Let’s Conquer
“The most intense fight a human will ever have is between the person they are and the person they are capable of becoming.”
— Coach Jae
Since last newsletter dipped into doom-and-gloom territory, let’s summon some motivational chaos for this brain vomit. Also, as you may have noticed, I switched to Substack, since Revue is retiring to a tropical island with endless margaritas and daiquiris, stranding me in the bleak midwinter.
First, here are some videos from RedFrost Motivation that bring the glory far better than I ever could. I play them on repeat whenever I’m having a down day or it’s tax season.
Now that you’re pumped up with swords and battle armor, let’s talk quitting. Writing is a brutal mistress. I have tried to quit her wicked ways at least once every year since I started, yet she always seduces me back into her angsty, tempestuous arms. Storytelling is tough. And not just tough like trying not to burn nachos for the fifth time this month (my microwave is mutinying after I fed it questionable sausage), but tough like knitting a scarf with soggy spaghetti while under attack by a ravenous rodent army. Writing often feels pointless, a slow-as-frozen-molasses trudge toward an ever-moving finish line, and even if you finish the book, there’s the marketing kraken plus the demon cauldron of rejection and reviews to conquer.
So why continue? It’s different for every writer, but I had to find a steadfast reason, an immovable anchor to continue despite the rodent-gnawing pain (not a comparison I thought I’d continue, but here we are). For me, it was discovering I need to write. As I’ve rambled about before, it settles me, ignites me, and does all the nice and naughty things to my cold, dead heart. Remembering the need is not always easy, especially when doing the molasses trudge (like the “Cupid Shuffle” slowed to half speed with a dollop of misery-crusted rage), but I’ve worked hard this year to drill this anchor into my anguish-thirsty skull.
Any-fucking-way, my long-winded point is don’t quit. Take breaks, recharge and refresh, but never give up on yourself. Your story is worth telling, and there are people who need it, readers who will crave it. Don’t deny the world your voice.
An Old Wise Dude
“If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same…”
— “If—” by Rudyard Kipling
Hot damn, Mr. Kipling. Yes, all that. This part of his poem has always spoken to me. I used to be a poisonously ambitious person, and dreams often become my master. I would hyperfocus till I burned myself out, and it took my mule-brained self several years to realize that this is surprisingly an unsustainable method of creation. As Kipling says, triumph and disaster are impostors, fake. Neither success nor failure exists in an objective sense. Everything is relative. For some, a book is the end goal. For others, a dozen books are the first step. For a few, nothing will ever be enough, and that is the category I used to fall into. The maudlin lesson I learned this year through much void-screaming is to let myself be enough, so I hope you let yourself be enough, too. Cue the violins. No, fuck that, cue the whole goddamn orchestra, BECAUSE YOU’RE WORTH IT, AND WE’RE BEING FUCKING POSITIVE.
Obligatory Reflection
Well, the year’s almost over, and I’m supposed to have done lots of “things,” so here is my obligatory reflection section.
For me, 2022 was an interesting beast. I got most of my shit together, though some is still on the fan, and I slowed the fuck down. For the first time in my life, I focused on not spiraling down the existential toilet. Not gonna lie, it was weird. I like that toilet. Though I am wired for self-loathing and feel at home in the abyss, change was essential, even if I whined about it with a highly mature attitude that was not at all like an angsty teenager.
I also set the ridiculous goal of publishing five books in 2022 (not all written this year), then belched those into the cybervoid. This feels itchy to say, and my Yankee self-deprecation is kicking in, so let me add that if I publish one book in 2023, it will be a miracle. Phew, emotional constipation engaged.
On a personal note, my tiny humans read quite well now, so I can no longer leave myself inappropriate notes around the house as reminders to do chores (ex. “DO LAUNDRY, BITCH!” or “TENDERIZE THAT CHICKEN! SLAP ITS ASS!” or “COOK THAT MOTHERFUCKING STEAK!”). That derailed.
Any-fucking-way #2, may 2023 be gentle if you need gentle, or rough if you like it rough. It’s time to conquer, breachlings.
New Interviews
I had the wonderful pleasure of becoming Fake Chris Aggett and interviewing the brilliant Tim Glister on the Writing Community Chat Show with Chris Hooley. Steve Talks Books was also kind enough to invite me to the Friday Conversation with H.C. Newell and Jolien Reads. Thanks to the WCCS and Steve for indulging my chaos!
* The amazing WCCS is throwing a virtual Christmas party today! Join at 8pm GMT / 3pm EST to cause chaos in the live chat (click the sexy button below). There will be special guests, giveaways, quizzes, and more! *
Recent Reads
I left my holiday shopping till the last minute, because chaos we must, so I haven’t had as much time to read, but here are some recent tree corpses I loved!
Hush, the Woods Are Darker Still by L.V. Russell
Tilting Toward the Sun by Mario Dell’Olio
Podcasts/Channels to Stalk
The Writing Community Chat Show, Story of a Storyteller, The Tiny Bookcase, Boomers on Books, The Shadow’s Project, Steve Talks Books, What The Book, Human Chapters, Words & Pictures, Talk Wordy to Me
Aggressive Love & Happy Holidays
Don’t quit. Don’t give up on yourself. Let yourself be enough. Laugh at dirty jokes. Be a little (or a lot) naughty. Life’s too short for perfection. Eat dessert first. Dance in the rain. Make mistakes, and fuck shit up. Try something crazy. Do something daring. No one can break you but yourself, so grow those glorious wings, breachlings, and fly into your wildest dreams. Best wishes from mine to yours, and may we all find the time to cook that motherfucking steak.
Also, happiest of birthdays to my darling baby sister who has suffered my weird-ass self from birth. Thanks for pretending to be an alien in my oddball movies, and for letting me draw on you with marker when you were a baby. Okay, so maybe you didn’t let me…
Lots of love & chaos,
Halo