Hiya, Ghosts and Ghouls!
Today’s the day. Grab your copy of Killing Sabrina from Amazon, COMPLETELY FREE — from now until April 11. All I ask for in return is a quick post-read review.
If you’re a Sterile Dirt Club subscriber, (and if you’re not — why not, fam??) and already have a copy of Killing Sabrina — don’t worry. I got you covered. 😉 Check your inbox for your very special treat, and tell all your friends and family about this killer giveaway!
(If you’re a new subscriber between April 7 and April 11 and don’t get the email containing today’s bonus, please e-mail me and we’ll get stuff sorted out.)
Okay. That’s all from me. Off to go have a picnic in a graveyard, somewhere. Enjoy this Saturday, my beautiful monsters.
Hiya! It’s my birthday next week, and guess what? I want to give YOU a gift. FOR A LIMITED TIME (April 7 – April 11) I’m giving away my brand spankin’ new novelette Killing Sabrina. Stay tuned, and don’t miss out!
Click here for more info on Killing Sabrina.
That’s not the only great news I have for you, either. The latest chapter in the Quest for the Crystals saga has just launched on Wattpad. Hop on over to see what Regina, Dwain, and their new friend Astral Ages, are up to this week.
Hey, Ghost & Ghouls!
It’s about a skunk named Regina, and her hedgehog friend, Dwain. They’re orphans, no thanks to some jerk-ass canines who took it upon themselves to slaughter everyone in the kids’ village. Now Regina and Dwain are looking for answers — and revenge.
In a nutshell? Wind in the Willows meets A Song of Ice & Fire. That’s right. No messing around.
This first novel in the Quest for the Crystals saga a tale that’s been in the works for well over five years now. It’s something I’m incredibly proud of, and feel a liiiiiiittle selfish just keeping this tale of political intrigue and high fantasy all to one little corner of the Internet.
So, if you’re not already following me on Wattpad to take part in this weekly-serialized adventure, you’re in luck. Starting today, I’ll let you in on the action too – every single Tuesday.
‘Til next time, Ghosts & Ghouls!
Stay creepy. 😉
Someone I once knew in my old life pushed away friendships that weren’t “emotionally easy”, because she was too afraid to share herself deeper than skin-level. She was quiet and awkward, and intelligent and confident, and caring and angry.
I knew her as well as she’d let me, but at one time I considered her a best friend. We’d met in college and spent the first two years of our friendship getting stoned or drunk and bonding over cheesy ’80s movies, midnight adventures with our dorm-mates out in the campus arboretum, or sitting quietly around her kitchen table, gleefully roasting toothpicks over an open scented candle flame.
She was a person who protected her heart behind sky-cutting walls, but wrote beautiful agony inside her notebooks. Her poems spoke of deep and cryptic musings that flowed from the sorrow of her heart. Death. Love. Hurt. Confusion. Pain.
Very few people were granted access to her poetry. Not even her lovers were allowed inside. Distant and guarded face-to-face, it was clear to me that what she wrote was what helped her heal and to sort things out and try to find perspective in life.
The reason I bring her up now is for the simple fact that she’d come to mind recently. Thinking of her brought on feelings of pain for myself, grief for what once had been. Thinking of my friend caused me to reflect on my own life up to now, how much pain I’ve faced in thirty-one years. How much pain I’ve run away from in thirty-one years.
Nobody enjoys the experience of pain. Real, heart-wrenching pain.
When given the option, we run from pain like it were a sickness – a common cold, the flu. We mask it with alcohol and drugs, with a bright smile and a gregarious nature – sometimes helping others feel good about themselves. Sometimes, we mask our pain with arrogance, overcompensation in our achievements to attempt to showcase a false perception of emotional perfection, that we have our “shit” together.
Many times, we mask our pain with our credit cards and bank accounts.
We do everything in our power to maintain a fleeting sense of happiness. To not be happy means that there is something wrong with us. That something deep within the woodwork has malfunctioned. And instead of putting on our work gloves and hard hats, ready to search within ourselves to fix the problem, we are expected to be stoic. “Pain is weakness,” people with bravado complexes say. Visual vulnerability within a person is taboo. To be genuine with ourselves is almost blasphemy, invokes feelings of shame and guilt.
But pain is a part of life, as natural as all positive emotion we share on the contrary – even if pain is unpleasant and messy, and sometimes shows us harsh and honest truths we would rather not be privy to.
The fact of the matter is that pain shows us who we really are. If we let it, pain can help us to grow and to help others who are in search for a guiding light.
We cannot selectively numb emotions, when we numb the painful emotions, we also numb the positive emotions.
~ Brené Brown
As artists, it is our duty to peel away the flesh that keeps all that is safe and secure. Emotion is the birthright of humanity, and our exploration of the deeper self – while in no way an easy task – is what allows us to speak to our audiences. This is because artists are obligated to express themselves honestly. Most of us have something evocative to say, we stand for something that resonates with other people. Therefor, it is our responsibility to speak from a place of soulfulness, worldly experience gleaned from the experience of pain.
Whether or not our audiences realize it, we relate to their pain through our own pain. As my friend displayed, art in and of itself is healing. Music resonates with the teenager going through a world-ending breakup. Television, movies, and video games offer cathartic release to wound up adults after a rough day at the office. Books and comics fuel hungry imaginations, and often inspire change.
Art heals, because art is art is pain – and pain is honesty. This is how some of the greatest works in the world, including our own, are created. [Tweet this!]
I started writing this article out of a sense of pain. Grief has been heavy on my heart over the last year, and thoughts of anger, regret, sadness, and ultimate confusion and loss threw me headlong into a hurricane of wavering depression. Some days I have an all right grasp – others, not so much.
Truth of the matter is, the friend from my old life is no longer my friend. We were too different. Needed different things than what the other was willing to offer or compromise for.
We always said our friendship was the type that “you could go years without speaking, and reconnect like nothing separated us.” I believed that.
But I had to move on.
A lot of mistakes were made on both sides. A lot of regret. It hurts like a son of a bitch, even a year later, but when I’m being honest with myself, I know letting go and thinking on the good memories was the best decision – for the both of us. I hold no anger. No animosity. She was good to me, the best she could be. I am grateful for what we had.
But it still hurts. A fuck ton. I sat down and started to write this article in an attempt to help aid my pain to heal. And this soon became an article about developing your inner pain into art.
It’s important to do something creative and constructive when you’re feeling emotional. It’s healthy. It’s therapeutic. My friend knew this, and so do many artistic geniuses. What I especially love about this process that I feel like the reins are being given back. The emotions have relinquished their control and something tangible, shareable, is carved and fired into existence.
Our emotions are part of who we are as living, breathing, entities of this universe. When we push away our emotions and try to mask our pain with distraction, nothing is solved. On the contrary, our pain will only manifest deeper within our souls, and over time – if we don’t release it somehow – our bodies and mind will be caught in the crossfire and will pay the price in the end.
I just finished a 12-hour marathon novelette rewrite (8,500 words). I’m hungry, exhausted, and insanely proud of the final product.
Time to crack open some wine and call it a night.
Fuck, I love being an author.