It's been a very, very long time since I blogged about anything. February to be precise. A lot has changed in that time frame, & I just felt like experiencing a cathartic release.
Excuse the fact that I'm just going to ramble about anything that needs to be ejected from my thoughts. I'm not into force. Much. So it's your choice to read my words. I'm known for offending everyone equally. I've had a lot of stress on my shoulders, weighing me down and muting the muse. Let's write about the muse for a moment. All artists have one. But for a writer, the muse is usually from within. So, when I call my muse a workaholic, manic lunatic, I'm essentially calling myself crazy. I am. I like to say I'm introverted to get people to back off. I am, but it's the Muse who is issuing the edict. I do like conversation, when I feel like having it, with whom I feel like engaging. But the truth of it is that I have a few dozen voices in my mind at any given time, so the thought of making inane small-talk is suffocating. I mean, I can't pay attention to anything a random stranger in the middle of the supermarket is saying to me, and I look like a bitch with my resting bitch face snapped into place. Trust me when I say you don't want to know what I'm truly thinking. The nicest words that come to mind are "shut the hell up so I can hear the voices in my damn head!" Now, when I'm informed we'll be having a visitor, I can prepare myself for a one-on-one conversation with someone who is family or friend of the family- someone with a history I know, and I have somewhere to lead in a conversation. Contrary to popular belief, I do have a lot to say, and it all has meaning. So I won't apologize for not giving a shit where you got your hair cut or the shade of your nail polish (unless I compliment it and specifically ask you where you got it). & this doesn't make me a horrible, self-absorbed human being. It's because I don't have room in my mind to accommodate worthless information when I retain everything I hear, see, and experience. I'm a good listener. I'm an excellent advice giver. I'm always in your corner, so don't expect me to forgive the person who hurt you, even if you have. I didn't forget what you told me while crying on my shoulder, so when I see or hear TSTL behavior, I mentally punch you in the face for being an idiot. (Ya know, when you tell me bad things someone says about you, and then I'm supposed to forget it and be happy you're deluding yourself into believing you're happy with this person) Yeah, that might make me a bitch, or that might just make you stupid. Your call. So I spend most of my time inside my head, hanging out with the Muse. So it's very jarring when I have to hold a conversation. This is the mind of madness. And, frankly, I'm happy just the way I am. Those voices in my head are of my creation, and they make up the worlds I put to paper. Resting bitch face: Nope. I'm thinking. Let me think unless it's important, as you might be murdering one of the greatest story threads of my career simply because you had to tell me about something your cat did ten years ago (and I've never met you before and will never see you again after you've recharged yourself by draining my energy, stranger dear. You'll forget me, but I won't forget how angry your rudeness made me). & yes, I know I sound like a c***. But go ahead and talk about something that actually means something to you- connecting with me is not wasting my time. & yes, there is a helluva difference. The Muse is in control of me at all times. Sometimes I rebel, which leads to disastrous decisions and a long time inside a quiet mind, which means I cannot work. The quiet is disconcerting, like being suffocated in silence because a part of you ceases to exist. For anyone who knows an introspective person who loves the quiet (someone who begs for you to turn off the TV or turn down the volume on any noise) you need to realize that chaos inside their mind is no different than hearing 50 outdoor concerts at once, all contradicting and driving them into madness, while being bombarded with opposing emotional stimulation (& for someone like me who feels what you're feeling, I just want you to take your chaotic self away from my bubble, because I don't know if I'm feeling nucking futs, or if you are) So it's not selfish to NEED peace, and your non-important questions and demands can wait until it is important, especially if you're feeling antsy or needy. (seriously, an empath has to determine which of us is actually feeling what. The more energetic you are, the more you drain me) I'm getting older. I just turned 37 in July, and my personality is finally maturing. Perhaps not in a way that makes people happy though. I guess you could say my balls dropped, and I'm finally putting myself first. I'm not mean. I don't yell. & I don't pull asshole shit. That does not make an adult. That simply makes an asshole. I'm blunt, but not in a way that hurts. If you're impressing your will on me, expect to be shut down immediately. But I will not emotionally harm you in any way other than you actually having to hear the word NO for once in your life. Deal with it. So, I'm 37. Single. Married yet haven't spoken to my husband in nearly 5 years (haven't seen him either, and he lives 2 miles from me). I said to my mother today, "I'm not like most people. Lord knows how you would have reacted to the same situation." Bloodshed. That's how she would have reacted. At my age, with no prospects of coupling, I've come to the conclusion I'll never be a mother. But that's probably for the best, as I'm about as cuddly as a rattlesnake. There are some personality types that drive me nucking futs. Needy. Stage 5 clingers. In constant need of validation. I have this thing where I scent out weakness in people, and it's a good thing I never use this for evil. I think my higher than usual empathy helps balance this out. You hurt; I hurt. But with a kid, I could be very nurturing if they needed it to survive and to flourish. But if a person is just sucking me dry to feel good about themselves, I run for the hills. Validation comes from within. No one else can validate you. Ladies? Did you hear me? No one can validate you. So take your daddy issues and your low self-esteem, and pitch that shit in the trash. You be you, and fuck what someone else thinks about you. The only opinion about you that should matter.... is your own. If you can't sleep at night, fix your shit. Do I think I'm the greatest thing since sliced bread? No. Do I think I'm beautiful and everyone should love me? Absolutely not. I own a mirror. I know what my strengths and weaknesses are, and I know I'm the only one who can make myself stronger- who can change me. To me, I don't need the validation of material things, a handsome mate (trust me. Handsome doesn't equate good or balanced). I don't need an ego stroker. I've learned to self everything. Self-soothe. Self. I don't need to be the most beautiful, or the thinnest, or the youngest. My value is between my ears, not between my thighs, and I feel pity for any person who truly believes sex and beauty are the quantifier of life. There isn't a giant bedpost being notched somewhere with a winner being announced as the most beautiful because some Joe Blow said so. "OMG! He thinks I'm pretty!" <groans> (Yes, I realize that sounds like a teenage girl, but I've heard so many women older than me saying shit like that that I want to punch them in the face) He, who is probably an idiot, and we women are treating him as if he is godly just because his dick gets hard when he looks at us- and he lies about it not getting hard for our friends. "How do I know I love you, baby? 'Cuz my dick gets hard!" (actually heard that one a lot) <rolls eyes> He's a guy. He'll get hard when he eats yummy cake. And none of us can compete with cake, so why are we competing with each other. If you have to fight to get him, to keep him, maybe he's the one who isn't worth it. Women have this thing about hating other women as if it makes them better somehow, to the point they don't realize they are hurting themselves. "He picked me over you, bitch!" Too bad he'll probably pick someone else over you later on, because you obviously don't think you're enough or you wouldn't use another person betraying someone else to validate you as being enough! "I'm better than you because my <insert someone other than you> bought me this name brand <insert something you didn't really want, but wanted a materialistic validator> is more expensive than yours." Sorry, I love the purse I bought at the Salvation Army today with my own money, and I only bought it because I really, really loved it, not because I thought someone else would tell me how great I am when I use it in public. Drop those chains, girls. Drop 'em. Experience the freedom and joy of owning what you love, whether someone else thinks it's awesome or not. Do you want to wear something outrageous because you truly love it but fear being made fun of? How does it feel to be oppressed? It doesn't matter if the shirt was free or a thousand bucks, the only joy you'll get out of it should be that freeing feeling you experience when wearing it, not the green-eyed monster you hope to inflict upon others. (It's about Self, remember? What does it matter if someone is jealous of you or not? How does that help YOU?) There also isn't a prize given away for the most virtuous. "Slut!" Unless you're a virgin or a lesbian who's avoided penetration, we've all have a D in our V. It doesn't matter if it was one or a billion, there is no odometer on our vagina. So take your shaming bullshit and pitch it in the trash with your low self-esteem. You be you. You're awesome just the way you are. The individual. Not the societal clone. You being you makes you happy, so be you. Be happy & stop comparing yourself to others. Stop needing to be validated on whether or not you have 'one up' on someone else. What others have or don't have, what others achieve or don't achieve, has absolutely nothing to do with you. There is no total being tallied in the ultimate winner in life. Learn that. Let it sink in. Be happy. I know my family looks at me as if I'm odd (I'm sure you are too). Whispering whether or not I'll ever date, like I'm somehow hung up on my ex or I'm wounded from the events of the past. I'm positive some are questioning my sexual orientation at this point. You want to know my orientation? Hmm? It's called, "I don't want to put up with anyone's bullshit." That's what it's called. It's called, "I'd rather hug myself than settle just because you think normal means to be coupled." I like me. Me, myself, and I get along famously. & someday my prince will come. <blech> I really don't care. Prince? Pauper? How about someone I share a mental connection with, someone who gets me and knows when to back off, or understands that me not engaging them doesn't mean I forgot they existed (we run on Muse time, not anyone else's). Someone who is cerebral- another artist who understands the muse is in control, and their muse has to play nicely with mine. Basically, they have to understand the manic phase of working on a project with maddening absorption, and that it doesn't make either one of us selfish to need to go through life on this roller coaster of insanity. Will this person be a man? A woman? I bet you're curious. I don't care. It's the connection that I care about, so I'm looking at the human being, not a descriptor. Validation. Sure, I'd love some accolades once in a while. I'd love something to show for all of my hard work. Yes, seeing good things said about my books fills my happy meter, and the bad tugs me down. But it doesn't lessen the work I perform. Whether anyone reads my books or not, they still exist. The dollar earned does not dictate the quality of the art. Art is subjective. So love it, hate it, your opinion doesn't change the art. I've had a lot going on, stressing me out, making me stress-eat. I've gained a few pounds I want to beat myself up about, but I'm not a masochist. My clothes are tight... so I decide to knock my shit off and put myself first. That cookie ain't giving me a hug. Those M&M books out of publication aren't giving me a hug. The Muse, she's the one who gives the best hugs. The Muse said 'fuck it all!' Fuck it. Do what makes you happy, what inspires. Are my fans getting upset about Hero? Fuck yeah, they are. Are my Blended fans getting antsy for Warped? Um, yeah. You bet your ass they are. Do I have many fans for my Rusty Knob series? Nope! Do I care? Nope! Not really. It took the Muse 9 months to rewrite Restraint & Unleashed, and she couldn't find Dexter in our mind. Dexter was speaking to me quietly but not truly telling me a direction to go. But he assured me Dalton and Regina were eager for me to hurdle Dexter's book and tackle theirs. But the Muse had other ideas. Nine months for two books... or 8 weeks for Rusty Knob & Tarnished. Which do you think was inspired? I thought I'd lost that manic high of writing until my eyes can't stay open, and I realize it's been 72 hours since I slept last, can't remember when I took a bath or even ate, and taking a piss is just a necessary interruption. It's a high unlike no other. What's this mean for M&M & Blended. It means either the Muse will get to work on Dexter or have her fun in Rusty Knob until the series has met its conclusion (which is half written already. With only 4 short novels and two small novellas. Taking 3 manic writing sessions each. I mean, I've written two books since mid-May) I do know when I hit M&M, I'm going balls to the wall until I'm done. Not a true rewrite like with Restraint. I never planned on changing much of Queen anyway. So, if the Muse doesn't go straight into Stainless (which I feel she probably will) I do plan on going nuts with M&M of Restraint until I hit Hero. It's the Muse's call. She's the creator, and you have to be patient. Will I lose fans? Probably. But it's a risk I'm willing to take, because my creative genius only cares about her own opinion of her work, being as she's the one with the ONLY say-so. Will the tiny fanbase of Rusty Knob care that Tarnished will be a straight book? Probably. I was reading a review of a book last night (I didn't like the book, and I won't apologize for it) and readers had skipped the one prior simply because it was a straight book. I'm serious. Now, that is f'n madness. But then again, I had readers skip Dalton simply because he was gay. Which was even greater madness considering there wasn't a book in M&M that didn't have LGBTQ elements. C'mon! What confuses me the most about this phenomenon of refusing to read a book with a female in it when it's an M/M series, is the fact that the very people refusing to read it have a vagina. For almost nine months straight, I read nothing but M/M and actually lost touch with reality. I lost touch with the fact that I'm a woman, and it's perfectly healthy for me to think that I wasn't gross, and that a man would indeed get off on touching me. Just like every man isn't straight, every man on the planet isn't a closeted gay man. They aren't gay-for-you. They are straight, and they love lady parts too. Hell, as a woman, I love lady parts too, just not as much as I love manly bits. I've seen this happen to other women, where they get blinded by nonstop M/M books, and reading books where the female author is calling a labia 'gross folds' really makes me angry. <grits teeth> It's the opposite of what we are trying to accomplish within the genre. Everything is normal for someone. Being gay is normal for the gay person. Being straight is normal for the straight person. To think that there are entire universes out there in literary land comprised of only gay men, and all the women in the books are simply a means to an end to create children (or not in MPreg) or to inject conflict into the lives of the men is insanity. Every female is the villainess, the wacky TSTL bestie or sister, and the nagging mother or ex-wife. How dare another woman sink their claws into the male characters who belong solely to the female readers and the hot male partner with which they find their HEA? <= that's what I think is ultimately the issue, folks. Sorry if I'm insulting you, but it confuses the hell out of me. I love diversity because the world we live in is diverse. So I won't stunt myself nor my writing by not including lady parts on the pages. Sorry, I love my labia, whether you think the 'folds' are gross or not. Somewhere out there, someone else would really love it too. So just deal. I believe contemporary romance featuring only straight people with token gay friends is bullshit. To take a stand against one genre doing this yet doing it within your genre, within your own mind, is just as negative. & yeah, Tarnished will be filled with lady and male parts because Rusty Knob's patriarch is straight, and he celebrates that fact as much as he celebrates his sons being gay. So if you skip Tarnished and move from Rusty Knob straight to Stainless... first, you're going to be so lost. Second, you're going to miss out on one of my most manic books ever. Seriously, I wrote half the book in one session, the next quarter in another, and this last quarter will be written the same way. It was inspired and completely at the Muse's will. So skip it like others skipped Dalton (who happens to be one of my most intriguing characters) simply because you're bigoted against a specific sexual orientation (oddly enough, in the case of straight women denouncing anything but M/M- your own orientation). When my stories are about the characters and their lives, not about their sex parts. Yeah, I had to get that out there, knowing it will rankle some. I understand if you truly don't like reading a straight book or a gay book, but I'm hoping to challenge your thinking on why that is the case. What switched off your sexuality, to the point you forgot what part is between your legs? What made you decide that it was 'gross' to read about love, no matter who is in love with whom? I understand not liking a specific genre. Like I've been reading Urban Fantasy lately (revisiting an old friend), but I know that not everyone will like it. But when we are talking about human sexuality, when we are all sexual beings, that is a totally different thing. It's not about genre. It's about some bias that is rooted deep down inside of you, and I think you need to explore the why of it. So all I've written above is a manic mess. I get that. I went out into the world at large today, and was inundated by humanity. & it worried me a bit. I fear for intelligence in general. I am terrified about the lack of common courtesy... The assholes who were clogging up grocery store aisles like they owned the f'n world. & the idiot woman who thought I, the one without a cart, and the 5 ppl with carts behind me, should wait and move backwards so she could 'turn around' in a packed aisle (no one was in front of her blocking the end), while the woman in the other 'lane' blocked traffic with her three kids standing in front of shelves while they all spoke on their cell phones and pretended they were the only people on the planet. Then the cashier who didn't speak to the customers until AFTER they checked out, and refused to check out the customers behind them until she had had her conversation with complete strangers who would never see her again. (Farmer boy, God Bless you for taking note of my real bitch face and telling her that you didn't have time to discuss your cattle with the cashier) Don't get me started on Lowe's. Don't. A woman couldn't spell my email address today: wickedwriter.ericachilson... I said, word for word. "Wicked. Writer. Dot. Erica. E. R. I. C. A. Chilson. C. H. I. L. S. O. N." When I looked to check whether or not to accept it, she had written Rider. (Which gave me a chuckle. I'm a deviant, all right. But a wicked RIDER or what? D? ahahaha) I said, "Nope. Writer. As in a person who writes. W. R. I. T. E. R." Well, it ended up being wirter.ericachilson... no wicked, and not spelled properly. Lowe's. She didn't work at Lowe's but she could have been hired there. (I issue an apology for anyone who works at Lowe's on behalf of the 6 idiots who couldn't sell a dishwasher last week. Who wanted us to exchange the imaginary/digital order that they got wrong the first time. I'm sorry you have to work with such people. Truly) I invented a new sport today. Grocery Shopping Football. The end zone is the end of the aisle. Leave your cart with your shopping companion. The ball is the items you need from the shelves. You're the offensive line, and the defense is the assholes who are clogging the aisle. Weave around them, grabbing for the ball (the product) and make a run for your cart at the end zone to score a touchdown. Seriously, it's so much easier than trying to push your cart through the chaos of assholes. Just put your real bitch face on, snarl a bit, and charge between those fuck-faces having meaningless conversations or playing with their phones, and their kids are nearly getting run over by carts... just weave and get your shit and get the hell out of there... and then get home to the little bit of peace and happiness you carve out of it. -peace! A new type of writer's blockWhen I began this rewrite of an entire series of 11 books, I did so for its betterment. I hadn't realized the difficulty I would encounter. I truly hadn't.
When I wrote Restraint back in 2012, I was naive- ignorant, if you will -and I'm not ashamed to admit it. While it's wonderful to see such growth, it's a complete and total nuisance in the present. Restraint wasn't my first work. But since its predecessors never saw the light of day, they didn't necessarily teach me anything. Truthfully, I don't feel as if I was actually learning my craft until after Integrated was published. I took a step back and evaluated the quality of my work. Not just the editing, formatting, and overall professional polish of the product, but the writing itself. It took me a handful of weeks to write Restraint, but it took me almost 5 months to rewrite it. I found it so much more difficult to rewrite a book than to write it from scratch. I encountered obstacle after obstacle. My naivety was coming back to haunt me. While I could draft a better sentence, edit and format to create a semi-professional appearing novel, my hands were tied on the plot. I want to confess, if I wasn't fighting the 10 books released after Restraint, I would have deleted the entire manuscript. I may not have even developed the story at all. It was written by a writer who didn't know how to write. It was told by a storyteller who hadn't come into her own yet. & the writer I am today, the storyteller I am today, had to deal with the consequences. With that saying, I believe in the story and the universe I created, or else I wouldn't be trying to fix what I can. I feel a deep connection and affection for each and every single one of them. I have stories upon stories to tell, as their voices never cease to communicate with me. The characters of M&M are not old friends, they are essentially a part of me. While there are threads in the foundation of the series I would have written differently, or not at all, I'm doing my best to slowly tweak it over several books. This is most difficult when reading past and present reviews (I really shouldn't do that) because they note the things that I wish I could change but I cannot. It is so frustrating. I have to grit my teeth to stop myself from saying anything. I have to do everything in my power not to spiral down into a self-defeatist attitude where I punish myself for my lack of knowledge over 3 years ago. New readers reading the Restraint of today may be turned off by those same issues that are plaguing me as I rewrite the series. But I cannot help that. I take full culpability for every reader I lose, and I appreciate every reader who becomes a fan. The only comfort I can take away from this experience is that at least they are reading Today's Restraint, not the Restraint of the past. At least it makes more sense than it originally did, and it's not riddled with errors, shit writing, and plot holes so large you could sink into them, never to escape. Yes, Restraint is too wordy, but I forgive Katya as she is a book publisher. We lovers of the written word don't know when to shut up, even in our private thoughts- especially in our private thoughts. Yes, Katya has an endless stream of cognitive thought. Yes, I had to do that in order for the reader to understand her actions and reactions, as how else was I to write why she was doing and saying what she was? Still to this day, I am baffled at how else to write that. Restraint was the foundation, so the issues I have with it, the very issues readers take with it, had to be that way for two reasons. One: my hands were tied. (I hate admitting defeat and a sense of powerlessness) Somethings, no matter how badly I wished, I couldn't change them, because to fix it was to ruin what made the series what it is. Two: the book would have felt incomplete if the reader had to guess the entire time. Which also made a good canvas for Unleashed, as Katya's inner monologue is at the bare minimum. We know Katya, so we can accurately predict her actions and reactions, so therefore I didn't have to write it at all. (Thank goodness for that!) So this issue leaves me to where I am currently stuck. I have approximately 1/3rd left to rewrite of Unleashed, and I really enjoyed rewriting the first 2/3rds. I thought it flowed well, made sense, and with just a few minor tweaks in every scene, as well as restructuring every single sentence, I am proud of the result. But the last 1/3rd is a complication. On the rewrite, I finally know my characters inside and out after writing them for 12 books. I have information I didn't have 3 years ago when I didn't know shit about anything. So the characters in Unleashed do not read like the characters of Integrated & Hero, or the newly rewritten Restraint. The last 1/3rd of Unleashed, the actions and reactions of the entire cast of characters do NOT read like them. In this, my hands are not tied. I refuse to be beholden to this for the entirety of the series. Whether old readers reread to eliminate the confusion is up to them, but I cannot chance turning away new readers, destroying any future I have as a writer by leaving well-enough alone... because it's not well enough for the Erica Chilson of today. I read a scene yesterday that I previously loved, even three months ago, & I highlighted the entire thing and pressed delete. To say I felt sick is an understatement. I refused to have that work attached to my name, which is why I feel sick with grief. It's a loss. It's a death. It destroys my confidence as a writer. But after I pull myself back up, which takes some time to feel alive again, I feel the results are a 1000 times better. Then I have my confidence until I hit another brick wall where my hands are tied. (I kick myself in the ass multiple times a day, metaphorically speaking) I'm now at a precipice, having to reevaluate every scene in the last part of Unleashed. But in doing so, I have to determine how it affects the 12 books to follow between Unleashed and Empowered. Even the most minor of tweaks has to be carried through the entire series to avoid contradiction. I have list of a dozen things I have to change, major plot points, in the last 125 pages of Unleashed. I've rewritten new chapters from scratch, only to delete thousands of words, and then I do it all over again- including the deleting. Flashes of insight keep happening. "Do this instead, Erica!" & then I see how it works so much better, how it ties it all together or removes the issue. Trudging forward at a fast pace makes it so I am not receptive to these flashes of insight that make a book a better reading experience. & I fear the regret I will feel once I've finished a book to only have a flash of insight I will never be able to put in use. Right now, I am operating on fear, regret, shame, & a self-defeatist attitude. All the while, I'm trying to maintain a positive outlook because I've grown exponentially in my craft over the past few years. But new readers reading Restraint won't know how much I've grown if they don't give the next book a chance, because I couldn't show that growth in Restraint. Not really. I call my rewrite of Restraint a band-aid. I will forever regret it, and there is absolutely nothing I can do to change that fact. This is the part of me who wishes she wasn't in charge, who wishes someone would step in and tell her what to do... but I am the one in charge, and only I can make these decisions. Yes, I realize there is major emotional fallout for someone who spends their time inside their imaginations versus reality. Yes, I realize all of my doubts and fears are self-created, yet I'm not able to push how I feel to the wayside. Yes, I know no book will ever please everyone. I am utterly thankful when one person connects to my writing, sees it as it was meant to be seen. But right now, the pressure is suffocating me, and it's a very real thing. The pressure to rewrite these books, not only so I can give the readers something new so they won't forget me, not only so I have a backlist of titles for sale since this decision has left no money trickling into my bank account, but so I can write something new. Creation is at the very core of me, and this tedium is murdering my muse. Rewriting ruined prose while wearing the hats of an editor, graphics designer, publisher, and promoter is not exactly conducive to the creative process. It's draining me of life. (I'm not complaining, or making excuses, for I know I deserve this hell I've descended. I'm explaining where these emotions are emanating) If you are a writer, you will understand to a certain extent. Even after writing and publishing a book, when everyone assumes you are ecstatic, a cloaking type of depression descends- one that is only combated by writing another book, where you subject yourself to this lunacy all over again. (However, I cannot write another book, as I have to continually rewrite what I had previously destroyed) For my readers, I'm not asking for attention, or pats on the back, or for you to kiss my ass and tell me anything negative is because they don't 'get' me. I'm simply trying to impart the impact of not only writing a book but how living it can be on the writer. The more real the characters feel to the reader is in direct correlation to how much the author felt of them while writing the book. The larger the cast of characters, the more insane the author feels. What I really need is for this pressure to be removed. I want to start from scratch, to write a new book with a minuscule cast of characters who haven't been created yet, with stories that need to be told, and I want to do it as someone other than myself. Betterment of the SeriesErica's demanding schedule:
Week 1 of January: Restraint will be reread again while I'm on vacation, as will Unleashed, with errors noted. Week 2 of January: Restraint will be uploaded to create the print edition while Unleashed is with the betas. Dexter's rewrite. Week 1 of February: Organizing Restraint's Relaunch while preparing Unleashed for print. Week 2 of February: Restraint's Relaunch. Dexter's beta read. Dalton's rewrite. Week 1 of March: Unleashed's Relaunch. Dalton's beta read. Timetable: Each rewrite will take approximately 3-4 weeks, depending on length, with the shorter books taking less, depending on difficulty of the changes, and the lengthier books taking a considerable amount of time. Each beta read is exactly 14 days, with another week to process the changes. Guesstimate: Restraint - Dalton will Relaunch every two weeks, with a lag for the Queen, since I will not release Jaded & Queened until Checkmate and the Omnibus edition are ready. I will be rewriting this three-book omnibus edition as if it were one book, giving myself a two-month time frame for completion, and a 3 week beta read as the betas will be reading Queen as a whole, not the individual books. Queen's tentative relaunch is set for week one of May. I do not foresee significant changes to the books following Queen, other than heavy editing, a few added scenes, and any and all contradictions to the previous changes within the series removed. Don't quote me on that. Meaning, King, The Hunter, and Integrated should go quickly on the rewrite and subsequent beta read, but will still take an average on one month per title for my betas' comforts.... .... and then there is Faithless. Outlook, three months, with the end product as long as the Queen Omnibus, which in its current state is 1,224 pages in length. "I won't rush. I will not rush. ERICA, YOU WILL NOT RUSH!" I've repeated this mantra for the past few months, trying to slow myself down, remove the anxiety, and go at a steady pace as this is most definitely a sprint, not a marathon. No one understands the impact of what I had to do this morning. I had to remove all of M&M from sale in both Amazon & B&N. I had 16 books for sale, contributing to my financial stability, and as of a few hours ago... I now only have 4, all offered at bottom-basement prices. Regardless of the anxiety, the stress over making such a monumental decision, I believe it was the correct path of action. Not only for the M&M series, but for me as a writer as well. I don't want my current abilities to be judged on my past ignorance. It takes a humble yet strong person to admit defeat, to pick themselves back up, and regroup. I will be a stronger person for this. I'll be more proficient in my writing, and my readers will thank me for amping up the entertainment value. But most importantly, my creations will be as I envisioned them. Peace! -Erica Chilson Look in the MirrorThere are times when you have to take a step back and look at yourself: your self-image, your mental abilities, your confidence.
Self-evaluation. In the world of selfies, where people post images with captions, “I look like hell,” but post them anyway, it makes you take a closer look at self-evaluation. If you really thought you looked like crap, you wouldn’t post them. Obviously the poster likes the way they look, and then I wonder if they have a higher opinion of themselves than they should. Wow, Erica! What a horrible thing to say!!! Bear with me, here. I’ll get to my point shortly. Anyone who has paid attention to my postings in the past month or so, knows I’m rewriting my Mistress & Master of Restraint Series- FROM SCRATCH. What a humbling, crippling experience. So I will explain my self-evaluation and a false sense of confidence comment. Erica has taken a step back and did some major self-evaluation these past few months. In the now, you feel great about yourself: I look good. I feel good. I’m smart. This book is fabulous. Right? Isn’t that how you feel when you look into the mirror of yourself? A few years ago, I was a bigger girl, and I felt confident about myself. I thought I looked good. (Now, don’t go tar and feathering me, as if I’m saying my size was a reflection of me as a human being. That is NOT where I’m headed with this blog post. I’m long-winded, I’ll get to the point eventually.) Anyway, I was a size 18/20 and quickly gaining ground on the next size up. At the time, I was working on changing my life, all aspects. So I lost weight, dropping down to a 10/12. Yay for me, right? Not really. Because there is fallout from that as well. You start to feel shitty about who you used to be because you still feel like shit now. When I look at pictures of myself- new pictures- I think I look bad. So then I start to question my own sanity. I thought I looked good in images from several years ago, several sizes larger, yet now I feel like crap when I look at myself. Was I thinking clearly back then, then? My entire life I’ve thought myself as intelligent: quick to learn knowledge that I easily retained. Smarty pants. Know-it-all. With the mistakes I’ve made in the past, where I objectively look at my actions and reactions to the stimulation around me, at the time I felt I was making the proper decisions. Now I think I was a flippin’ idiot. A stupid, stupid girl. Stupid girl. Stupid. With the M&M rewrite has came a LOT of fallout, especially to my confidence in all things. In order to grow in my craft and as a person, I had to admit defeat. I had to recognize my faults. I had to take the bitter consequences of my actions. I had to look at myself in the mirror and say, “You suck. You f*cking suck, Erica!” Then, and only then, could I move on. This new humbled, self-effacing person is now indecisive- demoralized. With my confidence destroyed, laying amongst the deleted words of my manuscripts, my world view has shifted. The Erica from the past thought herself smart, average looking, and confident in her abilities to do her job. The Erica from the present disputes those claims as she cleans up the messes from the past Erica. The Erica from the future is shaking her head, clearly disappointed, and she’s shouting, “Don’t do anything stupid. Don’t make me redo your work because you’re an idiot. Don’t make me stand in front of the mirror and say, ‘I suck. I f*ckin’ suck!’ Don’t make me clean up your messes because you had a bloated self-image!” Yes, future Erica is a bit pessimistic and bitter, while past Erica was naive, and present Erica is just… resolved. Where does this leave me, present Erica? Rolling along, doubting myself, because the past predicts the future. The Restraint I’m writing today (from scratch) will be a Restraint I’m proud of today. But I fear that future Erica will be embarrassed by it, and will want to go back in time and kick my behind. Just as present Erica longs to do to past Erica. As I go back to Restraint, where I’ve deleted 3 out of every 4 words and replaced them with new, I know I can only do what I am capable of as of today. Tomorrow I may be better. But when it’s all said and done, Restraint will be a reflection of who I am today, and future Erica will have a different reflection of herself within a new book. But for the past Erica’s honor and reputation, present Erica and future Erica have joined forces, refusing to allow their naive, younger self to be demoralized and humiliated. I’m sure I will doubt myself next week, next year, a lifetime from now. But that shows the ability to recognize my faults and grow. If I truly had a bloated self-image, I’d destroy myself with my narrow view. The only thing I have in common with future Erica, at this time, is the fact that my world view is 360 degrees. |
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