The dawn of a new year. This is the time when people either glow with possibility, slip a stranger the tongue ’cause hey, it’s not slutty if it’s New Year’s Eve, or wallow in the chill of past mistakes and regret.
Or a maximum of two out of three.
It’s polarizing, to say the least.
I’ve blogged about my path to publishing now and then, but it’s only as the year soon comes to a close, that I realize its true significance.
If a picture could say a thousand words (or however many words this blog post will last), this picture of me would tell a story that goes like this…
…2011 began, and it was truly “the best of times and the worst of times.” Every day in January was either the euphoria of giving my heart away in the face of tough circumstances, or the fear of having it broken. It would’ve been a roller-coaster of adventure for people addicted to drama, but that’s not my addiction. I, as the years have shown, am addicted to happy endings.
As the year moved a little bit forward, I made the grandest of gestures, one that only a foolish main character in a chick-flick would do, because only on the precious reel of film, could a chance meeting and six months of addictive contact lead to hopping on a plane for one last whirlwind weekend, in the hopes of a happy ending.
That weekend remains, by far the biggest “up” of 2011.
But life’s not a movie, motherfuckers.
So then came the “down.”
In situations where one knows something is doomed but chases it anyway, one is left with two conflicting emotions:
-Sadness…and accomplishment
If one was in her early-to-mid twenties and hadn’t walked such a road before, one may have turned to the tempting comfort of chocolate, and the giant ass that would inevitably result.
But when one’s thirtieth birthday loomed near at the time of these two emotions, one instead said: “I will NOT force myself to buy a brand new wardrobe to prepare for my giant ass. I feel ACCOMPLISHED for laying it on the line, so I will go and make some art now, thank you very much.“
And that was April and May.
First it was “The Book of Awful”, which finally stopped being a half-finished thing that an agent didn’t like ’cause it was “weird,” and instead became a self-published book, on Amazon, iTunes, and Barnes & Noble.
Then came May and June (yes, I overlap in inspiration).
First it was the purchase of two books on screenwriting ( “Your Screenplay Sucks!”, “The Coffee-Break Screenwriter”), and then it was the creation of a screenplay, one that took its inspiration from a period of my life that felt so very much like a movie.
When my screenplay started advancing in competitions, I knew this special story wasn’t a fluke. It was more like a sign, and a story that seemed so perfect as the sequel to “Year of the Chick.”
And then came October.
After making a print version of “The Book of Awful,” and dusting off the first full-length novel I ever wrote (the one I’d given up on when an agent couldn’t sell it), I edited it for a month, and changed some things based on what I’d learned about writing in the last couple of years.
I sent this book called “Year of the Chick” into the world in late November.
Around the same time, I was hard at work creating a print version of “Year of the Chick,” a version I’ve now submitted for a blog tour in January, and a version that I’ve started selling locally, out of the back of a van in an alley (or more accurately, out of a cardboard box from underneath my desk).
Now we’re at the end of the year, and my grassroots marketing is only just beginning. I will sell my book in independent bookstores, I will leave random copies around town, and I will read out passages to anyone who will listen.
And the thought of all these things feels GREAT, so we’re back to the “up.”
What I won’t do now is give up. Ever. It’s a long and prickly and EXTREMELY UNLIKELY road to ever finding big success, but as I always say, small probabilities are no reason to quit. Especially when random readers from Australia or Texas or wherever buy my book and let me know they simply loved it. That’s enough reason to never give up, and it warms my heart like few other things (another “up”).
The only thing that concerns me as a new year looms is writing even more. I’m not short on ideas, but adapting my screenplay into the “Year of the Chick” sequel has implications, for how I’m viewed by the people in my life. What I mean is…when you make something artistic and you want people to care about it, at least some percentage of that art comes from a real place. If you risk nothing, it could mean nothing, and vice versa. My screenplay is rooted in the past, so to write a fresh novel out of THAT, means clinging to the past in some small way, for however long it takes to make some brand new art.
And that’s when your friends start to think you’re fucking crazy.
I’ve already felt it this year and will feel it even more in 2012. Their gentle urges to distract you from the long gone past, their nervous encouragement as they fear for your overall sanity…
This is the part of writing no one tells you about. The part where your dearest friends might quietly think you’re a lunatic.
Oh well.
So with one foot in the present and one foot in the past, I will look to the future and honour the name of my blog in my everyday life, with way more borderline “crazy” in 2012. As for the blog itself, writing another novel with a full-time job will be draining, especially word-count wise, so I may just come here for video blog updates (IF I can muster up the courage to be on screen…to be determined).
As a final note: a goal I’ve had my eye on for purely symbolic reasons, is to sell 1,000 copies of my book by the end of 2011. Sales are slowing down with Christmas preparations upon us, but with 13 days left and 996 sales, I’d say I have a very good shot. If it happens, you’ll hear me screaming about it from my Facebook Page…
…wear earplugs.
[UPDATE: I reached the goal on December 19th by 7pm and YES I screamed about it on my Facebook Page!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 1,004 books sold in 2011 and counting... 
]
And see you in 2012.
It’s only halfway through November and with each passing day, men’s moustaches grow creepier and thicker, as they raise important funds for prostate cancer research. Along the way I see more and more Facebook statuses of downtrodden girls, those who avoid men in bars or avoid their own boyfriends, due to the bristly epidemic.
money by having running events, yet the “man cause,” which is led by the gender that loves video games and armchair athletics, conveniently lacks a cardio portion.
Three years, ten months, and twenty-eight days from when the 
The “what the eff is wrong with me” train has just made another delivery.
I love that I can dust off my blog like an unused lady part and spring it into action on a whim.
read my book, but those actual humans exist…somewhere.
It’s like “The Book of Awful.” That book is friggin’ weird and it seems that readers either love it or hate it. In fact, I think one reviewer actually called me a horrific excuse for a writer (I’m paraphrasing). But that’s art, bitches. It’s better to have a polarizing reaction of love/hate, versus a bunch of people who think you’re “pretty good” or “just okay” because you never rocked the boat. So that’s my advice to all the children out there (good lord, I hope no child ever reads this blog). You may spend your whole life being labeled as weird or “unpalatable” as an artist, but you can never lie about what inspires you. Look at my beloved Van Gogh, who sold maybe only three of his two thousand works before he died? His spirit now lives on as the pimp daddy of art, and I’m pretty sure my heart almost exploded with joy when I saw the real “Starry Night” in New York this past winter. Epic.
Back to me climbing the mountain from evil to goodness. Last week I re-wrote and published two collections of my memoirs from India, which started out as posts from this very blog! See, this is why I will forever pay homage to my blog relic and return to it whenever I can. The blog was the start of all my grown-up writing exploits. Praise WordPress and my early blogging friends. Back to the memoirs: because they originated in some form on my blog, my memoirs are totally free, everywhere except Amazon (I’m working on that so DON’T pay for it on Amazon, it will be free eventually!). I guess I figured why should these memoirs die on the blog, when I can give them a second life with thousands of free downloads? Hooray for reincarnation! The Hindus had it right.
