To Write or Paint?

Hello friends! Another week, another adventure. Well, an adventure into painting that is. After staring at my walls, trying to come up with the latest plot twist, I decided it was well past time to repaint them. After years of family abuse of pen marks, pencil drawings, paint explosions, and other various tried and tested tortures they have suffered, I grasped that five gallon paint vat, mixed it until my fingers ached, and poured the vaporous mixture into the bucket.

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How I relished the silky taupe that would soon make my walls bright and cheery again.

After about five minutes of staring down at the paint, glistening eyes and all (drat the vapors), I swiped them dry with my shirtsleeve and with gusto I tackled the nearest wall. Roll after roll it took on a sparkly sheen. Up and down the ladder I went, cutting in near the ceiling and at the baseboards, and when all was said and done, I stood, shoulders squared, chin up, and beamed at that gloriously painted wall.

Of course, I felt proud. Who wouldn’t?! Muscles I hadn’t felt in decades gave me a swift ‘Hello’ in the form of stabbing, shooting pains, and my legs trembled at the exertion, but I was not going to let anything dampen the exultation thrumming through my veins.

Satisfied, I stepped back and turned around, half expecting congratulatory slaps on the back for a job well done, but no matter. I was proud. Proud…

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And then, with a feeling of impending doom, I viewed the multiple walls yearning to be painted, and an overwhelming panic ensued. What. Have. I. Done????

*sigh*

Buck up soldier! Time to get the paint on, am I right?! So, I rolled up those imaginary sleeves, tightened that ponytail, and stared down those walls that taunted me from around the room. I would not perish! They were going down.

The ladder, which I thought helpful, turned traitorous with each painful step, and the endless sight of unpainted walls mocked me, but I kept on. Swipe after painful swipe, I tackled those obstinate walls, and when three were done (did I mention that I’ve got 18 walls to paint?) I leaned against the kitchen counter and exhaled.

Now, four days later, I’m still painting, and I’d rather be writing. I will NEVER complain about writing again. I think I’ll be dreaming about walls for the foreseeable future, but there was a silver lining in all the drudgery.

First, I’m sore which means I’m building muscle. Score! Second, I’m proud of those freshly painted walls. It was time, and third, painting shares similarities with writing.

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I know some might think I’ve inhaled too much vapor, but hear me out. Painting requires attention to detail. It also requires dedication and determination. I know that many writers would agree that to make it as an author, we must be both dedicated and determined because it’s easy to just give up. However, where’s the fun in that? Moreover, painting utilizes layers to cover up flaws or enhance them, and so does writing.

Anyway, I’ve had a crash course in painting, and once completed, I will not be painting walls ever again. However, I’m grateful for the ability to do it, and I appreciate those that paint for a living. You all get the biggest of high fives!

So, after I complete this painting excursion over the next few days, I will cherish my time for writing all the more. What about you? I want to hear from you. What are you up to? TV, movies, books, or painting, I want to hear about it. Leave a comment, and join the fun!

Happy reading,

K.D.

Indie Author Love

According to Amazon, October is the month to celebrate indie authors, and we writers are to share why we decided to go the route of self-publishing. While each author writes for various reasons, so too do we publish according to our own wants, desires and beliefs. Regardless of which way we choose, we all share the same goal of making an impact in the writing world.

Traditional publishing has always been touted as “making it” in the writing world, but with the advent of Amazon, we no longer must wait for those form letters telling us “Thank you,” but “No, thank you.” Our dreams need not be shattered with letter after letter of rejection. Instead, we studiously write, our fingers flying over the  keyboards or cramping under the strain of pen to paper for hours on end. We edit and rewrite knowing there’s somewhere for us to achieve a dream.

Self-publishing opened doors that were permanently rusted shut for the vast majority of writers until the likes of Amazon, Kobo, Apple and many others declared, “Come one, come all who write. We have a place for you!” Millions of writers flocked, and still flock, to upload their cover designs, copyright pages, dedications and tear stained manuscripts. We clinch our jaws and fidget in our chairs for eons, inching our index fingers ever forward towards the ‘enter’ button that would load our books onto the internet for all to see.

Sure, the odds are stacked against us, and our sales may forever be severely less than desired, but it’s the dream, the possibility of reaching the masses that compels us onward.  My journey has been fraught with ups and downs, and I soldier on. Life happens, loved ones get ill, bills must be paid, and yet we writers still keep going. Do some fall by the wayside with the enormity of our task? Absolutely. The researching, world building, editing, rewriting, formatting, and feedback could make anyone want to run for the hills, and some do. Lots of people give up for many valid reasons, and there’s no shame in that. This world is not for the faint of heart.

So, why do we do it? Why do we go the route of indie publishing? Why do we put all of our eggs in that basket knowing the majority fail? All great questions. While I can’t answer for everyone else, I can tell you my reasons.

Growing up in a military family and moving around lots as a child, I greeted many schools and new faces. One of the constants in my life that never changed, though, was books. The library was my sanctuary, no matter what town/city we moved to. Books don’t judge; they welcome. They are friends, sometimes best friends, when everything else falls apart.

Don’t get me wrong, my childhood wasn’t terrible. Moving around meant leaving friends behind and forced me to adapt to changing environments. I believe it helped make me a good storyteller.

I’ve always wanted to write books, but up until recently it wasn’t a real option. I choose to be an indie author because I like to control the process. I no longer need someone else’s acceptance to publish to the masses. It’s incredibly difficult to get a publishing company to take notice, and time is of the essence. I wish to publish on my own terms, and I’ll take the hardships that go with it. Yeah, it’s a TON of work, but hard work always pays off.

Will I ever be successful at writing? Yes! I’m already successful. So, for now, I choose to self-publish, and I applaud all writers in whichever way they choose to publish. As for me, you can find me on my blog with WordPress, twitter and google. I’ve even ventured into Pinterest.

I’d love to hear your stories of which publishing path you’ve taken. Please feel free to message me or comment below!

Many thanks to all the storytellers out there! You can and do make a difference;-)

 

Happy reading/writing! #PoweredByIndie

K.D.