Let’s talk about murder…

Dear Diary,

I’ve been working feverishly on finishing my seven-book Exitium Mundi series, which segues into my Nephilim pentalogy, and reality has mostly melted around me as a result. It’s an enormous amount of fun, but fuck am I ready for this series to be over with! I have so many other books I want (needs!) to write! 😅 Currently, I’m finishing up revisions on book six, and while I was butchering things one of the characters asked another a very pointed, profound question, which shook me so much I decided to post it on social media. The question was:

If one person – one person you knew, but didn’t care too much about – had to die so the people you love could live, would you consider murder?

The end results of this vote caused me to raise my eyebrows: 68% voted Yes, and 32% voted No (Anne voted no, which really surprised me). 68% Of people would actually kill someone.

This really made me think.

I’m used to putting my mind into my characters when I write, and it’s gotten to the point where doing so is kind of natural and effortless, but this question made me mentally stumble. It’s not a casual question. I value life. Death is a serious thing, and as Christopher Wallace (The Notorious B.I.G.) said on the end of Tupac Shakur’s song Runnin’ (Dying to Live) “I mean, even though we was going through our drama, I would never wish death on nobody, you know what I’m sayin’? Because there ain’t no coming back from that.” I wholeheartedly agree with him. Death is a serious thing, and too often we talk about it almost casually, like it’s the common cold or something.

Putting on my psychologist’s hat for a second: I completely understand why. Unless something affects us personally, it’s almost impossible to truly and fully empathize. It’s only natural – if we took everything to heart that we saw on the news, or read about, or heard about, we would go absolutely insane. Disassociation to a certain degree is basically just a matter of cognitive self-preservation. I get it.

I just don’t know if I have it in me to kill another person, though. Tase them (really appreciate those tasers, John! ❤), sure, find a way to incapacitate them, definitely, but kill? Murder? I don’t think I could. Maybe… I don’t know. There just has to be another way, you know? If it came down to it, perhaps I could. If it was the only way to save say, my brother, maybe I could. In the end the character I was writing about agreed to it, because it fit her personality and worldview, but damn. That was a hard decision to make.

Writing of hard decisions…

I’m a member of a group called Writers Café, and since I joined people had been requesting I read/critique their works. Which I was cool with, of course, but eventually it got to the point where I was falling so far behind that my queue was up in the triple digits, so I had to disable read requests. This has me feeling absolutely crumby.

I’ve also had to trim down how much time I spend writing in my Diary, which I feel even worse about. I love writing in this thing, but by the time the days over my creativity is just drained. I feel mentally dead after seven-plus hours of writing plus another two to three hours of author tasks every day. When you toss in the time I spend responding to emails, messages on social media, and making content for my Patreon… the last thing I want to do is write about everything I did. This is why my entries have been so sporadic lately – I’m just tuckered out. I’m not about to quit writing entries though, because I love this damn thing way too much, but to write in it means I’m going to have to sacrifice time I would otherwise be spending on some other creative project – in this case, revising Exitium Mundi.

It’s worth it, though, because I always feel so much better after writing one of these damn things.

Why can’t there be more hours in the day?! 😭

Anyway, thanks for lending me your eyes.

I love all of you.

#Alexa

“Kids are all computer-savvy. Sit down and write to your parents on the computer. And just say, I have some questions and I’m scared. There’s some stuff I don’t know and I really need to talk to you about sex. Tear it off and put it on their pillow. They’ll read it.”

– Sue Johanson (@realsuejohanson)

Disclosure: This post may contain affiliate links that earn me a small commission, at no additional cost to you. This is because I’m a participant in the Amazon Services LLC Associates Program, an affiliate advertising program designed to provide a means for sites to earn advertising fees by advertising and linking to amazon.com.

My brother getting white girl wasted and swan-diving off the wagon

Dear Diary,

My big brother’s personality type could probably best be described as stoic. Dude has like zero sense of humor, and he rarely shows any emotion. He hardly makes expressions, seldom shows affection, and generally just tends to glower when he looks at you. Considering he’s big, muscled, and bald, this tends to intimidate people as soon as he steps in a room.

Which is why I literally choked on my Crackuccino® when he walked into the living room where Anne and I were lounging and proclaimed that he wanted to get white girl wasted. After I was able to breathe again, I asked him to repeat himself. He did. Anne and I practically flew off the couch to get alcohol. 😅

We had so much fun. And then afterward we went to a buffet (if you have never been to Golden Corral, you are seriously missing out) and ate like we were stoned. It was epic. When we finally made our way home we all just collapsed on the couch and stared at the TV, which was still off. Having an extreme hatred for silence, I decided to ask my brother what prompted his proclamation and subsequent buffet (we hadn’t been to a buffet in a long time, since I almost got into a fight with the manager at one). He looked at me and said, “Sometimes you just have to do something without reason.”

That made no sense to me, but I was happy with the end results, so I just cuddled into him and let it go.

Fast forward to the next day.

I had a ridiculous hangover. I was hating life, and all my life choices that led to me drinking like I didn’t believe in my liver. I decided then and there that my drinking days were over, that there is so much I could do with my life (and money!) if I weren’t drinking.

This vow lasted all of about three days. 😳

I usually have a will of steel when it comes to important things, but once the hangover completely cleared from my system and I was feeling like my usual, bouncy self, I began questioning why I wanted to quit drinking to begin with. Just because I felt terrible afterward? I felt disgusting after the buffet, but I never thought to swear off food. I enjoyed eating the food immensely while I was doing it, just like I enjoyed drinking. Why is alcohol something I should give up? I only drink on the weekends (and not even every weekend), and even then usually something around four or five beers. Or a 40 ounce. And that’s it.

Does that make me an alcoholic?

I don’t think it does.

So, I swan-dived off the wagon and decided to keep drinking, but in moderation like I already am. I feel much happier. I needs alcohol in my life. 😅

Shortly after my brother made his white girl wasted proclamation, I decided to take a vacation from the authoring world. I only recently came back from it. I think I can best sum up my mindset by ripping text from my newsletter (which went out late as fuck this month) instead of trying to find a way to creatively reword what was already written:

About midway through the month I kind of sat back in my writing chair and just watched as the smoke emanating from my brain slowly oozed out of my ears, occasionally blowing at it and smiling goofily as my bursts of air caused them to dance like ethereal snakes on opioids.

Minutes later I turned to Anne and announced that I was taking the rest of the month off.

I was quickly burning out, and I needed a vacation.

I rarely ever take time off (from writing, work, or anything else really), so a proclamation like that caused her to nearly drop her phone in disbelief. After she got over her initial shock, she shook her head and grinned in condescension. She didn’t believe me. She told me I was incapable of truly taking breaks, and that my past speaks volumes about my obsession with the written word.

Bitch was wrong: I shoved everything aside and turned into a metaphorical vegetable, catching up on all the gaming, reading, and binge-watching I’m normally deprived of because of my insane work ethic.

It was so worth it.

I’m back, fresh-minded, focused, and raring to go!

Damn it feels good to write again… Oh! Before I go, I just remembered: the eBook version of Erotic Urban Legends: Volume 1 is now available for December 1, 2019 preorder! Buy it now, and it will be automagically delivered to your reading device. The paperback will be finished soon (like in the next few days) so if that’s your jam, watch my social media posts in the coming days. I’ll announce it. 😊

#Alexa

“I always hated high-school shows and high-school movies, because they were always about the cool kids. It was always about dating and sex, and all the popular kids, and the good-looking kids. And the nerds were super-nerdy cartoons, with tape on their glasses. I never saw ‘my people’ portrayed accurately.”

– Paul Feig

Disclosure: This post may contain affiliate links that earn me a small commission, at no additional cost to you. This is because I’m a participant in the Amazon Services LLC Associates Program, an affiliate advertising program designed to provide a means for sites to earn advertising fees by advertising and linking to amazon.com.