Today's balls.

I have mentioned this before, but I feel like I have a million balls in the air and that at any moment some of them might come crashing down around me and I will just fail. Perhaps I take on too much at once?

I haven't done any writing challenges in weeks because I have been trying to get ready for that super secret project that I have been working on - now we are less than a week away from the scheduled launch date and I am scrapping things and starting over. I haven't told my partner this yet, but I suppose if he wants my help he will have to deal.  Long story short, since I don't want to reveal much before the launch, I offered to create a website using Wordpress. However, it's been ages since I've managed a Wordpress site, and frankly, after using Squarespace for so long, I don't really want to use anything else, ever. 

I figure that if I am going to be the manager on this project and do most of the work, I have to at least make it enjoyable for me, right? I don't want to struggle with Wordpress when I can sail through things happily with Squarespace. I should seriously be a spokesperson for them. I just love the company that hosts this blog so much.

So yeah, there's that. There's also been a lot more writing of my secret porn stories. I haven't published another one yet, but I finished one yesterday and I want to get its sequel written before publishing so that I can market them before publishing a third and then bundilng them into an anthology. Yup, I have a plan. I really want to make 2012 the year that writing pays off - literally. I've spent way too much time lately on the erotic writer's forum, way too much time gaping over other people's sales figures and the fact that most of them on there are making thousands of dollars a month and have quit their jobs. Yes, I am fueled by my desire for the money. It might not be becoming of me, but whatever. There it is. I want to write for a living and I am really giving at a go, so unfortunately more creative and friendly bits of writing are going to take a backseat in the meantime. I'm okay with that. 

And that's just the stuff I've been doing online. My life? Sometimes I think I just want to go live in a hut somewhere in the woods where no one can bother me. I'm pushing more people away lately than I ever thought I would, and yet I am not doing it with any sense of regret or apprehension, I'm doing it with relief. Because just as I am pushing people out of my life, people who I feel have been toxic for me, I'm pulling in people who are just the opposite - it just takes... time. Something I always feel is in too short supply.

So anyway, that's what's up. Busy busy and feeling like my blogs are falling flat and being boring lately - another thing that I want to change. One day at a time..

The National Month of Many Things Going On

I'm crazy. We all knew that already though, right? 

As I have in many years past, I am participating in National Novel Writing Month, or NaNoWriMo as we insiders like to call it. (If you are participating as well and would like to be my "writing buddy" my username on the NaNo site is 'HelloCheney') 

And, for shits and giggles and so I can cross something else off of my 30 Before 30 list, I am also participating in NaBloPoMo - National Blog Posting Month. It's something I've tried waaaaay too many times to count here, and unlike NaNoWriMo, it's something I've never finished. I don't know how it has been possible for me to spit out 50K+ word novels in 30 days on multiple occassions but I still can't remember to update my blog with a few sentences on a daily basis. 

So now that you know what's going on in my crazy world this November, let me put something else out there...

Back in August I mentioned in a post about coming out of the writing closet that I had written an erotic short story.  Since the time of writing that blog post, I have actually published two stories to Amazon under a pen name that will not be wrestled out of me even if it prevented me from getting attacked by fwolves. As much as I love sharing my writing with others now, and as much as I want feedback and a following when it comes to my writing, I just. can't. let. you. read. my. porn. Sorry. 

Anyway, my stories have showed dismal sales. Dismal. I am a member of a few erotic writers forums to try to get the lay of the land when it comes to publishing the smut, and some writers are making hundreds or thousands of dollars a month working in this genre. And that, really, is why I wrote the stories. Not because I have a passion for writing erotica, not because I'm a closet pornographer.. but because it seemed like a quick and easy way to make some money. And, in a way, it was quick and easy. I banged those two stories out in a day or so each, and formatting them for publishing, including making covers, just took me a few hours on each one. It's easy. 

So why do my sales suck? Because apparently the things I write aren't, um, naughty enough. One of my stories is just a plain old straight sex in a car story, and the other is a bit more risque, because it involves some teacher to student domination. (Let me just put it out there that it is REALLY weird to be writing about this on my blog. Sorry grandparents, if you ever find this!) So what is selling like hotcakes these days? Step-porn. Like, step-father/step-daughter  step-sister/brother.... In my opinion? EWWWWWWWW!!! But apparently it's what sells, and it's what sells enough for people make a living writing it. 

I'm not going to go into more details just yet, except to say that maybe after NaNoWriMo is over I will swallow my morals and check my squeamishness at the door, and I'll try publishing a step-porn story. You know, just to see how that goes.

So. What is the point in telling you this really dirty secret? 

I got paid yesterday for my stories, for the first time. Let me say that again, more clearly:

I was paid money for something that I wrote and published.

Ok, one more time:

I am a paid and published author, making money on what I write!

Now I need to take a deep breath...

So. Do I feel like I sold out? Do I feel like I sold myself short for not working hard at the novels I've been plugging along at for years and just waiting to publish them? Do I feel like a dirty whore for being excited about making money writing smut? Am I embarassed? Am I ashamed? 

No. No. No. No. No. No. No.

Because all I ever wanted to do was make money with something I wrote. I'm not one of those people who is going to say for you "I'm writing for writing's sake," because that is just redundant, and if you are a real writer, you would know that saying that is just redundant. Real writers write regardless of whether they are going to be paid for it, they write because they have no other choice, they write because I have to. I write because I have to, and whether I am writing my epic tale of how things disappear, whether it is my zombie web serial, whether it is one of three manuscripts I have (finally) in the hands of other people, whether it's NaNoWriMo or whether it's journaling - I am writing. I am always writing. Because I can't stop. That's neither here nor there.

The point is, I do care about making money on it, unlike tons of writers who swear they couldn't care less. I care a lot. Because I don't have a choice as to whether this is going to be something I will do for the rest of my life, it just is. I want it to support me so I don't have to do OTHER things to sustain my life. You know, I don't want a day job so I can eat and be warm and clothe myself and my child. I want to make a living writing, and this thing that I'm doing here? Writing erotica is just putting a toe in a door. It's a piece of me now, but it's not going to define me. You know what DOES define me? 

All I ever wanted was to make money from something that I've written. All I've wanted is for someone to choose to open their wallet for my words and help decide their worth. So I've done that, now. It's happened, and it keeps happening. And I am so violently, furiously happy about that. 

Grace in Small Things # 2

1.) Discovering a new band at one o'clock in the morning because I am a Tumblr addict, and now suddenly an Owen addict. 

2.) Coming out of the writing closet, dropping my pen name and feeling all at once more free and more under pressure than I have ever been in my life - but every little bit of pressure is just what I was looking for to get my ass in gear and start writing regularly again.

3.) Sharing LOST with my best friend, experiencing something I love all over again, but even better this time.

4.) Having sweet secrets that keep on surprising me over and over again, holding them close to my heart and never wanting to let go.

5.) September - and all of the things I have to look forward to: campaigning for Daryl Finizio, finally getting to see a Royale Brothers show, and yeah, my 29th birthday - in just twenty days.

Shedding

I shed you as I would shed a skin, with some awkwardness perhaps, and at first a sensitivity to the touch of the new, but without pain and certainly without regret. ~ John Updike

Sometimes the exuses to not be writing just pile up on top of each other until they weigh me down to the point of indifference. Finding myself, or rather, revealing myself in a way I have never done before, was something that I thought could break my walls down and force me to perform.

However, this is a double-edged sword, something that can backfire all too easily, I know. 

You know, when you are putting on a show you are performing as a character that is just a shadow of yourself - a skin that you can slip into, to make it easier to do the things that are normally hard to do when you know there are people out there watching you, judging you, and waiting for you to fail.

Or succeed. 

I suppose I haven't lost hope that I'll have my successes as well someday. I suppose I haven't lost that hope quite yet.

So here I am, hello. 

My name is Cheney, did I mention that?

Maybe you found me through my old writing blog, maybe you've come to me through my twitter feed - but either way, thank you. Thank you for being here, for being a part of this big change that I am putting myself through, thank you for reading my words, however few and redundant they may be.

Please, let me know you are out there.

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. 

A very bullet list Wednesday

• Today Alisha called me at work from HER work to tell me a secret. "Don't tell anyone!" she says to me - "No one is supposed to know yet, but I have to tell you!" It's a good secret - one of our friends is pregnant. I LOVE finding out when friends are pregnant. It makes for a good day for me, knowing that there is a little bundle of joy coming into the world that I can kiss and cuddle and spoil.. and then give back.
• I'm supposed to be helping my friend Brian move the last of his things out of his house tonight and I don't want to do it but I am going to because he has helped me with so many things in the past (including moving) and I would feel like a total bitch for telling him no. So I told him yes, and even though I don't want to do it, I will. I feel like I should feel NOTHING in particular about this. Do I feel bad that I don't want to do it even when I know I should? Do I feel bad for feeling bad? Do I feel bad just because of the fact that I don't want to? I guess the bottom line is sometimes we do things for our friends that we don't want to do just BECAUSE they are our friends and they ask. And that's enough for me.
• I want to go to BlogHer. I am jealous of all of the people who are heading off to San Diego today and tomorrow to attend the conference, but since I don't have any real blog friends, why would I go? I'm working on the networking, I am. I need it. I have been so let down by the people I know and am "friends" with in my hometown area, I need the escape of the internet to stay sane, I know this now. Some people (people who just don't know better I guess) don't understand it. Why would you meet people online? Isn't that creepy? Your mom is creepy. What.
• I have to dedicate a considerable amount of time to a blog post that I have been meaning to write for a few days that regards Elise - and it's hard and I haven't been able to bring myself to do it yet, but it's coming soon, and I hope it changes things.
• Let's call this a well intentioned cop-out.

"Hello, my name is Cheney."

They heard me singing and they told me to stop
Quit these pretentious things and just punch the clock
These days my life, I feel it has no purpose
But late at night the feelings swim to the surface

~ Arcade Fire, Sprawl II (Mountains Beyond Mountains)

And here I am again, I'm going to try to have a normal blog, again. If anyone asks why now after all of these years of going dark and mostly silent, I'm going to say it's because of Schmutzie. I am obsessed with her blog, I love her even though I have never met her, or talked to her, or anything really. That's the weird thing about blogs that people who don't have blogs don't understand - you are a voyeur of sorts, yes, but it's not for naught. We see into people, we know people differently. Whether the people we are seeing are true to themselves and to others, I wonder now whether it matters at all. 

Who am I, anyway? And who the hell are you?

It's easy to say: "Hi, my name is Cheney." I do it all the time. I do it at work on the phone about ten times a day, and the people I call, most of them probably know me as that weird bubbly girl who is always laughing when it's inappropriate, as if there shouldn't be any humor in bookkeeping. (There probably shouldn't be.) I have my work friends who I've never met - Karen in Minnesota who I swap emails and pictures of our kids with, Tara in Missouri who always tries to get me to buy a tricycle even though I keep tell her that my daughter is at bike age now, and Bonnie in Illinois who tells me really, really intimate details about her family - I mean, things she probably doesn't even tell her real friends.

Then of course, I have my secret life, you know. 

But you don't know, because I haven't told and no one has ever asked or noticed. It's what's true though: I write. I write, I write, I write, I am a writer and I can't stop. Whether I have things published, whether I show things to my friends or family, that's neither here nor there. The words pile up day by day on different blogs and fiction serials and as guest posts on writing websites... I'm all over the place, under another name. I have fans. I have a following. 

And telling people that? That would just be weird, wouldn't it? That would just lead people to ask more questions and seek it all out and want to know more, but I keep my mouth shut, my lips sealed, my secret safe. 

Trust me, I am not the only one you know with a secret life. 

I've been hiding right in front of you this whole time. If you know me at all, you've probably gotten the feeling from time to time that even when I am sitting in a room full of people, I'm not all there. You might have gotten the impression that if I had the choice, at least 75% of the time you see me I'd rather be at home alone, shut up in my room with books.  You'd be right about that. 

It's really hard for me lately, to be around groups of people. Alisha's wedding was an absolute blast, and I do like a good party from time to time, but I've lost almost all interest in hanging out with groups of friends on a regular, weekly basis. I mean, I'm having a really hard time with it. Not just a hard time showing up - obviously I'm a big girl and I make my own choices on where to go and what to do, but inwardly I am always fighting with myself. Do I really want to go here? Do I really want to see these people? Are they my friends, really? And more often than not lately I've felt that the best thing to do is just to do what I want to do, which is stay home with the books and the words. It's easier than inwardly kicking my own ass for doing something that I really didn't want to do, it's easier than trying to convince myself and also everyone around me, that I really care about these people and the things I do with them. 

See, this is hard. 

I'll be twenty-nine in about three months. Approaching 30 has made me uncomfortable in many ways that I'll have to elaborate on in other posts, but one of the worst things about getting older is realizing that I am a really, really weak person in some regards. It's seeing that I am getting older, I am losing time, I am losing the life that I have left and I am not in control of that time because I listen to other people more than I listen to myself. It's my worst quality (in my opinion) and the one that I most want to change about myself: that I let what other people think of me dictate too many of my actions. 

I have reinvented myself on the internet more times than I can count at this point. On Tumblr I am a girl who likes zombies and Barack Obama and is obsessed with politics and the death penalty debate - all of these things about me are true. On Blogspot and Twitter I am a writer under a different name who posts short horror fiction and writes a web serial that has hundreds of followers. Sometimes I think this is my most true self, the dark writer side of me. The one who likes so much to scare and be scared and share words and stroies. I'm good at being that girl. I feel like people like me more when I am in her shoes. HUNDREDS OF PEOPLE READ MY WORDS - but not one of those people is a "real life" friend as I call them. You might know me as a co-worker, or a sister, or a daughter, a mother, a friend. But I am many things to many different people and the older I get the harder it is to keep those parts of myself seperate, and the harder it is to bring them all together and finally open up my arms and my mouth and my heart and say:

"Hello, my name is Cheney." 

This is me. This is who I am.