Bat-Sh** Crazy Among Other Things

For those of you who have been living under a rock and/or not paying attention to my social media feed, I published my first novel this summer. And my second. And my third. Let's call it The Match Trilogy (available right here on my website and Amazon.com). It has been one of the most breathtaking experiences of my life. I'm lucky. Readers want to chat, ask questions, know things about me and the books and the characters. Don't get me wrong. I never tire of answering questions. If people are asking, they are interested, perhaps even engaged, and that's an incredibly good thing. I am flattered, humbled even, by the whole experience. I've said it before, but it warrants saying again. If having people - some friends, some not - buy and read something you've written doesn't humble you, you're doing life completely wrong. So yes, I will answer questions all day long and talk about it even longer to anyone who takes the time to strike up the conversation.

I thought I'd share a few of the questions that invariably come up with readers. In no particular order...

Most common question: WHEN IS PART X COMING OUT??? (caps intended to express the frantic urgency with which the question is usually asked). This is by far the most common question I've gotten thus far. This means one thing and one thing only - They liked the book, they really liked it! So much that they can't wait for the next installment. I have to tell you from where I sit, there is no better question. "Will you marry me?" can't touch it. Neither can "Want a free pizza/coffee/beer/fill in the blank?" I will NEVER tire of answering it. Sadly, very soon it will no longer be a question. As early as later this month, all three books will be out and readily available. My advice? Buy all three at once. You can save on shipping and not have to wait for the next book to arrive (Yes, e-reader readers, I know, I know...).

Most flattering question: Are Maggie and Stella real people? I do write a lot of creative non-fiction (and I'm currently negotiating my involvement in the writing of a true life love story) but Maggie, Stella, and all their friends are pure fiction. Think about that question for a moment.............. To some readers, Maggie and Stella seem so real that they cease to be fictional. It honestly makes me tear up (I've done a lot of that around the books this summer). I did such a good of a job writing them, telling their story, that they seem truer than fiction? It defies imagination. Seriously.

Most thought provoking question: How did you come up with the story? Truthfully? I didn't, but it's not that I plagiarized. Each and every word is mine (with a little help on occasion from my editor...). This is the part that's going to make me seem bat-shit crazy to anyone who hasn't written fiction. Maggie and Stella told me their story. I just wrote it down. Wait. Didn't I say barely a paragraph ago that they aren't real? Yep. Look, I can't tell you how it happens. Characters arrive and their story unfolds. Maggie's part of the story appeared while I was out running one day. I needed one more story for my thesis and I was stumped. Maggie (and poker night - if you've read the books you know what I'm talking about) first appeared in a short story called, "The Exorcism", starring Father Nick and Grimes Jackson (again if you've read the books, you'll understand). I liked her and thought she deserved her own story. Back track a couple months before that to another short story, "Smarmy Steve". Stella Campos arrived on the scene fairly quietly as the heroine who finally puts an end to a creepy dude's lecherous behavior, but I knew that was only the beginning for her. I just didn't know where she'd pop up again. Until she did. Maggie needed a girlfriend and the rest, as they say, is history.

Question with the (longest) and most shocking answer: How long did it take you to write the books? Six months. That's it. I started writing in August 2015 and finished in February 2016. I spent 20-30 hours/week writing and researching. I wrote for a few hours either before or after work almost every day and for 6-8 hours on my days off. Maggie and Stella's story poured out of me. You're going to think I'm bat-shit crazy yet again when I say this, but it's more like their story poured through me. It was as if they finally found someone they trusted to tell their story and the flood gates just opened. I couldn't have stopped writing if I'd wanted to. They kept me up at night, interrupted my work days; they could be INSISTENT and PERSISTENT. It's not always like that in fiction writing. Other writers will tell you different - their novels took longer, years, or decades even. I believe (Bat-shit crazy alert) that a couple things have to come together -

1. There must be trust between the writer and the characters. How this is created, I don't really know. I think Maggie and Stella trusted me from the jump, but Stella was always more forthcoming with certain details than Maggie was (FYI, s-e-x); 
2. The characters must be ready to tell their story. Maggie and Stella were bursting to tell theirs. In contrast, I started a short story a year ago and after re-reading it last week, one of the characters decided it was time. Sort of. She'll only tell me certain things, almost like she's replaying and savoring the memories before letting me in. I get it. It's big for her - she's about to tell me that, once upon a time, she fell in love with a woman.....in 1915 during The Great War. She won't let me write her in first person......yet. This draft is - oddly for me -  written in third person. One day she may let me change that. 
3. The writer must feel confident in her ability to tell the story. She must feel worthy. On occasion, I worried if I'd do justice to Maggie and Stella. They are special to me and their story is special. I truly didn't want to fuck it up. In the end, their confidence in me gave me the confidence I needed to keep writing. Conversely, I've had a novel brewing for a little more than two years - characters who want me to tell their story. Only......... It's big, huge really, and I worry constantly that I'm not good enough, that their story is bigger than my ability to write it. They're still around - Anna, Helen, and Eleanor are - so we shall see. 

I'm a believer in bat-shit crazy things. I don't believe in God, but I do believe in energy, magnetism, and connection. Who knows? Maybe Maggie and Stella are real and living in some plane of existence that we can't smell, touch, taste, or feel from where we sit. Maybe they reached out to me to tell their story in this world. As bat-shit crazy as that probably sounds to all of you who are not bat-shit crazy like me... 

In any case, from my bat-shit crazy heart and soul, I thank you - For enduring my blogs, this one included, for enjoying my little stories, and for loving Maggie and Stella as much as I do. They're pretty damn cool and I am honored they chose me to tell their story. 

*** Haven't read the books yet? Why in THE HELL NOT???? Just kidding. But in all seriousness, you really, really should. People tell me they're kinda good. ***

Goal: Be Happy

"Goal: Be Happy." 

from a sign I saw on a front porch in an Austin neighborhood last week

I had a conversation with a customer a couple days ago while I mixed her paint at The Worlds Largest Home Improvement Retailer. She looked at the 15 year service badge I (have to) wear on my apron and asked - more or less - how in the Hell I've been able to do it. I mean retail sucks, doesn't it? She didn't say that in so many words, but the look on her face clearly reflected it. She was about my age with a teenage daughter in tow (they were painting the teen's bedroom) and I'm sure she silently breathed a sigh of relief that her career choices had never included a long stint in retail.

And let's be honest, when I started working for my current company I intended to stay six months, maybe. Retail was never my career choice. It was a career that happened. At the six month mark I got promoted, then six months after that I got promoted again. Before I knew it six years had passed and I was getting paid a decent wage and getting three weeks vacation. Fast-forward, nine more years. I've taken two demotions, but I'm still paid a decent wage (fifteen years of piddly pay increases do in fact add up) and I get four weeks of vacation. I routinely tell my boss that they're going to have to dynamite me out of the joint because I'm never quitting (Ok, ok... If I land major book contract that pays real money and/or a job teaching English in [insert European country here], I'll be hard pressed to give two weeks notice). A career in retail may not have been planned, but it is what it is.

I assured the woman that it wasn't all that bad. Just as in life, you have to find something you like and focus on that. For example, when I worked crazy mixed up shifts - open one day, close the next, or close one day, open the next - I found something I liked about each of the shifts. Opening meant I had the afternoon and evening free to do whatever I wanted to do. Closing meant I got to sleep in. What about mid-shifts? Yeah, they always sucked. Same applies for the different jobs I've done. Stocking freight = good workout. Human Resources = helping people. Paint department = fun times being a bartender but with paint. Receiving = powered lift equipment....which oddly enough is one of my true happy places. Front End Supervisor = Sheer Hell.

No matter what job or shift I work, I try to find something that I like, something that makes me happy. Like I've told everyone who has commented over the years about my nearly immutable positive attitude, I have to spend eight hours a day at that store. I can either choose to be miserable or I can choose to be happy. Every morning, when I pull into the parking lot and as I'm making the long walk to the time clock, I consciously decide what my day is going to be like. With the rarest exceptions, I choose to make it a good day. Yes, there are days when peeling off my skin and swimming in lemon juice sounds like more fun than dealing with entitled shit-head customers (and the occasional lazy, annoying co-worker), but eventually the day ends. My watch says 1:30 and I can leave for the day. Once I hit the door, that horrible, awful, no good, crappy day is behind me and invariably I return the next day with my usual sunny disposition.

My job isn't perfect, but what in life is? Over the years, I've gotten a lot of mileage out of a little tidbit of sage advice my mom gave me when I moved from Southern California to Michigan. Regarding the snow, my mom told me that I had two choices - I could either like it or like it. Snow was inevitable. It was Western Michigan where lake effect snow can start before Halloween and continue right up until Memorial Day. Here's the thing. After ten winters, I wasn't able to well up enough like. I had a carport and a snow blower, but the snow and cold were still too much. I visited a friend in Texas over Thanksgiving in '02 and rung in '03 as a Texas resident. Which is why this, my fifteenth HOT Texas summer, has me thinking...

When you can't find something you like about the situation you find yourself in - when you can no longer find a way to be happy - you have to change something. Because - here's the final point I made to the woman at the paint counter - life is too damn short. It sounds trite and we say it all too often, but it's true. I get this one go-round. YOU get this one go-round. Why settle for anything less than happiness?

Ok, ok... Agreed. It's not always easy. There are sick children, car accidents, dying parents, lost dogs, injuries, floods, washing machines on the blink, cheating spouses, and a thousand other inescapable trials life throws our way when we least expect them. Some days, some weeks, some years are more difficult that others. Sometimes no matter how hard we try, happiness eludes us. I get that. I've been supremely blessed in this life...so maybe it's easy for me to say. I don't know...

One more nifty quote before I end this session of Stacee's Life Advice 101 - "Nothing lasts forever no matter how it feels today."  Good happens. Shit happens. It's life. Like it or like it. If I've learned anything through it all (and believe me there have been some SHITTY times), there is only one thing I can truly control - My attitude, how I approach/see/live my life.  I assure you, come what may, happiness will always be my goal.

I assured my skeptical customer at the paint counter that the retail life can be a happy one. Hell, any life can be. It's just takes the right attitude.

Short Hair & All

I know I've been writing about more serious topics lately, but I need to touch on another topic just for a moment. I don't want to keep you long so I'll get right to it. Something's gotta give with this hair. Seriously.

I shaved my head (If you're familiar with clippers, I used the #4 guard so I didn't SHAVE my head. Mom, please don't panic) about a month before I went to Europe in March. I wanted it to grow out a little before I left but still be short enough that I didn't have to pack a brush and could get away with using crappy travel shampoo for two weeks (Look, when you only pack one pair of shoes and a week's worth of underthings, there's no way you're going to take up space for hair care). It worked out well for the trip. My hair was long enough not to draw unwanted attention for being an American skin-head freak but short enough it didn't require product other than a 2 in 1 body/hair soap.

Now, it's mid-summer and I've got a good couple months worth of unwieldy growth going on. At this point, the bed-head is so bad that no amount of wetting down will touch it so I have to take a shower every morning (Fortunately, I workout before work most mornings...). Even then it still looks like shit.

To me. I'm sure others out there think my hair looks fab, terrific, pick a positive adjective. "Stacee, it's finally long enough that you almost look like a girl...when viewed from the right angle." (Tell that to the woman in the Starbucks' restroom last weekend that gawked at me four times before I walked out the door. The shorter my hair is the fewer questioning looks I get. Do the confusing math on that one). I appreciate the compliments and understand the pleas not to cut it, but f**************ck. I'm the one who has to look at it in the mirror and deal with it on a day-to-day, hour-to-hour basis.

Just quit my bitching and shave it off again if that's what I really want to do? Believe me, that is EXACTLY what I really want to do. It's "too short" for a couple three weeks or a month but then it grows out to a nice, manageable length. That I like. Usually that's all I care about. Usually. Trouble is, things are started getting unusual about a month or so ago.

Ok, so it's not like the release of my novels will suddenly catapult me to fame, but for the first time in my life I have to consider marketability. My marketability. I'm at a cross-roads mentally. I have seldom given one flip what others thought of me, beyond the basics of smelling good and being polite. Now, I have to sell my book and myself. Yes, it's a lesbian romance; yes, it's no secret that I'm a lesbian; and yes a lot of dykes (stereotypically-speaking) have super short hair.

How can I spell this out? It's just that.....even though I have traditionally been pigeon-holed because I fit the short-haired lesbian stereotype, I've ALWAYS rebelled against it. I have never wanted that to define me. I've wanted to be seen as Stacee and everything I bring to the table, not simply as a lesbian. Let's return to the book release. Because it is so much easier for people - gay, straight, you name it - to lump people into categories, I'm honestly a little worried. I don't want people to look at a shaved head and make assumptions - because after we categorize, we tend to make assumptions.

The bottom line? I want to be a writer, not a lesbian writer. If I shave my head, like I have for years and like I like to do, people will question less and assume more. And I fucking hate assumptions.

What are my options?

• Grow it out? Oh, honey, it took me almost three and a half years to do it the last time and IT WAS AWFUL ("Donate hair" was on my Bucket List, so...). Not only did I end up with hair in my mouth with a shocking regularity I never imagined, I never once looked in the mirror - in THREE AND A HALF YEARS - and saw me looking back. I cannot do that again. 
• Get it cut cute and sassy and girlie by a professional stylist? Man, I've honestly debated this one. Will I sell enough books to justify the expense? And the frustration of having to do it every day (even thirty seconds is way too much time for me to squeeze into my routine)? Oy. I just don't think it is. 
• Tell the world to f*** itself and get used to a new writer on the block with super short hair?

Truthfully, I'm leaning toward the last option. Once upon a time, I drew A LOT of fire for writing a blog that merely suggested that maybe we ought to expand the definition of "feminine", maybe. You'd have thought I'd suggested that we institute human sacrifice as a way of appeasing Jesus so that he'd speed up the Second Coming. Mid-maelstrom, I threatened to quit writing - it was THAT bad. Fortunately, one of my closest friends told me that I had to keep writing and pushing limits and speaking my truth because so many out there weren't courageous enough to speak theirs.

That experience as unmercifully hard as it was made me stronger and much more confident in who I am and what I bring. I am Stacee, uniquely so I think, so why should I stop now? Why should I change who I am just to make me and my novels more marketable, more mainstream? The answer is that I shouldn't. Never, ever, ever. 

Over the years, I've learned that authenticity brings respect. By and large, people like people who possess a self-deprecating confidence and present themselves honestly. If I tweak myself to make people like me, they'll see right through me and I'll accomplish the opposite. 

That leaves me with one choice and only one choice. I have to be - must continue to be - unabashedly me. Short hair and all.