My Spidey Sense

The funny thing about this blog is that it doesn't document my burning hatred for winter because I started this one in June and we didn't really have a winter, per se. It got cold, a few times. It snowed, like four times. I only had to shovel once, and only for about a half an hour to dig out my car from when Nick (bless his heart) plowed our driveway.. This winter just didn't have it in her. It didn't bring me down because it didn't bring it's one-two punch. 

Thank Christ for small favors, amiright?

But now we are in that other particular time of year that I hate and have trouble getting used to before I can really embrace summer and all of the things I LOVE about it: It's the bug season. It's started early this year, and it's making me put up quite a fight to keep my sanity.

First it was the ticks. We heard it was going to be a bad year. I pulled the first tick off of Elise in early April and have found six, count 'em SIX more so far! Luckily I was born in good old Salem, Connecticut, which borders all sorts of Lymes. Old Lyme, East Lyme, South Lyme, HADlyme and LYME. So I am very familiar with daily tick-checks and have thusfar avoided Lyme Disease for 29 years. 

Then, god help me, the spiders. 

I see them here and there. Lurking. They slink across the basement walls, and the big ones, I see them saunter through the grass all sure of themselves. Then two days ago I got in my car and left for work and I hadn't gotten a quarter mile down the road when I saw a MONSTER of a spider skipping across my dashboard right fucking in front of me. You know those kinds of spiders that don't so much walk on their nasty little too-many legs as they JUMP UNEXPECTEDLY EVERYWHERE? It was one of those. It was about the size of a quarter (which, to me, is collossal in size) with a thick black body and these yellow stripes on its back. 

(OH DEAR GOD I JUST TRIED GOOGLING AN IMAGE TO SHARE WITH YOU AND THAT LASTED A WHOLE FIVE SECONDS UNTIL MY WHOLE BODY WAS TINGLING AND SHUDDERING)

I have this thing where I am unreasonably terrfied of spiders. They make my body REACT. See all the capital letters I am using here? THAT'S HOW YOU KNOW I'M FREAKING OUT.

I slammed on the brakes in the middle of the road. There were no cars behind me, thank god, because I didn't bother moving over to the shoulder. I pounded my foot on the brake and sat there freaking out, looking in all directions to find something to kill the spider with. I couldn't use my hand, obviously. I considered an old coffee cup but then realized that the bottom was recessed and that would just anger the spider. I picked up from the console the envelope containing my brand new car registration, planning to hand slam/squish with that - but the fucking spider was gone. Somewhere. IN MY FUCKING CAR. 

That was two days ago, and last night the fear of the spider lurking somewhere in my car manifested itself into nightmares of unusually bad proportions. I dreamt there were two spiders in my house and neither of them were ordinary. One was menacing and black, stalking between Elise's room and the living room, disappearing and reappearing as I searched it out to kill it, always avoiding me. And then then there was the gargantuan brown THING that built a web in the corner of our entryway, spinning it's disgusting egg sac, growing bigger and bigger by the minute until finally it's legs looked more like shiny tentacles that were dripping down toward the floor and able to grab me.

I didn't sleep well last night, obviously. And now here I am, one in the morning, writing about spiders and having to stop to itch myself every five seconds because I can feel those imaginary little fuckers crawling all over me.

God, I hate bugs.

A Terrible Mind Tells It Like It Is

I've been reading Chuck Wendig's blog, Terrible Minds, for some years now. He's a great blogger and writer, and he writes a lot of writerly tip lists that get shared from one end of the internet to the other because they are so good. He's really the only writer who has repeatedly made me feel like kicking my own ass into doing something, and he's done it again with his new 25 Things Writers Should Stop Doing (Right Fucking Now).

I've struggled with fear... for a very long time. Fear of rejection by my peers, fear of rejection from agents or publishers, fear of rejection from my own self - fear of never believing that anything I write is good enough. But worse, especially lately, has been my laziness. I'm just not writing. It's sort of killing me.

Here's what Chuck says in that blog post about fear and laziness, my two biggest enemies:

Fear will kill you dead. You’ve nothing to be afraid of that a little preparation and pragmatism cannot kill. Everybody who wanted to be a writer and didn’t become one failed based on one of two critical reasons: one, they were lazy, or two, they were afraid. Let’s take for granted you’re not lazy. That means you’re afraid. Fear is nonsense. What do you think is going to happen? You’re going to be eaten by tigers? Life will afford you lots of reasons to be afraid: bees, kidnappers, terrorism, being chewed apart by an escalator, Republicans, Snooki. But being a writer is nothing worthy of fear. It’s worthy of praise. And triumph. And fireworks. And shotguns. And a box of wine. So shove fear aside — let fear be gnawed upon by escalators and tigers. Step up to the plate. Let this be your year.

I'm Coming Out

There's been a few heavy posts here lately, and frankly today I just want to forget about all of the shit that is really bringing me down and focus on the shit that may or may not bring me down, but I still can't get it out of my head.

Way back in June when I wrote my first post on this new blog, I mentioned that I have a secret life. On another blog, under another name, I have been writing a web serial about zombies (on and off) for about a year. I had also been blogging about my attempt at finishing my first YA novel under the same pen name. I haven't really updated that blog in a month or so, because the novel (which I did finish!) has been sitting in a big yellow folder on the floor of my bedroom since May, and I don't really know what to say to my writing buddies other than "What the fuck do I do now?" and it sucks, because I know all of the answers to that question, I just haven't done anything about it. 

Also, I wrote some porn. I wrote one erotic short story following after a friend's footsteps, and I published it to Amazon. There's no way in the world I will ever share that story (or THAT pen name) with anyone I know, and don't bother trying to find me - I covered my tracks as if I were born for espionage, but I'd like to just say that it was a fun experience to write and even more fun to see that although sales have not been what I wanted or expected, I've made $13.95 this month. I know, right? It can barely buy me dinner. But I've made money off something I wrote, which is something I've always wanted to do, and I have done it. I rule. 

So here we are, or rather, here I am - still hiding the parts of myself that important to me, the ones that make me ME, and the more I try to think about the reasons I wanted anonymity to begin with, the harder it is to remember, because now it is just hard. It's hard to maintain. It's hard to communicate, and it's hard to be true to myself when I'm not really being true to anyone else. I feel like I am worth more than a picture with a fake name in front of it - If nearly 400 twitter followers think my alter ego is so awesome, won't they like me, too? Especially since it will be me, honestly me?

I don't know why this is so hard, other than the fact that I will have to face once again, all of my demons. And by demons I mean people who I think are my friends but aren't, or people who have known me in the past that I wish to forget. I'm just quickly running out of 'give a fuck' for all of these sorts of people, though, and that is what is bringing me here, once again contemplating coming out of my writing closet. 

It's who I am. 

I hate to admit it, but I'm afraid to fail. I'm afraid to show my failure, I am afraid to show my weakness and self-doubt, I'm afraid to put out there all these little pieces of me that have been building up on other pages and under other names - even though those pieces of me have been embraced and celebrated.

There are so many things in this world to be afraid of. I shouldn't be afraid of just being myself.

My web hosting for these other sites expires on September 22nd, the day after my birthday. I have a lot of transferring to do.