Well, am I?

I’m a writer and have recently released my second novel, MISTS OF BAYOU RHYNE. You might think this is a very exciting time for me, right? Then why don’t I feel that way? Here’s why; the immense amount of extra work. Marketing not one, but two books is quite an ordeal…at least to me. What complicates things even further is that they are of two different genres; THE CONSEQUENTIAL ELEMENT is an action adventure thriller, and MISTS OF BAYOU RHYNE is a YA mystery thriller.

I’ve recently found myself wallowing in self pity. All of this marketing, and working on book three, and holding a day job, not knowing if I’ll have a job after June due to company restructuring, and dealing with life’s curve balls, and health issues, and sickness of friends, and…well you get the picture…all of this has really brought me down lately. I used to escape into my writing, but I’ve found that my obsessive disorder has turned it into a war zone instead of a sanctuary. It is now work, hard work, and comes with a high level of stress. Several medications I’m on have “sun” issues and have turned any time over twenty minutes in the sun an impossibility. Come on…I live in Florida. Really? So I turn to my garden as my sanctuary, only guess what…so have two different snakes. Off to Lowe’s I go for snake repellant, rope, and other snake remedies found online.

Nothing works. They win. I’m a coward.

Coward? Me? The thought hits me hard. I’ve fought tons of battles for people. I’ve advocated for battered women (I was one), I’ve advocated for abused children (I was one of those, too), I’ve advocated for women’s rights, I’ve defended a woman stranger in a Wal-Mart parking lot from the creep of a husband she was with who thought shoving her around was disciplining her, I’ve crawled into a city drain pipe to save a starving dog, I was a Private Investigator for several years and let me tell you, there were some hairy situations. So no, I’m not a coward. I can face the demons of this world.

Just not my own.

I’m not a coward. I’m not. Am I?

I pull up some cushions in front of the long living room window and stare out into my garden on this bright sunny day…and think. Hard. What am I made of? What was my mother made of? My grandmother? Her mother? Do I come from a long line of cowards? I hit a few bumps in the road and suddenly I’m hit with the Woe is Me’s? This isn’t me. I know this much. No, it isn’t me.

So I do what any 21st century woman would do; I turn to the internet to find out who I am and to find my courage.

After several attempts, I key in the words women survivors. Here it is. Here’s my courage.

I read article after article on the battles that average women have risen above, won, and/or continue to conquer; story after story of their faith, courage, and fortitude. I’m amazed, awed, and impressed.

I will not lessen my battles by comparing them to the stories I’ve read, but I’ll now meet them with a renewed strength.

Writing is scary business, no doubt, whether it be a memoir, children’s book, YA, thriller, or horror, it is scary. Marketing is even scarier. And forget public speaking…just forget it. But my new found courage will help me to forge forward.

Though I haven’t yet discovered who I am, I am pleased with my recent discovery.

I’m a survivor.