My voice.

I’m sitting here, attempting to write a blog post for my “day blog,” and questioning my voice. The numbers aren’t great, but I didn’t start writing for numbers. Writing is part of who I am. It’s what I do. But I write; just like I’m doing right now. I share my voice, just as if I were speaking to you. For some reason, people just don’t seem to care for it. If they do, you’d think the elusive numbers would go up.

Every creative goes through periods of doubt. More like periods of monster ups and downs. Since we rely on what we create, whether it be words, drawings, sound, etc., we’re our own worst critics. People judging us online have nothing on our own psyche, but their actions affect us much more than our own doubts. 

I’ve even wondered if this is narcissistic, but after breaking it all down, know it’s not. Call it the antithesis of narcissism, as I’d rather boost others than worry about myself and think about myself. 

Is this the voice that works? Am I supposed to use this voice to up page numbers and sell things on my personal site? Or am I supposed to re-hone it to a straight journalistic style that is a great inverted triangle with no story? Weaving the story around a product/brand/trip, etc. is what I’m good at. I rock it out. 

I want to tell the story. 

But first, someone has to take a chance on me telling that story. Even if I just tell it for me. 

Thinking Out Loud

Pardon the mish mash of thoughts that are about to follow, but I need a place to think out loud and clear my head. My last post was about being a content producer and I’m fine and dandy with that most of the time. However, I had an email from a friend who told me  (I’m paraphrasing) “stop writing for the small amounts here and there and write the book you want to read.” The same week, another dear friend told me “I don’t want to see you waste your talent by stopping and doing social media exclusively.”

I respect the hell out of both of these women. I adore them. And I take what they say to me very seriously, as I know it comes from the heart and with my best interests in mind.

What is the book I want to write? What is the book I want to read? Where am I supposed to go in this world of writers and tell this story, when I don’t know what story I want to tell. I’m not reading fiction right now. There’s been nothing drop in my lap that excites me. I am reading non-fiction and have a serious stack of self-help books on my end table. Believe me, I don’t want to write a self-help book, because I just don’t know if I could handle the Sex and the City style mocking that happens in every book store in existence.

Quite honestly, I’m struggling.

I could go on, ignoring the voices of these dear friends. But, I can’t ignore them. You see, they are in my head, nagging me, every single waking moment, of every single day. Even now, the voices are ricocheting around in my gray matter, making me cry. I don’t even know how to go about figuring out what the book I want to write is. I also know I can’t sit here and ignore those voices firmly entrenched in my thoughts.

What I do know is I have to figure it out.

It’s been a while…

It’s been some time since I’ve been here to update. I’m still writing. In fact, I’m producing some of the best content I’ve ever written. However, I’m not sure of where I belong in this wild world of publishing. 

Most of the content I’m producing now is online. Gah, that makes me sound like a factory — the worst kind. 


I’m no longer a writer, I’m a “content producer.” That makes me sound like a hamster in a wheel, doing nothing but running in that damn thing all day long, never getting anywhere. 

That’s messed up. 

I need time in my head. Time to think. And then, I need to come here and pour it all out. 

After all, that’s what this space is for. 

I just want to write.

I just want to write. Today, tomorrow, every day. That’s not even a complete sentence and quite frankly, I could care less.

People are driving me bananas. Yes, you heard me correctly. Just color me yellow and call me Chiquita. I’m there.

I think the part of what I don’t get is that people don’t understand that writers are artists. Sure, they are things I can write right off the top of the old noodle. I’m great at someone giving me a topic and writing on command, it pays the bills.

But, if I’m writing, no matter what it is, fiction, non-fiction, I need time to write. Not just write. But I need time to research, to process, to outline, to think, and right now, I’m not getting that.

I’m frustrated.

While I don’t want to offend the people I know, I  just want to sit around in my underwear, drinking green tea, writing inhaling nibbling milk dark chocolate.

Is that too much to ask?

Writers are creatives. We can’t talk on the phone and write. We can’t answer 100 gazillion emails and write. We can’t fix every problem and write. We can’t go out for coffee and write, unless it’s with other writers who respect our need for contemplation and quiet.

We. Just. Need. To. Write.

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NaNoWriMo — Aaarrrgggghhhh!

I’m feeling like Charlie Brown. You know, when he’s running for the football and Lucy yanks it out of his way? He lands on his back yelling “Aaarrrggghhh”.

That’s where I am.  Just call me Charlie Brown and currently, I’m running for the kick. Writing, writing, writing and not stopping. Purging my brain and writing my finger tips to the bone.

I’ve got to get to the 50k mark. I have to. It’s a moral imperative, or something…

Lordy, I hope I don’t miss the football this time.

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Mark Twain and Reflection

“Whenever you find yourself on the side of the majority, it is time to pause and reflect.” —Mark Twain

Reading and Writing

No ‘rithmetic today. Sorry to disappoint. Time for confessions again, I’ve not been reading. I don’t know about others, but when I’m not reading, I’m not writing well.

Let me take that back…I’m reading. My Google reader is full of the blogs, business and writing sites I plow through weekly, but aside from that, and a few magazines, I’ve been woefully deficit. The bad thing? I’m a reader. A real reader who tears through a series of books in no time and always has a dictionary on her lap, a highlighter and pencil for margin notes.

After logging into my Goodreads account tonight, I noticed that I had set a year challenge and was *gulp* only 95 books away from my goal. Unfortunately, my goal was 100 books. That’s right, I’ve only read five books. I’m sure I’ve read more, but I’ve only noted five as-read.

Who am I? Let me tell you, I am the woman that Andrea from Great Thoughts, is going to be giving hell. She’s asked me to participate in her book club Twitter party November 17th for Saving Cee Cee Honeycutt by Beth Hoffman. In fact, I’m using that book as a way to kick off my “get back to reading campaign”.

Not reading has kept me from escaping in the way only reading allows. I’m not taking downtime from writing to actually absorb other great writers in a form that isn’t a blog post.

I also think I’m burned out on some of my favorite authors, either that or they’ve switched genres. My happy time used to be heading to the bookstore and just browsing the shelves for hours. The first and last day of school for my son — that was my time, to breathe in the former and gird myself with the latter.

After logging off, I’m crawling in bed with a large glass of water, my reading tools and a book. After all, everyone needs inspiration.

What are you reading? I’m always looking for great new books, or old books I’ve forgotten. Tell me so I can catch up and maybe get close to my goal!

2011 Reading Challenge

2011 Reading Challenge
Lisahasread 5 books toward her goal of 100 books.

Writing takes practice…

Writing well takes practice. A lot of practice. Let’s just say that I am guilty of not practicing like I should and my writing is suffering. There is now flo. It feels stilted and forced.

My writing is definitely suffering. I work and communicate with women who are magnificent writers every single day of my life. While I know we all can’t have “killer content” all of the time, I feel inferior.

Even now, I am fighting the urge to let things “flow” and pick everything apart.

Could it be the stack of rejections I have had? Or is the people who want me to write, but for “exposure”. I’m sorry, but PIE or paid in exposure doesn’t pay the bills.

Part of it is my own damn procrastination. I don’t take the time I want to write. It’s my choices, but my day to day keeps me extraordinarily busy.  That also includes writing and content creation, but I’m doing a lot on the business side of writing and content.

What a tangled web we weave.

This weekend, I am taking time to sit in my bedroom, with a notebook and perfectly sharpened pencils. Starting off my page with whatever pops in my head. Free writing is perfect to get the juices flowing and I feel is essential to get me out of this, for lack of a better word, funk.

I’m hoping to find balance and presence in myself and my writing. That’s when I am happiest, when my creative juices are flowing.

It’s time to practice what I preach.