Two Years Later

It has been two years now since I first experienced the symptoms that would later be diagnosed as a brain tumor.  And while I wouldn’t say that my life is markedly better now—indeed, sometimes it seems much worse—I met a lot of wonderful people during the process, made new friends, and reconnected with old ones.  If anyone asks, I know exactly which medications will help with nausea during chemotherapy, and I have been in the MRI machine so many times that I am now an old pro at having scans.  I may not be the sharpest tool in the shed, or the best-looking, or the wealthiest person you’ll ever meet, but I am skilled at one thing:  surviving.

The Truth

After five years of unemployment, multiple failed interviews, and scores of rejections, I am ready to admit the truth:  being hired has nothing to do with what you know, and everything to do with who you know.  Positions are only advertised under the façade of equality; if you are not related by blood, marriage, or some other tenuous connection to the person in charge, your qualifications and/or education might as well be non-existent.  Prior to sinking your valuable time, money, and years into a college education, you’d better make sure beforehand that a job will be waiting for you upon graduation or you will have one very hard row to hoe.  Don’t believe me?  Take your perfectly-good résumé and apply for a position at a place where you don’t know the hiring official or aren’t related to the man in charge, and see what happens.  Trust me—you’ll wind up in the same boat as me, but hopefully with less debt.

Run

I won't lie to you--for the past to years or so, my ability to write, and to create, has been severely diminished.  That's the primary reason blog posts, as well as new novels, have become so infrequent.  I even have another novel I began at least as far back as 2014 that remains uncompleted; I plan to finish it eventually, but lately I just can't find the inspiration.  The good news, however, is that I have managed to complete a shorter novel, entitled Run, which is available now in paperback, and will be available next week as an eBook.  It details the relationship between Sienna Thorpe, a successful architect who loves her job but has spent her entire life running from love, intimacy, and the potential for lasting happiness.  Her life is changed forever when she meets Harmon Brent, a transplant from Alabama who has come to Kentucky to put down roots.  Harm is a man with a great head for business--his sporting goods stores have spread across the country and even to foreign countries, but he's never had much luck in his personal life.  I attempted to write a longer novel than my last one, but only succeeded in reaching 50,000 words.  The purchase link as well as the cover are featured below.  As always, I welcome comments, feedback, and suggestions.


Run

Windswept Nights

Prior to my surgery last fall, I had continued writing but felt as though creatively, I had run dry.  I entered a publishing contest with mixed results, but the result was when all was said and done, I had fairly successfully self-publishing yet again.  Unfortunately when it came to fresh ideas, I was fresh out--but I had been playing around with the idea of one final novel in the Windswept Saga, to serve as both sequel and prequel, taking us back to the beginning of Sam and Susan's romance while playing out stories I had hinted at in The Art of Love.  This is book six, which means book five (which I have had a story for, for a while now, but need to do further research before I put pen to paper).  Additionally I have two further novels in the works, including one that is past the 30,000 word mark, which I hope bodes well for future creative endeavors.  Purchasing information for Windswept Nights appears below.








Windswept Hearts

Fallingwater

Around twenty years ago—though I never really knew why—my ambition was to become a famous architect.  Over the years my goal switched to psychologist and librarian and now I’m a novelist, which should tell you something about the passage of time.  Anyway, my pursuit of greatness began with learning everything there was to know about Frank Lloyd Wright—houses, life and times, architectural style, the works.  The closest Wright work to me is a private residence in Frankfort, but the closest house museum is Fallingwater in the rural western corner of Pennsylvania.  I had dreamed for years of visiting its pastoral setting and hearing the rush of the waterfall upon which the house was constructed nearly eight years ago.  I just assumed it was a dream that would have to remain on the backburner, but going through major surgery as well as oncological treatments changes one’s priorities just a bit.  For this summer I had planned a vacation to my specifications.  It began with the New River Bridge, another incredible feat of engineering and design.  That was followed by a trip back upstate and into Pennsylvania, though this travel took the balance of the day and by the time we reached Fallingwater it had closed for the day.  Thankfully after a side trip we finally found a motel and bedded down for the night.  Fallingwater is quite literally in the middle of a nature preserve—a more rural, bucolic setting could scarcely be found.  We arrived early and were able to look around the exterior and the grounds before tours began.  You always wonder when you travel somewhere if certain views will be available to you, and I am glad to say that at Fallingwater you can take outdoor shots from nearly every angle imaginable.  You can’t photograph the interior but those images are available in countless books and on postcards in the gift shop.

The remnants of a tropical storm that entered Texas and finally spun northeast toward the Ohio Valley created an exceptionally larger and louder stream and waterfall, which acts as a natural source of air conditioning for the main floor of the house thanks to a hatch in the living area.  So was it worth the trip?  Absolutely. 

The Power of Positive Thinking

Stop me if you’ve heard this one before—either I am suffering from seasonal affective disorder, or I am trapped in deep, dark depression.  I am familiar with both, and my life has been nothing but a morass of anxiety, depression, and frustration for approximately four years now.  I cannot find a job, or career, or decent source of income; I am nearly thirty-one years old and have seldom ever been in a self-supportive job.  I have never been in a mature, adult relationship.  As the years quickly pass I grow increasingly disillusioned with life, humanity, and my own abilities.  By the time I marry and have children, I will be too old to enjoy any of the experience.  I was already a poor candidate for everything, and now that I have to take at least one day per month for a doctor’s visit, it seems even more unlikely any employer or woman would want to hitch their horse to my wagon.

It is all but impossible to find a job around here unless you A) have nepotism on your side or B) know someone who can connect you with someone important.  Sadly I am not related to anyone in a position of power, and some people whom I have known for my entire life pretend not to know me.  I would actually love to move away from here, away from the horrible winter weather and sycophancy and the general sense of hopelessness that permeates Appalachia.  But as I cannot earn the required income to move or find a job anywhere, I am stuck here until I die.  It makes me wonder why I tried so hard to overcome a tumor and major surgery, because despite my positive thinking to the contrary, my life has not been vastly improved.

I used to count myself amongst the small subset of population who considered themselves optimists, but too many years of unemployment and rejection have led me to realize that positive thinking and hopefulness only lead to more disappointment and rejection when your dreams are stomped on and strewn against the hard, sharp rocks that line the oceans of life.  No one is willing to train anymore, yet you can’t get a job without prior experience.  The entry-level jobs that should be open to college graduates are not open to me, and the longer I am unemployed the longer I seem destined to remain that way.  Even when I am qualified for a position, someone else always receives it over me.  I get it already:  I am ugly, have terrible interpersonal skills, and don’t present my best self during interviews.  But I am a person, too, dammit, and I have feelings and desires and needs.  I have skills and abilities.  I have two college diplomas and I know how to work hard.  Any or all of my references would attest to that fact.

Taking Chances

As I stated in my previous post, I only completed two novels last year, and each was shorter than my earlier novels.  But it was an atypical year in which I was depressed, exhausted, and finally diagnosed with a brain tumor that required surgery and post-operative chemotherapy and radiation treatments.  As I went through the treatments I began the final series of edits for Love for Sale, which was written after Chances.  Chances, you see, had to undergo some extensive revisions before it would meet my exacting standards.  After some soul-searching I opted to excise an entire character from the manuscript; her scenes and dialogue had to be removed completely, transferred to another character, or turned into brainwaves within the mind of the novel’s heroine.  After I went through that process I was ready to publish.  What took so long in the publication of both novels was the cover selection process:  I had found stock images online but had to wait until I had the resources to license them.  I am quite pleased with both images.  Chances is available now in paperback; the e-book is available for pre-order with a release date of April 1.




Chances