by john | Oct 7, 2016 | #HoldOnToTheLight
This is something I’ve never talked about. Not on this blog, not to my wife, not to a therapist, nothing. So if you don’t want to deal with shit getting real, this is the time where you should probably go be somewhere else. Go buy Midsummer, the new Bubba the Monster Hunter novella. It’s funny as fuck, and my favorite piece in the series by a mile.
You’re still here? Alright, you were warned. But here’s another caveat – I’m not going to discuss this post. Not at a con, not over drinks, not on the phone. I might respond to comments here or on Facebook, but don’t hold your breath. I’m throwing this out here because it might help somebody, not because I have any real desire to dredge it up and talk it out. Got it? Okay, I guess I’ve danced around it all I can, let’s rip the bandage off, shall we?
I was a cutter through the latter half of high school and the first half of college. There wasn’t a term for it then, and I never knew that it was even a thing until decades later, when I heard about teenagers cutting themselves, usually as a coping mechanism or a cry for help. I didn’t talk about it with anyone, didn’t want to kill myself, didn’t have any great desire to mark myself in any way that anyone would ever see.
It was just the only way I could feel anything. I sat in my bedroom on more than one evening and drew lines in my flesh, usually on my left shoulder, with my pocketknife. It made the most sense to cut there – nobody could see it, and I’m right-handed. I didn’t do it every day, not even every week or every month. But on multiple occasions over a period of four or five years, I felt so numb inside that I cut myself just to see if there was a physical pain that I could inflict upon myself to prove that I was still alive, at least physically.
A lot of people who know me have heard me talk about the fact that I’ve dealt with depression for almost thirty years, starting when I was fourteen or fifteen. Until recently, I’d never been diagnosed with anything, and never been medicated for it. It was only through watching a YouTube video that Wil Wheaton posted about his depression and anxiety, and reading a blog post by Jim Hines about his struggles with depression that I got up the courage to go see a psychologist and get tested for some things. The results weren’t terribly surprising; bipolar 2 disorder with some ADHD. Nothing I couldn’t have told the doc myself, other than the plan for treatment. And we’re still working on that – the first antidepressant they tried was completely unacceptable, turned me into a vegetable for a couple days. Can’t have that, I’ve got shit to do. So I go back to the doc in a week or so and we’ll try something different.
But that’s not the point of this rambling post. The point is that while I was graduating in the top ten of my class (fourth or sixth, I don’t remember), getting a college scholarship, taking Honors classes at college and generally doing all the things that a successful student should do, I was doing it all through a mask. The face I showed the world had very little connection to the face I saw in the mirror. Outwardly I was a bright young man, an excellent student with some minor theatrical talent. But inside, there was nothing. I had girlfriends, and I even fell in love for the first time, as much as I could at the time. I had friends, some of whom I’m still in contact with.
But there was an emptiness inside, and overwhelming lack of anything, that I was looking for a way to fill. I guess I knew at the time that I was suffering from depression, but I’ve always been pretty good at compartmentalizing. When I was in school, I could tuck away the parts of me that I didn’t like, bury them under schoolwork or after-school activities. But when I was alone in my room, there was nothing to hide behind, no projects to use to distract myself. There was just me, and my edged friend.
I never did any lasting harm, and even the scars faded after a few years. Looking at my arm now, I can’t see any evidence of my previous self-inflicted wounds. I never wanted to kill myself, and I never wanted to attract attention. I knew what I needed out of the blade – pain. I needed to feel something, anything, and because I was in such a dark place mentally that I never thought I would feel real joy, I thought that pain was the answer. And it helped, to be honest. I’m sure it wasn’t a terribly healthy coping mechanism, but it gave me just enough to get through the night and not do anything more serious to myself, so I’ll take it.
I’ve heard recently about the concept of high-functioning depressives, which I suppose is what I’ve always been. “Bullshit artist” is another very good term for that, by the way. So I guess what I want out of writing this is to put a couple of ideas out there for people who might be feeling that kind of overwhelming darkness, the kind of numbness that just starts in your chest and goes outward to every inch of yourself until you really feel numb inside and out.
One – Whatever method of coping you have is fine. I don’t give a shit if you get tattoos, listen to music too loud, lift weights, run, bike, or listen to B.B. King and play tic-tac-toe on your upper thigh with an X-Acto knife. If it keeps you from making the deep cut with the vein, or taking a whole bottle of sleeping pills with a Jim Beam chaser, or running a hose from the exhaust pipe to the driver’s window, then fine. Cope however you need to cope, because you’re stronger than you think, and it gets better.
Two – It does get better. I stopped cutting myself in college. I don’t remember the last time I hurt myself on purpose, outside of drinking with Drew Hayes. And there was no sudden realization of “hey, I’m fine now” to mark the end of that darkness. There was just a general lack of need to see my own blood to prove that I wasn’t empty inside. I just didn’t need to do it anymore. I still haven’t gotten the treatment I probably need, and there are still weeks and months when I just don’t have the bandwidth, the energy, or whatever metaphor you want to use for the ability to get shit done. I fight the monster every single day, but it’s been a long time since I let the monster make me bleed.
Three – There are people that care. There are people that can help, and there are people who want to help. If the monster gets to be too much, then go find one. That’s what this #HoldOnToTheLight campaign is about – helping people find the resources and get better. Because we all fight the beast from time to time, and sometimes we need backup. Find your backup, and don’t be afraid to call on them.
Thanks for reading. I hope there’s someone out there who can find this helpful, because to be brutally honest, sharing this sucked and I don’t ever want to do it again. But I will. Because if I can help one other person realize that it’s worth keeping going, then it’s worth my discomfort. Take care of yourselves.
JGH
About the campaign:
#HoldOnToTheLight is a blog campaign encompassing blog posts by fantasy and science fiction authors around the world in an effort to raise awareness around treatment for depression, suicide prevention, domestic violence intervention, PTSD initiatives, bullying prevention and other mental health-related issues. We believe fandom should be supportive, welcoming and inclusive, in the long tradition of fandom taking care of its own. We encourage readers and fans to seek the help they or their loved ones need without shame or embarrassment.
Please consider donating to or volunteering for organizations dedicated to treatment and prevention such as: American Foundation for Suicide Prevention, Hope for the Warriors (PTSD), National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI), Canadian Mental Health Association, MIND (UK), SANE (UK), BeyondBlue (Australia), To Write Love On Her Arms (TWLOHA) and the National Suicide Prevention Hotline.
by john | Oct 5, 2016 | #HoldOnToTheLight
Karen E. Taylor is a talented writer and a friend. When she wanted to participate in the #HoldOnToTheLight campaign but didn’t have a platform, I volunteered this space. This is her story.
I wrote a story called Mexican Moon once. A lot of people really liked it, and it even received a nomination for a Bram Stoker award. I had no idea why. The story of the relationship between a sentient robot and the scientist who made her, it seemed to me to be nothing more than a toss away. And although it took me forever to finish it, I didn’t give much thought to the ending or what it might mean. A story is sometimes just a story, right?
As it turns out, nothing could be further from the truth. I used to go to a lot of conventions and I would read this story since it fit so many different genres. During its last reading, I finally got it. And I started to cry, when I realized what it meant. How it was really a call for help from the bottom of the well by an emotionally and physically abused person. I can’t read it out loud anymore. Sometimes I cry just thinking about it. The realization floored me, because I never once expected it.
The after-effect of domestic abuse can be like that. It can sneak up on you after months or years and all of a sudden you’re back in that relationship — back into the fears, the flinching at sudden movements, the wincing at angry words, the constant apologizing for things you could never possibly control. Suddenly you feel worthless, helpless, and hopeless, for no good reason other than that was what you used to feel, what you were taught to believe by the abuser(s) in your life — that everything bad that happens is exactly what you deserve.
Except, dammit, you don’t! It takes so very long to recognize abuse sometimes, and it even takes longer to get out from under that abuse. There are always reasons why you shouldn’t leave, reasons why you can’t. Numerous though they are, you can’t let those reasons stop you. The sooner you get out of an abusive relationship, the sooner you can start to heal. And though that healing may seem like it takes forever, eventually there will come a day when you know that you have survived. That you’ve come out from under in one piece, not necessarily without scars or damage, but in one piece. You’ll need support for getting out of an abusive relationship and you’ll need support afterwards, to treat the damage. Don’t ever be afraid to ask for help.
You don’t heal overnight. I’ve been out of my abusive relationship for over 40 years, and I still have days when I wince and cringe, days when I feel worthless. But it really does get better and easier with time. Turn your back on the abuse and the past and allow yourself that time.
#HoldOnToTheLight is a blog campaign encompassing blog posts by fantasy and science fiction authors around the world in an effort to raise awareness around treatment for depression, suicide prevention, domestic violence intervention, PTSD initiatives, bullying prevention and other mental health-related issues. We believe fandom should be supportive, welcoming and inclusive, in the long tradition of fandom taking care of its own. We encourage readers and fans to seek the help they or their loved ones need without shame or embarrassment.
Please consider donating to or volunteering for organizations dedicated to treatment and prevention such as: American Foundation for Suicide Prevention, Home for the Warriors (PTSD), National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI), Canadian Mental Health Association, MIND (UK), SANE (UK), BeyondBlue (Australia), To Write Love On Her Arms and the National Suicide Prevention Hotline.
To find out more about #HoldOnToTheLight, find a list of participating authors and blog posts, or reach a media contact, go to https://www.facebook.com/groups/276745236033627/
by john | Sep 11, 2016 | Writing
I like music. A lot. I like most types of music, at least a little bit, although I lean more towards the country/folk/bluegrass world, and sometimes I just need a little old-school rock n’ roll or hair metal to get a scene going. So today I’ll give you a little sample of some of the stuff I listen to when I write.
For example, Pentatonix’ version of “Starships” by Nicki Minaj just came on as I was starting up this blog post. Don’t hate, you know it’s fun. That’s on my “Driving Music” playlist that I run in the truck when I’m on a long road trip and don’t feel like listening to an audiobook. That playlist also includes Taylor Swift (because I’m not Tom Hiddleston), Reckless Kelly, a pile of Willie Nelson, some Macklemore & Ryan Lewis (who I have to thank Delilah Dawson for turning my on to way back at a JordanCon dinner with her, Seanan McGuire, James Tuck, Stuart Jaffe, and a pile of other people years ago), Blake Shelton, Turnpike Troubadours, and Tori Amos. I like to sing along with the radio, so I know most of the words on my Driving Music playlist. If you ever ride any distance with me, you’ve now officially been warned.
When I write, I keep a little more low-key, usually (he says after taking a break to make a futile attempt to blow all the cat hair off his keyboard). That means a lot of Lindsey Stirling, The Piano Guys, John Williams, Ray LaMontagne, Jessica Lea Mayfield, Guy Clark, Tedeschi Trucks Band, Darrel Scott, and Flogging Molly (they have some mellow stuff, just not a ton).
If I’m working on a fight scene and I need to get things rolling, Rob Zombie is my go-to. Dragula or More Human than Human are a good place to start for me, then I’ll move into some old mid-90s Nine Inch Nails or old Jay-Z. The Hamilton soundtrack has been a really good piece to write to lately, but sometimes I get lost in the words and don’t write much because I’m singing along too much. Occupational hazard, it’s for real.
There are a couple of reasons I play music while I write. One is that I love music. It transports me back to where I was when I first heard the song, it makes me feel more energetic, and it gives me a little more rhythm and speed to my writing and typing. Also, it gives my wife a signal as to when I’m actually working and I’m not just screwing around on the computer. It’s hard to tell sometimes when it’s okay to come into the office and chat with me, and when it’s a lot better not to interrupt me. I usually don’t play music when I’m surfing Facebook or CNN, because I watch a lot of videos linked off those sites, so she knows that if there’s music playing and I’m typing, then I’m probably working, and only to interrupt if it’s an emergency. If I’m just screwing around on the internet, then I don’t care if she comes in to chat about the weather. I also use music to drown out the TV in the next room, so it helps me focus, especially the instrumental stuff. I don’t really dig classical, but some of the newer, jazzier instrumental stuff is really good background noise, and I don’t find myself getting interested in the noises coming from elsewhere in the house, so I can focus on getting my words on the page.
What about you? Do you listen to music when you write? What helps you get words on the page?
Do you enjoy these blog posts? I enjoy making them, as well as my Writing Rants podcasts. Other writing advice tips are available as Patron-Only benefits on my Patreon Page and on Magical Words. So check me out there or become a patron and get all my stuff!
by john | Sep 7, 2016 | Promos/Giveaways
Hey there! This week (sorry I didn’t get the word out sooner, I was at Dragon Con) I’ve got three books running free promotions on Amazon!
First off, Knight (Un)Life – a collection of Black Knight Chronicles short stories. This is a great intro to the series, and some good backstory if you want to see how the boys got started, and some holiday bonus content.
Next up we’ve got the Manly Wade Wellman Award-Winning kickoff novella to the Quincy Harker, Demon Hunter series, Raising Hell. If you’ve been interested in checking out the Quincy Harker series, but didn’t want to spent any money, here’s your chance!
Last, but certainly not least, Queen of Kats Book I – Betrayal is free until Friday. With Queen of Kats Book 2 – Survival available now, I thought it might be a good idea to slap a little promo action onto the first book. So check it out!
by john | Aug 28, 2016 | Business of publishing, Real Life, Writing
As I’ve said before, this is advice for new writers. Writers with just one or two publication credits. If you’ve got a list of pub credits as long as my…arm, then this probably isn’t the reason your book got rejected. Go back to one of the earlier posts and see the stuff about bad timing, bad luck, or just not being a good fit for a publisher at that time. It’s more likely to be that. But if you’re just starting out, this is the #1 reason most books or short stories don’t get published.
You Don’t Know How to Write for Publication Yet.
This shit is hard, y’all. It takes years to learn how to write a novel or a really good short story. It takes even longer to learn how to do it again and again, day in and day out, either for a living or a supplemental income. You don’t just walk out of college with a freshly minted BA in English and sit down to write your first novel. Okay, you probably do, but it almost certainly sucks. And that’s okay. Your first book, story, blog post, article, poem, or whatever the fuck you want to write is supposed to suck. Just don’t think people are going to pay you for it. And don’t think that it’s worth charging money for it.
So how do you get good? How do you get ready to be published? Well, strap in kids, I’m going to give you the Secret to Becoming a Published Author and getting all the women, blow, and cash you can ever imagine.
Work really hard, study a lot of shit, read a fuckload, and put a metric shit-ton of words on the page.
Come on, there’s no fucking secret to it. I spent almost a decade writing a blog and working for poker websites before I wrote The Chosen. I had more than a million words written and about half a million of it published by someone other than my blog before I started writing fiction.
You want to get good? Write.
You have to write. You aren’t good if you’re getting a lot of rejections. That’s the main reason people get rejected. It’s not because they don’t like you. It’s not because they don’t like your politics. It’s not because they don’t like gay people, or straight people, or white people, or African-Americans. It might be because you’re an asshole, but you can probably hide that for the fifteen minutes someone spends with your query letter. It’s almost always because you aren’t ready yet. You don’t serve mashed potatoes that are cold in the middle, and you don’t get your book published until you know how to write, and how to be a writer.
So what do you do?
Write – and join a critique group. You can’t learn in a vacuum. I learned a ton writing my blog, because I had people reading my work every day, and they would call me on it if something sounded stupid. Then I worked for an editor, and they called me on it when I wrote shit. If you live in the boonies, join an online critique group. I know it’s hard to show your precious little manuscript to a room full of strangers, but suck it up, buttercup. It’s one of the best ways to improve. And no, nobody wants to steal your fucking idea. If you think that people go to critique groups to steal ideas, then just be a goddamn stamp collector, because there are already enough idiots in publishing and writing, we don’t need another one.
Read – it’s a fucking mortal insult when someone walks up to my table at a con and says “I have a fantasy novel I’m writing (have written),” then they follow that up with “I don’t really read, I just want to write.” Fuck. You. Read. Read in the genre. It’s fucking necessary. You need to know what the tropes are. You need to know what the crutches are. You need to know what’s selling, and what’s oversold. You need to know what’s been fucking done to death, and when an original idea is actually original.
Study – There are amazing books out there, many of them written by people who are doing exactly what you want to do – making a living off their words. Why would you not take the opportunity to learn from them? I really like On Writing by Stephen King and Goal, Motivation, and Conflict by Deb Dixon. Every writer in the world has their favorite. Ask someone.
Go to Conventions and Writers’ Conferences – Yes, they cost money. Some of them are expensive. Most of them are worth it. Where else can you sit in a hotel bar and talk with half a dozen publisher writers? Where else can you sit in a room and listen to six or more people tell you how to answer writing problems? I have several friends, manny of whom I’m now publishing with Falstaff, that I met when they were attending conventions and sitting in the audience taking a shitload of notes. They kept their mouths shut and their ears open, and they learned. And they got better, and now they’re building careers.
Write – Oh, did I say that one already? That’s because it’s the fucking key to it all. I don’t give a shit how many hours you work. I don’t give a shit how young your kids are and how much of a pain in the ass they are. I worked two jobs when I was starting out and still blogged every day building my voice. I drove from Charlotte to fucking Arkansas, spent three nights in a hotel to attend a con where I was nominated for an award that I didn’t win, sold two goddamn books, then drove two days home. I’ve been to cons where I slept three or four hours a night because I was networking in the bar (yeah, I know, but I was networking. Ask my friends how many times they’ve been in a bar with me until the wee hours. Then ask them how many times they’ve seen me actually intoxicated. Those numbers won’t match, and you can probably guess which number is surprisingly low.) then got up to make a 9AM panel.
I’ve been to cons with bronchitis when I was so fucked up on codeine-laced cough syrup I don’t remember the convention, and I was at Dragon Con doing panels and working the convention while I knew my mother was dying. I said my goodbyes on Thursday afternoon, told her I loved her for the last time, drove back to Charlotte, got in the car with two friends, and rode to Atlanta. I got the call Monday morning that she was gone, and we buried her two days later. So don’t tell me you’ve got shit to do that gets in the way of your writing career. I’m standing here shouting from the goddamn mountaintops that if there are things in your way that you don’t want it bad enough. Go read Sherrilyn Kenyon’s website where she writes about how she got her start and all the shit she went through. Then tell me your job is hard and you’re too tired.
If I sound hard, and mean, well too goddamn bad.
This isn’t my hobby. This isn’t what I do when I feel like it. This isn’t something I do when the muse strikes me. This is how I feed my family and keep a roof over our heads. And if you aren’t willing to work as hard as I do, then get out of my way. But if you want it, if you are willing to scratch and claw and work for years to get good enough just to get a personalized rejection letter, then let’s go. I will do anything I can for you. I will help promote your shit. I will perhaps even publish your shit. But if you’re in this because you think it’s an easy ride, go somewhere else. I ain’t got time for dabblers.
I just spent two days working a comic con with two friends. One of them is a doctor. He has literally saved lives, and watched people die in front of him. He has a job, an important job, and he’s good at it. We need him doing his day job. But because this is something he loves, he works all week then drives all across the Southeast doing conventions. He works all day and goes home to write. He’s got one novel out now, with two more coming in that series, and I’ve signed him to a three-book contract for another series. Now tell me you don’t have time to get some words on the page.
You want to know why your book got rejected? Because out there in the dark of night, at 11:35 on a Sunday night when I’m writing a blog to promote myself, promote my brand, and hopefully give a little back to aspiring writers, there’s somebody else who’s working on their craft. Somebody who wants it more than you do. Somebody who’s willing to work harder than you. Somebody who will invest the time and energy into developing their writing ability to something worthy of publishing.
Note that I never mentioned talent until just now. I’ve said this from my senior year of college when I first started directing plays. I don’t give a fuck about talent. Talent doesn’t mean shit. Give me a choice between an A-plus talent with a C-minus work ethic, and a C-minus talent with an A-plus work ethic, and I’ll take the work ethic every time. Fuck talent, get to work.
You like this shit? It’s moving come September. My blog will be more events and fun stories, and my writing advice will be for my Patreon patrons. Because I gotta make a living. My podcast will still be free, and my stuff on Magical Words will still be free, so there’s plenty of ways to get my advice for free. But these blog posts will be patron-only. But they will be available for everyone that pledges $1 or more, so it’s affordable. Go to Patreon to check it out.
