I’m not very consistent in my posting schedule, because well… LIFE. On top of writing books and blogs, I have a full-time job, two kids in college, and an elementary age kid that I homeschool. Over the last two months, most of my responsibilities have paled compared to something I always knew was coming, but never felt prepared for—my parents’ failing health.
I don’t want to go into much detail, but I’m working on late life care right now, and it’s been an emotional rollercoaster. On the one hand, I have no idea what I’m doing. On the other, for a while there, I didn’t think I’d be lucky enough to make it to this point. I almost didn’t have a mother anymore. Then, within a few weeks, my father came to me with his own news. Cancer.
So, I haven’t been writing or researching. I’ve barely been promoting any of my books. This blog hasn’t been on my mind at all. What haven’t I said about myths, folklore, and fairytales (a lot actually, but you get my drift)?
They say not to wait for inspiration to write, because then you’ll wind up not writing at all. But I can’t write in my usual style. I just… can’t. All that I want to write about is how I feel right now. At last I’m going to give into it.
My biggest fear is death. Hilarious, right? The author, who writes so frequently about death, even has a death harbinger as a main character in her latest book, is afraid of death. I’m a walking contradiction. It’s something you realize right away when reading my books.
Readers flip through the pages and ask, “Is this a dark book or a light book? Drama or comedy?”
And I respond with a smile that doesn’t reach my eyes and say one word—yes.
Life is a confusing mixture of joy, sorrow, and everything in between. Like a trickster, my irreverence is how I worship. I understand how dire everything is (gods do I), but if I can’t poke fun at it or laugh at my pain, then I’ll never truly live.
Yet here I am, with a perfect opportunity to be what I write, to write what I am, but I can’t. It’s like standing on the tip of the diving board, shaking like a leaf, and never jumping. My parents might die soon. They will eventually. And so will I. So will everyone I care about it. No amount of jokes can prevent that.
So for a while, my writing will be dark and melancholy. It may not even seem like me, but it’s this or nothing, and writing is my truest passion. If you feel you can’t read about death gods or grief lore, I completely understand. If you hang on, however, you’ll have my utmost gratitude. If you’re a reader, you know that I eventually give into my humor.
Everything In Between
In other news, I went to Las Vegas. That’s right. In the middle of all this, I went to that party city in the middle of the desert. I almost didn’t go, but I made a promise to my oldest (and purchased some non-refundable airline tickets) months before all this went down. Their boyfriend of three years lives there, and they never get to see each other. My mom’s failing health doesn’t mean I can stop being a mother to my own kids. In fact, I want to shower them with every second of my attention and every ounce of my love.
I’m not the kind of person who tolerates flashing lights and clashing sounds well, but I enjoyed myself as much as I could. The desert was particularly awe-inspiring. How can anyone stay safely tucked inside The Strip? They’re missing out on some gorgeous scenery.
Here are some pics I snapped when I escaped the clink of slot machines.
I’ll be back.
I may be inconsistent, but I will continue to write. As one of my favorite songs, Your Ex-Lover Is Dead, “When there’s nothing left to burn, you have to set yourself on fire.” Motivation isn’t always laying around for the taking. Sometimes, you have to reach deep down in your guts and pull it out.
Did you like reading this? Then, you’ll love my books!
You can find all of my published works, even the anthologies I’ve contributed to by clicking the “Learn More” button below!