I've gotten behind here, I owe my blog a continuance of “My Journey”, and I've every intention of doing just that. I looked back and realized that I'm a few weeks overdue and I felt as if I not only cheated myself, but my friends (well those who read my blabbering's anyway) and my blog too. I mean, it's an interesting journey, through my eyes anyway, and I want to share that with everyone.

However, many changes found their way into my life and they weren't happy or good changes, they were ones that I spoke of in a prior blog. Events happen in our lives that we have no control over at all whatsoever and they effect us in ways we never imagined them doing. If you've read my blogs in the past, you'll know that it effects my writing only if it's big.

Well, it was big, it is big and it did hurt my writing. I'm going to skip ahead of my story for a few here, so I'm probably going to be rambling to you, but it'll make sense in the end of it.

River of Tears was released in print version on August 12th of this year, on August 13th, my 83 year old father had an easy outpatient surgery performed to remove his testicles due to prostate cancer. No reason was given to us, his children by him at any point on why he decided to agree to this procedure but he is of sound mind. He, up until that surgery, worked a full-time job as a greeter at a local grocery store. He is one of the elderly people you see when you walk into national grocery stores with a big smile on their faces to welcome you to the store. Almost like your gram or gramps would do when you went to visit them on the holidays. (I'm guessing here, because I didn't have grams or gramps to welcome me anyplace.) You just sort of get a small feeling of, wow, they are an extended family and they are happy to see me no matter what time of the day it is. Six AM on a Sunday morning? Yep, they're there with smiles.

Anyway, on the 13th, me, my brother (who I've been estranged from for almost ten years) and my husband accompanied my father to his easy outpatient surgery appointment. It wasn't supposed to be a big deal, according to my father (who by the way I've been estranged from on and off for the past twenty-five years), the doctor did this sort of surgery all the time. Well, we arrived to the appointment on time, the three of us waited patiently in the waiting room entertaining ourselves with the lovely magazines (not), the big screen TV (sadly we weren't into the politic station they had on) and coffee (OMG I am still not so sure it was coffee). We had to talk to each other instead.

That was a rough one, that talking to each other because really, I have absolutely nothing in common with my brother, so we mostly skirted around serious issues, in fact we just avoided them. My husband, who has an amazing personality, actually kept us from turning into stone statues. I did bring a book with me, I also brought my notepad with the project I was working with at the time, so I could write while I waited. That is very difficult. One can't concentrate in an environment such as that. And I was still “high” on the release of River of Tears just the day before. I wanted to run around that waiting room shouting it out, I wanted to throw bookmarks at them, I wanted to use the receptionists computer so I could show everyone my book! Of course I did none of that. Yes, I know it's marketing however, let's just stop and take a look at where I was. There were sick people, everywhere. 'Nough said.

We were the last ones left in that waiting room, remember, he's old. He elected to stay with us for a few days until he felt like himself. My father is a pushy, bossy and very rude old guy. He didn't ask permission, he just stated what he wanted. My husband has a heart of pure gold, he said okay. My son and I were in the background motioning with our hands waving in the sky, jumping up and down begging him to say we don't have the room. Of course, I just told a tale, my son and I did no such thing. We were thinking it though and by the end of the 2nd day, my son and I hung my husband. No, again, I lied.

By the end of the 2nd day he had me, my husband, my son, and my son's girlfriend, ready to sell our souls so we could move to New Zealand. (no freaken clue where it is, but it sounds far) He stayed in my son's room, my son and his girlfriend took up residence on the couches in the living room. I generally hog up a huge area when I write, I have notebooks, papers, pens, and books everywhere. I generally stay up until midnight writing, however, not that week. That week I had to cut out early due so my kids could get to sleep for work the next day. I was okay with it, I had my notebook to write in, however: I could not focus. Just could not wrap my head around what it was I was doing, and my characters were playing hide and seek.

Okay, nix that idea. I decided to spend time reading.

Two months passed, my father NEVER left our house, he ended up in the hospital with an infection for almost two weeks and get this: had a bed delivered to our house so he could recuperate with us.

We booked the flights to New Zealand by way of a small Cessna plane.

During that time, my book's release never hit home to me. It's like the moment I had waited all my life for, it came, it passed, and I missed it. I sit here tonight, I checked to see how the sales are doing at Amazon. You know that ranking thing? It's not moving but I really have no one to blame. I haven't given that book the best of me as far as marketing goes. And I know it's only been a couple months since it's release, it's still a new book. It's not over yet by any means.  

In fact, now that I've moved my father to my brothers house, ( a long story in and of itself that I won't get into here) I now have the mental strength to not only write, but to smile and love being alive too. I get up in the morning with a huge smile, with a happily beating heart and with energy and ideas to fill my day.

So, as I come back to the “real” world, I was hanging around online earlier and looking at a few things on Goodreads.com when a message popped up from my yahoo I.M. This was from a friend of mine, I met her a few years ago, we worked for the same company and hit it off. We don't chat everyday, or every week but we do chat when not only she has a moment but when I have one too. Today was a moment for us both, so we spent some time catching up. Talked about our families, a bit about her job, a bit about my job and about River of Tears. Now, I will say that she was the 3rd person who raced to Amazon the morning it was available and she bought that book. I know she was the 3rd because my sweet and very dear friend Jeff Erno bought the VERY first one before I even woke up that morning, he lives in Michigan, so he saw it first and I had NO idea it was even released, but he did. My daughter-in-law grabbed next, then my friend.

She read River of Tears and she laughed, cried, cried, and spent a lot of time thinking about the book long after she put it down. It is an engaging story, it is a story I wrote using a little bit of fact and a little bit of fiction and that story hit home for her. She loves the book; she loves the characters and the setting and all of it. I had a lot of positive feedback from her and she never said a word about the grammar errors, the grammar errors that could have been avoided if I had hired an editor. OF course I could not afford to pay what they are going for at the time, so I did what I could on my own. I was under a tremendous amount of pressure to get that book out there. I do have plans on pulling the book, revising it, and then re-releasing it.

Soon.

This is not to say it is horrible with grammar, it isn't. It's the small things I didn't pay attention to in school. The proper placement for commas and the like. I think only very meticulous people will find the errors, but I will say, it's a story, I wrote it as entertainment for others to read. There's a very powerful plot and amazing characters to be found inside the covers of that book. I guess I'm saying: Read it for what it is, don't nitpick, take the story in and go with it. Get lost in it and give them a chance to take you into their world for a little while.

Anyway, back to why I started this. 

So, she and I chatted and chatted, we shared laughs as usual. Then we began talking about us as people, due to something one of us said about the meaning behind River of Tears. It deals strongly with abuse.

She asked me a question she had wanted to ask me since she met me. I'll show you. I'll call her Missy and taking my I.M. Name out.

Missy: I feel that there is a secret.

Missy: Since I have known you.

ME: lol

Missy: Quiet but...STRONG. Sorry

ME: I'm what you call introverted , I think better with my fingers if that makes sense

Missy: Yep. I see and feel that. When I see your picture. makes me wonder. Not at all what you type, since I have known you. I had always figured you to be different

ME: i am very

Missy: Your picture..you seem soo sweet, nice, timid, shy, quiet. Not at all..the way I know you

ME: online persona

Missy: You are strong, outspoken, great opinions and make me laugh!

ME: : its easy to be who you think i am here. make sense? in real life, i am quiet but very stubborn...I'm shy if i don't know you, i add very little to face to face conversations but really...that's not really me...I'm very into myself, sounds snobby but i am not comfortable around people for the most part

Missy: YEP. Its all good. Nothing wrong with THAT....

We went on to chat more, but this is why I am doing this blog. “Missy” is the first on-line friend I have who read me, who really read me. I am actually everything she said. I'm both of those people. To many of my friends I am a source of strength. I am here for them no matter what they need, no matter when they need it. I'm here to offer my opinions, and advice and I'm here to just listen if that's what they need. I'm here to push them beyond their wildest imaginations; I'm here to cheer them on and to listen if it all goes to hell in a hand basket. I sometimes feel like a therapist, I often look at what I've typed or listened to what I've said when we are on the phone and wonder: OMG!~ where did that come from? I think I may have missed my calling? I've helped them, even if it was over the phone or online. They see me as a strong person, with a strong outgoing personality, one who makes them laugh and a few of them have had the pleasure or displeasure of working with me. At work, I'm all that. I'm all about my job and making sure all are doing their jobs. (I was Missy's co-worker and also one of her trainers so to speak in H.R. Recruiting) They used to tease that I had my whip and chains out. I really did. I was handed projects to do, I assigned those out to people I trusted to get them done correctly. Missy was one I trusted. I was somewhat anal about it, I knew what needed to be done, I expected it done before the play began. I raised three kids and a husband. Is it any wonder?

That was my work personality. (You are strong, outspoken, great opinions and make me laugh!)

My personal personality-- with my family: Very strong, very outspoken, lots of opinions, laughs and then some. I am the backbone of my family, that's why. I have to be all that.

Who I am outside of work and my house-- (Your picture..You seem soo sweet, nice, timid, shy, quiet.) She hit the nail on the head. Put me in the middle of a crowded store, I'm looking for the exit. I will not fight for the last loaf of bread, (though I push those I love to fight for what they want or believe in) Stand me in a long line and you can bet I won't try to make eye contact with others around me. (Yet, I raised my kids to be friendly, outgoing and anything but quiet) Sweet—yes, I can be, if you can find a way into my hard outer shell I suppose. I am extremely shy, but not many people know this about me. I hate admitting it. Many people will mistake that with being a snob. One of my best friends was accused of being a “snob” because she was and still is very shy. I'm more outgoing than she was, so I pushed myself on her, made her open up and we turned that into a very close friendship. I proved to others she wasn't a snob, she was shy. I knew, because I am the same way, however I hid it better. I know how to pretend when I have to, I know how to hide who I am.

Maybe that's why I love to write? I put all of me into the characters and they are amazing. None of them to date is shy, timid, or quiet. They are anything but. I am very introverted, I can be sitting in a room full of people, and my mind is busy with my characters, a plot, an idea, or something. In person, I'm a bore, or so I think. I've asked friends and they disagree. My husband thinks I'm the next Sybil. You'd understand this statement if you read the stories I wrote. I write for mainly guys, and a lot of them.  

Here is the definition of Introverted and it's me dead out: Definition: Contrary to what most people think, an introvert is not simply a person who is shy. In fact, being shy has little to do with being an introvert! Shyness has an element of apprehension, nervousness and anxiety, and while an introvert may also be shy, introversion itself is not shyness. Basically, an introvert is a person who is energized by being alone and whose energy is drained by being around other people. 
 
Introverts are more concerned with the inner world of the mind. They enjoy thinking, exploring their thoughts and feelings. They often avoid social situations because being around people drains their energy. This is true even if they have good social skills. After being with people for any length of time, such as at a party, they need time alone to "recharge." 
 
When introverts want to be alone, it is not, by itself, a sign of depression. It means that they either need to regain their energy from being around people or that they simply want the time to be with their own thoughts. Being with people, even people they like and are comfortable with, can prevent them from their desire to be quietly introspective. 
 
Being introspective, though, does not mean that an introvert never has conversations. However, those conversations are generally about ideas and concepts, not about what they consider the trivial matters of social small talk. 
 
Introverts make up about 60% of the gifted population but only about 25-40% of the general population.  

This is ME dead out! Each and every sentence is me. I've been this way since I can remember. I have no desire to change. I love me as I am.  

I cannot for the life of me keep a conversation going outside of my characters with people I don't really know. I just have no idea what to say or what I can add to their conversations. I don't think I'm interesting in person, but I do have a few people who tell me that I am. Who am I to argue?

Just this past weekend my hubby, son, his girlfriend, and we attended a birthday party for our nephew's 1yr old daughter. We arrived at their friends house, met people we never met before and I sat myself at the patio table and just watched and listened. There were three other women with their children, a couple husbands and a grandmother I believe. They were all comfortable with one another. I was not. They were witty, outgoing, funny and young moms. I didn't sit there like a bump on a log, I added to the conversations, I made them laugh and I was glad I met them. However, I was totally out of my element and ready to leave almost the minute we walked in the front door. I can remember thinking if they were like me, wow, what a party that would have been.

However it goes, I just had to get this off my chest and give you more of an insight of whom I really am. I'm pretty sure many writers are the same way and many aren't. I don't know. I do know that this writing world, such as it is, is new to me. I'm loving it, I enjoy it and I almost can't get enough of it. I'm pretty sure I have O.C.D. Too.  

Coming next: the continuance of My Life's Journey