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I can’t even bring myself to come up with a title (but I hope you get something from this essay anyway)

This morning, I woke up feeling helpless. Not for any reason in particular. My best guess is that it stemmed from a dream I can’t fully remember. Something about an old cottage surrounded by quicksand. I was standing on the edge of its dilapidated porch, full moon, wolves howling in the distance. Beneath me, the sand was dragging the house’s foundation with it, slow pull. I yelled at the morphing landscape, holding an overflowing bag of sunflower seeds that, for whatever reason, was important to me at the time. I clutched onto the bag, which caused it to burst from the bottom and the seeds to cascade onto the ground and into the quicksand. I kept yelling, trying to will it to stop, but no matter how much I yelled, the foundation kept shifting and the sunflower seeds kept falling. I couldn’t stop it.

I was going to record this in my dream journal, as I’ve been trying to do lately, but when I looked out my bedroom window, I realized I had slept through my alarm. Not by looking at the clock, but by the angle of the sun. I wasn’t late, but by the looks of it, I probably had about five minutes to get down there before I was, if that. Coffee would have to wait. Throughout the day, the dream lingered in the back of my brain as I went through the motions. I was unable to get my mind away from that scene, but I was also unable to make anything out of it. A creative stalemate.

I’ve always said that by 30 I want three books under my belt, which is ten months away. I thought this would be a breeze during this forced break from normal life, but it’s been difficult. Hypothetically, it seems like the perfect time. But actually? It doesn’t feel right. I know what I want to write, but it’s difficult to concentrate on one thing when the world is shifting. It’s difficult to call myself a writer while I’m actually spending most of my time watching an endless loop of It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia or The Fresh Prince of Belair, but it’s even more difficult to acknowledge that this might be exactly what I need. A break.

I have to pause to say this time hasn’t been terrible for me, and I feel fortunate for that. I bought a 1960s Cape Cod, well-loved and maintained by its previous owner, Kevin, who had a knack for DIY and gardening. Jason, the photographer some of you may have met on the road, is living here, too. While (as I like to say) he’s jazz and I’m blues, he’s my best friend, and I can’t picture being stuck with anyone else through this, despite our differences. I started a new job, which has been challenging me to use a different part of my brain than I’m used to. Less creative, more logic. I’ve also picked up a few steady freelance jobs, which use more creativity and less logic. A balance.

I’m still working on SteVAN (the 1979 Chevy G-20 Gerring conversion van that some of you may be familiar with). Progress has been slow, but I’m learning a lot as I work towards getting him up and running again. There have been some roadblocks, but those roadblocks have forced me to actually learn the beast I will be touring in, once it’s safe to do so again.

All of that said, I have to acknowledge that I am very fortunate to be where I am, especially now. It’s been a productive year, and I cannot discredit the fortune of luck I’ve had, as I realize many haven’t been this lucky.

It’s difficult to feel grateful right now. 2020 has been rough, as if a tornado came through and exposed all of our structural problems. These problems, they were all there before, but now they’re all front and center, sweating under the spotlight of a packed stadium. It’s a helpless feeling from the audience knowing there is no concrete thing any of us can do to make things better.

These problems are not going away, and there is nothing I can do to fix them. Instead, I have to give the wheel to others who can, and I have to watch, wait, and listen to see where I can help, if I can.

This wasn’t an easy revelation for me. Many of you know that I struggle with control issues. When there is a problem, I have to fix it. If I can’t fix it, I hyper-focus on it until it is fixed. For example, the morning of my birthday, I yelled at Jason unsolicited, “What is the point of celebrating? There are people dying everywhere and there’s nothing any of us can do to stop it. What the fuck am I celebrating? Global failure?”

This is obviously not a rational reaction, but it’s difficult to be rational right now. I’m glad I had a moment of clarity that knocked me out of this negative spiraling thought-train, albeit after a two hour cry-fest curled up under my desk.

Part of this period is learning how to adjust to challenges and admit that sometimes there are situations we cannot control. This isn’t something that any of us asked for, certainly not. The most important thing we can do right now is to assess the situation in front of us and proceed in a way that’s best for all of us, knowing what we know now. 

It is difficult to watch our friends, our family, and our neighbors suffer especially now, when everything is changing. It can be overwhelming to log into social media and see something new happen, something catastrophic, and not want to burn down every establishment that even partially contributed to whatever atrocity is trending each day. Add PTSD to the mix, and it can derail you for a day or two when you see something that triggers you. With social media, we are part of a global community, and as part of that global community, it’s difficult to feel helpless when very real problems are addressed and there’s little we can do about it but watch it play out.

There is a difference between reaction and action. Reaction can be reckless when we act before we know how to best proceed. Action is productive when we’ve digested the situation, we’ve listened to those who are directly affected by it, and have assessed how to move forward with intent.

For me, I don’t have experience in many of the problems sitting center stage. It’s been difficult for me to grasp that I cannot solve these problems if I have not experienced them first hand. In some instances, I will never know the full roots of the pain. I can only react to the surface I can see. This is not productive. This is not action because I do not have roots in these very real systemic problems. I can only react to how I feel, surface level.

I’ve learned to rely on those who do have these roots, and to follow their lead. I trust my friends who do have this experience, and I realize they are the only ones who will know which actions will be the most beneficial. And I’ve learned I cannot judge the actions of someone who understands these issues much deeper than I ever will. It is not their job to explain to me why their actions are sound. It’s up to me to try to better understand their perspective and these roots, even if only a little better. That is the only way to turn reaction to action, or at least to develop some sort of productive, two-way conversation. The pain they feel is real, and the only way to better understand that pain is to listen.

While I’m sure it’s clear I’m talking about everything that’s happened since George Floyd was killed, this also applies to the economic crisis, the health crisis, and everything in between. I hurt for my friends who were supposed to be on the road now. I hurt for my friends who have lost their jobs due to the pandemic. I hurt for my friends who have lost loved ones from COVID-19, or have contracted COVID-19 themselves. These pains are also incredibly real. This year has been a trial for all of us, whether we’ve been directly impacted or not, and there is not one thing any of us can do that will make it all go away. The best thing we can do is to be there for each other and to help where we can.

I’ve had difficulty putting my feelings into words because I wasn’t entirely sure how I felt for a majority of this time. It’s been a lot to digest. I was going to apologize for the eight-or-so-odd-month hiatus, but that would be disingenuous. I’m not sorry. I didn’t want to write something just to stay on schedule. I wanted to be sure I had intent behind my words, and I wanted to be sure I had something worthwhile to say. If this short essay accomplishes that, I guess you’re all of the judge on that now. I hope it has.

This break was not intentional, however. I have had things to say. I’ve written approximately seventeen different essays over the past eight months. I’ve come close to publishing a few, but at the last minute, they didn’t ring right. So many things have happened in such a short amount of time. Whenever I start to process what I feel in a particular situation, something else would happen and cast a new light on this feeling. My perspective would shift, and my essay would then feel irrelevant under that new light.

These essays have been similar to the bag of sunflower seeds in my dream. I’d grasp onto them, grasp too tight as things changed, then the bag would burst. And in retrospect, much like the sunflower seeds in my dream, they became irrelevant as soon as they sunk beneath new foundation, whether I liked it or not. We can’t get them back, no matter how hard we try. We can’t keep yelling at the shifting foundation. We have to address the fact that the foundation is shifting and proceed from there in a way that’s best for all of us, knowing that information we know now. We can’t keep yelling at what we don’t have anymore, or ignore the situation in front of us only to sink with it.

What we can do is address that our own individual problems are still valid. It isn’t selfish to take care of yourself during this time. Looking globally, the only way you can help others is if you help yourself first. There’s no way you can help anyone up if we’re scratching from the bottom of the well yourself. Looking personally, there isn’t anything one person can do individually to solve any of these problems. It would be arrogant to think any of us can solve this on our own. It would also be incredibly stressful, and I wouldn’t wish the burden of all of this on any one person.

Past that, the most important thing to do right now is to listen, and to act with intent rather than react with impulse. The only place we can do that from is a solid platform. This quicksand that is 2020 may level the house we’re standing in now, but hopefully a field of sunflowers will spring up in its place from the seeds we’ve dropped. Who knows.

Even if this doesn’t happen, we should probably focus on rebuilding on stronger ground, rather than continuing to build where we just sunk. The only way we can appreciate that is to be present, to care for ourselves, and to help our friends and neighbors out when they need it, as best we can.

It’s been a rough one, but we will make it through this. In the meantime, take care of yourself as best you can, listen to yourself, listen to others, and if you need it, ask for help. It is not weak to ask for help in the middle of an economic crisis, a health crisis, and a systemic crisis. This is not selfish to want stability for yourself, even if the rest of the world seems unstable. It is the only way we can build stronger, together.

To shift gears slightly, music. There have been so many great albums to come out during this time, and it would be foolish to pick one. Pokey LaFarge came out with a great one in April that has been on repeat, and Cat Clyde came out with a great acoustic album recently. I also urge you to look up your favorite local artists, stream the crap out of them, buy the heck out of their merchandize if you are able, send them some love, and sign every petition to ensure your local venues are able to weather this storm.

Another gear shift: This will also be the final blog post on this domain. As I begin to shift towards new projects, I’m shifting this book’s page to an all-encompassing author page. I will not get rid of content, simply a content transfer. This is not a goodbye. I will always be here, but I will be shifting some of my attention to work on a few new projects I have brewing. I will keep you updated as I do this, and I look forward to sharing some new and different stuff with all of you.

In the meantime, be well, stay well, and take care of yourselves. I hope to see you all again soon.

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Holidays are HARD (and where the HECK have I been?).

Hey again. Sorry for another large delay. Life has been a bit crazy for me personally—I’ve been working more to support these crazy jaunts, I’ve been planning a few cool things for my Milwaukee writing group, and I’ve also been working on learning (with the help of a few awesome people I’ve met in the past few months) how the heck to fix up this beautiful old rust free 1979 Chevy van that’s recently entered my life, which I’m hoping to take on the road with me over the summer once it’s a bit more reliable (if I play my financial cards right, and if I set aside enough time to actually learn how to fix it).

I’m also on the road right now, for a mini week-long tour on the eastern edge of the midwest. I signed in Pittsburgh this past weekend at Mystery Lovers (again!), and I am signing in East Aurora, NY at the Bookworm tomorrow at 1pm before heading back home to Milwaukee. I’m also traveling with Jason Hillman, who is my photographer/videographer and also a pretty great comic. He has a few comedy dates lined up in this direction, which has been another fun way to get to know the cities we’re staying in. We’ve been working on how to make these tours work for both of us, so we’re both progressing to where we’d like to be eventually. So far, so good.

I planned this trip over Thanksgiving for a few reasons. 1) I’ve recently gotten a lot more responsibility at my current job, and it’s easier to travel during a holiday week when it’s slower. 2) Handsome Jack and King Buffalo were playing in Buffalo, NY this past Wednesday, and I like to go to shows when I’m on the road. 3) Holidays are not getting easier, and I knew, for myself, that they were going to be especially rough this year.

I can’t say how I knew this exactly—I just did. Even as far back as August, when I started planning when and where I’d be traveling. Kind of like how animals or your arthritic uncle know when a storm is coming. It’s an ache, deep within the bones of my soul. I love my city, and I’ve built a beautiful support system for myself, but I knew I had to escape. I’m trying to be mindful of these escapes—running towards something, rather than running away from the pain, but I admit this trip was a bit of both.

But you can’t run away from everything, especially when a lot of what you’re running from is the memories within your head. They stay with you, no matter which city you’re in.

And these feelings seem to grow stronger over the holidays. I’m not sure why that is exactly—I mentioned in Moving Forward that it’s the routine and traditions surrounding the holidays, but I want to revise that. Even when I escape the routine and traditions, when I’m away from everything I know and am inundated with new sights and sounds, there’s still a longing aching feeling. As I sat in a Cracker Barrel in Williamsville, NY yesterday, even a simple slice of pumpkin pie reminded me of Jake, excitedly telling me about the amazing pies his uncle makes, or the kielbasa his grandpa gets specially from a Polish butcher in the city. It’s difficult to explain that to Jason, who was sitting across from me, that I’m happy and grateful for the current experience, but I’m also sad as all get-out and no, there’s nothing he can do to fix it. I can imagine that’s frustrating as hell. It’s a mental split—I’m incredibly grateful for where I am now, but that gratefulness does not mean that I do not also feel sadness during these times.

It’s not a simple swap of traditions that will magically fix everything—sometimes, you can’t escape it. Maybe it’s the cold, or maybe it’s the rhetoric of community surrounding the holidays. Maybe it’s the memories that come up when looking at others celebrating with their spouses. I’m not sure. All I know is that they’re rough, and that it’s especially important to be mindful during these times of where you’re at mentally.

I started this next part as a journal entry earlier today, when I was feeling particularly off kilter, then realized this is something I wanted to share with all of you. Last night, I had a dream that Jake was still alive. And as I’ve been open about, I do have Jake dreams often. There are some that repeat, like the dreams I have of us driving through Merton WI in the middle of summer, to the more traumatic PTSD induced dreams.

This one was different though. It was a warped version of the trope dream: “oh, shit. It’s the end of the semester and I just realized I completely forgot about that one necessary class I enrolled in that I need to graduate”.

In my dream, Jake showed up after I hadn’t seen him in three years, wondering where I’ve been. In my dream, we were still together. In my dream, I had simply forgotten about him until I saw him, face to face, three years later. In my dream, it was right before Thanksgiving, and in the pit of my gut I was scared to reenter that world that was once so familiar to me, knowing what I know now.

And even after I woke up, I could still see his eyes, pleading, wondering where the hell I’ve been for the past three years, wondering what had changed and hoping to return back where we had been before. I can still see them now, in my mind’s eye, clear. Assuring me, desperately, that it’d be fine, that I could come back, even though I knew it wasn’t and that I couldn’t. There was a sense of desperate longing that I often try not to think about—the feeling we both felt leading up to his final days. The feeling of “how can we go back to what we had before”, even though we both knew it wasn’t possible. Even after I woke up, that feeling lingered.

And over the course of my recovery, I’ve grown used to these dreams. That’s not to say they’re easier, but truly that I’ve grown used to them and I know how to get through them, for the most part. While this one was different, it brought a feeling that’s grown roots in my mind, no matter how much logic I throw at it like mental equivalent of Round-Up Weed Killer. No matter where I am in this process, I will always hold the guilt that I wasn’t there for him as much as I feel I should have been at that time. This holds especially true around the holidays—these thoughts become more frequent, for whatever reason.

Hearing that I “did all that [I] could do” from others doesn’t help me—it’s a guilt so internal and shielded from the logical outside world. Telling me that I shouldn’t feel guilty is like telling me I shouldn’t feel happy when I see a picture of a month-old kitten slipping all over a freshly-waxed hardwood floor as she tries to run across it. That feeling—it’s stuck in my brain, no matter what anyone says. I feel guilty for moving on, no matter how much time has passed, and no matter how unhealthy I know it would be to continuously cling to this memory of Jake.

I think this is unfortunately natural—our brains try to retroactively fix problems, to try to learn from our mistakes so we can navigate the world better. But when this instinct is manifested in the things we can no longer fix, it tends to overstay its welcome. My logical and emotional brain are at odds in these moments—logically, I know what I need to do to heal, but emotionally, I focus on everything I could have done to prevent this loss, even if there’s nothing I can do to fix it now.

But just because it’s a natural feeling doesn’t mean we should go along with it. Even though it is natural, and even though these guilts are still lodged in my mind, I know that in order to be where I want to be going forward, that I need to address them internally. Step one for me is doing what I’m doing right here—addressing it, analyzing it, and admitting that I am in control of my thoughts, not a slave to them. Step two, I’m still working on that, but I’m hoping it will come to me soon (any advice in the comments that’s worked for you—it’s welcome.)

In these moments, I feel guilty parading a book around saying “maybe this will help” when truly, I’m still struggling myself. I do not see this struggle getting better, no matter how much I work on it. I see it getting different, and I see myself learning how to navigate it better, but I do not see the hurt healing, ever. Despite this, I hope that, in our shared struggles, we can find some sort of strength. This is what I hope to do, and I hope that resonates with you. I know, by sharing my story and by listening to your stories, I feel less alone in these moments. I hope you feel the same.

Album? Okay, I’m backtracking again, but as I mentioned, I saw Handsome Jack and King Buffalo  two days ago, who I both love equally. I’ve already shared a King Buffalo album, so I’m sharing the LP that you may recognize from literally all of Moving Forward’s promotional material:  “Everything’s Gonna Be Alright” by Handsome Jack (buy it here). This album means a lot to me, for a few reasons. So many of the tracks in here mirrored the things I needed to hear at a particular point in time, specifically “Keep On” and “Getting Stronger”.  Others are downright dancey fun tunes, like “Baby Be Cool.” 10/10, yes. And to keep on with the uncomfortably personal ratings, they’re also some of the coolest guys you’ll ever meet, so you should definitely support them. If you get the chance to see them, would you do me a favor and tell Jamison I say hi? (only after you buy merch from them, of course).

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Reshaping the negative (or at least trying to)

Sorry for the brief hiatus, already. Schedules are not my forte, but I’m working on it.

If you follow my social media, check my tour page, or read my past posts, you’ll know that I’m (trying to get) back on the road again. I’m taking my time this round, making sure I don’t burn out. Unlike before, when I knew I had to visit ten cities then I would be finished, there is no definitive end to this tour. I’m excited to see where this takes me, but also, I’m trying to stay mindful of what I can handle.

For once, I’m grateful I’m not a baron by any means, meaning that even on a financial level, I have to stay practical. Finances aside, I’m not exactly selling out stadiums at this point. I could likely wallpaper my entire flat with printed out rejection letters. Not ideal, but I guess I could look at it as “forced pacing”.

So far, so good. Admittedly, it’s all been close to home, so not a full tour yet (Chicago and my hometown of Milwaukee).

Already, I’m grateful for the people I’ve met at each of these stops, even though it’s only been two stops. With each story I hear, I reassess my own mental journey, and usually I’m able to gain something from each story I hear. These interactions, however brief they may be, are exactly why I’ve decided to hit the road in the first place. I gain so much from these interactions, and I hope those I meet with get the same from me.

Getting back into the swing of it was more difficult this time. This summer, I had time to distance myself from it. I spent three months in the comfortable world I’ve crafted for myself. I was not telling my rawest moments to a room full of strangers, as I do on the road. Each time, on the road, it’s still raw. I had forgotten this until the moment I was behind the podium, until the moment I was back in it.

With my first book, I dove straight into tour, meaning my head was still in it. This time, not so much.

I’ve progressed so much since my first book (thank God, or whatever deity you prescribe to). Yet, when I’m reading, it can put me back in that dark headspace, if only for a moment. Sometimes this is okay. Sometimes, this helps me connect with those whose pain may be fresh. I still maintain control over my mental state. Sometimes, though, I can’t, at least not fully. Sometimes, it’s too much. Sometimes, the book never closes in my mind, and I’m right back in it. I can’t escape it.

So far, it hasn’t been debilitating. As I mentioned before, I learned this as I’m taking my time on the road, and have been close to home. I don’t have any sort of literary agent whipping my back and telling me to keep going. I can pause for a moment if it becomes too difficult. Taking my time (I’m hoping) will teach me how to do this more sustainably—mentally and physically.

I wish I could tell you that it gets easier, but that would be a lie. It gets different. Different in that the pain is still there, but as you live with it, it changes. There is no “better”—only different.

Once I learned there is no magical “better”, it became easier to focus on progressing forward. I focused on taking control of my own path, rather than waiting for recovery to passively lay down in front of me. I’m grateful I learned this early enough, and I’m grateful I’ve had the mental strength to keep pushing forward.

I can’t answer how I moved past my “diet: boxed wine and triscuits, daily activity: never leave my bed” phase. There is no one thing that helped me move past it. To be honest, I’m never 100% sure I’m 100% past it. I acknowledge that mental state is fluid. Just because you’re past something at a point, it never means you’re past it forever. Some days, I can still see it, clear on the other side of my life’s forever forked road. It doesn’t matter that I don’t stock boxed wine or triscuts in my house anymore. The mental state isn’t dead, only dormant.

But there are some things that have helped me light a candle in these mental shadows. While still not as bright as my brightest days, it does provide a different kind of light, in its own way.

This is going to be a blog post without answers, but with things I’m trying out to help me through these times. These might not work for you, but at least for now, they seem to be doing the trick for me. Listing seems to be the easiest way to do this, so here we go.

1) If you’re feeling down and don’t have plans, try to get outside, if only for a moment. It’s amazing what a change of scenery can do, and seeing other faces can be nice when you feel isolated. This is especially important if you are out of work, or if you work from home. (Even if it’s raining. If you have no plans, nobody will care if you smell like a dog.)

2) Take a cold shower. Trust me. It will shift your mind pretty quick onto something else, if only for a moment. This brief moment can help you reassess your current mental state. By throwing you into sudden shock, you have a minute to hover above your mental pain and analyze it. It sucks, but it’s worth it.

3) Do. Not. Drink. Alcohol. (or succumb to whatever your preferred vice may be). Do not, for a second, crutch your pain onto a vice. (*This is coming from my own experience, where I used alcohol as a crutch, but it never became a serious addiction. If you are seriously addicted, I’m no expert in this. Please seek counsel with any professional you can get ahold of to help.)

4) Acknowledge the small accomplishments. While writing my first book, I used a daily planner. I would physically check off the things I needed to do that day. At that time, many of my boxes were simple tasks (like “wipe off counter”, “read five pages of fiction”, or even “eat food”.) At a point in my mental journey, these check boxes were the only thing motivating me to do anything. It’s amazing what checking off a box can do for your mental health, no matter how small the accomplishment may seem.

5) Turn on music. I’m going to say turn on Little Willie John’s music specifically, if you can’t choose (I’m biased because I love him). Or a podcast (right now, Welcome To Nightvale is hitting the spot for me).

6) If you are ready to see someone, call someone up and try to meet them somewhere, or have them come over. Talking on the phone is great, but there’s no substitute for talking with someone face to face. (Sometimes this isn’t right for me, and that’s okay. Don’t force it if it doesn’t feel right.)

7) Wash your sheets, and make sure your bedroom is clean. Anything that can help you get a full night of sleep, do it. (this is especially important in the winter. Stuff tends to pile up, especially when it’s too cold to leave.) When you care for your space, it’s easier to care for yourself because you’re not living in your own filth.

8) Start a monthly challenge, even if it’s not the right month. (For example, it’s cool to do the November writing challenge NaNoWriMo in December. A challenge is a challenge). I’m doing Inktober right now (a challenge to draw something daily, based on daily one-word prompts.) I’m no an artist, by any means, but it’s something to motivate you through the month, or event to the next day. You might even pick up a new skill, which is always cool.

9) Eat something healthy. Anything healthy. A piece of fruit. A spinach leaf. Oatmeal without tablespoons of sugar. I’m not saying this will cure your mood completely. I’m not of the camp that diet can solve every problem known to man, but properly fueling your brain and body can’t hurt you.

10) Positive journaling. When I used to journal, I had a tendency to focus on what I was doing wrong, then dissecting my flaws. I’d feel trapped after I dissected my flaws, simply because I was hyper-focusing on them from all angles. Sometimes, your negative traits will never go away (for a while, I hyper-focused on my stutter. This is never going away, no matter how much I journal on it). I’m more motivated to be a better person when I force myself to focus on the positive. By focusing on the things you like about yourself, it can seem easier to move in a more positive direction. When you focus on the negative, you beat yourself down, even if that’s not your intent. Focusing on the positive helps to build yourself up. It feels cheesy, but at least for me, it works great.

As I’ve mentioned several times, I do not take medication, nor am I in therapy. This does not by any means mean I’m against either of these. If this works for you—please continue to do it. It does not make you any stronger or weaker, it means something different works for you than does for me. There are likely things in my list that you’re scoffing at, and that’s okay too. We’re all different, and that’s okay, as long as we’re all trying to move forward in a positive direction.

Some days it takes more time than others, but as I mentioned in previous posts, this time spent is well worth it. There can’t be a day where you let the negative take over—you can’t push it to the side and hope it goes away because it won’t. It stays until you address it. Only you can know what will keep it at bay, and that answer isn’t always easy to find. It’s found through trial and error, and through being honest with yourself on what you need.

And on that note, I’m going to turn to this week’s music. I’ve been listening to Jontavious Willis’s album “Spectacular Class”. I came across this bluesy dude after he opened for Keb Mo’, and while I love his sound, I think he’s better live. I’m excited to see what he’ll come out with in the future, but this one didn’t hit it all the way for me. There are some gems though, and I still think it’s worth checking out. Even better, if you see him traveling through your city, check him out live. (Following last week, also, yes, he is a 10/10 person as well. Nice guy, worth supporting, all that jazz.)

I’m working on solidifying a few more dates right now, so keep your eyes peeled on the tour calendar. I’ll update it as soon as I know! Also, let me know if you’d like to see me in your city. I’d love to meet you!

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Book two is published (and a few other things.)

I published my second book on Friday. Unlike last year, I’m trying to congratulate myself for this instead of immediately moving to the next thing (promoting, book tour, etc.) I did that this weekend by going out on Saturday, then getting sick and taking a forced break for the rest of the weekend. I guess my body needed it, so I’m grateful I had the time to rest and recuperate.

I’m proud that I’ve finished this book, and I’m happy I took the time necessary to rewrite it. I think it’s a more authentic representation of where I am now. The thing about writing a book on my mental state—that can change during the editing process, and I think I went through a lot of personal growth between when I thought I was finished and what I’ve actually published. I’m sure I’ll look at it in six months and I’ll have grown even more, but right now, I’m truly happy with it.

If you want to check out my new book, here’s the link. If you want to buy it from me personally, I’m working on getting some tour dates up—to name a few, I’ll be in Milwaukee and Chicago at the end of September. I will be in San Francisco in November to visit my brother, who just moved there, so I’m trying to find a place to sign there as well. I’ll keep you updated on that as soon as I find a place (probably a coffee shop, I’m guessing). Then, back to Milwaukee for another signing with a few really cool local authors. Most of my tour this year is planned around events, shows, or people I’d like to see in each city, which so far, has been a really fun way to plan, and I’m excited to see where it takes me in the next year.

I’m trying to take my time this year. The beauty of being an independent author is I can set my own schedule, and I’m trying to remind myself to pace myself so I can continue to do this without going broke or burning out. The downside is it can be difficult to book signings without a publisher/agent, but I’m working on learning how to market myself while still staying independent, which is important to me. I’m trying to take more time to learn how to actually build a successful tour, and I’m trying to make connections along the way. It’s a process, especially as an independent author, but I’m confident I’ll find a way to do it. Probably ten years from now, but luckily I have time, and I’m having fun in the meantime.

It’s possible this will change and I will find an awesome publisher or agent to help me out, but at least for now, I really love the independence, even if it is the more difficult route.

I’m going to cut this one short a bit because I’m still not feeling 100%. I have to work tomorrow, and it’s gonna be a busy one.

But before I git gone—the album I’m listening to. This time, it’s a new one for me (finally!)

Dead Horses: My Mother The Moon (or buy it here). This album warms my soul. Each song feels like a story told around the fireside during a fall camping trip, where the air is brisk, where everyone huddles closer to the fire, which somehow makes conversation flow more honestly and freely. They’re also a Milwaukee band, so I’ve had the pleasure of meeting them briefly, enough to know that they’re good people doing good work. I’ll try not to review these albums by the people who make them so much, but I always like to know if the band I’m supporting is authentic. I’ll add that into reviews as well, when I know it first hand, I guess. They’re good people.

They’re opening up for The Who next weekend at Alpine Valley (event info here), and I’ll be there in lawn seats. Maybe I’ll see you there?

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It’s okay to cry (even if you don’t know why you’re crying).

This post is going to be a bit different than I planned for blog two. Ideally, I would have liked to ease you into my world with funny anecdotes and clumsy mishaps, as all of the articles on successful blogs I’ve read have told me to do. Maybe a painfully awkward interaction with a booker that taught me how to market myself going forward, which happens often. My inbox is full of them, so don’t worry, more to come on that.

But that’s not how life works. I can’t plan when I’m going to have a good day, when I’m going to have a bad day, or when I’m simply going to have an overly emotional day, like today, which doesn’t necessarily mean I’ve taken a turn for the worst.

Today, I spent my day crying. Not a bad cry, not a sad cry, but simply a sudden and very necessary release-of-emotions cry.

What triggered it? “If We Were Vampires”, by Jason Isbell. This 3:35 minute song derailed me for an entire evening.

This song obviously triggers nostalgia for Jake, especially when listening to the lines “maybe we’ll get 40 years together/but one day I’ll be gone/or one day you’ll be gone”—every time, that hits me in the chest. I know this feeling first hand—the sudden loss of someone who, at one point, you expected to spend the rest of your life with. This song will always uncover those emotions of sudden loss, of the nostalgia you feel once you’ve lost this person who was once your other.

But that’s not why this song made me cry tonight, not this time. I know this song will always make me cry, and I know that when I’m overwhelmed, this is sometimes the outlet I need. This song is my Pavlovian bell—I’ve cried so many times during this song that I begin to cry before my thoughts can catch up with the lyrics.

If I had more time, if I had planned for this emotional break, (or if I could get my TV to work—it’s on the fritz right now) I would replace this with “Rush: Beyond The Lighted Stage” or “Maya Angelou: And I Still Rise”—two of my favorite documentaries. With these, I cry because they deeply inspire me—I see true artists use their talents to convey a pure and honest message that resonates past their own internal thoughts, which is what I desperately hope to do. This makes me cry not because I’m sad, not at all, but because I’m so overcome by seeing great people do what they are truly meant to do, pure and simple. I cry because it hits a part of my soul that I often neglect when I’m too busy.

But I hadn’t planned for this mental break. I hadn’t planned on listening to this song today (it may sound strange, but usually I have to plan around it).

When it comes up in shuffle, I usually skip it if I know I don’t want to go in that direction, but today I couldn’t, which tells me I needed it. I sought it out. I needed this outlet, even if I didn’t realize it. Even though my plate was full this afternoon, and even though I knew I need to make a TON of phone calls to random book stores in the cities I’ve decided to visit on this next tour (crying while making these professional calls, especially to strangers—not exactly the best marketing plan).

Crying is not a bad thing. Crying is not a weak thing. Crying is a reaction to what is happening in your brain. You are not weak for crying. Crying doesn’t mean you’ve completely derailed, and your mental health hasn’t taken a sharp downturn if you’re crying. You are strong for crying, rather than repressing this very human urge. It feels irrational at the time, but there is no way you can rationalize away crying.

After I’ve finished my books, it feels strange continuing to say I am still struggling to contain my emotions, because it seems that once I finished the book, I would have overanalyzed every emotion I feel and come up with some rational explanation on how to combat it, but that’s not how the human brain works.

You should never combat your emotions because they are a part of you—you should work with them. We are human, and in that, we are emotional hot messes sometimes. Sometimes, you need to give into them. These tears sometimes come on unprovoked—forming nothing past a sudden longing, tugging pang in your chest. Sometimes, they’re just these feelings (at least for me—maybe you’re different).

But that doesn’t mean these feelings aren’t legitimate. Rationally, these emotions shouldn’t happen if there is no obvious trigger. However, emotions aren’t rational, and as emotional humans, humans aren’t rational, no matter how hard we try to be. The only way to get through these things is to allow yourself to be irrational for a minute—to allow yourself to feel it, to process it, and to try to gain something from it as you are feeling it (as long as you’re not hurting anyone in the process—violently irrational is never okay, and I’d argue that violent irrational is a form of repression, but that’s a topic for another time).

Admittedly, I cry more than the average emotional bear. I cry when I think of those I care about accomplishing their dreams because I’m so overwhelmed at how happy I am for them. I cry when I think about how happy I am that people as purely good as the band Rush or Alice Cooper exist, and that they are successful, despite the obstacles they’ve all faced (be it the loss Neil Peart experienced when both his wife and his daughter died in the same year, or Alice Cooper overcoming his alcoholism with golf and turning it into something beautiful ). I cry when I see my favorite Instagram family raise their adopted son, Wyatt, on a farm of rescued animals, because I think it’s just so cool (thanks, Petrina, for showing me this). Most notably, when I was at brunch with my mom a few weeks ago, I started crying because I was suddenly so overwhelmingly happy that Obama and his family seem so happy now, even if I don’t agree with all of his decisions while he was in office. I cried because he is a good person, and now he is able to live again.

I also cried during the end of Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure (warning, spoiler); during Orgasmo for, I can’t even remember why, but probably because I’m so happy Trey Parker and Matt Stone are so good at what they do; during Penn and Teller’s “Fool Us”, when the magician Kyle Eschen absolutely crushed it, and I was so overwhelmingly happy for him.

It’s not always negative—in fact, I probably cry from happiness far more than I cry from pain, which is something I’ve discovered about myself once I actually let myself feel these things and let them out. Even if this sudden hot-mess crying is from pure joy, this isn’t something I can repress.

The behind-the-scenes of being a new author, especially one who is independently published, is that it’s hard. I still have my day job, where I’ve recently gotten a promotion in duties but not in pay; I’m trying to maintain a social life; and I’m also trying to publish a book and plan a tour with absolutely nobody professionally backing me up. Before, I knew which cities I would be visiting—the ones that were in my first book. Though I was still on my own, I had some semblance of a guide. This time, I have no idea where this journey will take me. That’s incredibly exciting, and I can’t wait to see where it will take me, but when looking at a map, it can be overwhelming. It’s, on the surface, easy to push my (overly emotional) emotions aside to just crank out all of the things I know I need to do to be successful. It’s easy to get caught in an Excel sheet trying to plan exactly where each dollar should go so I can afford to maintain this dream, no matter how vague it may seem.

It’s easy to get caught up in the logical details, and in the moment, it’s easy to repress your emotions and turn into a task conquering robot when looking at your daily planner. It’s easy to continue to read your almost published book out-loud until your voice is hoarse, trying to make it perfect in time to stay on track with your self-perpetuated goal instead of actually feeling it. For the past month, I’ve been stuffing these emotions into an overflowing, boiling pot on the back burner because I know how emotional I can get, and I know how time consuming these emotions can be. I know this about myself.  

But this is time I need to take for myself. I am not a logical person, I am an emotional person. I know this about myself.

In getting caught up in the minute details, I forgot to feel things. I forgot to congratulate myself for what I’m doing, and I forgot to look around and just appreciate the world around me. It’s easy to get caught up in the logical points because you can easily plan them—you know approximately how long they will take, and you know that once you’re done, you can continue on with your day. But taking care of your emotions? There is no clear end point to when you will feel relieved again, but that doesn’t make it any less important.

Once I got a good cry out, I was able to actually remember why I’m doing this in the first place. I felt motivated again, driven again, instead of simply treating it like an unpaid second job. I felt why I was doing this in my heart, and I’m proud of what I’m achieving because I know it’s what I should be doing. I’m excited where this will take me, even in this next year. It is amazing how a good cry can really center you again, no matter how irrational it may seem to you and all of those you live with at the time, even if it’s just your cats.

Obviously, I still need to work out the details of my tour (like finances and the logistics behind my schedule while still keeping my day job) but past that, I momentarily forgot to remind myself why I’m doing this in the first place. I’m doing it because I absolutely love doing it, and I can’t see myself doing anything else but this. It seems easier to plan these things when I remember to focus myself on what matters—because I really truly want this. I don’t think I’ll need to cry every time I need to have this reminder, but by letting my emotions out instead of hiding them behind my work is important. I needed this reminder, no matter how irrational it may have seemed on the surface.

So..about planning out my tour? My scheduled tasks for today? That’s going to be a tomorrow task, after work. Today, I had to work on getting a good cry out, and that shouldn’t be any less legitimate than these tasks I know I need to accomplish.

Album? I think I’ve made that clear: The Nashville Sound, by Jason Isbell and the 400 Unit or listen here . I swear I’ll get to a new album soon, I swear it…

What was the last seemingly-ridiculous thing you cried about? Leave in the comments below. If you have a link to the source, if there’s a digital source, even better. I could always use more to cry about.

Cheers!

Becky

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“You’re late, Becky” (why I chose to postpone my publish date.)

Hey everyone! I’ve decided to start a blog—on the mental and the physical journey surrounding my upcoming book tour, my continued mental recovery, and the long and sometimes lonely road of an independently published author.

But first, if you don’t know me: Hi, I’m Becky. I am an independently published author from Milwaukee, WI, and a mental health advocate. I had not always been a mental health advocate, but following my high school sweetheart’s suicide and my own mental breakdown that followed this, it happened naturally. I learned just how important mental health is, above all else, and how important it is to share this story. I wrote a book on the year following my high school sweetheart’s death, and I’ve spent the past year touring it in cities of significance in the book and donating all proceeds to their respective National Alliance on Mental Illness chapters. I’ve just finished another book, a series of essays on how I’ve moved forward past this loss and subsequent mental breakdown.

I hope to continue capturing the story I’ve already started, and to bring you into my world, past what I’ve already laid out in my books. I hope to get to know you too in the process, if that’s okay with you and if you feel comfortable with it (no pressure though).

But first, this is to all of you who have been following my journey before this blog. I’m sure you’ve noticed my publish date has been delayed.

I said I would release my second book on July 28, 2019—exactly a year after I published my first book. I said this to, literally, everyone. I put the date online. I put the date in my trailer. Whenever anyone would ask, I would say this date confidently—putting my publish date before everything because I thought publishing exactly a year later would be “neat”.

“Exactly a year later,” I’d tell everyone, reveling in the romance I tied to this date with a glimmer in my eye that maybe could be mistaken for unbridled creativity, but in reality, it was simply getting caught up in an idea without truly thinking it through.

The book I came so close to publishing was good. I’m not saying it wasn’t good. I’m not saying I didn’t publish it because I think it was a terrible piece of garbage that nobody should ever read. That’s not it. If anything, I had a fantastic editor who made the most of what I gave her (Jessica Pearse—hire her. She’s a prose wizard.)

But what I’m saying is it definitely could have been better.

Definitely.

Let me explain.

Like my first book, I was emotionally attached to it after spending so much time with it. It was my thought baby—a representation of myself at this very specific point in time. I knew what I wanted to create in my head, but the process of fleshing it out, as with any creative project with no clear concrete final draft, takes time.

As anyone who’s ever created anything I’m sure can relate to, you start with the ideal in your head, and the creative process is scratching and clawing your way trying to fit this ideal. Sometimes, you get there, but only if you’re incredibly luckily, because often times (at least for me) it’s simply an idea of what you want it to be. A feeling. The ideal also often comes before the scratching and clawing, before you fully know what you want to do (at least for me).

But most of the time, it’s almost impossible to create the image you have in your head exactly. There will always be birthmarks, bumps, and blisters, which is what makes the final piece unique. However, it’s difficult to put this perfect ideal aside while it’s memory still fresh in your head, while looking at the seemingly blemished final piece. Even if it’s a millimeter off, that millimeter is glaring. The more time you spend with it, the more glaring this becomes.

I had a completely different idea of what my first book would be before I wrote it, and I missed the mark on it completely. I had planned on making it a graphic novel initially, relying heavily on images rather than prose. A goofy, warped, Hunter S Thompson-esque tale that, as I was writing it, began to feel inauthentic.

In this case, I’m glad I deviated from this because I was covering my message with these unnecessary flourishes. By stripping down my idea, I was able to make it more real, more authentic, and truer to what I was feeling at the time. I was able to focus on what really mattered—the mental and physical journey following my high school sweetheart’s suicide.

I’m happy I went with my gut, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t difficult to read as this idea was still fresh in my mind, when the “what could have been” thoughts still had wet paint. It wasn’t until I gave it space to breathe that I began to appreciate it for what it was.

The second book seemed similar to this, but this time, it wasn’t the form that seemed off. I always planned on making a series of essays on my mental recovery, both past and present. This time, the feeling was off. It didn’t feel right, but I assured myself, like the last book, it was simply because I was comparing it to this unattainable ideal in my head. I couldn’t pinpoint in my head what was off—it was simply a feeling, not a specific passage or essay.

Instead of reflecting on why it didn’t feel right, I simply told myself that this was exactly like the first book—that I just had to pull the bandaid off and publish it already. I had worked hard on it, and there were points I was really proud of. I blocked out the nagging thoughts of “I should probably spend more time fleshing this out” by saying “I said I’d publish on July 28, so that’s what I’m going to do, dammit. I can’t let people down”. I put my publish date before my artistic integrity.

It wasn’t until I gave my mom a copy of my book a week before it was set to be published, when she said “it’s you, it’s definitely you, but it’s also not you.” I pressed her for details, and by that I mean I sent her several texts reiterating basically “what do you mean?” “what’s wrong with it?” and “what what what why what where?” After giving me a minute to cool off, she said, after assuring me that it wasn’t terrible, that I “was too hard on [myself]”, that it was “distracting from [my] point”.

When any mom tells their child that something is “not [him/her]”, it cuts deeper because most moms who tell their children this know their children better than most of their children are comfortable with. However, this goes one step further with my mom, as she’s also read my first autobiography on the most visceral, gritty point in my life. I’d argue my mom knows me better than most moms know their children, for better or for worse, and I’m incredibly grateful that we still, somehow, despite all odds, have an awesome relationship.

But when she told me this, at first, I was pissed.

But mostly because, after she said this, I reread my book and she was right, dammit. She nailed it on the head. She figured out what was wrong with it in an afternoon, something I had been trying to do for the past six months.

I was hiding behind my flaws—when it got too rough emotionally as I was writing, I would defunct to self deprecation, much like how I tried to deviate to a Hunter S Thompson style in the very first drafts of my first book. While I’m sure someone possibly somewhere could have gained something from what it had been, I know I could do better once I saw what was wrong. I knew I could go further into these feelings and gather something positive from these rubbles.

It was then that I realized that the worst thing you can do is not to miss a deadline—the worst thing you can do is publish something that doesn’t feel right, simply because you want to meet a deadline. I spent most of my time focusing on the deadline, rather than what I was creating.

While there are certainly points that I’ve kept, for the most part, once I saw this, I was able to rewrite it in a week. Not because of any sort of deadline, but because I had a better idea of what I needed to do to make the piece I knew I could make. Once I took away the deadline, I felt free, and ironically, I fixed it up much quicker than I would have when I had a set deadline in place.

The point of being an author, especially an independent author who isn’t exactly even remotely close to making ends meet on her books alone, is to tell a true and authentic story that resonates with others. It is your duty is to tell your story, then to reflect on what it means in the grander scheme of things—outside of the world inside of your head. It’s to go that extra step—making your story relevant to those who are reading it, while still being honest to yourself.

It still kills me each time I review my old marketing materials, seeing how proudly I proclaimed that publish date, but I’m sure I’ll survive knowing that I created a piece that I truly believe is a better representation of me.

But would I take back postponing my publish date? Hell no. Absolutely not.

Now, I’m truly excited to show you all the fruits of this. I’m nervous—of course I’m still nervous because it’s equally as raw, as real, and as visceral as the first book. Now, it feels more natural to me, and more authentic to what I was trying to create.

I’ve just signed off on the final edits, and it’s currently in layout. I don’t have a set in stone publish date yet, but to be safe, let’s say beginning of September. I’ll let you know when that happens.

But the most important thing I’ve learned? Sometimes, going against what you originally said is a good thing. As you create, these small details should be fluid, not the focus. The best thing you can do is create something you are proud of, something that feels right, and something that you are 100% behind. I think, now that I bit the bullet and went against my hard set deadline, I’ve accomplished that. I hope you feel the same once you read it, and I look forward to hearing what you think.

As an added bonus, because music is a huge part in my mental health journey, I will also be listening to a new album as I write, and doing a quick yey or ney after each blog entry is complete.

(If you have any suggestions, I’m all ears! Feel free to list in the comments below, and I’ll be sure to get around to them.)

This time though? I’m listening to an album I’m already familiar with, because I’ve had it stuck in my head all morning and I honestly couldn’t listen to anything else before I listened to this again. If I tried to listen to anything else, I’m sure this album would be nagging at me in the back of my head, which would hurt the review of even the best of albums.

Already, I’m cutting myself some slack, but I swear it will be a new one next time.

The album? Orion, by King Buffalo.

The guitar? Yey. The drums? Yey. The bass? Yey. Voice? Wow. Big yey. Overall, yes. Listen to this album. Or, better yet, purchase this album, because their album art is also one big yey.

They will be in Chicago on Sept 27th, and I have a signing in Chicago on the 28th, because I’m a child in control of my adult tour schedule, and I tend to plan it around concerts I want to see in venues I’ve been meaning to check out. Gotta be productive with your time, right?

Well, that’s it for me today. If you have any thoughts on anything I’ve written, or simply want to say hello, leave a comment below, why doncha? I’d love to hear from you.

Cheers,

Becky