Mar 13, 2019 |
by Molly Jo Realy @MollyJoRealy
My (im-)Perfect Focus
(Or, How I Learned to See a Better World With Blinders On)
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NOLA NOTE: Before we get into today’s post, I want to thank so many of you for your encouragement and support. I received the second round of edits recently and immediately quit writing and reached out to one of my mentors to pull me in from the ledge. Okay, okay. I’m exaggerating. A little. Hey, I’m a fiction writer. What do you expect? Well, it’s not that bad. It’s like exercise and changing your food habits. Your outward appearance may reflect a slight change, but it’s the inside change that counts. That’s where we’re at with NOLA. I’m still aiming for a pub date within two months. But I’d rather do it right than do it fast. I’d love to have y’all join my private Facebook group for more information, memes, and all-around fun. You can join on Facebook by clicking here: NOLA Swarm.
Stick around and see what happens . . .
Please view the latest newsletter and update your subscription preferences here: A Bigfoot Killer, a New Orleans Monster, and Cutting it Out.
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My friend Edie is an amazing photographer. Seriously. Y’all should follow Edie Melson on Instagram. She photographs images the rest of us walk past. Her eye is always seeking that which is beautiful. When she draws her camera up, I know to stand still and not get in her focus. She ignores the greater surroundings in order to capture one perfect view. Her posts are nothing less than extraordinary, but if you ask her, she’ll tell you she was captivated by the moment. She’ll say it’s not her, but the object, that makes it beautiful.
Life’s a little like that, isn’t it? We scurry around, waiting for someone to notice us. Trying to be a part of everything. But have you noticed, the most stunning photography captures a still moment? One click. One frame. One instant. A pause and a focus. Sure, in this day of digital, we get a lot of before’s and after’s. But still . . . that one shot.
It’s no secret I’m like a dog chasing a squirrel chasing a nut that rolled from the tree that grew in a forest . . .
O.M.G. Could it just stop, already?!
I love multitasking. It just doesn’t always love me back.
Frankly, My Dear . . . : My (im-)Perfect Focus
I recently attended ~ wait for it ~ another writers conference. Big surprise, amiright? Thing is, there’s always something to learn whether you’re a novice or accomplished, author/agent/editor/publisher, traditional or indie. [INDIE WRITER (n) ~ Translate for Mom: (a) Someone who has or intends to self-publish, (b) Someone who’s free-flowing spirit refuses to conform to traditional publishing guidelines, (c) Someone who embraces all aspects of writing and publishing in a confident, whirlwind fashion as is known to her friends as the Bohemian Hurricane . . . Hey, wait. That’s me!]
We were implored to ask God to give us individual word of how to move forward with our writing/editing/publishing/agenting careers. The first day, I had an inkling (see what I did there?), but it either wasn’t very clear or I wasn’t paying enough attention. Ooh. Coffee. What? I’m here. Continue on. I’ll pretend I heard everything.
Then God flung Himself at me with one word.
SELF.
Wait. Again with the what? Isn’t that counter-intuitive to what we’re taught as Christians? Aren’t we supposed to be self-less? Self-sacrificing? Self-denying?
I heard His explanation.
An empty cup cannot overflow.
You mean, it’s okay for me to focus on, well, just me?
Yes. It’s okay to say no, to stop multi-tasking, to self-publish, and to invest in myself. Creativity is a muscle to be strengthened, not atrophied. Any gift we give of ourselves is the same. We can’t pour so much of ourselves into others that we have nothing left. That is not the selfless love God has in mind.
Frankly, My Dear . . . : An empty cup cannot overflow.
Whatever gifts of love you have to offer the world, make sure you take time to enjoy them yourself. Focus. Refresh. Then you can overflow and share with others.
What gifts do you share with an overflowing cup? Leave a comment!
With some fresh grounds and bottomless cup,
Happy focusing.
~Molly Jo
Frankly, My Dear . . . Savor the Journey!
Frankly, My Dear . . . : Bohemian Hurricane
Molly Jo is a Southern Belle known to her friends as the Bohemian Hurricane. She is the author/curator of The Unemployment Cookbook and several eBooks available on Amazon. Her work-in-progress, NOLA, is a full-length location mystery novel set in New Orleans, and the first in her City Series.
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Apr 22, 2014 |
I’m afraid of my own success. What if achieving my dreams means changing everything I know about my life?
I am my own worst enemy. I love stability of structure and I’m not one to shed the security blanket easily.
But often, blank pages hold just as much accusations as they do promise.
Blank Pages are the World’s Canvas
I play the “What If” game too often because, in the past, the “What If’s” happened. The bad ones. The oh-my-God-this-could-only-happen-to-me and the I’m-one-in-a-million-and-not-in-a-good-way ones. The I’m-being-sabotaged-and-no-one-will-stand-up-for-me ones. The life-will-never-be-the-same-again ones.
And I really love stability.
So when anything comes along that can upset the apple cart, I get nervous.
I’ve had to learn to recognize my anxiety triggers. I know to avoid too much coffee on those high-adrenaline days. I have a “smart shopping” checklist on my iPhone for those necessary eat-out-but-not-fast-food days. The older I get, the better I am at listening to my body. My emotions may want chocolate ganache, but my bloodstream craves caffeine-free Gatorade.
Better sleep + better foods = better emotions.
So the anxiety doesn’t get to me like it used to. Of course, there are certain elements that are no longer around. That helps, too. You know what I’m talking about: those button-pusher people who are as good at backstabbing as they are at infiltrating. Those situations that belong on a soap opera and not in my life. I’ve been lucky to distance myself from the hurts and the hurtful. But their shadows remain.
I’ve had to retrain myself to not be afraid, the way others wanted to keep me afraid. Of sharing myself. Of living authentically. Of being the Me I’m supposed to be. Their false condemnations that who I was wasn’t good enough, would never be good enough. That I had deep, dark secrets to be spilled instead of forgiveness to be shared.
But now I know.
I’m better than that.
I’m better than what they said.
I’m better.
But I’m still afraid.
I’m still okay with the bad “What If’s”. The ones I can’t control.
But . . .
What if I am successful? What if I achieve everything I know I’m meant to do?
What if I conquer it all . . .
And I win?
The last few years were so hard. You’ve heard my poverty stories before. I know I’m not unique. I know there are many more people out there fighting just like me to save their homes and feed their families and do a thousand dollars worth of repairs on a nickel budget. People who don’t have the resources that I have, people who don’t have other people to come alongside them and cheer them on or pull them back on to the path.
And I’m not trying to complain. But my life is such a dichotomy between the dregs of the economy and the elation of my soaring words.
I don’t want to be stuck here any more. I don’t want to whine and complain and worry and cry.
But I do.
Yet, I see my way out. I see the path that I’ve laid, and I see where it’s going.
I no longer put the word “aspiring” before “writer” when I tell people what I do. I am a writer. I am a good writer. The rest of the world will soon discover how great a writer I am.
My “new” workspace ~ a real desk!
In the last two months, just eight short weeks, my writing universe has grown by leaps and bounds. I have my desk. I’ve met some wonderful people who are turning out to be great connections. I saw the need for a position with my writers club and asked to create it. [The result was a resounding yes: I’m now the official Social Media Manager for the California Writers Club, High Desert Branch, come join the fun on Facebook.] All four books are progressing fast. I might soon have The Unemployment Cookbook on local bookstore shelves. My critique group is essential to me in a craft capacity, and a fellowship.
All these are the beginnings of what I have always prayed for, always held my breath and crossed my fingers for. All these are essential to me being Me.
To be able to put food on the table and gas in the car and pay the bills on time and stop these damned collection calls and not “borrow” money that everyone knows until I win the lottery I will never be able to pay it back.
And that scares me, too. It scares me because it’s possible financial stability is on the five-year horizon. If I don’t need my family, my mommy and brothers, any more, will they still need me?
If Megan and I obtain all we’re reaching for, do I have to give up being home every night with Dot and our FurFamily?
If I don’t have to worry about tomorrow as much as I currently do, what will I do with that happiness?
I don’t want to be arrogant or a celebrity. I just want to be the best writer I can possibly be. I want to share my stories with the world. And yes, I would like to know that my stories make a difference.
And make money. Let’s be real. This is how I want to pay my bills. This is how I long to provide for my family.
For my family.
MoJo & Dot
And so I write my stories. My poems. My blogs. My thoughts and suspicions and dreams and nightmares. And I share them. And I collect them for future publication. And I keep on writing it out. Because I can’t be the only one who thinks like this, right? I can’t be the only one who feels so incomplete and so uplifted at the same time . . . right?
This is my calling. To be the best writer I know how to be. To tell the world about life in a way that can only be told by me.
But I’m not there yet. I’m still taking the journey. And at times it’s dark and twisty and scary. My heart pounds inside my chest and I can’t catch my breath.
What If I’m wrong? What If my path is a dead-end? What If those shadows are still waiting to sabotage me? What If I lose the house before I earn enough to save it? What If more bad than good happens?
Can I keep going on?
Yes.
So I let my light shine. From inside. Whatever light I have, I broadcast it.
Sometimes it’s a candle. Sometimes it’s the sun.
The end of the path will never be a reality. I’m thankful for that. With each step taken, there’s another step to take.
While I’m still here, still bringing with me the pains of the past, still glimpsing an uncertain future, I do know this: I have something to say.
And I can say it well.
I just need the rest of the world to listen.
As I sit here drafting this post, trying not to complain, trying to look for the light and not worry about tomorrow or the distractions it brings, my friend Janice posted this on her Facebook profile:
“Strength & resilience emerge by your own will to become a better person, no matter what downfalls happen in your life… be your own hero.”
Thanks, Janice. You are, as always, the right person at the right time.
How do you like them apples?!
How Do You Like Them Apples?!
“Then Jesus said to his disciples: “Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat; or about your body, what you will wear. For life is more than food, and the body more than clothes.” [Luke 12:22-23, NIV]
And Frankly, My Dear . . . that’s all she wrote!
You may also enjoy reading:
Apples
Poverty: My Story
I am Defined. And I am a Mystery.
This post is linked up with Shell at Things I Can’t Say. Because sometimes, we just can’t.
Oct 21, 2011 |
by Molly Jo Realy @MollyJoRealy
That’s not a typo… this blog title really is Self slash Public slash ation. Well, the first two parts stand alone. The last? I guess you call that an emphasis, the uniter.
Part One: Self.
I’m stubborn. I love my stability and my structured schedule. I’m set in my ways. I’m okay with change, even if it hasn’t been anticipated… as long as it’s not drastic. I’m old-fashioned, and set in my ways. Yeah, I’m a real catch for a go-with-the-flow kinda crowd. (*please tell me you get the sarcasm, here).
I look for stories everywhere. I write them out; sometimes for me, sometimes for …
Part Two: Public.
That’s “You”. That’s my family, my friends, my peeps. The ones who see me in the world and wonder how they influence me. The strangers who are oblivious to my Big Brother eyes and ears. The readers.
You read books. You go to libraries and bookstores and smell the dust and feel the old pages.
And now, you download the text.
So. Here I am. Old school book reader trying to be a writer who’s inspired by old-fashioned stories like Little Women and Sherlock Holmes and Anne of Green Gables.
And I use technology to search, and re-search, and research my re-search. And I use technology to find what I’m looking for, and to guide me to solutions I didn’t even realize I was researching.
Selfishly, I don’t like e-books and downloads. You can’t bookmark a digital copy. You can’t smell the aroma of gilt-edged pages or feel the texture of dust-embedded sheets. You can’t autograph a computer screen . . . and keep it that way.
But the public likes to take five books out in public when it doesn’t weigh as much as one. You like to computer generate your highlights and type notes in the margins if you can.
I’m in a tug of war between my old-fashioned comfort and the new techno-world. I love the beauty of my old typewriter (thanks, Pam!), but I would be lost without my MacBook.
On one side, I’ve heard the stories that publishers and agents don’t really respect those who publish themselves. It’s like all the flack about the first season of American Idol: the winner didn’t put in her dues, her time and effort. She didn’t come up through the trenches the way other great singers did. Having argued all that, they still know her name, ten years later. Kelly Clarkson’s still singing. With a record deal. That’s worth noting.
On the other side, technology is the way of the world. The internet is everywhere and everyone wants it at their fingertips… their digital, less-than-two pounds, wireless world.
Part Three: (N)ation, where (N) is the (N)-factor. The unknown. The, what-the-heck-am-I-gonna-do puzzle piece.
I want to be published. I want the public to read what I write. I want book signings and recognition and “oh my gosh, you spoke to my heart” fans. I want to be heard. I want to know that I’m making a difference. I want my readers to know that I write for them.
I need to write, like I need to breathe. I need to put into words the world around me, so that my grandchildren will understand, and want to know their history and heritage. I need to write it out, to be peaceful within.
I need a publisher and an agent. I’m ready. I have good-to-go material… with nowhere to go. And I’m all over the place. I have a screenplay, a novel, tons of prose and poems, two songs, a Christian devotional study, and a cookbook. And those are just the finished products; to say nothing of all the other writings still “in progress”.
My pages are all dressed up, and haven’t been invited to the party.
So now I’m thinking of letting them have their own party… I’m thinking of dipping my toe into the self-pub pool. Or even print-on-demand.
It goes against so much in me… but it may be the only way, right now, I can fully let it out.
So. Here’s my question: to self-publish, or not to self-publish? And if self-publishing: print on demand? eBook options? Or bulk for sales? Do I try to get an agent or publisher? If yes, then how? Do I self-publish? If yes, how much? Everything? Or just start with the cookbook? How do I market? Is it more-than-slightly self-serving to post my own product on my own blog? How is that different from regular advertising? What about my street credit? If I self-publish/print-on-demand, how will that stand up later when I need a big printing house/publisher to pay attention? Will they dismiss me, or say I’ve got the drive?
What options are the best options; not just for now, but for the long-term?
You’ve been so great at reading. Now it’s my turn. These are legitimate questions, and I’m looking for your answers. What do you think about publishing and self-publishing? What about agents and big companies and little presses? Are you a writer with advice, or a reader with inspirations? Whatcha got? I’m in need of a lot of honest feedback before I make up my mind. So spill. Share. And suggest.
I’m listening… and taking notes.
