Monthly Archives: August 2016

Indie Lives Matter

One of the unexpected benefits of becoming an indie writer was joining the wonderful community of indie writers. I cannot even begin to describe how supportive, helpful and awesome these folk are. Critical in the best ways. Cheering me on in the dark days when I think my writing is shit or I can’t find my way out of the hole I’ve written. Just stellar people who are doing exactly what I’m doing and struggling exactly the way I’m struggling. Yet, we all laugh at/with each other, send cyber hugs when needed and promote the crap out of each other’s work. And all with good reason. I’m telling you, people, the indie world is where it’s at. There are some truly talented people penning stories right now, stories that put traditional publishing house fare to shame.

We all know the game is rigged and how difficult it is to support yourself off of being an indie writer. I’ve been a judge for several contests and it always leaves me scratching my head at how the winners are, nine times out of ten, big House books that are such crap, I wouldn’t even feed them to my shredder. Even still, we indies trudge on and churn out the stories and characters we love. And you know what? I think that’s why our stories are so much better. Because our writing is not our job. It’s our passion.

In some ways, it reminds of watching the Little League World Series. Those kids pour their entire hearts and souls into the game they love. They play through blood and sweat and cry when they lose. That’s because they don’t get paid to do it. They do it because they love the shit out of it – something blatantly absent from professionals.

I write all of this because just in the last 24 hours I’ve gone on three wild rides, thanks to two of my fellow indie authors, and it occurred to me today how I might have missed out on these five-star reads had I not joined the indie community myself. I might never have known about great authors like R.C. Matthews, Heather Blair, Rachel Chanticleer and Danielle Ward. How sad to have potentially missed out on such great reading.

With author Heather Blair, I took a trip into an alternate reality where nursery rhymes are actually spells and Jack Frost is a hero (or villain?) you love to hate – an action-packed wild ride that had me desperate for the next book in the series (which I’ll shamelessly plug here: )

Once that series left me breathless, I was whisked away to 19th century England by author R.C. Matthews, where a pirate named the Devil takes possession of a haunted mansion and hires a local blind medium to rid the place of the ghosts left from the massacre that took place in the underwater ballroom. (Shameless plug #2: )

Seriously…I can’t make this stuff up. But my wildly imaginative and talented indie friends can. Thank you to my GR buddies and good friends I’ve made along the way. And to those of you looking for some good-ass writing, just check out my Goodreads author page (that’s Sawyer Belle in case you didn’t know whose blog you were reading!) and check out my five star list. You won’t be disappointed.


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The Method Writer…I Think

Is there such a thing as method writing? I’ve read many times about method actors and it used to always intrigue me the lengths some artists would go to in order to connect with a character. It was a level of dedication and obsession I didn’t think I could ever identify with.

Until now.

I’m pretty sure I’m method-writing with my current work-in-progress.The funny thing is that I’m not doing it conscientiously. There have been several times while writing this current work where I’ve connected with my heroine in a way I’ve not done previously. As writers, we love our characters, almost like we love our children, for they are borne from us. We’ve molded them, shaped them, helped them grow and become their best selves. So, if one of our characters is hurting or dies, we hurt and grieve. But this is not the kind of connection I’m talking about this time.

My objective in this book is to really explore the depth of human hurt, how that hurt affects our minds, emotions, relationships and even personalities. It’s a serious subject and a very tall order, but I’ve felt, at times, overcome by the darkness my heroine is enduring. And I’m talking to the point of walking around in a mood of melancholy and hopelessness.

Here’s the weird thing: even though I know I’ve done this to myself, it doesn’t make the despair any easier to bear.

Here’s the other weird thing: on these dark days I feel compelled to write more than ever, almost as if I must write the scenes that require the darkness before I forget what it really feels like.

It’s a weird mental trip, let me tell you. I was thinking of it today, as I had a particularly “dark” day, a day where I felt like nothing I was doing in my life mattered, where I felt like a pool of tears was swollen behind my eyes and desperate for a reason to spill, a day where I couldn’t remember ever having smiled in my life. You know, the kind of day where you wake up wishing for bed time so you can go back to sleep. I was trying to figure out why I’d woken up in such a state of mind and it occurred to me that I had a very prolific night of writing last night, and then I started to wonder if the frequency of these “dark days” in recent months has to do with my writing sessions.

Am I method writing without knowing it? Or am I simply being extremely empathetic? Or just plain old pathetic?


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