According to Plan?

Things in life don't always go according to plan. It's not that I'm a negativist - I truly see the glass as half full - but there are these things called "variables". Some we can control and others, well... they have a mind of their own. Even those we think we've got a handle on, occasionally let us know that our grasp is illusory at best. The human body is a great example. We can do everything as right as we can - get rest, eat right, drink right, exercise regularly - but it can still let us down when we least expect it. And when we least want it to.

Suffice it to say that my weekend didn't go exactly to plan. And, in all honesty, I'm as much to blame as my body. No, I didn't get drunk at my book signing Friday night and spend all day yesterday hungover. Though I probably should have for as shitty as I felt. I hadn't had a migraine - like a real, nausea inducing, puke up everything including Pedialyte, feel like death migraine - in four maybe five years. I'm pretty good at immediately downshifting my life when I feel one coming on. If I can catch it early - when it's still just a really, really bad headache - a couple hours in a dark room usually do the trick. However if, like yesterday, I'm in the middle of a busy day with so much I want to do and accomplish and I ignore it - if I think it won't get any worse - I end up completely shellacked and barfing up a really tasty brunch (I won't be eating chicken and pancakes from Kerbey Lane - or anything raspberry - for quite sometime). Happens every time.

But here's the thing - I knew it was coming. I knew I was playing with fire. My body is so used to my - ok, let's call it - rigid lifestyle that I knew diverging from my routine was going to end up biting me. I had a little headache Friday that I really, really, really hoped wouldn't turn into anything. I'd been up super late (for me) the night before and got up far too early to sneak in a workout before the day got flying. I didn't rehydrate well afterwards and went on a walk/hike with friends and sweated some more. Then I spent the rest of the afternoon relaxing by the pool, probably dehydrating even more in the heat. On an ordinary Friday I wouldn't have been concerned, but this particular Friday was my book signing and release party. And given my track record for disappointment, I wouldn't have been entirely surprised if I'd had to cancel it for one reason or another at the last minute. Thankfully, I felt good enough that evening - spirit, mind, and body - and the event went off spectacularly without a hitch.

With the party and the after party, I finally got to bed around 1AM, an hour before I usually wake up. I slept fitfully for just a couple hours, probably from the excitement let down and because I'm not used to sleeping in the wee hours of the morning, and got up to start what was supposed to be a fun and eventful Saturday. I had the same breakfast as always, responded to a few messages and emails, and dropped a friend at the airport. That's when the niggling little headache I woke up with started to get worse. Then I met friends for brunch and about midway through I felt it transition. Stupidly (and because I never get to see these friends who drove in from Texarkana for my big weekend), I didn't leave right away. I didn't find a dark room and nap for a couple hours. By the time we finished eating and said goodbye in the parking lot, the point of no return was rapidly approaching. On the way home, which was less than ten minutes away, I felt my hands go tingly and my stomach began churning. You can re-visit the paragraph above for details.

Twenty-four hours and a visit from a mobile doctor later, I was back to feeling human. But I'd lost a day, a very important day, on my journey. A day that I expected to be great - time with friends, time with myself, maybe some good food - ended the moment I grabbed the waste paper basket. Oh, I did spend a little time with one friend - he brought me Pedialyte at barely a moment's notice and held my hand for awhile - however nothing about the day went as I'd hoped. Then there's today. I feel better but I still need a boatload of self-care and a calm atmosphere so everything I had planned - a long run and getting Part III of the trilogy ready for my publisher - slid right off the calendar.

I am truly thankful that the headache held off a day - there's no way I could have signed one book much less entertained fans and friends in the condition I was in yesterday, but f**ck I had such high hopes for the weekend. I guess the body knows what it needs and if we don't let it have it, it'll take it. My body apparently wanted rest - a day or two off from the rat race - and it got it. I finally pushed my body as far as it would let me before it pushed back. And it knew a migraine would do the trick.

Because I'm a glass is half full person, I'm trying to see the positive amid the disappointment. I used to get migraines of this caliber a couple times a year. That I haven't gotten one this bad in many, many years tells me I must be doing something - a lot of somethings - right.

• I've learned to read my head. I can feel a headache coming on and tend to it as soon as possible. 
• I've learned to read my body. I knew an endpoint was coming. I'd been running and gunning far too long without a real break. I'd just hoped I could make it through the weekend before the wheels fell off. 
• I average more than seven hours of sleep per night and I go to bed and get up at roughly the same time every day, including my days off. 
• I eat more fruits, vegetables, and whole foods, rather than processed garbage and fast food (Today's recovery demanded a Whataburger double with cheese, but that's an aberration).
• I cut out diet sodas and artificial sweeteners more than a year ago.
• I workout at an intense level six days a week.
• I drink alcohol sparingly. Once, or occasionally twice a week, I might have one drink (For as shitty as I felt yesterday, I should have gotten blitzed drunk after the signing Friday night. Result would have been the same).
• I moderate my caffeine intake. Except when I'm writing a lot, I have just two cups of coffee in the morning - one with my breakfast and one as I start my work day (I've been pushing my luck with this one and my body knows it).

I can bemoan the fact that I lost an important day (really two) to a migraine or I can make a pact to redouble my efforts at self-care - listen to my body even more intently and slow down when I feel that endpoint approaching. If I do, I'll be able to take a step back when, where, and how I want rather than my body screaming "NOW!!!" so loud that it knocks me into bed for almost twenty-four hours. 

Tomorrow, it's back to work. Maybe at a slower pace for awhile. Maybe. 

***Can't crawl out of bed to make it to the doctor? Check out Remedy.com. They may have mobile docs in your area. If I ever goof again and let a migraine get out of hand, I'm definitely calling them sooner. ***

Owning It

I suppose it's time. I've long maintained that being honest about who you are is the quickest route to respect. And, while I've been able to easily speak most of my truth, there's one small piece that has proven more difficult. I suppose I thought I'd stop, do something different, write something different. Eventually different ideas would come....but they haven't. The stories that rattle around my head, the ones I get down on "paper", all have one thing in common. One. Well, two. And both are a bit...well, embarrassing. To me. I have two university degrees and I'm almost fifty. I should be above this, past it. However, as I sit here mere inches from the official release of my first novel, I realize that it might end up my claim to fame.

I should probably own it. All of it.

What two things do my stories all have in common? I have issues with both so let's take each in turn.

(1) Romance. When I was a teenager, and a near light-year away from being in love, I read romance novels. At one point, I'd devoured everything Danielle Steele ever wrote. Then I became an adult and nearly threw up in my mouth reading Nicholas Sparks. I suppose the fall-in-love-break-up cycle I experienced in my twenties and thirties had something to do with. Get your heart broken and spend six weeks on The Break-Up Diet eating Sun Chips and drinking Mike's Hard Lemonade and I promise you'll grow a bit of skepticism about love and romance. I was certain - I am certain - it's all bullshit. All. Of . It. And yet... I write it. And publish it. And hope people buy it.

I feel a certain amount of culpability, responsibility. All this romance crap poisons the mind, sets expectations way too high. Reality isn't as I write it. Of course, I suppose we, as humans of the Western world, need to think that the fairy tale is at least remotely possible. Meh, a happy ending depends on when you stop telling the story. Fortunately when I'm writing, I get to choose where the story "ends".

Admission #1: I write romance novels.

But wait it gets better... What else do my stories have in common?

(2) Lesbians. My stories are like the Lesbian Channel. All lesbians, all the time. And because we prefer to read about the beautiful people, most of my lesbians are hot (Interestingly, my first novel is set in Little Rock. A friend there actually asked me where all the hot lesbians were because she hadn't seen many. I replied Oklahoma City. At least they were a decade ago).

Here's the part where I try to defend myself... When I first started writing fiction, I was terrified. I didn't have a clue what to write about and I wondered if the stories in my head were... um...appropriate to write. My creative writing professor, who may one day rue his decision, attempted to allay my fears by telling me to "write what I know." Okey-dokey I said as I unleashed a torrent of stories about lesbian tennis players. And runners. After all, it's what I knew.

It is absolutely no secret - I'm a lesbian. This summer it'll be officially 21 years (I came out the summer after Ellen's coming out episode in 1997) and unofficially 46 years (My mother told me that, when I was three, I said I wanted to be a dad). And truly, there's no hiding it, never has been. I can't seem to fool anyone; even to people with really crappy or completely non-existant gay-dar, it's pretty obvious (Crazy, because I'm not nearly the gayest person I know...).

And, you know, I've done a decent job of owning it, even in places where it was borderline dangerous to do so. But... I've never announced it, flaunted it, or waved a rainbow flag. That's not to say I'm not proud of who I am. It's just that being gay as always been a small part of me and I refuse to let it (or anything else) define me. I've always just been Stacee, who happened to be a lesbian...and a tennis player and a runner and an atheist and a writer and a wanna-be world traveler and a friend. None carries any more weight than another and it never will.

Now, though, I find myself with a burgeoning new identity. Even though I've always gone about my business quietly and have really, really, really tried not to make anyone uncomfortable (honey over vinegar, my friends),  I feel a shift coming. I am no longer just Stacee. I am Stacee Ann Harris and wait for it....

Because lesbians tend to have a lot of relationships, it was a quick trip from stories about lesbian tennis players and runners to stories about lesbian tennis players and runners having relationships (Welcome to the plot of my first novel). And it just keeps happening.

Admission #2: I write lesbian romance novels. 

Every time I say it, I cringe and wait for laughter or some kind of backlash. That, thus far (knock on wood...) hasn't come. And I have no idea why not. I'm embarrassed. Why isn't everyone else? Maybe because it's no big deal? Maybe because a lot of people read romance? Maybe because people, both gay and straight, know the LGBTQ community needs voices, even if one of those voices is writing romance?

If no one else seems to care, why should I? And that's why I've finally decided to own it.

When I was growing up, my parents told me that I could be whatever I wanted to be as long as I did my best and didn't quit (I am dead certain "lesbian romance novelist" wasn't on their radar). I may have only sold a handful of books so far, but I'll tell you something. My stories are pretty damn good. It's not who or what I ever expected to be, but THIS is who I am and what I do -

I am Stacee Ann Harris and I write lesbian romance novels.

*** Straight friends and readers, like Taylor Swift with country and pop music, my aim is to cross-over. Someday maybe we'll be able to take away the "lesbian" label from my work, but right now it's what we've got. I assure you, though, good romance is good romance. Period. Like I've long said, read me and you will understand. ***

Dreaming Wide Awake

"Even though I'm wide awake my dreams are coming true..." 

[It's from my favorite Anne Murray song (She was one of my mom's go-tos during her brief country phase) and I'm sure that makes me a HUGE NERD. Won't be the first time, though...or the last.]

Dreams have taken center stage lately. They aren't all the vivid, searing, wake-you-up-keep-you-up-for-an-hour-after-get-lost-in-daydreams-the-next-day kind of dreams (not that there haven't been a few of those tossed into the mix), but they are there and they are coming true with an alarming rate of speed. We don't (yet) need an egg timer - the Gregorian calendar still works just fine - however four years ago I had no idea how far I'd come in such a short period of time. Hell, even six months ago I couldn't have predicted this. And truly, I believe to the depths of my soul, the sky's the limit.

~~

Once upon a time, my dream was to write a novel...

It doesn't take any talent to dream. Thankfully, it doesn't take much more to make those dreams come true. Perseverance and hard work. That's it. Period. All I did was keep on, keeping on and sooner than later, because I never gave up, boom! I typed "The End" on my first novel. Then I let it sit. For a really, really, really long time (Ok, like almost a year). Then I got some advice and did a total re-write. Then I let a couple trusted people read it. Then I found an editor willing to take it on. Four drafts and three and half years after I started, my novel was done, complete. And ready for the next step.

Once upon a time, my dream was to be published...

After much consideration, I decided to publish my novel independently (We can argue if this means that I'm really published, i.e. by a real publisher, or if I simply sold out to expediency and the maintenance of my sense of self-worth. I'm going to win that one, though. Search "Stacee Ann Harris" on Amazon or look in the trunk of my car and you'll see books, published books with an ISBN). Yes, I paid out the a** for editing and a professional book design, but what was I supposed to do? Sit back and weather the storm of rejection for potentially years until I found someone (i.e. a real publisher) willing to take the chance on a lesbian romance novel? Let's be honest, even though we are literally everywhere, the mainstream isn't clamouring for LGBTQ anything. Moreover, I wanted to retain creative control. I didn't want  my smart, sexy novel with cross-over potential to become 50 Shades of Lesbian Erotica. Stella and Maggie, my protagonists, deserve better than that.

With that decision behind me, my goal was to get the first part of my first novel (It's broken into three parts because research said that a $30 first novel is a tough sell, even to friends and family) out by the late spring 2018. There were unforeseen delays - an editor with mad skills who worked at a snail's pace; the dragging of my own feet as I slowly put on my parachute and prepared to take the leap; a book cover design I just wasn't sure of until I was - as are common with big projects. I settled for submitting the final, final, final draft before I left for vacation at the end of March with the hope that it would be out-out around Memorial Day. Then my publisher recommended a long lead time before the actual release date to give me and "my team"(Shockingly, I do have one) a chance to prepare and plan the launch. Oy. Ok. Advice taken. I selected Friday, June 15th more or less at random for the print release (Amazon, I guess, does whatever it wants to do with e-books. The e-book was released May 4th - more on this in a second).

We are still a few weeks out but time is flying. My publisher was right - we did need time. You can't throw a book release together overnight, not when there are parties (ok, party singular at this point) to plan, businesses to set up, sales tax permits to acquire, and Paypal card readers to buy (and figure out how to use). I can say what I want about Amazon jumping the gun, but the early response from e-book readers has shown me that people already want Part II. Add that to the list of goals - Publish Part II ASAP (I'm hoping for pre-release in mid-June and full release mid-July) and Part III by the end of the summer (I'm assuming readers will want it as well).

This means that by the end of Summer 2018, I could have THREE published novels. Take that dreams! To keep pace with these dreams, though, something is gonna have to give. I can't afford to keep publishing independently much longer (not if I want to keep pace with my dream to travel - and run - the world). I have a short story collection and a fourth novel inches from ready to go, not to mention a collection of my blogs and the umpteen other long-form fiction pieces rattling around in my brain. At some point very soon, I'm going to run out of resources. Either I'm going to have to raise some money or get discovered. Given that I have no control over "get discovered" (and I really like control), this summer, with the help of a couple enthusiastic friends, I'm going to run a Kickstarter campaign. If successful, I will be able to keep publishing and actually market and promote my work. At least for a little while. My theory is that the more I flood the market, the greater my chance of true "discovery" becomes.

Once upon a time, my dream was to make enough money from writing to quit my day job (and live in a tiny, fourth floor walk-up without an elevator in a borderline questionable neighborhood of some random European city)...

Let's be brutally honest, good connections would be pretty cool and a lot more cost effective. Having someone buy into my vision and publish and promote my work? So I could wear a few fewer hats? I'm not asking to be rich. I just want to have enough coming in that I don't have to wear an orange apron every day. I'm still working on this one, but at the rate I've made my dreams come true so far... Stay tuned.

There are many with talent, but few who will put in the work and believe.  I am the latter. Long odds don't scare me. Not in the least. Sometimes you just gotta put in the work and believe in yourself. Because until you do, no one else will.