Psychological Dive Into My Truth, An Essay

Psychological Dive Into My Truth:

A My Dark Vanessa Novel Essay

By: Tara B. Dobbs

© 2021

Everyone plays their part in life’s stage. To forget such a basic universal notion, is to quietly forsaken those who have endured so much in the shadows. The trauma they carry throughout their lives can not be unseen even when passing them by on the street or in school or even in your own home.

The novel My Dark Vanessa by Kate Elizabeth Russell moved me to tell my story. To tell my truth. Before you in these coming passages are experiences I’ve only told in small pieces. I have never told the world about the pains I still carry. I can never go back in time to undo what had happened to me. I wish all I had gone through was a dream I could wake up from. I wish these were lies from the imagination of my brain. Yet, here I am typing at my computer preparing the notes, the full outline of my past.

Before you I will tell my truth with a combination of the novel’s My Dark Vanessa discussion questions from the back of the book. I placed the questions in chronological order. I did not include the question about Strane and Vanessa’s opinion differences about the author Vladimir Nabokov. I considered this question redundant to the more important aspects I needed to stress about my life and the parallels My Dark Vanessa pointed out to me.

To clarify, yes I have received therapy a few years ago. I have also analyzed my experience of being abused and being a survivor decades before I found professional help. Does that mean I stop going to therapy? Absolutely not. Just at this time, as of writing this essay, I’m not ready to go back to therapy. Hell, this essay is therapy.

Did my mother suspect anything in our house of abusive actions? Of course she did. She was my first bully. She was the ringleader of everything that went on behind closed doors when Dad was at work or when my brother was away getting into his own troubles with drugs, DUIs and jail. Not to mention the three years in the Navy that later he would be dishonorably discharged. All the while mom favored her son, her lover’s child. There was nothing my father could do as he was blind to her abuses constantly. Yet…

Did my mother suspect other things? Nope. It was the summer of 1994 in Idaho at a campsite. Here my father took all of us, my brother included, to pan for gold in the river. Along the way, dad would take us up the mountains to the property he stayed on in a tiny cabin in the early 1960s with a few friends of his. Mom had not believed he had gone to this place. It would finally be believed once mom saw the two thin plaid striped red and blue cooking pans hanging on the cabin wall. The goose feather down mattress bundled up in a black garbage bag to keep out of reach of rodents. The inside was dry and fairly clean as it looked to have not been used since the 60s.

With that realization out of the way, a few days passed with the basic fun of watching the stars at night. Tubing down the small river and panning for gold. Until one early morning, a soft mist hugged the ground of the dead golden grasses. I was barely awake, but awake enough to see the sun barely peeking over the hills. A moment later and a trickling sound on the ground caught my attention. I lifted my head, eyes a tiny bit blurry since I hadn’t put on my glasses, but I was able to see enough that I froze. 

My father made eye contact with me. I looked down just slightly seeing him with his penis in his hand as he peed against a tree that was at the corner of my side of the tent. He didn’t flinch as he continued. A slight smirk crossed his lips as he looked pleased that he showed his manhood to me in a quiet; unmoving moment. It was only for a few seconds of seeing this all unfold that I rolled back over and pulled the sleeping bag over my head. I never told my mother what happened because even then I couldn’t trust my mother because of the abuse she did to me for many years at this point.

In the novel, as for Vanessa’s mother suspecting anything about her daughter’s relationship before the school became involved? I’d say she didn’t suspect much because she was hesitant to talk with her daughter. Vailing what she really wanted to say by beating around the bush as it were. Vanessa’s, “I’m fine”, Everything’s okay”, etc was accepted by her mother as the truth. Which by doing so was foolish on her part.

If I were Vanessa’s mother I would have pestered her about her hiding the truth. That my daughter, if I had kids, let them be able to confide in me for anything that frightened them. Open communication would be a must in my family if I ever had children. But as for my own family, the back stabbing, manipulation and mistrust that was a constant, is the very reason I could never confide in my mother or father. Like hell, I’d never say anything to my brother.

How does her response after she sees evidence of Vanessa’s relationship with Strane? It’s way too little, too late to blow up at Vanessa like that. Her mother still skirts around the subject giving vague hints like she is manipulating her daughter to speak up. Trying to hint it out so not to feel like she’s a threat to her daughter. Her mother is far too timid on the subject. Like she was taught how to hide such sexual topics like countless other generations before her.

The bigger question – why would these parents allow their fifteen year old daughter to go to a prestigious coed boarding high school that borders on college level, even with Vanessa’s perfect grades and scholarship that accepted her after countless others rejected her?

Why didn’t her parents question any of this schooling she desperately wanted? Did Vanessa want to go to Browich because of Jenny’s going? A way to get back with Jenny in friendship or a sense of jealous revenge because their friendship broke down because Vanessa was annoyed that Jenny was paying attention to her boyfriend then to Vanessa? The sense of puppy following behavior begins here with Vanessa. Hence why in the end Vanessa gets a dog.

Vanessa is lonely and withdrawn at Browick. How does this make her susceptible to Strane’s advances? Bigger question – is she feeling lonely and withdrawn because of the fall out from her friendship with Jenny? Yes, she doesn’t know anyone at the school, that’s typical for someone new to a new school, a new location. But what also causes Vanessa to be withdrawn from others? Does she willingly choose to be a loner, even without a healthy self-esteem? For that matter, what caused her to have such a low self-esteem to begin with before she wanted to go to this school? Was she feeling more alone at home because her parents withdrew from interacting with her as a teenager? Her mother is obviously too shy to really talk with her daughter. Vanessa’s father is only going through the motions of being a dad and barely talks to her. This warns me that Vanessa has more Daddy Issues that really cause problems at Browick in the first place of being withdrawn and a loner almost on purpose that she’s not conscious of that leads her to be singled out by her teacher Jacob Strane. Easy prey that isn’t paying attention to her surroundings.

Do you think her seclusion contributes to the reason Strane is drawn to her? Obviously, yes. The problem is, Vanessa has Daddy Issues that were never addressed by her mother. Vanessa is also unwilling to patch things up with Jenny. She holds a grudge that festers into jealousy because Vanessa delussionally believes she needs attention from others at all times. She’ll find attention anywhere she can get it, even getting into the clutches of Jacob Strane.

Back in 2000, I came across a fellow fan of a cartoon we both enjoyed greatly. In the fan chat room we hit it off and started making plans to meet up. Both of us at this time were in our early 20s. Clearly adult age. Well, gradually GW told me a terrible story about his past. I wanted to know more about him and he hadn’t told anyone this story, but since I don’t know if GW is alive today or not, I’m telling this bit as quickly as I can. At his all boys boarding school in London he was the newbie that was singled out. GW was a bit taller than myself, but skinny. He suffered from epilepsy. He was bullied constantly during the first year. At one point he was raped by a fellow male classmate. GW showed me the scars on his wrists. No one believed he was raped. From his cries for help in his dorm, his bedsheets covered his blood, he was rushed to hospital. Him telling me the story shook him to pouring tears down his cheeks. I will never forget this about him and a few other things of his life for the rest of my life. Sadly, he and I broke up almost two years later due to a confusion of my intentions toward GW by his father who came from an old form of thinking that in itself was full of manipulation and abuse from his father for many years.

The mere repercussions of being a loner is bad by the rules of the animal kingdom. While human societal rules have been pushed aside by assuming children of any age may have to learn these factors on their own by horrific means. The parents’ lack of care to teach these basic rules that have stood the test of time is inexcusable. The picking off the sick and weak for real reasons, versus making yourself vulnerable to be picked off by a predatory human in social settings is disgusting.

How do I perceive Vanessa’s relationship with Jenny? Vanessa wants attention strictly from Jenny because Vanessa’s mother doesn’t really know how to talk and interact with her daughter in guiding her into some form of healthy self-esteem. Vanessa starts to believe the attention she gets from others could help her self-esteem though. This is slightly wrong. Self-esteem is created by interactions with others in small to large groups at school events such as spirit day game assemblies, sports events like Homecoming Games, dances, study groups, etc. This then builds up self-esteem, even calling it courage in one self to find new friends.

Would things have played out differently if Jenny hadn’t started dating? Wrong question. Would it have been better if Vanessa talked with Jenny alone at some point? Ask Jenny to hang out in the dorm room to talk this through. Because a large amount of Vanessa’s self isolation; seclusion on purpose it seems, is her lack in communication skills. Vanessa hadn’t reflected back a healthy parent/child interaction. Her mother was half way skirting around subjects and being almost embarrassed to simply talk to her daughter, let alone Vanessa’s father being worse at talking.

As for myself, it was at times difficult to find anyone who wanted to talk or be friends with me. When I would find someone, I would keep it to just that one friend. It rarely lasted into the next school year simply because my parents kept moving to different states through my childhood. Besides that, my wearing glasses and having slightly bucked teeth due to needing braces, which were never prescribed due to mom’s manipulative gaslighting behavior toward my brother’s wife, who was a dentist. Since I looked ugly or look stupid, by the eyes of my elementry to middle school classmates, I had very few, if at all any friends. Yet, in a way I chose to be alone. Keeping to my studies with my nose in books and my love of writing. At the same time I kept my eyes out for others who were bullied. Running to fellow classmates in need whenever I saw it happening. I knew what it felt like to be teased, kicked when I’m down and bullied. I didn’t want it to happen to anyone else.

What makes Strane single out Vanessa? Her body posture wasn’t explained by Vanessa noticing his eyes on her. The delusional description of how she believed Strane saw her for the first time was almost a mimic of Strane’s undertones of facial mirror interactions. Vanessa may have not noticed how she was showing or lack of showing emotion. The lack of awareness from Vanessa’s face and eyes made his predatory mindset hone in on her with stealth precision before Vanessa had a chance. If Vanessa was mirroring the lack of communication her parents showcased, she was showing it back to Strane without knowing it. If Vanessa had talked with Jenny of how she felt about the lack of friendship, Vanessa wouldn’t have  been in this situation to begin with. Better yet, if her parents had halted her from going to this coed boarding high school…

Does his behavior provide insight into his decision making process? Yes. Loads of his behavior tell it all. Giving her a diluted attention to pretend specialness by asking her to his desk. Him sitting next to her so close like study buddies with a crush. The Lolita novel, the poems that showcase Vanessa’s name as though it means something ordained by the heavens. He’s playing into Vanessa’s delusions about herself that she has yet to notice since she’s still a fifteen year old child. The basic self awareness by the frontal cortex has yet to finish developing by age twenty-five.

What I see in these tactics Jacob Strane pulls on Vanessa, that loads of readers do not notice, is he’s warning her of his actions toward her. Vanessa sees these gifts, poems, books as a ‘test she thinks she must pass’ to be allowed access to his world, which all by itself is delusional thinking. Jacob Strane sees she’s not taking his blatant warnings of what he’s going to do to her and takes it to the next step. A checklist in his mind on how to reel her in closer and closer.

It is also critical that Vanessa constantly ignores her instincts – her body shaking, shallow breaths, surprise at odd turns, her withdrawal of her mind to ‘float away’ to be somewhere else in Strane’s house, the dorm or school or apartment. A clear sign she was traumatized and her mind was protecting her and she just ignored it all. Never ignore your instincts.

Was Vanessa the first student Strane pursued? No. She was never his first student he pursued like this. By the time Vanessa shows up, he’s honed his skills to a sharp point to not give away his position. He’s a seasoned hunter that can wait out for days for the right time to pounce.

My impression of Strane…better yet, the real reason he got the vasectomy, that Vanessa finally realizes but never directly says to the reader, is that Jacob Strane was a sick man. He never wanted children because he was afraid he would do the same sexual acts to his own offspring. Let alone he never wanted to pass on any genetic disposition, if there was any for such behavior, to his own children.

Him wanting Vaness to “…call me Daddy” was a full red flag warning he was capable of raping his own kids if he had the chance. A sick fantasy to express through the phone to Vanessa’s ears should have repelled her away from him, but she too was drugged in wanting his attention she never got from her own father in a healthy manner.

Jacob Strane must have been abused in the same way at home by his own mother when he was a teeneager. He probably never had a father figure to mold him properly. Strane has Mommy Issues, while Vanessa has Daddy Issues. Both want attention, but not realizing how unhealthy and not only socially wrong due to changes in laws and moral social order, but wrong due to the underlining abuse of simply – being ignored by their parents. The lack of talking, interacting, getting to know your kids as they grow up. The process of shaping them as mirror versions of one self. If this does not happen, you get people like Vanessa and Strane in the world going on in life all wrong and lost.

Vanessa’s father had very few vocal interactions with his daughter in the book. Any time the two were together doing father/daughter fun, like fishing, playing games, hockey even, he was only doing the motions of fatherhood. He was too shy to talk to her since for one major factor, she’s an only child. Her father had no idea how to communicate with a female child. He really wanted a son, but that’s no excuse to be so withdrawn by ignoring his child in such awkward ways due to lack of communication.

Is Strane a sick or evil character? Jacob Strane knows partly what he does is evil, but that’s only because of the cultural upbringing of fairytale, nursery rhyme stories that all kids grow up with to learn some basic form of morality and social order in a class environment. He almost doesn’t see himself as evil only half of the time because in a way Vanessa delusionally levels him out. Yet, Vanessa is like a drug to him he can’t get enough of. As for Jacob Strane, a sick man? Yes he is. He should have gotten psychological help from a professional. He kept it hidden from others for decades. Even the possible abuse he suffered in the hands of his mother or father that was never expressed in the book.

The moral conflict over Vanessa’s youth and concern for her future by Jacob Strane is by him playing out the ‘caring father figure he’ll never be in reality. At the same time, he keeps hoping she’ll wise up to his underpinning warnings about his  behavior. But, by God, she’s so dense in not realizing it. She feels a delusional loss if she walks away from him. Clinging to something that’s all in her head, but physically between them both and clearly delusional and mentally ill by Jacob Strane’s actions.

Jacob Strane has obviously had relationship issues in the past. Don’t know what form, since it’s all Vanessa’s point of view, but he wants attention just as much as Vanessa, but he wants to control her. Like controlling a dog with full obedience commands at every turn. That the dog, Vanessa in this case, can’t live without her master. Both are miserable without the other.

Jacob Strane gradually becomes worried of the pending consequences as it gets closer to the end of the book. Yet, he can’t resist going after Vanessa. He knows what he does is wrong, but like any drug, he can’t help himself, yet could if he would just get mental help. There is no shame in getting the mental help one needs.

The line separating consent and rape can be blurry. The line should have been drawn by Vanessa by only allowing basic teacher/student talks about assignments. But, ya know, she’s been incapable of drawing any boundaries for herself because her parents never spoke up to get to know their only child that was moving away to a goddamn boarding high school for gifted students.

In fall 2013 a high school classmate contacted me on Facebook. He was my more official first boyfriend and only dated for a month. Fast forward thirteen years later, my marriage is falling apart. All I’m doing is waiting for the moment to gather papers to divorce DB. All the while, I’m talking it up with DF to strike up a lost friendship since there were no bad feelings between us. He was going through a divorce to his much older wife that was 20 years older. Long story on that mess. DB liked DF and they hit it off, but DF noticed something about my husband’s behavior. It was the beginning that would make me wake up to my pending reality to get out. 

During one evening, DF was invited over to hang out. DB stayed home from work. Around this time DB accepted that I was needing attention and wanted an open marriage even for a short time. All the while DF and I were going at it in my art studio room, DB was in his office room. After some time, DF pulled out and was shocked to find the condom had broken. He said, “I didn’t feel the condom break.” I understood this to be bull shit. I rushed to get cleaned up and dressed. Asked DF to take me to the closest drug store, since I couldn’t drive due to the truck needing repairs and DB considered this my problem and didn’t help out. It was then DB and DF were setting me into separate traps. DB wanted me to be the bad guy and set me up for an affair if this went to court. DF wanted to get me pregnant because previously he had an affair that produced a child, but the affair was a full rape by a broken condom. DF had told me the story a few weeks prior before this evening. I put it all together. All the while DF drove me to the drug store for a Plan B pill, he couldn’t say no or yes to help me. He wanted to run, but I couldn’t allow that. He drove me there in a huff of silent anger and annoyance. I caught him at his own trick. Thankfully I had just enough funds in my account to buy the pill. 

Later the next day, when DB was at work, I called our friend DR to talk me through what happened. DR agreed that DF had raped me, yet it was consentual sex, but with a sleezy trick to trap me. Thankfully I have brains about me that I’m grateful for that I never, ever ignore my instincts. I took the pill while I was still on the phone with DR. Everything worked out fine after that besides a slightly off timed period, but thankfully the pill worked. As for DF, I told him to fuck off and never contact me again. 

If Vanessa was eighteen at the start of the relationship with Strane, it would have never changed her perception. Here’s why, Vanessa still wouldn’t have talked with Jenny to rebuild their friendship and the lack of communication between her and her parents still would have been there. She was a lost soul that should have asked for help far sooner.

Vanessa muses, “Looking like a Lolita and knowing exactly what I wanted…I wonder how much victimhood they’d be willing to grant a girl like me?” I have mountains of comparison from my life that will easily showcase the concepts of behavior factors of interpretations of consent, victimhood and agency.

Let’s begin…I’m a child of the early 80s. Born a Gen-Xer or a Millennial, you pick. TV entertainment filled with toy aids in the form of cartoons, big brushed up hair, spandex athletic wear, bright wild colored clothing and plenty of financial pain to the country thanks to the Republican party of Ronald Ragan that ruined everything for my family and others like me in the working middle class that was slowly disappearing before our eyes to become the working poor.

From 1980-1996 my mother obviously would dress me up in cute dresses when out in public. Even for the times my family went to church when we still lived in Chattanooga, TN. All mothers do this in some form or another because it’s the culture to do so. Dress your babies and toddlers up cute almost like tiny mini young adults. A reverse of what real young adults dress in for comfort and dress for class or work. A way to keep the child cute for as long as possible because a mother doesn’t want to end that adorable phase.

From 1986-1988 ages 6 to 8, while living in Louisiana, hot and humid air would be the early causes for my long straight dark brunette hair to be cut short in a pixie cut. Mom dressed me in more calmed colors and shorts, pants and shirts. The occasional skirt or dress depending on school photos, of course. There was one time at age 6 touring with my mom at the elementary school, I was bored not getting any attention as she and another parent were talking. I slipped away following something, don’t remember what. I must have been twenty feet away from her down some steps. She freaked out for sure telling me in a stern voice, “Don’t ever run off like that! Someone could have taken you away from here!” All the while holding hard onto my elbow to follow her back up the steps.

From 1988-1996 age 8 to 16 in Arizona, now here’s where the real dangers come in. I was relatively an only child due to my brother being away hanging with the wrong crowd with drugs, DUIs, in and out of jail or prison. I didn’t see him very much. During that time I barely had friends. As for the three years in Louisiana, I had only one friend and her name was Sabrina. I’ll never forget her.

During a family summer camping trip to Idaho in 1994, all four of us went to see the property in the mountains Dad had gone off to in the late 60s with a friend to gold prospect. Finding the two lost handled pots left in the tiny cabin on the wall. The proof was there. Dad did stay there for months, even in the winter. For this trip, we stayed at a campsite that had showers and an indoor cooking area. We brought our cat Cathrine with us since we were going to stay there for two weeks and we had no one to cat sit for us. Cat Catherine had a blast killing voles to her heart’s content. On the last day of the camping, she placed a massive dinner plate size vole on Dad’s plate on the table that early morning at 5am. Dad was an early riser so he most certainly saw her do it. She must have killed twenty voles. Good kitty.

There were those pleasantries and fun, but there were also this tiny unexpected situation. Early, real early about ten minutes before dawn peaked over the hills, I was starting to wake up. A mist hugged the ground with a chill in the air. A trickling sound against grass caught my attention, waking me quickly. I rolled over to my left. Looked up to the corner of my section of the tent. I froze. 

Right next to that corner of the tent was a small tree and my father with his cock in his hand peeing against said tree. We made eye contact. He didn’t flinch, but had a gleam in his eye that he was pleased I saw his manhood. I rolled back over, covered my head with the sleeping bag and kept quiet. I knew if I had told mom of what happened she would have brushed it off as an innocent accident. Considering her mental state, that decades later I would learn she would be diagnosed with residual schizophrenia, bipolar I disorder and postpartum psychosis, still telling her would meant I would have been beaten for…get this, and it’s not the first time or the last time until she died, I would have been told that I was lying. I never told mom or confronted dad about it. 

Oh, but then there’s the time Dad and I were watching tv and saw a commercial for Victoria Secret lingerie. Dad said, “You’d look cute in a black teddy.” A slight moaning breath trailed off. Far it to say, I see a black teddy in an adult shop and I feel icky.

At the elementary and middle school in Arizona I was bullied and teased an awful lot. When my hair was cut short for the summer I was called, “You’re a boy! You’re a fag!” (Decades later a teenage boy in his car at a stop light called out, “Fuck you, lesbo!” I called back, “Really? So a grown woman can’t have her haircut short for the summer?” That shut him up real quick.) I would be called other names by boys and girls constantly. I gradually learned to ignore them.

Anyway, I digress…By the time I turned 15, I found myself willingly stepping into a man’s life with full awareness of my own actions. Remind you, I hardly had any friends at this time. Especially at the apartment complex where I lived. I was ostracized for god knows why. Probably had a lot to do with my glasses and my bad teeth that never got dealt with cause ya know, mom had no insurance or claimed she didn’t have the money to spend. That was code for, mom stealing dad’s paychecks to go gambling. I knew she had insurance. She just never used it toward me and my brother. And I was teased for liking the boy band New Kids On The Block, so that probably had even more to do with it. 

I was lonely. Yet, I felt I had to get practice kissing somewhere in case a boy my age asked me out, which did happen a few months later. I was at the pool swimming around. My brother was friends with a guy named Jeff who was his pot dealer. He was handsome, tall, blonde and fairly well built and oh, did I mention he was 36 years old? My brother warned me about him, but I didn’t pay any mind considering my brother’s behavior previously toward the household and the crowds of people he hung out with that stressed dad and mom out to no end. (Which later, I would get the brunt of ‘punishments and abuse’ while he was gone and while Dad was at work. My mother is a whole other story.) 

Jeff was lounging by the pool and at times would dip in for a cool off in the summer heat that July. He wore a dark blue speedo. Oh, you bet my instincts loved seeing the bulge between his legs. Jeff and I go to talking and you know what the classic shit that spewed from his lips, “You act more mature than most girls your age.”

I dinged on that real quick cause I knew I was more intelligent and aware than my classmates. For hell, I stayed clear of my classmates my age because of them bullying me. They had nothing good to offer in friendship as I saw it. I wasn’t interested in whatever they may have been into. I was into books, sciences, art, writing, NKOTB and the early stages of my first manuscript. All the while dodging my mother’s physical, emotional abuse and mental breakdowns, mental confusions, delusions and outbursts.

Well, Jeff invited me to his apartment since he had asked me if I had a boyfriend yet. I told him I hadn’t, but if I ever got a boyfriend, maybe learning how to kiss would be smart. Jeff agreed. We talked it through in his living room on the couch sitting half a cushion apartment. I remember telling him, “This is only a kiss to get used to the feeling. Can’t do this right without a tiny bit of practice.” Jeff added, “I’m perfectly fine with that. So that we’re clear, this is consensual between us both.” I agreed. We leaned in, him mostly. His hands on my shoulders. A slight open mouth kiss with no tongue. Broke away and he said, “You’re a good kisser for being your first time.” All I thought was, well, of course, kissing isn’t that difficult.

Since it had been fifteen minutes at his apartment and I could feel the cool air conditioning on my face, I told him I had to head home. I knew mom would be wondering where I was. I rushed off home and dad was there out front of the apartment calling my name. Apparently he had been down to the pool on the other end of the complex looking for me. Mom swatted my ass asking where I was. I didn’t say a word to her and never did. She’s long dead now, so no point in her seeing this confession

A few days later I went back to the pool and didn’t find Jeff there, but when I headed home after an hour of swimming I saw Jeff on the balcony of the third floor of his apartment. He called out, “You’ll never forget me!” He obviously thought there was something  more there. I never talked to him, never went near him ever again because all I wanted was a first kiss. 

In November 1995, MG asked me out on a date. He was a classmate that lived in the next apartment across from me. We only went out for a month. He was my first more official first kiss. He was good to me and never forced me. He asked if I was ready for sex and in tears I said no. A few days later he broke up with me. That’s when I learned a second time what males wanted. The only thing – sex. To possess the bodily object of their desires for a few fleeting minutes of time.

From 1996-1999 age 16 to 19 Washington state, the main experience of this time period of my life was during my senior year in high school. I had learned of the legal age of consent when I was seventeen. Deciding on my own to wait a little longer until I was eighteen at least. I was dating four male classmates during Junior and Senior year. Not all at once, of course. Only for a few months at a time until I felt the relationship wasn’t going to work in any capacity. With DF, who was a more official first boyfriend, we had sex on November 22, 1998. Best funny part – he had the condom inside out. Gotta make mistakes like that to learn from them, ya know? That relationship only lasted a month simply because our parents kept pushing the concept of marriage on us. It was pathetic on their part. But later I would reflect on learning how much of a manipulative jerk he was trying to dump me in the high school library in public. He broke up with me. I was only heartbroken for a few weeks at least.

The other two high school boys NC and TB were pretty good to me. I broke up with them under mutual understanding for the most part. The fourth final one, PK was the one that never got a part of me. He wanted sex so badly from me that it scared me to be near him. That whole month of March 1999, nearly the whole school of Juniors and fellow Seniors warned me about him. That he was mentally unstable and known to be a stocker. That his father abused him. At age nine PK’s father hung himself in the basement. PK had walked in on the act in progress. It messed up the boy terribly. Yet, way after high school, a decade later it would come out to all be true. The major factor was PK was diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia because his father had the mental illness, too. 

During that month of March 1999, PK tried to force me into sex in the woods. I knew something was wrong even then with him. It was then I began to listen to my classmates. At one point a few weeks before graduation in May, he had asked a student counseling session to talk the relationship issues through. By then I had broken up with him at the end of March. There was nothing to talk about. A teacher aide had come into my class with a note for me to join her in a student counseling room with PK. When I saw him sitting at the long table, a horrible knot formed in my stomach as the door was closed. My heart rate went up. I began to shake. The exact same feeling of instincts that told me when my mother’s bipolar psychosis had taken over to prepare for a beating.

I sat down and the student counselor began the talk to see what the issue was. PK wanted to know why I broke up with him. That he wanted to still get together. My voice shook as I told him I didn’t want anything to do with him. I began to tear up as he asked the student counselor to leave the room so he and I could talk in private. The stupid student listened to him! It was that easy! I cried to her to not leave. To please stay, but she told me it was normal for two students to talk it out like this. I knew that was bull shit. After five minutes of just PK and myself alone and he saying the same crap and trying to gaslight me that nothing was wrong with our relationship. When he wanted to give it a second chance, the student counselor returned, but then I got up in a huff, crying and visibly shaking. I ran out of the room and headed to the office to tell an adult that I didn’t feel comfortable being there and would be heading back to class. The student counselor wanted me to come back. I told her to fuck off.

A few years after graduation, it was found PK had raped his first victim. Over the course of ten years PK was labeled a Level III repeat sex offender rapist. Seven rape victim total that produced a child each. Seven children he was barred from ever seeing or seeing their mothers. Most of these women were my fellow classmates. One classmate who was the seventh victim told me, “He kept saying he wanted to fuck you and no one else as he raped me and the others.” He raped these women because he was mentally ill and that I was the one that got away from being violated during high school. I had the self awareness to keep his penis and his body off of me because I cared about myself.

During 2000-2003, also in Washington state, I had three boyfriends. JC from Maryland, where I lived with him for a month, it was kinda a mutual break up. Yet, he would tell me a few years later that he was grateful for pointing out how creepy and abusive his mother’s boyfriend was toward her. But later, I would find out from a friend that he had raped her which made her get an abortion. 

The relationship with GW that I mentioned earlier about his boarding school experience, he and I broke up under mutual circumstances. Not to mention, the odd distrust his father and mother had about me. Whatever that was about.

Then, the oddness of coming across DB. I won’t go into too much detail as it was what sparked my first novel in 2010. Details of that abusive marriage are clear to see in the book. That part I want to press here happened on June 1, 2008, for my first day of work for a craft store. I was listening to my IPod on my walk to the bus stop in downtown Everett, WA. It was early that morning and the bus was to arrive at seven. I sat down on the bench and turned my attention down the street to watch for the bus. At the corner of my left eye a bald headed, overweight, beady dark black eyed man with a fat lower off centered lip, the guy came up beside me and with a slip of his right hand cupped my ass hard and said, “Hey, baby!” in my ear. I leapt from the bench screaming at him. “Leave me alone!” I screamed from the top of my lungs. Screaming loud enough that my signature hawk scream came out. That scared him shitless as he went running, almost hobbling across the street and around the corner. He peeked from behind the wall and I screamed again for him to leave.

All the while I was shaking. Looked around in a frantic seeing the bank wasn’t open yet. But one place was and it was around the other corner up the hill – Starbucks. I ran like hell was after me. Asked an employee to call 911 for a cop. The cop arrived a few minutes later. I told him what happened and described the guy so perfectly that the cop said, “Oh, I know who that is. He’s known for doing this.” I hop into the front of the police SUV and we drive off to the pervs apartment! I sat in the car watching the cop ask the man what happened. The cop comes back and tells me, “He denies ever doing anything. Without physical evidence or video footage, I can’t do anything.” 

Far as it is to say, I was beyond upset and betrayed by the system I paid my taxes toward! The cop drove me back to my apartment. The cop walked me to the door and there I woke Dan. The cop told him what happened and of course Dan did the basic thing of hugging me tightly. Yet, a few days later I asked Dan, my husband of four years by this point, that I needed a cell phone. He said, “That’s a good idea.” Got the flip phone and all was okay, but once I started talking about defense classes he said, “You can look it up yourself.” That was code for, he won’t pay for it. Yeah, what half-assed help he was. 

A few years later I would be at the beginning of the end of my marriage to DB and writing my first full novel about all that happened in that relationship and so much more.

Then, for the last one there was DR. I’ll be brief on this one. When I moved back to Washington state after two years living with my abusive family after the divorce, DR started expressing how he felt about me. I felt numb around him. With all my previous experience of manipulative men on so many forms and factors, my instincts saved my life again. Let’s just say, he was kicked out of the apartment. 

For those who may ask, I’m in a very healthy, going on six years relationship with a man that supports my writing and art. We have countless things in common. Three kisses each morning when we wake up. A few kisses on his way to work, “Have a nice day, love.” I call out to him as he heads out the door. Three kisses in greeting as he comes home. I’ve never been so safe in my life. I hope to keep it that way and maybe someday, we’ll get married.

Oh, I’m not done with this essay, folks. The fundamental differences between Vanessa and Taylor’s responses to Strane’s advances are odd. Since Vanessa’s parents didn’t question their daughter hard enough about her boyfriend in why they hadn’t met him yet or even seen him as she left the car when he dropped her off, it shows Vanessa didn’t have much agency to show care to herself. To protect herself from the ever growing dangers she was putting herself in. Vanessa kept playing a game of lies, distracting her parents and classmates to look the other way. 

Taylor had agency in caring for herself when it got too far with Strane. She understood where to draw the line. Even though Taylor said she never had sex with Strane, the mere touching of her leg was enough to set off alarm bells. It’s obvious to me that her parents cared for her enough to start questioning their daughter when she showed signs of distress. Better yet, Taylor told her father what was going on. Vanessa played games and lies with others believing a delusion in herself of the supposed relationship that was going on that Strane caused. Taylor told her father what happened, therefore, setting in motion the end of Strane’s career as a teacher. Vanessa was blinded by lust and self delusion. Taylor had self awareness and asked for help from her father.

Considering their responses to being products of shifting cultural norms or different upbringings, my Gods, Vanessa’s parents were blind and stupid to what was happening. The lack of closeness shown by Vanessa’s point of view told a lot about how she was led astray by her own self delusions about Strane. Taylor, much younger than Vanessa in comparison to both their situations on Strane, Taylor had protection of her family to guide her with open communication. It doesn’t matter the years between both women in how they were raised. The situations could have been switched at any time of decade. The concept of Stranger Danger has lacked in recent decades, but now it is at full force with venom to boot to stop adult predators from taking advantage of children and teens. The process of observing one’s surroundings and reading the emotions and tones of voice from a predatory person is paramount in the educational process more than ever.

When I was growing up in the 80s and 90s, we had Stranger Danger courses in school. My mother made sure I understood the differences between the basics of human interaction. Save for the most dangerous which wasn’t talked about hardly was, the parent or family member is the most dangerous to a child or teen. The person you know well, even a teacher, can be dangerous. To keep your wits about you isn’t just cool to say, but it is wise to train yourself to be aware of others actions. Taylor had that taught to her, whereas Vanessa did not, if at all. And the lack of communication from Vanessa’s parents in this novel really pisses me off the most.

Vanssa is not at all a reliable narrator. Vanessa was playing games to hide the fact she was in a dangerous situation. She was partly aware of what she was doing, but didn’t come to terms with  how unhealthy and terrible it really was until decades later. She deceived herself by the sleazy smooth words of her teacher Mr. Strane. She was brainwashed, therefore, she wasn’t in her right mind to be reliable to herself to get herself out of the situation.

How would the novel have read differently if it were told from another character’s point of view? If her parents fucking questioned their daughter about this boarding school choice to begin with, she wouldn’t have been in the clutches of such a creep! If Jenny, her best friend had spoken up far sooner instead of being with her boyfriend. A whole host of different facets of ways a different pov would have better helped Vanessa’s outcome to have been placed in a better situation. She would have probably gone through a different creepy guy to learn valuable lessons no matter how you shape it. A young woman has to learn these things, strangely enough, to survive the dangers of the males of the species of humankind.

Strane says, “We’re living in a different time,” referring to the changes in attitude toward power imbalances in relationships. How far has society progressed from even ten years ago? I can go further back by my personal experiences, but I already told those stories earlier. Refer back to them for examples if you’d like and hen think on yourself and the news stories about rape, mulstation, sex trafficing, etc. 

Society has barely scratched the surface in confronting sexual predator males. And yet, there are female sexual predators out there, too. Far fewer, but they do happen mostly due to mental illness (but that’s no excuse to be a sick person who sexually hurts children and teenagers) What’s the bigger problem is the family dynamic is to blame for most of the social problems in the world. Teaching students the process of psychology to use in everyday interactions is best. As a supposed civilized society it is a teacher’s duty to guide a child, no matter the age, to be prepared for the outside world. If a parent(s) are willing to help teach their child to learn psychology in handling different types of people in the real world, more power to them.

Yet, in the context of professionalism and expertise it is best to have a qualified teacher who has studied psychology to be able to teach the class proper and safe forms of understanding the human psyche. There will be times kids will come across such odd people in their non-school hours of the day. Especially in the home where most times the avbusive, sexual predatory is for the most part. How to get the courage to talk to someone they trust to get the sexual abuse to stop. 

Back when I was growing up there weren’t such taught techniques. Only the basic Stranger Danger of if an adult touches you inappropriately, kidnaps the child or tempts the child with candy. Don’t talk to strangers. Don’t take anything from a stranger. Don’t go with a stranger into their car or house. That old school Stranger Danger was so vague and obscure in explaining the full details and behaviors of where real dangers come from, I think, severely hurt society as a whole.

More needs to be done by far. Most of all though, adults should be capable of saying no to a preteen or teenager if they start showing expressions of flirtation toward a much older adult of any age. That same adult should be able to say no to themselves before they ever think about doing unspeakable sexual actions toward a minor. It’s that damn simple. Be the adult that looks after kids and teens like they’re supposed to in this supposed civilized world. Nothing will change until the adults of now and two generations past do something to maintain themselves as the adults they were supposed to become to begin with.

Would Vanessa’s story change if she had been a teenager in the present day? No matter the decade or generation one was born into, there would still be someone that would be ten or twenty years older than Vanessa if she were 15 in 2020 or 2021 as this essay was being written. As long as there are adults from age 18 to 70+ who are incapable of being the responsible adult in saying no to their delusional, mentally ill, animalistic sick urges toward a child of any age, these problems will still be a problem.

In comparison to what I’ve discovered – 

Tennessee legal age of consent in 1880 was age 10, 1920 was 18 and 2007 to present is 18.

Louisiana legal age of consent in 1880 was age 12, 1920 was 18 and 2007 to present is 17.

Arizona legal age of consent in 1880 was age 12, 1920 was 18 and 2007 to present is 18.

Washington state legal age of consent in 1880 was age 12, 1920 was 18 and 2007 to present is 17.

No amount of laws will deter a man of 18 to 70+ to stop their millions of years of evolution to breed. Millions of years ago females of the human species were scares, hard to come by while small bands of tribes ventured outward to explore the world at large. We don’t know what other males or females of the adult age group would have done if they caught a child being raped. I would assume the elder of the tribe would have killed that adult male or banished him or lowered his rank in the tribe that would be humiliating.

Over time for the last ten thousand years, to five thousand years to even five hundred years ago, the behavior of the ever expanding tribes of humanity in villages, towns and cities would take drastic action against such horrific acts against a child. As civilizations progress the laws would change to reflect the changing times since sexual abuses to a child were still constant as they are today. Not much has changed in ten thousand years of progress. The only thing that does change is the lack of effective harsh punishments and consequences toward such predator males.

The basic behavior of a predator is to stock those who are weak by sickness, lameness of movement or mental capabilities. All animals in the predatory category do this for the benefit of thinning out the herd to keep down disease outbreaks and stop inbreeding. But in the human animal, these behaviors of picking off the weak does not apply to how animals do it for the sake of nature. An order must be kept by ending this horrific practice of such mental illness like behavior. All these human male predators are doing is continuing the cycle of more mental illness such as depression, anxiety, PTSD and the continuation of the acts themselves of sexual misconduct in all forms. The cycle must end somehow.

To get a better idea of the abuses toward children, please take some time to read this book: The History of War Through Child Abuse by Llyod DeMouse.

Did Vanessa change throughout the years or not? Vanessa had this terrible knack of keeping her pain to herself and to her psychiatrist when out in public. For example, when the hotel owner’s daughter was getting cat-called and pick up line like a damn fish on a hook by that drunk older guy at the receptionist desk counter, Vanessa didn’t say anything! She kept her mouth shut in confronting the man to stop. She watched the 16 year old girl freeze up, stutter and then make an escape by pretending that a fellow hotel employee needed help with the boxes. This 32 year old adult Vanessa betrayed the 16 year old child who was visually and verbally needing help. As an adult Vanessa is and should have been tasked to protect this teenager or any child in her line of sight. It is up to everyone who is an adult to watch out for other people’s kids. You never know who is the predator hiding amongst the crowd.

Another bothersome example of Vanessa not changing by learning from her experiences with Strane was constantly still believing the relationship was normal and romantic! She kept ignoring her bodily and mental instincts to confront what happened to her.

In regards to the previous entry about animalistic predatory behaviors in the animal kingdom…when a human being ignores their instincts, that knotted gut feeling or nervousness to flee, that fight or flight response, ignoring that basic ingrained evolutionary behavior will get you into trouble to be singled out as prey.

In how Vanessa changed was when she finally came to terms through the help of her psychiatrist to admit what happened to her was wrong, dangerous and unhealthy. Vanessa was able to confess to herself that what happened should have never happened. At the very end, Vanessa, who wanted to be loved and have someone by her side at all times, got a dog. This is perfectly healthy and smart on her part. The dog can act as a guard for her while being cared for, which will then help her care for herself in getting her life back in order. Also, the dog metaphorically represented the puppy-like behavior she was showing toward Strane. Always wanting to be by his side like a needy puppy since Vanessa didn’t seem to get that type of care from her parents. Hence why Vanessa wanted, for some reason, to get away from her parents by means of that coed boarding high school.

The only way Vanessa was able to change was the dynamic in her mind. When you repeat the same tactic over and over constantly expecting a different answer to your situation, that creates a form of madness which continues her depression, anxiety and PTSD. Only once she confronted the truth with the proper healthy outcome did she begin her journey to heal for the better of her mental wellbeing.

The significy of the lasting effects from the relationship with Strane could me what? Vanessa can now move on by accepting what happened to her was wrong, but that her new found power is that she’s no longer a victim. She’s no longer tethered to the toxic fishing line and hook of an abuser. She’s a survivor that can move on with her life by her own choices. Not by the choices Strane demanded of her with manipulative gaslighting tactics. Vanessa has officially come into her own as a grown, learned woman who can finally heal.

As for social media shaping the collective responses to news about harassment and abuse allegations? It’s damn easy to see the truth when servivers come forward to tell their story or stories. The abusers in all their forms can no longer hide in the shadows. Yet, there are those females or males that can claim abuse happened to them when they don’t recognize the differences in types of greetings and basic hugs in greetings. Taking the mundane basic greetings and claiming them to be sexual misconduct makes it harder for the real sexual misconduct, sexual abuses in other forms to be taken seriously. Not to mention, for those women who cry out that a man raped them when it was clearly consent. To later come out x-amount of months after the sexual encounter that was clearly consent between two adults, to claim she was assulted or that the sex was truamatizing. If the woman ignores her instincts of the consentual sex getting out of hand and making her uncomfortable, it is wise to speak up right then and there to get the man to stop. Who cares if the man has a form of power in his life due to money, status of some kind or policial power for that matter. If the guy can’t handle that a woman told him to stop, it proves he was a dangerous man to be with in bed to begin with. After that, the woman should gather her clothes and get the hell out of there. It’s that simple. Don’t ever ignore your instincts.

The biggest call out of sexual abuse currently that has been called out, but has yet to go to trial over it and placed in prison, he has caused far too much harm in slowing down the Me Too Movement. When a ring leader of sorts shows he can get away with his actions toward abusing women, it quietly allows other abusers to continue their behavior unscaved. If child abuse and adult abuses in all forms sexual in nature or not is to be arraticated, the heavy hitters of abuse that have billions in money and power must be beld accountable. Take away their power and their money. Give the abuser the worst of the worst for breaking such a common sense social law. As long as men like him stay in some form of power, no matter how delusional that power dynamic is, other abusers will still continue. Remember, most sexual abuse to a minor or adult happens under out noses at home from someone you know. All this abuse starts at home and must end if society is to thrive.

I have a stronger understanding of these issues more because of my personal experiences in my life of nearly thirty five years more than this book. This book brought it out of me to tell my truth in an essay form for all to read. I understand more needs to be done to end abuses of all kinds. It all starts from the home with adults in the house that are closest to the children. To ignore that fact in your own  home is to be part of the problem that continues the abuse.

Since I have far more insight on the matter from my own life’s truth, Strane was warning Vanessa of his actions. He was testing her to see how she would take the bait of the books, poems and the sweet words he says to her in comparing Vanessa to passages in books and poems. She was completely and utterly blinded by her own lack of family care and her own self care to realize what was happening to her. Everyone else saw the bait, but she saw nothing.

This book was like seeing a reflection of my life, but without it being a teacher at the helm of controlling me into such tethered actions. The thing about victimhood is if one allows the trauma to rule their lives on a constant loop in the mind and in daily life, telling oneself the lies the abuser spewed, then the victim will stay a victim. Forever bound negatively to the abuser. Never able to set themselves free.

As for agency, taking control of one’s trauma in a constructive manner may be creative means, therapy with a professional and moving one with one’s life, the abuser will no longer have power over you. You must stand up for yourself even when the abuser is no longer in your life. Keep yourself guarded and protected when need be, but never keep the walls up on yourself where you can’t accept the healing process.

Finally, about consent. There are many forms to express consent that is missing in the ever important process of the human communication process. Consent verbally is perfectly normal, but must have a strength to it to be heard effectively by the other person or persons involved. Body language should be taught in schools in a psychology type health class. If one is unable to read body language by the time they are five years old, there is a problem that needs to be addressed by a professional psychologist. The turn of the head. The movement of hips or stepping back or stepping forward. Reaching out with a hand to touch the face. Basic animal-like social cues for the human animal is extremely important to learn no matter the place’s body language is utilized.

Facial expressions to show with body language and vocal expressions of consent is even more important. The factor in reading eye movement, muscle mouth and facial movement, even the subtle movements in the lower jaw that move the ears, are critical in the art of language. We say far more by our facial cues than the words not spoken. Not all adult sexual activity is conveyed by verbal consent. The basic actions of the mating dance as it were is the oldest process there is to get laid.

Along with all those forms of communication for proper consent, there are those who will fake, play a game with vulnerable people to give the impression of real consent. If in doubt of a man or woman being shady in their consent language, it takes time to learn the delicate art of these fakes. Again, I can’t stress this enough, don’t ignore your instincts. If someone feels off to you that the person in front of you is faking their consent language, leave. Don’t hesitate. Don’t stop and doubt yourself. Get out of there right away as quietly as you can. Cause if you ignore your instincts, overall, you are betraying yourself to keep yourself safe.

Vanessa is only a victim to herself because her parents did not ask the hard questions about the Browick school. Her parents are just as much to blame for Vanessa’s trauma as the school itself is and Strane himself. Everyone played their part in allowing Vanessa to get into the situations she was in. There was far too much skirting around the subject of the possibility that Vanessa was in danger. No tough love by anyone to get her out of that situation. Even after she was taken out of Browick, she was still drinking, smoking and getting into more unhealthy sexual interactions and supposed relationships. The constant victimhood she even put on herself until the very end to finally come to terms that she was being played with. She wanted love and care by a man or anyone like a lost puppy. Hence why she got the dog. A reverse on the factor she was being teased in being led by a man who should have gotten help far soon and then he would have never become the predator. I’d go as far to say that Jacob Strane ignored his own instincts to get the help he needed. Vanessa’s parents ignored all the lies Vanessa was spewing and falsely giving her too much privacy as a teenager. The dorm parent was just as blind and far too timid to the growing problem with Vanessa. Jenny should have taken a break from her boyfriend to make sure Vanessa got help. Because of Taylor coming forward it helped break Vanessa’s trance over Jacob Strane. That she wasn’t the only one who was harmed by him. Everyone has parts to play, but didn’t do it quick enough to get it to end. Strangely enough though, if Vanessa’s parents paid closer attention to her needs, there wouldn’t have been a novel to begin with. Funny how that is. If you want the abuses in all forms – sexual/physical, emotional, verbal and psychological/mind games, to end, you have to be observant and when you see something happening to a loved one at home or in school or at the office at work, you can be that hero to save a life.

Book 3 will be massive

Chapter count and word count recalculated

It’s far too warm in the house to work on the book in any capacity. But, I looked at the outline set up for book 3 and I came to understand exactly where I came up with 84 chapters in my first calculations. These are ball park estimates based on how many chapters Act 1, Part 1 already has set up in the outline…This is a semi-visual representation of single spaced, size 12 font, not full published copy. I used Words Per Page for my calculations.

3 Acts per Part x 7 chapters per act = 21 chapters

21 chapters x 4 parts = 84 chapters

7,000 average word count per chapter x 84 chapters = 588,000 word count

I had an odd feeling that book 3 couldn’t handle be crunched into 200,000 words. There is far more in this book that could never be showcased effectively in book 1 or 2.

For those who may wonder, “Then why not get the third book published first since it has most of the material in it?”…first time published authors are a risk in the market. A smaller book is an easier risk to see how the market reacts to the material. Only until an author is established will the publishing company handle the printing of a larger book like that of nearly 600,000 word count. Paper is expensive and digital file size is also difficult (sort of) in how it’s presented to the reader. Not to mention the price tag attached to a smaller book compared to a much larger one.

I wish we had air conditioning in this house. THEN I could get cracking on this book. I hate summer. Oh, I’d love to stay at Starbucks to work using my tablet and wireless keyboard, but the internet has been difficult in this heat. Plus, it’s too damn hot to walk back to the house, even if I stayed at Starbucks from 4am til 8pm. Until it’s overcast and cool again, THEN I’ll stay at Starbucks to work. But I must remember to bring my ear plugs and headphones. I can’t stand some music they play.

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Scope of a Massive Novel

I wanted to see for myself what I’m getting myself into for my third manuscript. This book will, of course, connect the first two, but will be far larger than the others because there is so much more going on in the story to get to the final climax and conclusion of the whole story.

I did some calculations by basic calculator with a slight inflated ball park numbers. Average chapter word count x current chapter count set up by my outline.

5,000 word count x 40 chapters = 200,000 word count

This isn’t counting the possible 10 or more chapters extra that I need to add into my outline that is missing from the synopsis.

I found on this site: Words Per Page Calculator where I put in the 200,000 word count to determine the page count, which came to 502 (mind, this is only for printed pages of size 12, New Times Roman font, not a full published book) The page numbers for 5,000 word count is single spaced and comes to at least 18 pages each.

Now that I understand the basic numbers of how many pages I may reach, I can focus more on the outline for setting up that possible marker.

While calculating, I nearly gave myself a heart attack, but more of a mind blowing moment. I don’t know how I came to 84 chapters during my first set of numbers since I couldn’t look back at what I had done, but if it were 84 chapters, 5,000 words per chapter, that came to 420,000 word count and 1,054 pages printed single spaced. OMG, the amount of time it would have taken me to complete such a massive book.

Glad I did a second set of numbers. Now, off to work on the outline.

Odd Things Non-Writers Say

I know, not everyone writes fiction or non-fiction. Not everyone writes in general. Typing up a comment, an opinion or adding their prospective on a topic of dicussion online, is writing, but…

I’m talking about people who never read or those who do read, but never wrote a collection of short stories or a novel or two for fun. I’m pointing out those who have never written a single document past school years growing up. And after school years, never picked up a book after.

The things these types of people have said to me personally or in public, it blows my mind. (Names are taken out to protect them for obvious reasons)

“Why do you always want books for Christmas? You’re writing one of your own?” – …This one really blows my mind. This statement, spoken in person close to the holidays a few years ago, tells me they don’t read books for pleasure or for learning to expand their mind. All writer types must read diffrent forms of style and process in order to write better. Writers must study the craft. This means, we want more books on the exact craft stubject or books on a genre we are writing ourselves. I want books for Christmas, a gift card from Barns & Noble cause it makes it easier for the gift giver since they don’t know me well enough of the subjects and genre I like, I need books to study from on the craft from those before me. Yes, I can easily borrow books at the library, but a direct book that is not at the library, and if it’s particular to what I need, I can buy at the store. I keep a lot of the books on the craft of writing. I go back to the material over and over for years of study.

“All you need to do is sit down and write.” – …Oh, sweet summer child, you know nothing. It takes far more to place ass in chair, roll up to desk and start typing to pump out a book. I have a few articles I’ve already written on my author blog, that explains the common processes and my own method for myself. But to put it into simple terms here: 1) It takes planning, months or years worth for a novel. …2) It takes problem solving during the planning stages, sometimes months or years on a section to get right. Even a first draft can take some problem solving. …3) Drafts 2 and 3, to go through to flesh out the full form of the story before major edits. This process can take a year or more. …4) 6 to 8 months of major edits with critique partners. Different minds and eyes on the project itself. …5) In between each process, important breaks are needed for the mind to relax in seeing the work with fresh eyes. (These breaks include: cleaning house, grocery shopping, cooking, laundry, paying bills, reading, etc) I’ve created nearly 500+ pages worth of notes, character files, diagrams, family trees, world histories and timelines that took me years to gather in the developmental stages. It takes years to finalize a screenplay way before it ever gets looked at by a production company to become a full length movie. To create anything, it takes time and hard work. (Not to mention, the stress of Impostor Syndrome is something all writers who want to be professionally published face. Fighting the demons in her minds, the stresses of it all, lag the process down. So, again it takes time to write a 120,000 words size book.)

“What’s a novelist?” – …There are words I’ve never come across either. That’s how we learn. I use the word ‘novelist’ when I hand someone my business card or when I’m addressed diectly when asked what my job is. This person had said about my thin metal case mistaking it for a wallet, even though I use it as such. The metal container is for business cards, I told him. He then asked what my job was and I said, “I’m a novelist.” I don’t refer to the use of author, since I’m not currently published. So, this person didn’t know what a novelist was. I explained, “It’s another word for author. Someone who writes fiction.” I was abselutely taken a back by his question on the word though. He was obviously in his early 20s, but since he didn’t know the word, I blame the eduational system of the US. When I learned of the word, ‘novel’, in third grade in 1988, the English teacher saying, “We’re going to read a novel today. Novel means ‘new idea’.” I was entranced by the word. I fed off this new fact for decades. It still gives me happy chills when I use it.

I think that’s all of them. There maybe one more, but at this time, it’s slipped my mind. Oh well. To close, if you as a writer of any form come across similiar examples, remember, your book may strike their interest in reading for the first time in decades. Don’t let people who don’t read or don’t write fictions stop you from making your dreams come true. Keep writing and don’t stop.

The Real Cost of Writing Hours

All novelists, authors, writers, however you want to call these folks, they talk about word count. Most write down that glorious word count to keep track of how much work has been done. Yet, once you figure out how many words are put on a page, single spaced (500 per page) you can easily count in your head how many words came after that first page and so on. Once you start doing that, there’s really no need to worry about word count. Unless, you catalog the final current edit amount of words changed. Then you can have a base for comparison as you progress in your work.

But then there’s this…cataloging the hours actually worked on a manuscript. I’ve never heard about that in the years I’ve been surfing the internet. Watching YouTube videos on Booktube, Writertube, Authortube. No one talks about this. If there are some writers who have, post your videos.

Now, I did a bit of calculating the numbers using my own hours worked. I’m going off of the year 2020 for the first quarter since its the most hours I did before the pandemic hit the US. In the month of January – March 2020 I worked 335 hours total. I use two forms of calculating time – First, I’ll check the clock and jot down my start time. Then, I’ll listen to New Bliss ambient white noise videos on YouTube. These videos range from 3 to 8 hours. I’ll usually go for an 8 hour video if I know I’ll be typing a lot. If I take a quick break, say bathroom break or a thirty minute lunch break, I’ll pause the video. When I come back, I play the video where it left off. This way I haven’t really lost time in work. Unlike keeping a direct time schedule by a clock itself. When I’m done for the day, I’ll jot down my end time.

I’ll work 2 hours, 15-30 min break, work 2 hours, 30 min lunch, work 2 hours and finally another 15-30 min break. Then off to bed, or squeeze in another thirty minutes of work before I really go to bed. This way, I’ve worked at least 6 to 8 hours in the day. I’m treating this as I would retail work hours that I’m used to when I worked in retail. The system works perfect.

(Mind, I also take full days off my writing. Usually 2 days per week. Nearly a full week off per month. That is put into my average for this diagram)

I started thinking, how many hours would it be for a full 10 years worth of novel/manuscript work? If I take the average from the first quarter in 2020 of 335 hours….see diagram below. (Mind, these hours are a base average from my hours worked. They are not exact)

335 hrs x 4 wks = 1,340 hrs per month

1,340 hrs per month x 12 mo = 16,080 hrs per year

16,080 hrs per year x 10 yrs = 160,800 hrs for ten years

It’s not just the word count that builds up your experience per page, per manuscript. It’s the hours you put into it. It takes about 10,000 hours of training and practice to be an expert in whatever field of work you want to be in. Yet, to me, I think it takes even more hours of work to achieve expert level in manuscript writing (fiction or nonfiction). These hours include the first draft, second, third, fourth and so on when in the thralls of editing, revision and rewrites, call it what you will. It’s all writing.

So, if you look at it even further with the amount of pay authors don’t get when writing a full novel or work of nonfiction, a full 200 to 300 page book, basically an intern level at home, with or without a paying job….

$15 an hr x 8 hrs per day = $120

$120 x 7 days = $840

$840 x 4 wks = $3,360

$3,360 x 12 mo = $40,320

$40,320 x 10 yrs = 403,200 (that’s the amount of a major advance for a first time book, if you’re damn lucky)

All those hours worked for ten years on ONE manuscript for publication, and you got an advance worth $400k, that averages out nicely. But, its getting that $15 an hour paycheck of it’s full 10 years sum given to you finally.

In the long run, this would be helpful to everyone if a Universal Income was implemented into the US economy. That way, if anyone has a hobby or a long time dream to come true (a full time novelist with a paycheck), getting paid $1,000 a week would be nice to stave off the stress of paying bills, repairs to the house and food on the table while in the thralls of writing a novel. The advance would still apply to the author since it is a product they are making for sale in stores by the publisher’s process. All in all, it’s a total win for everyone.

(Disclaimer, this is not a beg on my part for myself. I’m just pointing out some pitfalls in writing to put it into more concrete prospective. A grounded point to humble myself and others in the craft of writing)

A Novelist’s Special Team

A team of people can range in number and style for the needs of a project. I learned early on, like most of us in this world, in school you can’t get any class project done without your teammates. For most of my class work projects that consisted of two to four other classmates, I was shunned by the small group. Because of this, I nearly failed a few projects in History, Science and Social Studies.

I worked best by myself after that. Finding I learned faster on my own and completed projects, when mostly done by yourself anyway, I excelled at the project put before me.

As I began writing my first manuscript from September 1995 to May 1, 1996 I worked alone, of course. I continued to work alone for my second, third and fourth manuscripts that followed. I thought I learned all that I could with all the ‘how to write fiction’ books at my disposal and all the YouTube videos of fellow writers teaching what they learned along the way. I thought I had it all figured out. That I didn’t quite need a team.

I wasn’t exactly wrong, per se. More like I was afraid of being shunned again by fellow writers of the adult age group. I didn’t want to go through the shunning experience again. Yet, it finally came to it that I needed someone to help me critique my work.

My three beta readers are part of that ever growing team that were the starting off point. A few years later, Mike found me on Reddit and the rest is history at this point. He’s one teammate so far in my writing journey for the technical part at this stage of Draft 3 book 1. Critique Partners are so vital to find the developmental problems in a story that the author can’t see for all the words on the pages.

The thing is, all the writing classes in school over the years, English classes, how to writing books and YouTube videos about the process of writing and revision (reshoots I call it), none of them call the Critique Partner, Beta Reader, Editor and Literary Agent and Publisher the following – Quality Control.

Quality Control is when a team works together to check each other’s work on a project. Every nook and cranny of nuts, bolts, panels, electrical wiring, windows, sealant, carpet, etc has to be checked and double checked. Only until the airplane has gone through hundreds of quality control checks and signed by each team manager and that area’s quality control manager, can the airplane go down the next line of manufacturing. Any mistakes found, the process of that section of mistakes starts over again until it is all checked out correctly and signed. I learned this while working for a short time at Boeing.

The same rigorous quality control must take place down the line for a book. No matter how many passes through quality control team members take the manuscript until it is finally ready for publication. Without quality control, which seems to be lacking in the publishing world on all fronts, reading a book can and will bother its target audience. The reader will pull it apart finding basic or crazy mistakes in continuity, grammar, pacing, etc. This will aggravate them to no end because they were hoping to have a nearly flawless prose to read to their heart’s content.

Here’s what I learned at each early to current stage of my writing process.

Early Years – From September 1995 to May 1, 1996 I hand wrote in three black lined notebooks in school during study period, lunch and after my work was done for any said class. I even wrote in the school library sometimes. And when I had time to myself in my bedroom when I got home to write. During this time, once I thought it was ready, I type it all up on the school computers in Computer Class onto hard floppy disks and printed it out at the library.

I wouldn’t go back to this first manuscript again until 2005. I picked up where it left off on chapter 18 but typed it up instead of the painful hand written prose from years before. Once reading it through and giving it to my mother and a friend to read, beta readers to be exact, they both told me the harsh truth that I needed – Mom said, “Honey, I can’t go any further.” She had read up to 150 out of 350. “There’s nothing going on. I can’t even tell if there is a story here or not.”…Then my friend said, “How old were you when you wrote this?” he had read up to page 50. Replied, “Sixteen.” He said in return, “Oh, that’s just as bad as if you were writing it while drunk.”…Shortly after that, I gathered the typed edition and three notebooks and trunked it. I knew even by myself it wasn’t to be edited through. This manuscript was a test to see if I could tell the story to myself while writing it. I am now, however, able to salvage a few chapters for later.

New Stage Early Years – October 2009 to December 2015 was busy and full of turmoil with family and an abusive marriage. Here, I had an affair. Someone to touch. Someone to hold. Someone to talk my grievances to while I cried myself to sleep most nights in my marriage bed. The affair only lasted a few months, but to me that was enough. It was during this time, shortly before the affair started, that I had a slight story concept.

The first character that came to mind was David Geraci, but I had put him up as Ynycornus from years ago from the first manuscript and from the confines of my subconscious trying to comprehend the abuses I endured for most of my life. Something in me saw a story about my ‘spirit guide’. If he was once alive, if at all, what was his life like? What did he go through? In my mind he kept telling me, “Are you sure you want to know?” I hammered him for more. I wanted to know. I wanted to understand his side of the story that lay far out of reach to me.

He told me all he could as I wrote it down as fast as I could in notes here and there in three hard bound black book of shadows. In this process the concept took shape. Even sketching him when he was at first Ynycornus from manuscript one I drew him as best I could. Slowly, with each chapter, the story of Vivian’s journey to the ‘other side’ with the imposter Ynycornus taking her on a road trip across the country to his home in Lowell, Massachusetts. It all began to take shape.

The first draft was 24 chapters and 140,000 word count. With some help from a friend, who had originally read the first manuscript a few years prior, he helped me widdle it down to 120,000 words. For his help, it was mostly brainstorming ideas when I was stuck. Little did I realize until the fourth draft of manuscript 2, that he had convinced me to put him into the story. Since then, going back to an original draft three level for this part, I’ve erased him from the story. It had no purpose to the story what so ever. Slowing things down and all.

March 2013 I filed for divorce from my abusive husband. I then had to make a horrible choice since I had no other place to go – move back to Tennessee to live with my elder parents and brother. I won’t get into that nightmare of a situation of two years, but I will at least say this – got that second manuscript published for a one year contract in 2014.

Oh, the lessons learned from that small publisher. Damn. Won’t go into details, but when she gave me an editor and this editor pointed out problems in the first chapter and then said, “Look through what I edited in the first chapter. Go through the manuscript and find similar issues and fix them. Once you’re done, get back to me.”…Uh, what? I half assed my efforts cause I didn’t know any better, but at the same time, I thought an editor was to help you along the way? Not leave you to the wolves like that. The book was published, but there were loads of mistakes which now I have cleaned up greatly and cut nearly half the book apart to flow better. I was under an unrealistic deadline with that publisher to get the edits done in a month. That’s not how traditional publishing works. Overall, it was an experience and I sold fifty copies at least digital and paperback. I have three paperback copies myself. One of which is full editing marks in pencil and pen as study for future full on edits.

In December 2015 I dropped the contract. By then I had moved back to Washington state in late September 2015 by train. All I had on me was one very full roll duffel bag, one large roll luggage bag and one small roll luggage bag. All inside the bags were the most precious of belongings – manuscript one printed copy, two of the black notebooks of the original handwritten, how to write fiction books as many as could fit, watercolor art supplies and paints and some cloths. Along with mailing my art portfolio bag of art, Robert Forbear unicorn poster and the antique oval mirror. I was panicking when about to leave my family behind. Being threatened to be killed due to my mother’s delusional mental illness and my brother’s mental illness of threatening the same to me, I had to leave.

Midway Years – From January 2016 to 2019 I was ready to continue the story of the Geraci mansion and Vivian’s adventure of facing her pain. I had added many more characters in the now third manuscript. Before I had left Tennessee in fall 2015, I was in the early stages of at least five chapters into the third manuscript. I kept getting interrupted from my family. It was like I was the adult in the house having to maintain three adult children with childish behaviors and demands due to mental illness, Alzheimer’s Disease (my mother), alcoholism (my dad and brother) and drug use (my brother). I was the truth telling; amateur psychology doctor maintaining a mini asylum. All the while trying to write a new manuscript to continue the story.

I had come back to Washington state a mental mess. My mild PTSD, mild anxiety and mild depression running rapid in me like it dialed up to level 10 at least. Thankfully my psychiatrist Dr. K. back in TN was able to help me figure things out before I left. I was at his office at least every week to every other week depending when he had an opening. Knowing of my own mental illness, which is far more manageable than what I could dare say about my father, brother and mother (which they need far more help then I, which should have been given to them way before I was ever born)…Since I could not concentrate on my love for writing, I had to at least take a break for almost two years.

By late summer 2016 I started working more on the third manuscript. I found my zone in my writing. This third manuscript took maybe six months tops. I then dived into the fourth manuscript in the spring of 2017. I at least got 68,000 words down for manuscript three and 40,000 word count for manuscript four. Both needed far more details fleshed out and I knew this would take time. Both these manuscripts, not to mention manuscript two were FAR, FAR from being looked at by a critique partner. I at least gave these two manuscripts to three Beta Readers in 2017 since one of them had bought the first publication of Soul’s Little Lie when it was in print back in 2015. Having these three Beta Readers helped me set up an editing (reshoot) mindset later on.

Current Phase of Writing – 2020…Oh, my God. It started out just fine. I was rolling along for draft 3 of manuscript three and four nearly at the same time here and there. Mostly was working on manuscript three from January to early March. Then, all shit hit the fan for the world. Covid-19 virus.

Concentration went out the window. Concentration took her bags, jumped out of my soul and heart, leaving my brain in shock and flew the coupe! I was a mess like everyone else who had a hard time looking into working on their current or near future projects in writing, painting, animation, music, etc. We all halted to a stand still in shock.

I tried. Damn did I try to get the motor running in my manuscript editing work. I even started cataloging my writing process of what parts I was working on and how many hours worked in a bullet journal since January 2020. I was set and ready to tackle all three manuscripts to Soul’s Little Lie books. I was pumped, but ya know, 2020 year was a dumpster fire times a million percent!

I set up my bullet journal like a basic calendar that would last me a whole decade of logging. Had to do this since my favorite writing log app WriteOMeter on GooglePlay had up and disappeared no longer with updates to it. It was a sad day for everyone who used that app. It was the best.

After months of fiddling about with chapters here for edits and chapters there and note taking and author bible fixes and updates, I bit the bullet in early October. I posted my need for a critique partner on Reddit. All I was looking for was POV issues. What Mike, my critique partner, found was so much more. He’s currently on chapter 13 of manuscript three and has two more chapters to go.

What Mike found was astounding. I had already suspected as much of shifting chapters and character pieces over to manuscript four, but wasn’t sure how to go about it. My suspicions continued to be correct by Mike’s findings that with one character’s story arch shifted over to the other manuscript, it made the whole new first book flow much better. This then lead me to break down manuscript two even further to find it needed to be at the end of manuscript three which bulked up areas that were flat or missing completely.

This now made the new book one a total word count of 138,000. I can chop that down nicely since I already went through the first publication attempt knowing exactly what to eliminate. Then I saw the problems with manuscript four and how the shifted character arch to be placed at the beginning of this manuscript. This too, made its story bulkier and more connected to the drama in the story with a new location for scenes. It kept two characters closer together to complete both their story arches.

All I have to do now is fill in the blank areas of Vivian’s abuses of her husband in Act I that blends into Act II. Act III, which is manuscript two, will have to be cut a lot to make it fit, but I think I can do it. It will make four books turn into three books instead. A trilogy which is far easier to put together. Once all these ‘reshoots’ are done on my end, I go back to finding a new pair of eyes and fresh mind for a second Critique Partner – teammate #5 to the group.

In retrospect, if I hadn’t gone about swallowing my foolish pride in finding a Critique Partner, I would have sent off the manuscript 3 to querying prematurely. This would have caused set backs due to rejections. With each stage of development in the ever changing Quality Control tactics, I’ve learned far more than ever since only ten years ago. In such a short time of three months, I’ve learned exactly how Developmental Edits are done. Why that first critical step in edits, no matter how daunting it may look at first, is far more important than the piddly edits I attempted on my own.

To have teamwork to build a project as complex as a novel will propel you further toward your writing career and dream coming true for publication than you ever thought possible.

So far, 5 Beta Readers and 1 Critique Partner. The team is growing and will keep growing as the Quality Control moves along down the conveyer belt of production for future publication.

The Power of Reshoots

Editing is writing and editing is inevitable. Editing can never be ignored.

Editing a manuscript, no matter the number of draft it stands, in a visual concept can be looked at as reshoots. I’m calling my edits, at this stage in book 1, reshoots because of one factor – visually learning.

Seeing the edits in my head as a visual medium as though I’m cutting film, since I love movies, is helping me understand how to edit better. To see a previous scene in the manuscript as being shown on screen during tests. If the scene doesn’t work visually with engagement and pace, then it must be completely edited out and then reshot. Previously seeing these edits as a flat format of a 2D structure clogs my mind with paper and words. Seeing it as reshoots makes my mind happy in seeing the problem solving in action. Full color, sound and movement.

The current edits I’ve found, with the help of a Reddit user who has offered their help as a critique partner, has opened my eyes. There is a scene in book 1, chapter 2 for example, where the character Ambros is lingering in the Geraci mansion to look for more clues. The next scene shows Frankie in the dreaming for the main part of the chapter. This Ambros/Geraci mansion scene seems extra and should be on it’s own, says my CP (Critique Partner) on Reddit. They are able to see problems I couldn’t because I’m far too close to the material. Not seeing the forest for the trees, or however that saying goes.

Another chapter, chapter 3, concerning Brandon, the pace of his development is blocked by Vivian. Their interaction seems forced and unnatural cause of what’s going on. With the eyes of my CP, and my previous thoughts on the matter months ago, the Brandon character needs to be away from Vivian. By doing so, he won’t know who she is and can stay in New England interacting with Catherine in a more natural setting that his character development demanded. This will force Vivian to confront her husband more directly in what she needs to take her road trip. Now that my CP saw what I suspected and we both agree on this change, visually the Brandon character has shown himself to me in my mind. Where as before, he refused to appear. Now I understand why.

Not only are large reshoots found, so to are small fixes. Such as – descriptive aspects of a character’s house for the Umari family. I hadn’t thought about describing their house and hadn’t put a place holder on it. It had slipped my mind. I had mentioned it being a townhouse later in the book or in book 2, if memory serves me correct. But that does not excuse to lack in place markers for future needs. If ever there is a place you must go back to – leave an area in BOLD with a side note. You’ll be grateful for it later during reshoots.

Seeing my edits as reshoots has helped clear my mind to focus more directly on the material in front of me. I’m grateful for this lesson by my CP and my subconscious helping along.

Inner Worries of a Novelist

Nearly ten weeks have been spent on lockdown for self quarantine of the Covid-19 virus for Washington state. The lockdown began for us in Washington state on March 17th, if my memory serves me correct. (The next day my 40th birthday celebrated as best I could) Before then, about early January 2020 I was already watching and learning of the virus online through creditable YouTube channels. Following practicing and licensed doctors that understood how pathology of viruses works. I enjoy studying and keeping up on scientific changes as things like Covid-19 progress. This also made me hyper-focus on nothing but the ever changing findings of the virus as I watched my boyfriend worry about finances in late March as his job slowly closed up shop. This meant he would be in the house every single day starting in late March, early April.

As the changes to the lockdown continued of what we could do to keep active and what we could only do in keeping safe as time passed. Wearing masks and gloves became the norm for us. As the weather got better, with a few days to a full week of sunshine and clear night skies, I was able to take my nightly walks. The walks I call: Writing Walkies. A priceless and cherished time to let my mind focus on the stories I’m writing or trying to write.

With my boyfriend at home all the time, taking his time to be in his office to play video games mostly Sims 4 and at times coming to sit together watching YouTube videos and our favorite shows on Hulu…it has now come to my attention (now that Phase 2 of reopening Washington state begins), I have not had a full comfortable mental process of focuses on Soul’s Little Lie book 1. The times I took to write when my boyfriend would be at work were perfect for me. I was able to think clearly without the mental pull to talk with him, sit next to him on the couch or to do yard work together. (We were able, with help from our neighbor, to attack and kill off the blackberries for seven days worth of hard labor. We are not done by far to make the backyard the way we want it, but those seven days saved us a comparable month or two worth. Thank you Shane!)

Since this revelation has come to the forefront of my mind, this got me to thinking of the psychological aspects to myself of what makes me truly focus as a writer in a healthy way.

First and foremost, growing up in a household that constantly kept me on edge due to my narcissistic, mentally ill abusive mother and the chaos my mentally ill brother brought into our lives and coupled with the few to hardly no friends throughout most of my school years, it was difficult to concentrate on any writing or painting at all. It was only once my mother went to work or when my brother was away from family for monthly stretches or a few years at a time for countless reasons, was I able to do the work I wanted that made me happy. As for my father, who enforced the rules of the house with threat of a belt across my ass (yet mom was the one who beat me) and following the whims of my abusive mother, his wife, I didn’t have much stress over him fogging up my mind.

Once they were all out of the house, even for a weekend trip for themselves when I was old enough to be left alone in the apartment, it would take me a day or two to reset my mind to focus on my arts. This focus would continue for days or weeks until the chaos of the house of my mother’s ravings and gaslighting would flare up again. Then the cycle would continue. I would have to wait until it was safe to concentrate on my work.

The process continued again when I was married to a mentally ill abuser who gaslighted me at every turn. Even when I worked a retail job I wouldn’t calm down to focus until I had a day or two to decompress. Once the husband (now ex-husband for eight years), would be off to work, while I did not work, I was able to focus at will. I would paint, draw, dance or write to my hearts content. It was after all what spawned the first manuscript for Soul’s Little Lie that later was published for a time in 2015.

Now, here it is nearly ten weeks of lockdown quarantine for Washington state and my boyfriend of four years has been in the house constantly cause he can not work at the ice rink until the coast is clear. I’m not pulling my hair out or throwing fits over it. I’m calm and busy studying about the virus and the political changes in the world. Off and on I have been watching YouTube videos about writing, querying, publishing, etc to keep up, but the mental focus to work on rewriting/editing process for book one has slipped away.

All I have to do is type up a new chapter 2 and rewrite from scratch chapter 18 to possibly chapter 20, all these chapters are strictly the point of view of my Frankie Bellington character. Frankie has been difficult to talk to though. It is almost as though my subconscious does not want to see what he has to offer to the story of Soul’s Little Lie of the heartache he feels of what happened. I understand it’s a part of me that’s afraid of failure in a way, but it is also a personification of my inner lack of focus that stems from the past of abusive family and ex-husband’s abuses.

My boyfriend has never been abusive toward me in any fashion, so why am I not able to focus? The full truth could be that – the uncertainty of the future scares me to the core. I’m not alone in these uncertain times of fear and worry. Though, in a way this fear is unfounded. The great saying, “We have nothing to fear, but fear itself”, comes to mind easily to me, but that inner part of me has been through so much, it makes me hunker down to survival mode.

And yet, the true survival mode that got me through all the years of abuse was directly connected to writing and painting. Writing more helped me flesh out my feelings; my thoughts to the full ability of the English language in which I speak. Though, still, why am I not able to focus on the few chapters I have left in book one during editing draft 3?

Am I yet still afraid of critique partners and new beta readers to come after this? Do I fear what they will say about my work since I was so terribly burned out by my first publisher of the editor they gave me did not help worth a bit.

I linger so in my goals to become the future published novelist I’ve always wanted to be. Even still, Frankie Bellington’s words must be heard, must be spoken at all costs.

Here I am, seated at my computer and I have typed at least this on my author site for all to read. A feeling of relief escapes my lips as I end this entry.

Spring Flowers Of My Truth

I’m writing this article today because of this YouTube video: The Case For Fan Fiction

Since there are more authors coming forward in telling their reader base: ‘Yeah, I wrote fan fiction and it helped me learn how to write better.’…I feel strong enough mentally now to come forward to tell my piece. To allow my spring flowers to come up from the earth to see the light of day.

Fan fiction to me is an outlet to help jump start or a warming up period to writing something original. To get that feeling of the pen between my fingers. To feel the pen moving across the paper as words drip onto the page one by one. To make limber my fingers at the keyboard to type as smoothly or as awkwardly as possible. (With the joy in knowing the spell checker will always be there)

Writing fan fiction is a glorious way to practice, not just in the basic structure of sentences and word usage, but in the process that little is talked about – practice in remembering a whole story and the character(s) formations within. It takes a lot of work to flush out a whole story even if its based on someone else’s previous or current prose. Sometimes, but most often, getting your mind to wrap around the complexity of character development, plot and subplot structure and basic other story beats, there is a lot to hold onto. Writing fan fiction in the character types you loved such as, for example of my own works: 1980s My Little Pony, Dragonball Z and New Kids On The Block (Real Person Fiction), helped me understand the complexities of juggling all of these critical writing structure needs.

Learning what I watched and read of the above examples of cartoon, anime and real life people that I aspired to, I was able to flesh out fairly well constructed original stories. All the while keeping in mind the basic principals of what made those cartoon fictions and real life people who they are and what they became. Coming up with original characters is hard work, but there are times that writing fan fiction helps you understand the structure of a character(s). Fan fiction is just that important to us writers.

Now, here it is, more and more professional authors are coming out expressing that they got their start by writing fan fiction when they were teenagers. All of us writers also got our basic start in English classes and Creative Writing classes all throughout our early school years, some as far as college. However, when in between writing class assignments, spring break and summer break, what do we do? We write fan fiction to keep our skill in top shape. We keep writing no matter the subject manner as long as it is something we love and can mold to our own enjoyment.

As for my own fan fiction, I have a few, but two of them that I posted live, are made with a twist. My Fan Fiction (Mythian)  “The Island“, it all came from dreams that I put together. I would wake up from the dream with a ‘…To Be Continued’ nearly each morning. I would pick up right where I left off in the dream. Finding at least thirty dreams that made up the whole of The Island, I didn’t start writing it down until 2005. The dream had kept itself hold up for so long, that I’m surprised I remembered it so perfectly to be written the way it was.

The Nightmare” worked the same way. Dreamed it constantly every few days for a while year. Psychologically I was trying to come to terms if being a New Kids fan was worth my time and effort. Later, wrote it down completely in 2005 or so to keep a record of its originality. Years later, I placed this into my third Soul’s Little Lie novel, but shortened it to fit my needs for that collection of characters.

On their own, The Island and The Nightmare would never do well by themselves. The way my mind constructed these dreams the only smart place for them was to weave them into my current novels. As for the My Little Pony and DragonBall Z fan fiction, they will stay right where they are and will never be changed to suit my original works. They were for warm up and practice and I love the time I put into them.

The importance of fan fiction writing can take you farther than you realize. The trick is, how do you weave your dreams into something original that will help you grow to go farther as a writer? That’s totally up to you.

Humble Before My Creation

There is something I came to understand when I was seventeen. Something that myself as an artist and possible many other artists out there, came to understand about their creative works.

This world is full of stories. The world thrives on stories of all kinds – may the stories be of gossip, news of the day by the strumming bard’s lute and song, or by stories to teach from teacher to student. A whole countless collection of fictions and real life tales of days gone by.

Each of these stories, told by many over the centuries, may take on a unique quality of existence. A life of their own far away into the universe. In an alternate universe maybe, just maybe, the stories we create to share with one another, the storyteller’s world becomes flesh; real with time in an alternate universe and world.

If this be true, the storyteller would never know of their creation being flesh. The physics of our world forbids us passage to such worlds, at least for now. The only way close enough for the storyteller to touch their creation is through television shows and movies and plays on a stage.

This is where the storyteller who created their fictional world cries; weeps for joy seeing their world made flesh. A happiness that no other artist, save for the team that helps put the fictional world into flesh, could understand what that feels like inside the heart.

Having come to realize this so long ago and revisiting it now, knowing the hard work it takes to edit a manuscript to full polished beauty for agents and publishers, I feel humble and grounded. With the hope of a final product waiting in the wings of my mind and on the page…I am more humble before my creation than ever for whatever it may become.