Tag: anxiety

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Before You Break

Hi, guys!

I’m almost done with my last round of edits on The Gem of Meruna! Then, it goes off for proofreading in October. I think I’ll be finalizing the release date soon.

I also went through Salt and Silver with Grammarly, and learned that…Grammarly hates when you write a character with an accent. But I don’t care. The editing program just had to get over that. Lol.

It really sets that character apart.

Which is important.

Not to mention the impact on the plot for him to have come from a different country. He’s seen more things than the other two MCs. He’s experienced things in coming to their country that shaped him into who he is.

So it’s plot related, thus Grammarly can shove it. The accent stayed, misspelled words and all.

Also, Soul Bearer is so freaking close…Officially less than a month, now! Release day is so close, and I’m super excited.

But I’m also…not where I need to be.

I should have called a bunch of places last week (local libraries and bookstores) about carrying my book and doing signings (something I’ve never done before). Honestly, I should’ve done all that long before now.

I went to a few places a couple weeks ago. I put on my big girl pants, and told myself I just had to do it. But…

I don’t do well with people.

The librarians I spoke with were so nice…

But my nerves were so frazzled from speaking to strangers, from trying to tell them my book was good enough for them to bother with, and by extension, trying to convince them that I’m a good enough author for people to bother with…

…my hands were shaking when I got back to the car. I sat there with tears pouring down my cheeks, telling myself I was stupid for crying.

I mean, all I did was talk to really nice librarians.

True, the bookstore I went to before that turned out to be disappointing. (They charge authors a LOT of money to do a signing. I don’t know if that’s normal, as this is the first attempt I’ve made at doing a signing. Possibly the last for a while if I don’t get a better hold on my social anxiety.)

Anyway, it took me far too long to stop the tears and still my trembling hands. I held it together while talking to the people, but after the fact, I fell apart.

I have no patience for myself or the ways that my body reacts. I’ve never had patience for myself. I always expect perfection in anything I do.

But this social anxiety…I’m so tired of it, you guys.

In the moment, I vented to my husband and to some writer friends, and they all told me what I would have told them, if the roles were reversed. “It’s how your body reacts. It isn’t stupid. You’re not stupid. This is just a stressful thing for you.”

And of course, they were right.

I’ve never handled social situations well. It just isn’t my strong suit. Don’t get me wrong, I’m getting better at it.

I push myself.

But it’s still holding me back, and I hate that.

Even more so, because this is my dream.

This is it for me. I’m a writer. I want to be a successful writer so I can stay home and write even more. But publicity and events and all that is such a vital part of getting my books out there, and I’m just…not sure I’m there, yet.

I’m sure it’s like tons of other things, do it enough and you get used to it.

And I’m sure I’m not going to let myself out of it. I’m not that kind to myself. I push.

But god…There should be a limit to how many times a person can fall apart. Lol. You deal with a set number of anxiety attacks over the course of your life, and then after that, your anxiety levels are proportional to the things going on in your life.

Wouldn’t that be nice?

I feel like I’m rambling.

Anyway…

I did take a bit of time for myself this week. I’ve been overextending myself lately, spreading myself too thin.

I’ve always been reclusive, and I’ve always needed that time to myself to recharge. But I’ve been people-ing nonstop for months now, never truly being alone.

It was running me ragged. I know it’s hard to tell on social media sometimes, but I’ve been incredibly cynical and flat, of late. (I always am, but it’s been really bad lately.)

So, this week, I did one nice thing for myself.

When it came time for editing a few days ago, I locked myself away in my library. I ignored my phone. I put in headphones, and tuned out the real world and all the people I needed to call or message, and all the things I needed to do that involved people.

I let my little sanctuary soothe me. I let the unbelievably mesmerizing scent of that room, with all its old books and candles and incense, take me away.

And I just sat there, by myself, editing my book.

And barring the absolute shit show at work the past couple days, I’ve been in a much better mood since then.

Surprise, surprise.

*rolls eyes at self*

God…

Guys, take care of yourselves.

Don’t be dumb, like me. DO something to help yourself cope with the world around you BEFORE you reach anxiety-attack-levels of stress.

You can even keep yourself productive while you do your self care, like I did, if you really feel like you don’t have time. (Another jab at myself? No…never…) I sat by myself with candles and music and chocolate and old books, and did some editing.

But chances are…you probably have time. Even if it’s just five minutes to unwind.

Stop scrolling, set the phone aside, and do something for you. Maybe stay up ten minutes later and go for a walk, clear your head.

Do something for you.

Please.

As always…

Keep reading. Keep writing.

Later.

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Imposter…

Hello, all!

Welcome!

So, I’m pretty sure we all know that marketing is important when it comes to…you know…selling books. Publicity is key.

But guess what I suck at?

Marketing.

Because it involves people. Real people.

And I’m terrible with real people. I always have been. Yes, I mean always. Even back in preschool.

So, I started preschool a year early, to socialize, so, all in all, I did 2 years. (Sounds like jail time when I say it that way. Lol.) But, anyway, I didn’t talk to the teachers until halfway through the second year.

Then, it came time to do the placement testing for kindergarten. I wouldn’t talk to them, either. They thought I needed special education because I wouldn’t acknowledge them. My mom asked me all their questions, I did fine, and they put me in standard kindergarten…

Where I didn’t talk to the teacher for the first 3/4 of the year.

I was a quiet ball of anxiety.

And I stayed that way…

I have never been good with people. Not real ones.

I’m good with the ones I make up. Lol. That doesn’t help with marketing, though. Which brings us back around to something that happened today.

I was talking with a friend at work today, someone I’m reasonably comfortable talking to. We ended up on the topic of books, which surprised me. I didn’t know he was a book person, and never really would have assumed so.

I asked what genres he likes, feeling my way into the topic.

Because, if he said he only likes non-fiction or young adult detective stuff…he clearly wouldn’t like my books. But he hops genres when he reads, just like I do when I write. So, I did the thing that all authors have to do if they want to get anywhere with their books.

I mentioned them. I brought them to the attention of another human.

Now, that doesn’t seem like a big deal. But…

Given my inability to properly interact with people, it was a big thing for me. I’m one of those people who always undershares or overshares. There is no happy medium. I almost always feel out of place in groups (the only exception being if I’m super comfortable with everyone present AND I’m feeling social).

I’m always looking for expressions on their faces to say that whatever I’ve just said or done was the wrong thing to say or do. I’m always worried that the awkward end of a conversation (you know, when a conversation flattens out, and everyone says little meaningless things like, “yeah, no kidding,” or “Right?” until everyone just falls silent…) will happen after I speak. Because if I’m the last one to speak in that situation, I feel like maybe my inflection was wrong, or maybe I missed something earlier on that made my version of that meaningless comment somehow wrong.

And it doesn’t matter that those weird little breaks happen naturally in conversations with even the closest of friends. It just automatically becomes a stress point. I end up analyzing how I said whatever little nonsense line, and whether I waited too long to say it, and whether it actually made sense in the context, and…so many stupid things to worry about.

Basically, I have no confidence in my ability to interact with people, even in the most mundane situations.

Now, when it comes to promoting my work, you have to add the performance aspect of it. Because, when it comes down to it, writing is a skill that you have to hone. Books are, in their own way, a little stage that showcases our skill level as writers.

And, despite the positive feedback from beta readers and reviewers alike, I still doubt my ability to write. Imposter syndrome is a very real thing, and I feel it often, telling myself constantly that I’m not a real writer, or that I’m not actually good enough, or that I’ll never make it out of the factory to write full time (that last one is backed up by statistics, which makes it harder to push away).

That’s an unbelievably common thing in any creative profession, but that doesn’t make it easier to deal with.

Then, when it comes time to say, “Hey, you like to read. Look at my books,” (hopefully a little smoother than that) the imposter thing and the social anxiety kick into high gear. Suddenly, the idea of drawing attention to my work becomes this insurmountable obstacle of talking to someone about something I made, telling them that it’s good enough for them to pay attention to, to pay for, when…on the inside, I’m terrified that it’s actually garbage.

So, today, when my friend and I were discussing books, and I found out that he likes some of the genres I write in, I didn’t tell him the names of the books that are out. I didn’t tell him where to find them.

I have business cards in my wallet, which was about 70 feet from me at the time. They have my website on them, which has both of my published books listed on it (oh, in case you didn’t know, my books are on the published works page of this site…I probably should have mentioned that…)

I didn’t go get a card for him, though.

Instead, I let the conversation drop, and went back to building tires when my materials were brought to me.

Then, for 45 minutes, I berated myself over it, because I’m never going to get anywhere with my books if I don’t tell people they exist. (Hint. Hint. Any of you facing similar issues…You have to tell people.)

I dug a business card out, and had it sitting on a shelf near my machine, ready to give him. But I didn’t freaking do it. At one point, I even gave it up, and put the damn thing back in my wallet.

But why the fuck did I get them, if I’m never going to give them to people?

Finally, at the very end of the fucking shift, after enough mental yelling to stuff the anxiety down, I dug it back out. I walked over to him, with the express intention of giving him this little card with my website on it. Forced myself to hand it to him, and squeaked out some lame bit about, “If you want to check them, out, my website is on the back. If not, I’ll never know the difference.”

Because I’m fucking terrible at this. And that’s someone I can talk to on a normal basis. If he were a stranger…it wouldn’t have happened. Once the initial opportunity passed, it would have been done.

But today, I pushed past it, and did something (in person) to tell someone about my books. Lame as the execution was, I did it.

Even if he never looks at my books, even if he throws that card on a desk or table at home, and forgets all about it, I’m calling this a win.

And I’m going to have to have more of them, and get some practice in. I have plans to actually do ( *gasp*) events in the future. I should have been doing them all along, but…well, everything before this paragraph pretty much tells you why I haven’t.

I also need to get more books out before then, though. As you know if you’ve been following my blog, or if you’ve checked my works in progress page, there are a lot of irons in the fire.

I’m just about done with the initial edit of Salt and Silver, then some adjustments on The Gem of Meruna to get it ready for rerelease. I’ve got some ideas for a cover for one of the upcoming fantasy novels.

All in all, things are moving forward at a decent pace. I stress over the speed, of course, because I worry that I’m underperforming. (Go fucking figure.)

But, it’s getting there. I just have to keep pushing onward.

As do all of you. If there’s something you want…make it happen. It won’t fall into your lap. Life doesn’t really do handouts, at least, not in my experience.

So push forward.

Keep reading. Keep writing.

Later.

Posted on

Using Social Anxiety as a Shield

Hi, everyone!

Yet another unproductive week. Only about 1400 words typed. I polished off a chapter, and started another. I have the rest of that one written out (just not typed yet), which officially brings Salt and Silver to a close.

Which is pretty exciting.

I began the scene that will connect it to the next novella in the series as well, and made it halfway through that (also handwritten). The format of this series is odd, though. I get the feeling that finding a publisher or agent willing to look at it will be difficult…Most places don’t want novellas, let alone novellas connected by single scenes…

It may have to be another self-published work.

At any rate, I still have a long way to go on the rest of the series, and have to decide now which series to give my writing time to, as I’m just about done editing Awakening, Book one of the Regonia Chronicles.

Now, then.

The reason I typed so little this week…

I was social.

That’s a rare thing for me. I went out with friends twice last week, in addition to going to the gym with my husband and one of our friends.

(Don’t worry, I’m not going to start talking health stuff, and talking your ear off about meal prepping. I’m only doing this gym stuff because I’m tired of the crease in my side. The top of my hourglass is holding hands with the bottom half, and I don’t like that. Lol. Some women can pull off that look, but I’m not one of them.)

But I digress. Back to the socializing thing.

For those of you who don’t know me personally, I’m…not a people person. I never have been. And I mean NEVER. I found out recently from my mom that the reason I was in preschool for two years (started a year early) was to help me socialize. Even then, I apparently didn’t talk to the teachers for the first year and a half. Then, when it came time for kindergarten placement testing, I refused to talk to them, and they thought I needed special ed. Mom asked me the questions, I passed, and went on to standard kindergarten…where I refused to talk to the teacher for the first 3/4 of the year. Lmao.

I did fine with my school work. I just…wouldn’t talk.

And then, I just kinda…stayed that way. Sort of.

I’m better about it, now, at the ripe old age of 28. I talk to people when they ask me questions. But I still don’t start conversations with strangers. People I’m comfortable with, sure, I’ll talk to them somewhat easily, so long as no one else is present. Though, it takes a while for me to get comfortable, and usually that puts people off, chasing them away before I actually open up.

Social anxiety has been a plague for most of my life, as have a few other anxiety disorders, such as Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, though that one was triggered by trauma.

You see, being blatantly unsocial as a child made me an easy target. For a lot of things, really. Bullying being one of them. The people who did that are completely different people, now though, as am I, and we actually get along. Which is not something I ever, ever expected.

But the thing that brought on crippling (yes, I mean crippling) OCD is that I was molested as a child. It feels a bit weird to just lay that out there like this, but I mention being sexually abused in the afterword of my novella, Annabelle. So…it’s kinda already out there for the world to see.

After it happened, I didn’t tell anyone for years. Because I couldn’t. I couldn’t talk to people about normal stuff without feeling like a disappointment, let alone something so…disastrous. I couldn’t explain why I couldn’t stomach being touched, or why I immediately had to wash. I couldn’t explain why I spiraled into a fit of incoherent, rage-fueled tears if I couldn’t get to a sink or get my hands on some antibacterial wipes or lotion or whatever.

I couldn’t explain why my hands were so dry that the knuckles cracked open, and bled, or why I couldn’t stop washing them, knowing it would make it worse. I couldn’t explain why I opened doors with my wrists, or refused to touch remotes (which is why I never watched tv or movies, or played video games until college/after college).

I couldn’t explain why I was so tired, because no one knew I laid awake in bed, waiting for everyone else to fall asleep so I could get up, wash my bed clothes because the cat or dog brushed the blanket with their tail, get a shower, step onto a clean towel, put on socks before stepping off said towel, sanitize the tv remotes, wait for the sheets and blankets to be dry while curled up in a ball on a clean towel in the living room floor (with the socks removed as I stepped onto this new clean towel) watching reruns of The Nanny and (ironically) The Cosby Show, until I could finally make my bed, and get some sleep. The fact that my hands would have been washed at least once after or during each step of that process also went unnoticed.

Sadly enough, the part of it all that makes it so terrible (my young age), also helped me. Had I been older, had I needed to hold down a job, I wouldn’t have been able to. No one wants a cashier who can’t touch money, or who screams/cries when she can’t wash her hands.

But I could be a good student. No one else touched my pencils, or my paper, or my books.

And since people assume that good grades are an indicator of good coping abilities, my straight A’s joined forces with my previously established anti-social nature to keep me under the radar for years. No one ever suspects that straight A’s might mean that a person who finds school to be easy is using that very misconception of good coping mechanisms to hide, or that maybe they’re just terrified of getting a B because they’d feel like a horrific disappointment if they did get one, even if they know, rationally, that B’s aren’t bad grades.

But OCD and social anxiety don’t give a damn about rational.

So, I kept my grades up, kept my head down, and drifted along, secretly drowning.

Eventually, I got tired of the OCD, and got tired of being miserable and wanting to die every day for years, and did something drastic. There’s this technique for dealing with OCD and phobias called flooding. I didn’t know what I was doing back then, but I put myself through it. It’s definitely not a best case scenario. Essentially, I touched a bunch of things my OCD determined to be dirty, and then touched everything in my room, effectively ruining my sanctuary.

This, obviously, has the potential to backfire, and result in panic and massive anxiety, followed by hysterical cleaning.

But I got through it, and started dealing with the OCD. A while later (a couple years) I actually started telling people (after someone else confessed to me that they’d been abused, which told me that I wasn’t alone), and I got into counselling.

It’s been an unbelievably long journey to get to where I am, and there’s still so far left to go…

But I’m trying.

So, this past week, I was social.

I didn’t do as much typing as I probably should have. But it was for the best.

Sometimes, you just have to step away from the computer, get out of your sanctuary, and be with people. Even if it’s difficult.

And sometimes, you have to talk. Typing this up has been….difficult. The internet provides a nice little barrier, though. A bit of anonymity, if you will, even if this is on my website, with my name clearly printed atop it. Because I’m not saying all of this to someone in person, I’m not staring into someone’s eyes while I lay everything out there. I don’t know who will read this, or how many people will see it. It could be no one, it could be one person, maybe hundreds of people.

But if one person sees this, and thinks, “I’m not alone…”

If one person finds strength in these words…

Then, it’s worth the lump in my throat, the butterflies in my stomach, and the knots in my shoulders as I pour my heart out, or, rather, type it out.

*sigh*

Anyway, I don’t know how productive I’ll be this coming week, given that some of my family is visiting from Texas, and of course, I have work and overtime. But, I’ll keep you guys posted.

Thanks for taking the time to read this. It’s been a much more revealing post than usual…I just hope someone comes away from it with that little bit of strength that they need.

Because, it doesn’t stay terrible forever.

Even if it feels that way sometimes.

For now, though, I’ll be signing off.

Keep reading. Keep writing.

Later.