part will cover the price of pursuing certain genres over others. One part of my musings on reviews will have me drifting into the subject of internet etiquette and the crazy mind field that can sometimes create. And for my long time readers and supporters, I have a major announcement about my books that is three years in the making!
As always, check out this blog's photos here: http://dlwarner.blogspot.com/p/blog-page_15.html .
I never used to be affected by Mondays. I think that may be because I've had so many jobs that ignored calendars and holidays. It was often a treat to have a gig that respected weekends off. The last three Mondays have been really, truly horrible for me. I've found myself so stressed and mournful on those days that I have thought some shockingly dark thoughts. This last one had me absolutely furious at almost every man that I know. I had become really convinced that I had lost the ability to communicate with them entirely. I was also convinced that I didn't want to deal with any of them anymore for any reason. I don't know if anyone of my gentle readers have noticed, but I don't get angry very often. When I do, I get furious on a volcanic level. This past Monday began with a terrible night's sleep. My biopsy left me swollen and in a lot of pain. I called the number given for such instances and was told to report to radiology immediately. That meant a 90 minute to 3 hour trip on public transit – one way. I really didn't want to go, but there was a chance of infection or internal bleeding. Yay! Fortunately, I was seen right away (I thought I'd be there for hours), and there were no serious problems. On the way home, I got to chat with Marie for a lovely while and pick up some duck fat. Cue evil laughter – more on that later.
The Beat Goes On
The two biopsies and the problems I had afterward, put me behind on a number of obligations. I was given lip service about my physical and emotional woes, but the show must go on. I was still expected to meet my various deadlines. It's not really cold blooded. Even the smallest productions can't stop once they got started. Thus, I had the added stress of worrying about my inbox. At this writing, I've finished scheduling a script for a film I can't talk about, and the latest manga is in the final stages before we put it to bed. I'm working on my fiction, a short story for one publication and an essay for another. And the biggest news, all four of my yaoi novels have been picked up by a major distributor. I'm not allowed to talk about the details on that either save to say that I've been working on this company for three years. That more than made up for Monday.
Anais Nin and the Burdens of Erotica
It shouldn't be a surprise that two women who start a publishing concern called Sybaritic Press. She is an inspiration for me and sort of a role model for how I view my career as a fiction writer. Here's the call:
For more details, go to: https://www.facebook.com/events/231796243625493/
I didn't choose to be classified as an erotica writer. That's basically the mantle chosen for me, because of the sexual content in all of my fiction. I'm not sure why I need a label. Sex fuels drama. The quest for it; the obsession with it; or the loss of it is at the heart of nearly any kind of story that happens between or among people. I am more honest about it than most, I suppose. And because of that, and the need to protect tender sensibilities, my work is shunted into a niche. It's easy to be dismissive or derisive of fiction in a niche. It is said that more bad writing turns up in niches. I've read a lot of lit in grad school. I say a lot of bad writing can be found anywhere. And I say I work as hard on my plots and my characters and their arcs as any other writer I know. And I'm pretty good, If I do says so. My fans who are often looking for all things torrid yell at me for making them enjoy hanging out with a circle of elderly ladies discussing local gossip. I make them worry about a houseman when they should be thinking about my beautiful couple doing sweaty things. I tell a whole story even about sexual escapades. My essay will be about the toll of that effort. While it will be a deeply sensual experience, I plan to make a lot of people uncomfortable. This should be fun.
Facebook is often mocked for being a huge waste of time. I'm sure for some people, that is the case. For me, it has become a way to keep up with many, many people I wouldn't normally have time to chat with on the phone. Everyone has their own busy schedules. It's nice to have a post or two to keep up with friends and family at places other than funerals. My activities on Facebook have really taken my writing career a long way. I've gotten published because of it. I am an editor because of it. The problem with this service and all of the other smart devices we have now to support it is that there is no such thing as being out of communication range for more than a few hours. Now, etiquette is designed to make everyone feel more comfortable. All this personal communication tends to make everyone a lot less formal. It may be because of all the temp jobs I've had during the rise of the internet in which I was taught during orientations that email and later texts can be used as a paper trail in everything from a report to a supervisor to a court case. Our long time attorney taught Jon and I to document all of our meetings in follow up emails that have been very handy in preventing us from getting truly ripped off. I take these forms of communication as seriously as I would a registered letter.
For the past two weeks or more, I have had trouble getting a response to emails, text messages, and even voicemails trying to advance various projects. All of the recipients were different and each is attached to projects that are vastly different from one another. It's shocking that these people would have anything in common at all. But they did. They were all ignoring my attempts to get information to advance these projects. And while they seemed to lack the few seconds of time it would take to respond with a no, not yet, not enough information, not at this time or even get lost, I could see them on Facebook or Twitter posting about all sorts of things. Because this was so pervasive at that time, I got very hurt and then I got really furious. The lack of forward momentum would be blamed on me as I was the public face on these projects. Beyond that, ignoring the messages was just old-fashioned rude like not answering someone at the door when that visitor can clearly see that you are home. Fortunately for the sake of the projects and some friendships, no one dared to say my reaction was silly. No one likes being ignored. I have made it clear that the next time it happens, I'll be posting some embarrassing things on their pages for all of their friends and followers to see. I can do rude when pushed. It's ain't wise to push me.
I've been giving them throughout this blog. I will have a mini-blog later this week about the PMP Cancer Marathon my team and I have been working on for months. Also, the double edged sword of seeking reader reviews of books.