Mental health effect on my writing

 Originally I was going to try to just pick up where I left off and write about some Blog ideas that have been pickling in my brain.

Instead I decided to start off with a fizzle. And write a little about the last few months.

If you follow my blog posts, you'll see that I was going pretty good and then I needed to pull back a little in order to beat NaNo WriMo last year. I knew that if I tried to keep up my daily blogging and try to do my daily word count, I would fail. But I fully planned to pick up blogging again in December; maybe not daily but I could at least get a blog post up weekly.

But then the holidays came up and even though I wasn't working a day job yet, the stresses of trying to make Christmas nice for my kids kept me away from my computer. The more I stress, the more I clean my house. Or take naps.

My husband had missed quite a few days each week of his work but we at least had unemployment, until we didn't. So I started applying places and one of the local dollar stores needed a Asst. Manager (Which has as much authority as being a cashier--except I could handle the deposit money.) But they needed only nights and weekends, which might not be so bad except I get up with my husband at 4am when he goes to work and my kids have school. Just about the time they were finishing and he got home, I was leaving for the night. And I was never given any weekend days off--even when I requested a day. So--I didn't see much of my family and I wasn't making very much money. And also, Hubby's health issues got worse. The doctor's put him on medical leave until the end of this month so his money disappeared starting the end of January.

At my work place the usual manager took very ill and still has not returned because of her health, and her acting manager and another manager from a nearby store got a power trip and had a dislike for me for reasons I have only guessed (The previous manager they are trying to steal the store from hired me. The acting manager's BFF couldn't pass the manager test and I "took" her job. The BFF is psycho and tried to pick a fight with me the second week and pinned the blame on me to corporate and to her buddy acting manager. And maybe some other non-logical reasons) I really don't have solid reasons, but they were being passive aggressive and giving me extra work and stupid jobs that were near impossible to finish by closing time. They left snarky notes about what I didn't do or didn't complete and they talked shit about me to all the cashiers. I put up with it, even though it was draining and stressful. My husband was continuously telling me I needed to quit. The last straw happened when they harassed me and black mailed me to come into work against doctor's orders even though I had a note, they wrote me up. And because they were angry at me for calling off for the first time, they told the cashiers that they would be getting me out of their soon and planned to up their blame game to corporate so that every problem was my fault.

I finally got tired of their crap. I graduated from high-school (I shouldn't have to deal with it at work from supposed adults) over 20yrs ago and this job was not nearly as important or as enjoyable as being a hairstylist or a substitute teacher. Plus, they didn't pay me nearly enough to deal with the stress. For the first time in twenty years, I flat out quit my job instead of putting in my two-weeks notice because I had had enough.

The reason for this backstory/information dump (Which is a no-no in writing a novel, but is probably okay in blogging) is to show a little of the day-to-day emotional/mental stress that has been going on since New Year's. that doesn't include my husband's health issues or his multiple appointments. Nor does it include the sick elderly cats I have worried about or any of the financial crap.

Because of this, I have been exhausted. On my days off I oversleep and usually still take a nap. When I was awake and at home, I felt guilty about my laziness pertaining to housework and would kill myself to get all the basics done (dishes, sweeping, vacuuming, cleaning bathroom and a few loads of laundry) before I would have to go to work and haul around heavy boxes and stock shelves. My knees are stiff and painful and my shoulder issue has flared up. And as for critical thinking (in order to help my kids with their school work) I have been able to scrape out the dregs clinging to the bottom of my brain. 

And creativity? During this past month it has been near impossible to find. I was inspired maybe 2 days since before New Year's to continue on my book and that was only a few pages worth each time. I have been reading some new authors and have at least been able to follow the stories and enjoy them. I have also been watching a few shows like Wanda-Vision and enjoy those as well, but when it comes to creating anything my brain is numb.

I quit last week on my daughter's bday. I still feel residual irritation or the feeling of being overwhelmed. I'm hoping the side effects of being at that negative workspace will wear off soon. My husband's health is still--meh. But at least we found out the spot on his liver is not cancerous. And some of the other things aren't as dark as they were, so maybe I'll get my groove back.

Part of getting in the swing of things is this blog. I took a shower got my favorite tea and sat down to write on here. And I plan to write some more of my story sometime today, even if it is only a few pages.

I have read some writing advice that says basically that it doesn't matter what's going on. Writing is a job and you can't call off work because you are sad. You have to write every single day. And I've tried to follow that advice. I've applied it to being a hairstylist successfully.

 But there is something different about writing for me. I can't just write. When I'm emotionally and mentally tapped out, there's nothing there to use. If I get stressed enough, I stop feeling emotions completely. Thankfully, it's only happened a handful of times and I never feel upset about it. I logically know this is bad and discuss it with my husband, who takes it seriously. I haven't gotten that numb in a while, but there is a pervading numbness creeping through my brain. It's like the warning tingles you get in your foot before it's dead. Except with my brain (or heart if you would rather) My creativity goes hand in hand with my emotions and if they hide from the ugly of the world they take my muse with them until it is safe. Yes, I could probably write words on paper, but they would be stilted and mechanical. They wouldn't flow or have life and that's even if I could force my weary body to sit in front of the keyboard that long.

But the darkness is ebbing and cobwebs are thinning today. So today I blog and maybe write the next part of my book. And hopefully tomorrow it will be even better. I can always keep hoping.

Honestly, I am tired after writing this blog and will probably read my book for a while as I fight the urge to take a nap. Hopefully, after a rest I will be back here typing away on my novel.

How do you guys deal with stress, exhaustion, weariness and/or numbness if you get that way sometimes?

Do you follow advice and just write anyway or do you take time to recoup?

I'd love some advice or at least knowledge that I'm not the only one. I hope to hear from you.

Has Heather disappeared off the face of the earth? No, it's just NaNoWriMo time again

 

    For a week or so there I was blogging every day again. Really just getting back into the swing of things like a champ. Most of my posts were random, which is the way I like it. Although I did try to make them fairly "author-y".

    Then poof. No more blogs. What happened? First Halloween happened, but then November 1st hit and now it's time for NaNoWriMo. 

    What is NaNoWriMo? It stands for National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo). And the idea is that starting on November 1st through November 30th, writers of all types (amateurs to NY Times bestsellers), sit down every day and write. The goal is to write 50,000 words in that month. It seems daunting to those who don't write daily or are slow writers, but it's not a competition. It's motivation to help you get your writing done. There are many people that are in the same boat as you who need that extra nudge to get shit done. Some people write more, some write less. Sometimes you hit your goal and sometimes you don't. 

    I have an author friend that regularly publishes multiple books a year. She writes fast and she writes all the time. She still does NaNo because it help re motivate her. I also know others who use it for it's community. At Nano you can buddy up with friends, join local groups and do "write ins" and "Sprints" and you can read pep talks from some of your favorite authors. It helps you feel more connected. It shows you that these authors are just regular people, like you , that had an idea and wrote it down.  They all started at the beginning, just like you.

    And here's a bonus. It's not about how great your first draft is. Generally the first draft is filled with grammatical errors. Or as I read one time; You're first draft is a pile of shit, that's why we edit and do revisions. But you can't clean it up if you don't get it on paper. NanoWrimo doesn't care about how pretty it is. It just wants you to vomit words on paper. That's it. Get the words in. Get your butt in a chair. Noone sees your work but you. All Nano cares about it word count.

    So, yeah, you probably won't see me much. I will try to blog from time to time if I remember something other than my novel over this next month. I will try. But my main focus right now is getting that word count. Reaching 50k by the end of November and finishing this novel. And if I can finish this one. If I can sit and write every day and it becomes a habit, then I can finish all my other poor stories that have been in a coma for years. And maybe even barf out some of the stories that have been trapped in my head as well.

    Have you tried NaNo? If you're an aspiring writer, I recommend you check it out.

See you on the other side. And good luck if you're doing it. :D

https://nanowrimo.org

 

The void that murdered my MUSE and the my passion

Isn't it amazing how there are things in life that can suck away at your creative juices without you even paying attention?
And the sad part is that you have control of these Muse killing vampires.

But the problem is that you focus on everything else and turn a blind eye to this draining thing/things.

Did you know that my life revolved around creativity, music and art when I was younger? I was in every choir I could get my hands on. I sang five days a week--multiple times a day and some weekends and I loved it. At one point I planned to work my way through college until I made it off Broadway. I couldn't imagine a time that I didn't sing. Hell! When I wasn't singing for a group I was singing in the shower, on the walk to and from school and while cleaning.

I also danced 5 days a week for show choir and during the performances. And sometime for the spring musical. I also played piano most days, as my grandmother (a retired piano teacher and full time organist) came out of retirement to teach me.

I was also in art class and had a notebook for sketching and doodling.

And when I wasn't doing these thing (and school work) I was reading everyday throughout the day and most days I wrote short stories for fun.

Fast forward and I not only stopped singing in choirs etc. But I stopped singing Karaoke (which is something I did at least once a month for about a decade give or take.) And I did a vaudville style show for a while that had dancing, but it became too much of a hassle. I was also in a writing group with friends for a few years, and MAN the stories and story ideas I had were great then. And they all tapered off.

In fact, I was quite surprised to realize, about a years and a half ago, that I'd stopped reading for fun.
I was able to get back to reading every day, which is like meditation for me, but the other stuff is still gone.

For someone who used to sing and dance all the time, I don't sing anymore. Not even in the shower.Not while cleaning. Not at karaoke. No listening to music, except at work. Nothing. I don't dance anymore, except last year a couple times I danced at a kids dance to get my daughter out on the floor. Never for the pure joy of it. I never draw. The last time was a couple years ago with the kids while we were making silly doodles. and before that over four years ago in my notes at college. And I haven't written much. Each time I try to write a story or pick up where I left off, there is no drive. No passion. I can't see or feel my characters. I did a couple 30 min. word sprints and pushed through them just to prove  I could but it left me feel flat. And tired.

Now, there have been many thing that have happened over the years: Kids, kids injuries and sickness, taking care of my MIL with Dementia for 2 years as her primary care giver,  college, more college, still college (APA sucks the creativity out of all my writing), financial stress, loss of pets, loss of family, loss of karaoke, loss of writing group,my mom having a stroke, having to move, having to move my family in 5 days, my husband traveling all the time and being gone for over a month while I moved us and settled us into a new home,  my husband dying and coming back, but then struggling with recovery both physically and mentally (and me, too) A crazy amount of doctor appointments in the last4 months(I think my hubby has like 8 or 9 dr. with regular appointments) A change at my old job-then getting a new job, and 2 kids at 2 schools that need dropped off and picked up all while having 1 van. (and other things I'm sure I didn't think to add.
Now these are all valid distractions, but the main problem here is me.

 I got so focused on everything else and everybody else, that I ignored me. And now, I feel this void.
I got back in the habit of always reading a little bit and that helps, but I reach for my MUSE and there is no answer. There's a hole there. It's dark and depressing and pretty deep after all these years.
I don't think it's writer's block.
I think my MUSE is dead. It's like everytime I try to do something joyful and creative I'm just moving my dead zombie MUSE around like a puppet master putting on a good show.

I tried singing in the shower but didn't feel like it. I got a few lines to a sad song out and then just trailed off and started mentally organizing a list of all the things I had to do that day. I tried to draw the other day and just made round scribbles and pushed it to the side to work on my grown-up lesson plan paper that was due tonight. I went on my phone to play piano tiles because it makes my heart glad to hear songs that I used to play and I can remember the feel of the piano keys under my fingers as I made beautiful music flow, but then I got distracted by my google calendar, upcoming appointments, and messages I needed to respond to.

I thought I might get my writing juices going by blogging a little every other day or so. And I spent a good ten minutes staring at this blank page trying desperately to remember any of the blog ideas I used to store away for when "I had time" and came up blank.
I thought: What's wrong with me? Why can't I think of anything interesting, relevant or funny? Where's the passion? Where's the joy? Where's my MUSE?
Do I keep moving my MUSE's cadaver around-imitating life. Do I bury him and just give in to the void? Do I go to the MUSE humane society and see if there is a little muse there, that's lost like me and needs a good home? I really don't know.

But...
 I think I will listen to some music. I think, I'll write some blogs about stupid crap--whatever crosses my mind. I think I'll take advantage of not having any classes until January and actually do NANOWRIMO this November, even if I just spread the stench of my corpse-muse guts all over the paper. I may do some dance fitness videos--just because I love to dance. And I may ask Santa Clause to get me a keyboard (it may not be a full sized piano, but it can sound like one)

I think I might just keep practicing the things that used to light up my soul until they become habits. Then we'll see how my MUSE is doing. It may be a little brand new weak little baby MUSE, but it'll have room to grow.

I got hurt. I've been called a hero. I mostly just feel stupid.

On Tuesday night I got hurt at work.

Picture from another salon, but same mirrors and stations to give you an idea of what they look like.

A very large oversized mirror (Maybe 4 ft by 3ft) trimmed in wood and weighing a shit ton (Not really. It is just super crazy heavy) fell off the wall, barely missing a kid's head and was coming toward me, the kid's mom and his brother sideways so the impact would have probably projected glass right at us.

Now I didn't really have time to think all of this. At least not consciously. I just knew that breaking glass with kiddos around would be very bad JuJu. And without thinking I lunged for the mirror and caught the top and side, which then yanked me forward with the weight and velocity of the fall. As I struggled to not drop it, it swung around and slammed into the side of my neck, jaw and collarbone.

I was stunned temporarily and somehow didn't drop the damn thing. The mom rushed over, helped me lower it and asked if I was OK. After my ears stopped ringing I felt the stinging/burning pain in my neck. And when I looked it was bright red and puffy. She was amazed at my reflexes. I was--still in shock. In fact I was cold and shaky for a bit. All I could keep thinking was: It hit my neck! My freakin' neck! That is not good at all. On the side of my neck is the Carotid Artery and the Jugular and what about my esophagus?! My head is still ringing and I have a headache. Do I have a concussion?

I grabbed something cool out of the fridge (A bottle of dressing because we don't have ice cubes in our tiny fridge) and called my manager. He seemed shocked and concerned and told me I could leave if I wanted. The mother's boyfriend, at that time, showed up with a gallon baggie of ice, which I gratefully pressed to my very painful, throbbing neck.
I told the mom I thought I was alright but I would see. I finished her 2nd and 3rd kid's haircuts, while monitoring myself. I was still shakey and cold. but I was coherent and speaking fine. My pupils were equal and responsive and I had no bruising behind my ear...So--probably no concussion. But, man, that neck wound looked and felt awful.

My manager came rushing in with a cold pack and began shutting down the store for me. I rang out the customers, told them I was so glad that it hadn't hit on of the kids, and walked down to the urgent care. They checked me, said I seemed fine, follow up with my doctor but keep an eye on it, because I could have damage the artery wall and it could aneurysm for up to 2 weeks....Wait. What?!

So, I drive home and spent a good portion of the night trying not to flip the hell out. I was scared. What if I went to sleep and it popped like a balloon and I died? How would I keep an eye on it? I'm not qualified. They said that it would swell but watch for too much swelling. How much is too much?
It was rough trying to pretend to be okay when inside I was rocking and babbling and panicking.

And you know the main thing I felt? Stupid.
Why did I try to catch a huge mirror? I'm not a superhero with super strength.

 Why was my automatic response to run toward a mirror that could have done much worse things to me? Why? Why? Why? If I hadn't done this asinine thing I wouldn't be hurting with whiplash, headache, muscle ache, and throbbing (potentially fatal) neck wound. Why did I have to be so stupid?

And you know the simple answer.

I couldn't have stood by and let it crash and hurt those kids. If I hadn't done it they could have been sliced up. I am so glad they were okay. And I know it could have been worse.

But as I got ultrasounds on my neck and Xrays on my clavicle. As I move gingerly because my muscles are stiff and painful and as I gingerly (and fearfully) took a shower and avoided getting hot water on my neck (because, dude, what if the artery wall gets loose or extra blood flows up through there and POP) And as I pop Motrin and muscle relaxers like candy, but still have a headache. And as my body temperature is still whacky for reasons unknown, I still walk/shuffle/stagger away feeling very foolish and kicking myself for putting myself into this predicament.

People have said I was a hero, but I don't feel that way at all. So, if you have called me a hero and I answered somewhat awkwardly, it's because I'm not feeling courageous or heroic. I feel old, bruised, battered and stupid. But thanks for saying it anyway.

Becoming motivated to write again

I have been trying different methods to kick start my lazy self into writing again: Networking, building my social media platform, blogging, and reading multiple books on writing. Thankfully, they seem to be helping. I always enjoy seeing that these authors are just regular folks like you and me. That makes it easier somehow.

Now, I know that the best way to get writing is to start writing and just--you know. Write.

Buuut, it's been a while since I did some hard core writing. I was doing pretty good last fall, and then nothing. Fizzle. Poof.

Kinda depressing, actually.

The last time I was writing with some frequency was a couple summers ago. I was pretty regular but again, I let life distract me,

You know what I miss? Back when I was in a writing group, I felt so inspired. I would get a writing prompt and have a couple weeks to make into something new and amazing. I would start late, after my kids were asleep, and take advantage of the quiet. And BAM! I would get swept up in the writing. My fingers could not go fast enough.

I felt alive.
It was thrilling and almost manic.
And when it was done, it was a little sloppy, but it was beautiful and unique and came so easy.

Then, things shifted.
One member moved on and didn't glance back. He couldn't get away fast enough and I haven't heard from him for years.

Another became insanely successful in her writing career and also insanely busy--so, writing group--Ain't nobody got time for that.

The other is my husband and he and I are about the same, actually I think he's written a bit more tan me lately, but again it's sporadic.

The last few times I've sat down to write, it's after a looong day at my day job--or the other one--or working on my grad work. I just feel blah!

Why not write in the morning, Heather?
 Good question...
I am not a morning person. At. All.
I have woke up early in order write. Or get on the treadmill. Or do yoga.
You know what happens then? I sit, drinking coffee staring blearily at the tv or my computer and get 0 things done. I am a zombie capable of the most minute actions and thoughts. I can barely function and therefore cannot get the oomph to write thoughtful interesting scenes.

But, I am getting the pre-training done. As stated above, I am searching for inspiration. I am cultivating my social presence, I am updating my sites and making them more reader friendly and I am blogging again.

No Blogging is not writing my novel, but it is a baby step to get the juices flowing. The latest book on writing I am reading gave the advice to start small if you've been off the writing horse for a while and begin blogging or journaling or even writing a grocery list...you know. Something. And after you've written these things for a  bit, eventually it'll grease the motor and you can get your novel writing groove back.
So, here I am. Baby stepping the hell outta this blog. And I plan to blog about something everyday for the next couple weeks. Then...
Who knows?
I think I'll finish some of my books that have cooked way to long on the back burner.

The Ashtabula Train Disaster-Do you know about it?

Hello All.

I wrote this up earlier for a group chat but it ended up not sticking (prob. cuz the new yahoo groups is sucky) Anywho, even though it happened just after Christmas, the story is horrible enough to give you shivers. Plus there are stories of hauntings.So, I thought this might be appropriate for Halloween.

For my spookie story I am going to dip into some local history. This event took place in Ashtabula (ash-ta-byou-la), Ohio in 1876. See, the thing is that most people don’t know where Ashtabula is and many people don’t know that we had the worst disaster in history until the Titanic went down. Because of this event laws were passed that are still in effect today.

I’m talking about the “Ashtabula Train Disaster.” (also called the Ashtabula Horror or the Ashtabula Bridge Disaster)

It happened a few days after Christmas, during a terrible North East Ohio blizzard. If you’re not from this neck of the woods, I should tell you that the winters get pretty nasty up here next to Lake Erie. Because of the lake effect snow, we generally have more snow fall, wetter snow and air and dangerous conditions. If there’s a blizzard, you can’t see your hand in front of your face and can have snow up to your knees within an hour. Within seconds of stepping outside the cold cuts through you like knives and seems to chill your soul.

Train No. 5, The Pacific Express, was a luxury train carrying  159 passengers from Erie, P.A to Ashtabula, OH. At around 7:30pm the train crossed over the Ashtabula River and was nearly to the train station (only 1,000 ft. away), when the bridge collapsed. The engine was across the bridge and tried to speed up to pull the train to safety but everything plummeted 76 ft. into the water. On top of that many cars flipped over and landed on its roof. And most of the cars had fireplaces. Within seconds the cars turned into an inferno. The crash had been heard and the town raised the alarm. With difficulty the townspeople trudged through the snow and down the steep hill to the river’s edge. Some survivors had made their way to the shore. When the fire brigade showed up the railroad employees gave instructions for the fire brigade to save some survivors and make a path up the ravine. They never used any water to put out the flames even though there were still people trapped inside that were never rescued. 92

Mass grave for the unrecognizable

Charles Collins burial sight

people died that night, 48 charred beyond recognition. Sixty-four were injured. After much investigation, The railroad engineer Charles Collins

was found dead with a suspicious gunshot wound to the head. Speculations about suicide occurred but it was obvious that he had been murdered. 7 years later Amasa Stone, President of the Lake Shore Michigan Southern Railway, committed suicide. There are still pieces of the train down in the ravine today and from the local stories, some nights you can hear the crash and screams of the passengers. If you go down there, the hair on your arms raises and you can feel the heat from an invisible flame caressing you.
Here are a couple links if you would like to know more.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ashtabula_River_Railroad_Disaster
http://vimeo.com/61177944 (This is a pretty awesome and creepy trailer)
http://www.deadohio.com/AshTrain.htm

So, tell me have you heard about the disaster? Do you have any other info that might not be general knowledge?

How about your stomping ground--does it have an interesting history?

Let me know. I'd love to hear from you.

Heather Geoffries

Author of best selling erotic romance "Nordic Prince" and the following story "South Sea Siren"